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The list goes on forever
Of all the ways I could be better, in my mind
As if I could earn God's favor given time
Or at least congratulations
Now, I have learned my lesson
The price of this so-called perfection is everything
I've spent my whole life searching desperately
To find out that grace requires nothing of me
—-One, Sleeping at Last
The ball hits his hand with a deafening smack and sails over the net, hitting the ground with so much force that Oikawa can feel the impact from where he’s standing. He grunts in annoyance when his feet touch the ground. Too slow.
Ignoring the pain in his knee, he picks up another ball. He throws it up, recognizing immediately that it was a faulty shot; he growls angrily as it misses its target. Damn it.
He has to get better. Get stronger. He has to be perfect. Otherwise, Seijo will lose; if that happens, they’ll turn on him. He’s nothing if he’s not perfect.
He picks up another ball.
Their match with Karasuno is one week away, and Oikwaw refuses to lose to Kageyama again. Once was more than enough. He can’t stand to see that smug, triumphant smile on the raven’s face. The mocking look of you’re not good enough.
Oh, he’ll be good enough. He’ll be better. He’ll wipe that disgusting look off of Kageyama’s face and drink in the smell of victory.
It’ll be glorious.
The ball leaves his hand and lands perfectly, just like he needs it to be.
One week. He has one week to perfect his serve. One week to prove himself. He grits his teeth and picks up another ball.
“Oikawa!” someone yells, interrupting him. He turns to glare at Iwaizumi, who just entered the gym. He’s out of breath, cheeks flushed from running. “There you are. I was looking everywhere for you. What’re you doing here?”
“Practicing,” he replies curtly, raising the hand with the ball.
Iwaizumi grabs his wrist, and the ball bounces to the floor, “I think that’s enough. You’ll burn yourself out.”
Oikawa pulls his wrist from Iwaizumi’s hold. “I’m fine; I just need to perfect my serve,” he says, bending down to pick up the ball again.
Iwaizumi sighs, “Come on, Tooru. You need to stop before you hurt yourself. “ He runs a hand through his hair. Let’s go. We can stop at a convenience store on the way back.” He gently taps Oikawa on the shoulder.
Oikawa huffs in annoyance but complies, “Fine, but help me clean up the gym.”
Iwaizumi agrees, and the two do quick work tidying up the gym.
The silence between them is comfortable at first, filled only with the squeak of sneakers against hardwood and the hollow thunk of volleyballs dropping into carts. Oikawa avoids looking directly at Iwaizumi, already knowing the expression he’d find there.
Concern. It’s always concern these days.
Once the last ball is put away, Oikawa slings his bag over his shoulder and flicks off the gym lights. The evening air outside is cool against his flushed skin, carrying the faint smell of rain and asphalt. Beside him, Iwaizumi shoves his hands into his pockets and matches Oikawa’s pace easily.
“You’re limping again,” he says after a moment.
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
Oikawa clicks his tongue irritably. “Wow, Iwa-chan. Your observational skills are incredible.”
“Shut up.”
The convenience store glows warmly at the end of the street. They step inside to the sound of chiming bells and fluorescent buzzing. Oikawa heads straight for the sports drinks while Iwaizumi grabs two rice balls without asking what he wants.
“You need actual food,” he mutters when Oikawa raises an eyebrow.
“Your mother-hen era is truly my favorite look on you.”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“You threaten me every day and yet here I stand.”
Iwaizumi snorts despite himself.
For a little while, things feel normal.
Then Oikawa ruins it.
“I can’t lose to him again.”
The words slip out quietly while they walk in the direction of home, plastic bags rustling softly in their hands.
Iwaizumi glances sideways at him. “Kageyama?”
Oikawa scoffs. “Who else?”
The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement. Oikawa stares down at them instead of at Iwaizumi.
“He’s gotten even better,” he admits bitterly. “Did you see his last match? His sets are faster now.” His jaw tightens. “It’s like he keeps improving no matter what.”
“You improve too.”
“Not fast enough.”
Iwaizumi’s expression hardens immediately. “Tooru—”
“No, seriously,” Oikawa cuts in, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You don’t get it. Tobio-chan’s a genius. People forgive geniuses when they mess up because everyone expects them to become amazing eventually.” He laughs harshly. “But me? I have to fight for every little thing.”
“You think nobody notices your hard work?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Oikawa stops walking. The words build in his throat before he can stop them. “It’s not just a game!” Oikawa starts, raising his voice slightly. “It’s more than that! This is my chance to show everyone that I can be the best. Not just in Seijo, but, like, in all of Japan.”
Iwaizumi turns fully toward him now, face serious beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp.
“Yeah, but one match doesn’t define your entire career, you know,” Iwaizumi responds, his tone earnest. “You put so much pressure on yourself. Sometimes you need to step back and remember why you love this in the first place.”
Oikawa laughs quietly, but there’s nothing amused about the sound.
“What if I don’t remember anymore?”
The question hangs heavily between them.
For once, Iwaizumi doesn’t answer immediately.
Cars pass in the distance. Somewhere nearby, someone’s dog barks. Oikawa grips the plastic bag tighter. “I just…” He exhales shakily. “I need to win, Iwa-chan.”
“Why?”
“Because if I don’t—”
He cuts himself off.
If I don’t, then maybe Kageyama really has surpassed me.
If I don’t, then maybe I’m not worth all the effort everyone puts into me.
If I don’t, then what am I?
Iwaizumi watches him carefully, like he can hear every thought Oikawa isn’t saying aloud.
“You’re allowed to fail sometimes,” he says quietly.
Oikawa’s stomach twists violently. “No, I’m not.”
The response comes too quickly.
Too honestly.
Iwaizumi’s eyes widen just slightly before softening with something painful. “Tooru…you need to find balance. If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll end up resenting the game.”
Silence stretches between them as Oikawa processes Iwaizumi’s advice.
The problem is, he already does.
Not all the time.
But enough to scare him.
Enough that volleyball sometimes feels more like survival than joy.
“I just want to be someone they can count on, you know?” he finally replies, voice cracking slightly. “Someone they look at and think, ‘Yeah, that’s our captain.’”
“Trust me,” Iwaizumi assures him immediately, giving Oikawa a firm pat on the back. “You already are that person.”
Oikawa looks away quickly before Iwaizumi can see how much those words affect him.
“Now,” Iwaizumi continues more lightly, “let’s go eat before you pass out dramatically in the middle of the street. You need fuel if you’re going to be the best.”
Oikawa sniffs indignantly. “Excuse you. If I collapse, it’ll be beautifully and tragically.”
“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, Drama Queen.”
And despite everything clawing around inside his chest. Despite the fear and pressure and suffocating need to prove himself. Oikawa laughs softly as they start walking again.
•••
It’s game day.
Oikawa takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The doors that open onto the court loom ahead. He reaches forward and pushes them outward. He leads his team onto the court, his gaze focused and determination evident in every step.
His team takes formations on their side of the net. He steps to the side, next to the referee, and Sawamura moves to stand before him. The teams stare grimly at each other. It’s the semi-finals, and the team that wins this game will go against Shiratorizawa. Oikawa desperately wants to fight against Ushiwaka and crush him into the dust. Karasuno is an obstacle in this. He will lead Ahoba Josai to Nationals.
Sawamura smirks at him, “It’s been a while, Oikawa-san. Ready to lose again?”
“Ha!” Oikawa scoffs, “You and your poor excuse for a team will lose today. Aoba Josai will be going to Nationals this year.”
Sawamura’s smirk turns hard, and his eyes blaze. “Well, may the best team win.”
“Heads or tails?” Oikawa asks instead of responding.
“Tails.”
The referee flips the coin: tails.
Damn it, Oikawa curses to himself, but the smile never leaves his face. Sawamura nods at him, “We’ll receive first.”
The two players return to their teams. Someone hands Oikawa a ball, and he stands behind the line, waiting for the whistle to blow.
The crowd waits in anticipation. Both teams tense. The whistle shrieks, high and shrill. The court stays still, holding its breath. Oikawa closes his eyes, breathing evenly. He exhales as he throws the ball up with a perfect spin. He can do this.
Before anyone can blink, the ball hits the court on the opposite side of the net.
A service ace. Oikawa smirks in satisfaction.
The referee blows the whistle, the first point is scored, and the crowd explodes.
“Go go go go go Seijo.” The specters scream in unison.
Oikawa smiles devilishly at Sawamura, who glares back hard. Iwaizumi slaps him on the back.
He’s given another ball.
This time though, Karasuno’s libero manages to get the ball up. And Kageyama sets it to, Oikawa is positive it’s the buzzcut, he signals as such. Mattsun blocks number five’s ball before its over the net. Makki fist-bumps him, grinning.
The game moves quickly after that. Each team is giving it their all. This wasn’t only a game that determined who would play in the finals; it would also settle a score. One Oikawa is determined to turn in his favor.
It’s during the third set that Oikwaw realizes that he may have underestimated his competition. He sets the perfectly placed ball to his left, Iwaizumi is there immediately, hand outstretched. He spikes the ball with incredible force; Oikawa grins, knowing that it will hit home. His eyes widen as the blonde with the glasses, Tsukishima, he thinks, and Manbun are on the other side, hands up to block. The ball ricochets off the blonde’s fingers, bouncing horribly over. Back to their side of the net. Watari rushes forward, receiving the ball at the last second.
"Incredible play by Karasuno; they are not backing down despite the pressure from Seijoh," the commentator's voice booms across the gymnasium.
Oikawa grits his teeth; no fucking way are they getting the better of me.
Iwaizumi signals to set to him again; Oikawa nods and tosses the ball back in his direction. This time it hits home.
They’re tied now. Iwaizumi lets out a whoop! of triumph.
Now, it’s Sawamura who’s smirking across the net. Oikawa scowls back; two more points. Two last points, and they’ll win. Two more points and Oikawa can bask in victory, savor the despondent look on Kageyama’s face. It’s just two more points, and it will all be perfect.
The next point is scored by Karasuno. Oikawa clenches his fists in irritation. He will win this match. There’s no way he’ll lose. He can’t lose.
The orange shrimp and Sawamura are in the air, ready to spike. The crowd waits with bated breath. Is this it? The court narrows to a single point in his mind. Who’s he going to set to?
Kageyama smirks devilishly at him and then brings his hand forward. A setter dump, his mind supplies, but he realizes it too late.
He watches the ball fall, seemingly in slow motion, toward the ground. Oikawa rushes forward, arm outstretched to just hit the damn thing before it slams to the floor with a crack.
Oikawa’s ears are ringing and he barely hears the roar of the crowd and the whistle signaling Karasuno’s win.
He doesn’t dare raise his head. How could he, after he failed so spectacularly? He refuses to look at the elated smile Kageyama is sure to have. He doesn’t react when he knows Karasuno is celebrating. Aoba Josai’s side of the court is silent as defeat sinks in. Oikawa can’t stop the tears that streak down his face. He feels Iwaizumi pulling him into a hug; he wants to shove him away. To push him off so that he wouldn’t see him like this. But instead, he sinks into it.
“You were incredible,” Iwaizumi whispers as they walk off the court, heads low, to the locker rooms.
“It wasn’t enough,” He answers back, voice hard.
He’s not enough.
They lost
He failed his team again. What will they think? He’s supposed to be perfect. The perfect leader, the perfect captain. And he let them all down.
He can’t stand to look at the dejected members of his team. He knows that he has to tell them that it’s alright and they’ll get them next time, but what good will it do now? Now that he’s a failure.
Iwaizumi gives him a look, a “go ahead” and Oikawa takes a deep breath. His team was incredible, it was him that was imperfect. He should apologize.
“I’m proud of all of you,” he starts; heads pop up to look him in the eyes; the locker room is silent as he continues speaking. “You all were incredible on the court. You’ve gotten more synchronized more efficient. We should have won this game. It was my fault that we didn’t, I wasn’t good enough. I promise I’ll be better. We’ll get them next time, I know it.” And he smiles, a sad smile at his team who stare at him with their mouths agape.
It’s Iwaizumi who broke the tense silence “Are you shitting me??” He growls.
Oikawa looks at him in surprise, “Iwa-chan?”
“Your fault that we didn’t win? Are you delusional?” Iwaizumi spits, “You were amazing out there; you brought out 100% from all of us! Your fault we didn’t win?! What the fuck are you spewing? Karasuno just got the upper hand this time, nothing else. You’re damn right; we’ll beat them next time, though.”
Oikawa stares, stunned as the rest of the team adds in their words of agreement, telling him that he had nothing to do with their loss and that he was the best and the greatest and and and
“Hold on, I don’t understand,” he interrupts, “I’m the captain, it’s my job to ensure our victory. I failed. How is that not my fault.”
“Because, Dumbass,” Mattsun sighs, “We’re a team; the blame of the loss falls on all of us. Not just you, Captain.”
“I-I wasn’t good enough to beat them,” he says miserably.
“You were perfect, Cap. Don’t sweat so much. We’ll just train harder and kick their asses next time,” Kindaichi smiles brightly at him.
He was perfect. Yeah right. He couldn’t even beat his old kohai. Perfect, his ass. But he recognizes that this conversation won’t get anywhere, so he just nods in agreement. Iwaizumi gives him a concerned look. He plasters on a grin, and his team finishes changing before heading to the bus back home.
Oikawa just hopes he doesn’t encounter anyone from Karasuno.
He’s wiping his hands in the bathroom when the door opens. Oikawa looks up and is face to face with the person he wants to see the least: Kageyama Tobio.
Milo Murphy was laughing somewhere in the universe; Oikawa can hear his maniacal cackle reverberating in his ears.
“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama greets, looking anywhere but him.
“Tobio-chan,” he nearly spits.
Kageyama shifts uncomfortably. “Um,” he tries.
“Spit it out, Tobio-chan, I don’t have time for this.”
“I beat you,” Kageyama says softly, reverently, like it just sunk in now. His eyes are wide when he looks into Oikawa’s. “ Again,” he breathes out, disbelief clear in his voice. “I beat you, senpai,” he says, stronger this time, a slow, soft smile spreading on his face. He looks at Oikawa expectantly, like he’s waiting to be praised.
Oikawa wants to throttle him. He glares at the younger boy and scoffs angrily.
Kageyama looks down in disappointment, “I-i just thought—“ he starts. But Tooru cuts him off, moving forward until Kageyama’s back is pressed against the grimy wall.
“What did you think? Hmm, Tobio-chan? That I would praise you for beating my ass?”
“No!” Kageyama rushes to defend himself, he fidgets with the corner of his shirt, “I just thought that since I’m your Kohai, and I’ve surpassed you, it means that you’ve accomplished something,” he mumbles, his face bright red in embarrassment.
Anger erupts hot and immediate in Oikawa’s chest.
Before he can think better of it, he steps forward and slams a hand against the wall beside Kageyama’s head. The younger boy startles, shoulders tensing as Oikawa crowds into his space, fury burning sharp behind his eyes. “You,” Oikawa growls, voice low and dangerous, “have not surpassed me.”
Kageyama’s breath catches.
“I won’t let that happen,” Oikawa continues, each word biting. “I’ll crush you before I ever let you stand above me.”
For a moment, neither of them moves.
Kageyama stares at him wide-eyed, something unreadable flickering across his face, hurt, maybe. Or understanding.
Oikawa can’t stand looking at it.
He clicks his tongue in irritation and steps back abruptly, snatching his bag off the bathroom floor. “Have a nice day, Tobio-chan,” he spits sarcastically. Then he turns on his heel and storms out of the restroom before Kageyama can say another word. The door swings shut behind him with a harsh bang.
But even as he walks away, jaw clenched tight enough to ache, Oikawa can still feel Kageyama’s gaze lingering on his back like a bruise.
When he boards the bus a few minutes later, the familiar noise of his teammates washes over him—Hanamaki complaining loudly about something Matsukawa said, Kindaichi arguing with Kunimi over snacks, Watari laughing somewhere near the front.
Normally, Oikawa would join in immediately.
Today, he just sinks heavily into the seat beside Iwaizumi and stares blankly out the window.
The bus rumbles to life.
Iwaizumi glances at him once, taking in the tight set of his shoulders and the way his fingers curl too hard against the strap of his bag.
But if he notices something’s wrong, he doesn’t say anything.
For that, Oikawa is grateful.
Because if Iwaizumi asked what happened in the bathroom. If he asked why Oikawa’s chest still burns with humiliation and anger and something dangerously close to fear. He doesn’t know what he’d say.
That Kageyama looked at him like he still admired him?
That somehow made it worse?
That the idea of Tobio surpassing him feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with nowhere left to run?
His fingers tighten around the strap of his bag until his knuckles ache.
He doesn’t notice Iwaizumi watching him quietly from the corner of his eye.
•••
The days after the Karasuno match blur together into something exhausting and hollow.
Oikawa throws himself into practice with a frightening kind of desperation. He stays late after training nearly every day, serving until his shoulder burns and his knee throbs painfully beneath his kneepad. The sound of volleyballs striking the floor becomes deafening in the empty gym.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Too slow.
Not enough.
He starts avoiding everyone without meaning to.
At first it’s little things.
Skipping lunch because he “already ate.”
Leaving practice before the others can invite him anywhere.
Ignoring texts until hours later because he doesn’t have the energy to pretend he’s okay.
But eventually even he notices the distance growing.
Hanamaki stops trying to drag him into conversations.
Matsukawa quits making sarcastic comments whenever Oikawa leaves early.
Kindaichi hesitates before asking him questions during practice now, like he’s worried about bothering him.
Worst of all, Iwaizumi watches him with that same quiet, knowing look more and more often.
Oikawa hates it.
One evening, he’s alone in the gym again.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead while another serve slams violently against the far wall. Oikawa exhales harshly through gritted teeth and tosses another ball into the air.
He misses by inches.
“Fuck.”
The gym doors creak open behind him.
“I fucking knew you’d still be here.”
Oikawa doesn’t turn around immediately. “Congratulations, Iwa-chan. Your detective skills are astounding.”
Iwaizumi ignores the jab and walks toward him slowly, gym bag slung over one shoulder.
“You missed dinner again.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You’re never hungry anymore.”
Oikawa clicks his tongue irritably and bends to grab another volleyball. “Can we not do this right now?”
“No.”
The firmness in Iwaizumi’s voice makes Oikawa pause. He finally turns around. Iwaizumi looks tired. Not angry. Not annoyed. Just worried. And somehow that’s worse.
“What?” Oikawa asks defensively.
“You’re isolating yourself.”
“I’m practicing.”
“You’re destroying yourself.”
The words hit hard enough to make Oikawa flinch.
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
Silence stretches between them.
Oikawa looks away first. His throat feels tight suddenly. “I lost,” he says quietly.
Iwaizumi frowns. “Tooru—”
“I lost to Tobio-chan again.” His laugh comes out thin and bitter. “And the worst part is he still looked at me like I was someone worth admiring.”
The confession hangs ugly and raw in the air.
“I don’t understand it,” Oikawa admits softly. “Why does he still look at me like that when he’s already surpassed me?”
“He hasn’t surpassed you.”
“Yes, he has.”
“No,” Iwaizumi says firmly. “He’s different from you. That’s not the same thing.”
Oikawa grips the volleyball tighter.
“You don’t get it,” he whispers. “If I stop being the best thing about me… then what’s left?”
Iwaizumi’s expression shifts instantly. “Tooru.”
Oikawa laughs shakily and rubs a hand over his face. “I know how pathetic that sounds.”
“It doesn’t sound pathetic,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “It sounds exhausting.”
Something in Oikawa cracks at that. Because it is exhausting. Constantly trying to be enough. Constantly trying to prove he deserves to stand where he does. Constantly feeling one mistake away from becoming replaceable.
Iwaizumi steps closer. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you forgot why you started playing volleyball in the first place.”
Oikawa scoffs weakly. “To crush my enemies?”
“That’s not helping your case.”
A tiny smile threatens at the corner of Oikawa’s mouth before disappearing again.
Iwaizumi sighs. “Just have fun again, Tooru.”
The words sound almost absurd.
Fun?
Volleyball hasn’t been fun in months.
Maybe longer.
It’s been pressure and expectations and fear wrapped in bright gym lights and screaming crowds.
But Iwaizumi keeps looking at him steadily.
“You don’t have to earn your place with us,” he says quietly. “You’re more than enough already.”
Oikawa stares at him. The sincerity in Iwaizumi’s voice makes his chest ache painfully. For a second, he doesn’t know what to say. So instead he sniffs dramatically and wipes at imaginary tears. “Iwa-chan,” he says shakily, “that was sooo romantic.”
Iwaizumi immediately shoves him hard enough that he nearly drops the volleyball. “Shut the fuck up.”
Oikawa laughs.
The sound feels rusty from disuse.
But real.
•••
The mock match against Johzenji is chaos from the very beginning.
Terushima grins wildly from across the net, practically vibrating with energy before the whistle even blows.
“Try not to get crushed too badly, Seijoh!”
“Please,” Oikawa calls back easily. “You should be thanking us for the opportunity to witness greatness.”
Terushima cackles loudly. “I like this guy!”
The whistle blows and both teams spring into action. The game starts moving immediately with Terushima executing a flawless jump serve. It’s not nearly as strong as Oikawa’s but he swells with pride as Watari instantly receives it giving him a chance to set it to his spikers.
They score point after point, easily overpowering the opposition. Oikawa smiles in glee, and his teammates match him. They work together perfectly, he grins as Iwaizumi spikes hard enough to break through the blockers.
Another point for Seijo
Johzenji, reckless and unpredictable as ever, keeps the energy high. One player nearly crashes into the bleachers saving a ball. Terushima attempts some insane cross-court spike while laughing like a maniac. Hanamaki wheezes in disbelief after somehow managing to receive it.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” Matsukawa yells across the court.
“VOLLEYBALL!” Terushima shouts back immediately.
Oikawa nearly chokes laughing.
And somewhere between the chaos and the noise and the warmth of his teammates shouting around him, something loosens.
It’s at the halfway point when Oikawa realizes that he’s having fun. That he’s enjoying himself. He isn’t worried right now about being the best. Or carrying his team. They’re all here next to him. All helping him. Playing with him. The feeling is addictive, he can’t believe he’s been playing this long without experiencing it.
He looks up to see Iwaizumi beaming at him. Not proud because Oikawa’s perfect.
Not relieved because he’s winning.
Just happy.
Oikawa smiles back before he can stop himself.
Kindaichi blocks a set, and Makki slaps him on the back. Watari cheers loudly from behind him. Matsukawa mutters something smug after a clean receive.
Something warm twists painfully in Oikawa’s chest.
All this time, he’d been so terrified of failing them that he never realized they were never asking him to be perfect in the first place.
They just wanted him playing beside them.
Oikawa steps behind the service line, rolling the volleyball slowly between his palms. The gym buzzes around him, alive with movement and laughter and shouting.
His teammates trust him.
Not because he’s flawless.
Not because he wins every game.
But because he’s Oikawa Tooru.
Their captain.
Their setter.
Their friend.
The whistle blows
He throws the ball into the air watching it spin and arch beautifully. He starts running.
Yes, he thinks, this is perfect.