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Oikawa Tooru sits alone in his bedroom, just as he does many nights. He notices dimly as his eyes start to sting, and he quickly blinks away the growing dryness. His focus on the screen is perfect, and were it not for the burning sensation that reminds him to move every now and again, he could happily sit in the same position for hours on end.
He taps the space bar a little harder than necessary to pause the video. The teams in this match from the second round of the Tokyo qualifying tournament are fine – good enough to make it as far as they have, obviously – but boring. Set, spike, receive, set, spike, and so on and so on. It’s efficient, sure, but they lack innovation. There’s nothing he can learn from them.
He hits escape, and moves on to a new video. Nekoma vs Fukurodani. The names sound at least a little familiar, so he clicks on it.
He instantly realizes why – he recognizes the ace spiker of Fukurodani, Bokuto Koutarou, and for good reason. He’s got excellent power and impressive aim. He must be up there with He Who Must Not Be Named, that dickhead Ushiwaka. He watches carefully as Bokuto’s spikes, and instinctually begins to think about how he would set the plays they put up.
Tooru is only in his second year, but assuming he’s about to be voted captain, as he’s pretty sure he will be (this isn’t cockiness, really – his teammates have told him as much), he wants to be prepared with ideas on how to improve. This is the best way to collect those ideas: by watching those who are stronger, taking in what they do, the strategies they implement, and using them for his own gain.
Iwaizumi calls him a vulture when they talk about it, but Tooru brushes that off. So what? All the best coaches do it. Military strategists do it, probably – though if he made that comment in his defense, he’d get a punch from Iwaizumi just for comparing himself to a military strategist.
He snaps to attention suddenly when he realizes he’d lost focus. Strange, he doesn’t usually do that, but he’d gotten caught up watching the other team. He diverts his gaze back to Fukurodani and Bokuto Koutarou. He leaps into the air for a spike, and has a completely clear shot –
WHAM!
Tooru blinks in surprise. The ball is blocked, and slams right back down at Bokuto’s feet. A lanky, dark-haired middle blocker lands gracefully amid high fives from his teammates.
Tooru slams the spacebar again to pause the video. The angle is way up high, and the camera is pretty far away to get the whole court, and the quality isn’t great, so Tooru shouldn’t be able to see much, but for some reason…
Is he laughing?
Tooru can appreciate the energy, but gloating in the face of one of the nation’s top spikers seems foolhardy at best and arrogant at worst. The middle blocker straightens himself out again after not too long, and after a brief conference with his setter, they start another point.
It’s a clean if somewhat underwhelming serve from Nekoma’s side, and Fukurodani receives it easily. Their setter, an unassuming first-year, sets the ball once again to Bokuto.
This time, Tooru is ready for it, and as the ball goes up, he averts his gaze to the other side of the net, just in time to see Nekoma’s lanky middle blocker step out to the line and jump up for the block.
He jumps a fraction of a second late, and while at first Tooru thinks he’s mistimed it, it becomes clear in the next moment that the middle blocker did it purposefully. Just as Bokuto’s hand comes down on the ball, the blocker is reaching his peak.
With another echoing WHAM , the ball slams onto the court just under Bokuto’s feet for the second point in a row.
Tooru rewinds the video, and then rewinds it again. He rewatches the block twice at regular speed and then another two times slowed down, just to marvel at the blocker’s timing. He finally lets the video go at regular speed again, and focuses in on the blocker as he celebrates the point.
It’s hard to see very clearly on the laptop, but Tooru can tell the guy has absolutely awful hair. It’s the most noticeable thing about him, after his height. It’s black as pitch and sticks out in every direction, like a dandelion in an oil slick.
Tooru’s so busy staring at the blocker that he forgets to watch the serve. It doesn’t really matter, though – this point is almost an exact copy of the last one. Up to Bokuto, and killed by the same middle blocker. At some point, Tooru thinks, this is the setter's fault. Can’t he see that his spiker is being tracked?
It seems like maybe that conversation is happening, as Bokuto spins around to say something to his setter, but Tooru doesn’t get to watch the drama unfold, as the camera cuts to a close-up of the Nekoma team and their current MVP.
“That’s three shutdowns in a row for Kuroo Tetsurou of Nekoma!” the announcer says, crackly through the low-quality microphone. “Only a second-year, it looks like Kuroo is already a leader of this team.”
The announcer isn’t wrong. Kuroo – Tooru rolls the name around in his head a bit, taking pleasure in the satisfying roundness of the vowel sounds – seems to be leading the group on the court. He pulls attention to the setter, who is somehow even smaller and quieter than Fukurodani’s setter, and the rest of the group shuts up and listens. The microphones can’t pick up the conversation, but Kuroo nods along and passes orders along to the rest of the team.
The camera finally pans back to the wide-shot, and before he’s conscious of what he’s doing, Tooru rewinds the video.
He tells himself it’s to study the methods of communication. To watch the way they talk to one another. To try and lip-read and pick up on some of their strategies.
He tells himself all this, and yet spends the whole of the close-up staring at Kuroo Tetsurou’s terrible hair.
It’s worse up close. It’s spiked up and combed over into an enormous mess, but still looks shockingly dry and soft, like there’s no product in it. Tooru doesn’t know how or why someone would do that to their hair, and yet he can’t help but be fascinated by it.
He rewinds again, to actually watch the communication. Instead, he studies Kuroo’s face. His cheekbones are long and fine, the curve of his mouth alternating nearly constantly between serious and mischievous. He watches whoever is speaking with unbroken focus, and Tooru finds himself wishing that Kuroo would look at him like that.
He shakes his head, brown waves jostling. He doesn’t know where that came from.
He lets the game play again, and decides to focus on Nekoma’s setter, since they’re winning at the moment, and as small and conservative as the kid seems to be, Tooru figures maybe there’s something to learn there.
He pays attention to Nekoma’s setter for four or five points before finding himself distracted by Kuroo again, and wonders if his hair is always like that.
Before he’s completely aware of what he’s doing, Tooru pulls out his phone and navigates straight to Instagram. His thumbs fly across the keyboard until the search auto-populates with a profile and a picture he can recognize as Kuroo – @ktphosphate.
He clicks on it, only to find the profile is private. It’s definitely Kuroo’s, though. From the small photo at the top of the screen, Tooru can recognize the messy hair and sleepy brown eyes that before now he’s only seen through a pixelated volleyball stream. In the profile picture, he looks relaxed and happy, with a broad, lopsided grin and what look like lab goggles pushed up on top of his head.
He briefly considers hitting the Request Follow button, but pulls his thumb away before he can press it. He doesn’t exactly have trouble with confidence, but even for him, requesting to follow the private account of a guy he doesn’t actually know feels half a step too far.
He closes Instagram, and after a moment of hesitation, opens Twitter instead. He searches the same handle, ktphosphate, and pulls up the profile.
This one is a little harder to parse as Kuroo, even though the handle is a dead giveaway. The photo, which Tooru blows up to get a better look at, is Kuroo in a lake. The green-gray water reaches up to his waist, and he’s in a muscle man pose, showing off his only-somewhat impressive biceps.
Unlike his Instagram, his Twitter isn’t private, and with almost 500 followers, Tooru doesn’t feel nearly as much like a stalker. He scrolls through Kuroo’s recent tweets, and finds that not only is he fairly active with at least a few tweets a day, he’s also very funny. Tooru actually laughs out loud at one of them, and that’s enough to prompt him to scroll back up and hit the follow button.
He watches the button on screen go from black to white, and a small thrill trickles over his spine. The silence of his bedroom curls over him, and he remembers what he was actually supposed to be doing – stealing plays from other teams.
He hits play on the video again, and sets his phone face down next to him. He actually pays attention to the setters this time, picking apart their strengths and weaknesses, and by the time the match has finished (with Fukurodani, disappointingly, the winner), Tooru has a list of things to start working on with his own team and very sore eyes.
He showers and does all of his pre-bed skin and hair care before sliding under his comforter. He lets himself check his phone one last time before going to sleep, and sees one notification from Twitter.
Kuroo Tetsurou (@ktphospate) followed you back!
~~~
As predicted, Tooru is voted captain a couple of weeks later. He tries not to gloat too much, especially when Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki have been so nice about it. With Iwaizumi though, it’s difficult to not be at least kinda dickish.
“Iwa-chan, my vice-captain,” Tooru says one day after practice, draping an arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulder, “how are you feeling today? Not too out of shape, I hope?”
“Shut up,” Iwaizumi growls, shoving Tooru away with a hand to the ribs. “You’re the one who stays up all night, not me.”
Tooru shrugs off the slight as they climb the stairs up to their club room. “I don’t stay up all night, and how would you know, anyway?”
He leans against the wall as Iwaizumi unlocks the room. He can feel humidity pooling in the space between his sweaty back and the concrete wall and knows that as soon as he pushes away, there’ll be a big sweat stain marking his place.
It’s nearing the end of February, and volleyball practice is largely optional as students prepare for final exams. Tooru still shows up every day, of course, as does Iwaizumi. Hanamaki and Matsukawa come as well, though Tooru suspects it’s less out of passion for volleyball than it is a distaste for schoolwork. Most of their first years show up as well – Watari hasn’t missed a single practice all year – with the exception of Mad Dog. Tooru hasn’t seen him since their last tournament, but he’s not bothered. He’ll show if he wants to.
He follows Iwaizumi in, listening to Hanamaki and Matsukawa recite some story from their lunch hour in turns. When he opens his locker, he reaches for his phone first, and stops when he sees a Twitter notification.
New message from @ktphosphate
He hovers over the notification. It’s been several weeks since they followed each other, but they’ve never spoken. Sure, Tooru’s liked almost every tweet of Kuroo’s that comes across his timeline, and Kuroo’s definitely liked a fair few of his, but a direct message is on a level they’ve yet to approach.
Maybe it’s nothing. It’s probably nothing. It’s probably that Kuroo’s account got hacked and the message is trying to get Tooru to sign up for a Ray-Ban giveaway. Either that, or he misclicked Tooru’s name when trying to DM one of his actual friends.
Apparently, he’s spent too long focused on the notification, because Iwaizumi is leaning over his shoulder to read it. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing!” Tooru scrambles to pull his phone away, but Iwaizumi is giving him a smug, knowing look, complete with a shit-eating grin.
“Oh, come on, Oikawa,” he cajoles, catching Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s attention now as well, “who’s DMing you, huh?”
“Oikawa’s getting DMs?” Hanamaki asks. “I didn’t think he knew how to do that.”
“Iwaizumi said he got one, not that he sent one,” Matsukawa clarifies. “He probably doesn’t know how to send them, though.”
“I do too!” Oikawa says, clutching his phone to his chest. “And anyway, it’s none of your business who it is.”
“I know who it is,” Iwaizumi says, turning back to his locker casually.
The other three stare at him, but he doesn’t offer anything beyond that.
“Bullshit,” Oikawa challenges.
Iwaizumi snorts. “Not bullshit. It’s that Kuroo guy. Y’know, the one whose tweets you’re literally always liking.”
Tooru’s cheeks flush red. “I do not!”
“Do too,” Matsukawa and Hanamaki say in unison.
“Twitter does that thing where it puts your likes on our timelines,” Iwaizumi says. “So I kept seeing all these tweets from this Kuroo guy I don’t even know, and what’s above each one?”
“Liked by Tooru Oikawa,” Hanamaki says, his voice pitched high and sing-songy.
Matsukawa waggles his eyebrows. “So who is he?”
Tooru rolls his eyes, but he feels caught. “Just some guy,” he says, and when he feels his friends about to jump on him, adds, “he plays volleyball in Tokyo, and he’s pretty good, so I followed him. Nothing more to it than that.”
He’s lying on the last bit, and he’s sure they all know it, but mercifully, they let it go.
“Whatever you say, dude,” Hanamaki shrugs.
“He doesn’t even tweet about volleyball most of the time,” Matsukawa mutters, just loud enough for Tooru to hear.
Tooru shoves his phone in his bag without opening the message. Iwaizumi starts to say something, but Tooru silences him with a glare.
He’s not sure why he’s so defensive over Kuroo. Part of it is embarrassment – he didn’t realize he was broadcasting his enjoyment of Kuroo’s tweets to all his followers. But it’s not just that – Tooru can handle embarrassment (God knows he’s experienced enough of it over the years). Something about this Twitter-lationship feels delicate, like if too many people breathe on it at once, it’ll crumble into dust.
Plus, there’s not actually anything going on at the moment to tell his friends about. All Kuroo is right now is a hot guy on Twitter who takes terrible mirror selfies and seemingly posts every single one of them, in between corny science jokes and whatever other stream of consciousness nonsense he thinks of. Sometimes, to Tooru, it seems like Kuroo must post every thought that enters his brain. If nothing else, he is a prolific Tweeter.
He’s also, yes, very attractive. The selfies have not turned Tooru off in the slightest – in fact, according to his weekly screen time report, he’s spending more time on Twitter than ever before. He would never admit that the chance of seeing a fresh image of Kuroo is the reason, and maybe it’s not, or at least, not entirely.
But it’s definitely part of it.
Iwaizumi, as usual, is too smart for Tooru’s liking. He knows something’s up, and Tooru knows that Iwaizumi knows, and so their walk home from practice that evening is host to a gently simmering tension. After they break off from Matsukawa and Hanamaki, Iwaizumi lasts only about 20 seconds before he bursts.
“Okay, what’s going on with you and the Kuroo guy?”
“Nothing!” Tooru says, hands up defensively. “We’ve never even talked, we just follow each other on Twitter.”
“Liar.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Idiot, I saw the DM notification.”
“That was the first one!” Tooru squeaks. “We’ve really never spoken before, this DM is the first one.”
Iwaizumi is quiet for a moment. “Is it really?”
Tooru raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, why?”
“I guess I’m just surprised you haven’t opened it yet. I would’ve thought you’d be desperate to see what it says.”
“I don’t like your use of the word desperate.”
“Oh, just open it, dumbass.”
Tooru doesn’t need to be told again. Truthfully, his phone has been burning a hole in his pocket, and he fishes it out now with a terrifying buzz of excitement that he tries and fails to shake off. It’s just one DM, for God’s sake.
From his internet crush, who lives within a semi-reasonable distance by train.
He opens Twitter and navigates directly to his messages. He has a few unread ones, including one from Iwaizumi, but Tooru skips over them and opens the one at the top.
ktphosphate: hey man, you play hs volleyball too?
Well. It’s not exactly the romantic one-liner of Tooru’s dreams, but it’s an opening, and he’ll take it.
Iwaizumi, reading over Tooru’s shoulder, snorts. “What a prince.”
“Shut up, Iwa,” Tooru says, punctuating it with an elbow to Iwaizumi’s ribs. “I’m not interested.”
A lie. They both know it, but they both ignore it.
“What are you gonna say back?”
Tooru ponders this for a half-second. “The truth? So, yes?”
He types a message into his phone and turns it over for Iwaizumi to read. The other boy ponders it for a moment, then nods his approval. “Good. Not too strong, but leaves him an opening.”
“Thank you,” Tooru says primly, and hits send.
kingtooru: hey! yeah, I play in miyagi.
Tooru releases a tense breath and pockets his phone again. He glances at Iwaizumi. “Do I have permission to text you when he responds?”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
Tooru smiles and is about to change the subject (only laterally, to ask about the hitting drills they did earlier) when his phone vibrates in his pocket.
Iwaizumi’s eyebrows skyrocket. “That was fast.”
“It’s probably not even him,” Tooru says, but pulls out his phone anyway. It is him.
They stop walking again so they can read the messages together.
ktphosphate: nice, I’m in Tokyo.
ktphosphate: I noticed you always liking my tweets and had to dig a little deeper, lol
Iwaizumi laughs out loud. “See? Mattsun and Maki and I aren’t the only ones who noticed.”
Tooru’s face has drained of blood. “I’m gonna walk into traffic,” he mutters, and takes a step forward.
He wouldn’t actually, and the road they’re on hasn’t had a car come by in several minutes, but Iwaizumi grabs him by the collar anyway. “Oh, no you don’t. Look, he’s typing.”
Tooru shields the phone from Iwaizumi, who grabs at his wrist.
“Lemme see, asshole!”
“No! What if he says something embarrassing again?”
Iwaizumi looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Then I definitely want to see.”
The phone vibrates, and Tooru can’t fight off Iwaizumi and read at the same time, so he abandons the fight.
ktphosphate: is that weird? Sorry if that’s weird. I swear I’m not a stalker.
Tooru’s heart soars. “ He’s embarrassed? He must not think I’m that weird, then.”
“Is he stupid?”
“Iwa!” Tooru snatches the phone out of Iwaizumi’s view again. “If you’re gonna be mean, you don’t get to be included.”
Iwaizumi visibly swallows his next insult and nods. “Fine.”
kingtooru: lol, not any weirder than me finding you after watching a match
Iwaizumi frowns. “Are you sure you wanna out yourself like that?”
“It makes me seem open. I won’t be this honest all the time, but it’s good to sprinkle it in every now and again.” Tooru thinks for a moment. “Besides, if I don’t tell him, and it comes up way later, he’d think it was weird I didn’t say anything.”
“If you think so,” Iwaizumi says. It’s enough for Tooru, and he hits send. The pair sets off again, turning the corner into their neighborhood.
“What’s your goal with this guy?”
“Hm?” Tooru glances at Iwaizumi. “My goal?”
Iwaizumi is wearing his characteristic thinking-frown, the slightly angry look he adopts when he’s using his brain more than usual. In fairness, Iwaizumi almost always looks angry, but his thinking-frown is especially unflattering.
“Like, are you trying to date him?”
“Oh my God, Iwa,” Tooru rolls his eyes dramatically. “I don’t have a goal. We’re just talking. I guess my goal at this point is just to come off as normal.”
Iwaizumi stares at him. “You’re doomed, then.”
After the brief wrestling match that last comment provokes, the two head their separate ways, Tooru promising to provide a full update on the texting when they see each other tomorrow.
ktphosphate: I don’t know if I should be flattered or scared
kingtooru: definitely flattered
kingtooru: i am a delightful person, not scary at all uwu
ktphosphate: Yeah, that’s convincing
They talk off and on for the rest of the night. Once they actually make it to volleyball, the chat goes rather smoothly, as they find they can expand on any minute detail for minutes.
kingtooru: what balls do u prefer?
ktphosphate: Please, Oikawa, we’ve only know each other a short time
kingtooru: foul
kingtooru: i meant volleyballs
kingtooru: u ingrate
ktphosphate: I don’t think that word means what you think it means
kingtooru: whtevr
kingtooru: do u like the blue n yellow ones or the red green white ones
ktphosphate: Oh
ktphosphate: I don’t think I really have a preference
ktphosphate: And what’s wrong with the all white ones? Who decided those weren’t good enough?
kingtooru: the white ones r 2 hard
kingtooru: and the blue ones r 2 soft
kingtooru: i like the red n green ones, they bounce the best
ktphosphate: Ok, goldilocks
It’s a struggle to pull himself away from his phone at dinner, and after dinner when he’s supposed to be doing homework, and when he finally has to go to bed. He finally says goodnight, and when Kuroo says it back, it’s with a little kissy-face emoji that sends Tooru’s heart into overdrive.
Part of him hopes he hasn’t just started something serious. Another part, of course, hopes desperately that he has.
~~~
Iwaizumi Hajime has always been Tooru’s best friend, and nothing is likely to ever change that. However, in the course of his third year, Tooru finds a new kind of friendship. It slips in and out of being something more in his head, each day swiveling from “casual friends, connected by a similar interest in volleyball” to “star-crossed lovers, separated by distance.”
And all of it, every development, large and small, happens through Tooru’s cellphone.
They stick to Twitter DMs for several weeks after the first night, until one night during March break, supported by obnoxious encouragement from his friends and the dizzying scent of rain-washed grass that always makes Tooru feel like magic was in the air, he asks for Kuroo’s phone number.
He builds it up for ages. He gets edits on the message from each of his friends, trying to strike the balance between casual and interested without also sounding too forced. In the end, Kuroo replies after two minutes, saying, “Sure,” and attaching his phone number.
Tooru finds that to be one of the most repeated patterns in his communications with Kuroo – the nerves he lets wrap around himself, only to always be met with Kuroo’s nonchalance. Tooru’s beginning to wonder if there was anything he could do to ruffle Kuroo’s feathers if he tried.
He does try.
Tooru: huge news
Kuroo: ???
Tooru: there’s a new type of hair gel that’s supposed to be really strong
Tooru: strong enough
Tooru: that it might even be able to cure u
Kuroo: I’m not looking to be cured, thanks so much though!
Tooru: …u sure?
Kuroo: When did you start being so mean?
Tooru: i’ve always been this way, boo. just eased u into it so u wldn’t hate me from the start
Kuroo: I see
Kuroo: So you wanted me to learn to hate you over time?
Tooru: yes precisely
Tooru: did it work
Kuroo: Nope!
Kuroo: I’m more stubborn than that :*
Kuroo: And also way too smart to be fooled by your blatant lies.
Kuroo: Because I know you don’t actually hate my hair.
He’s right. Tooru wishes he hated Kuroo’s hair, because it is tremendously stupid looking, but in truth, he loves it. Tooru credits that to the snapchat streak they have, now nearing 50 days, which they use solely to send silly selfies back and forth each day. Every day, he’s guaranteed one selfie of Kuroo, and since they usually send them right when they wake up in the morning, Kuroo’s bedhead is almost always at full power.
Tooru won’t admit this out loud, but it’s very cute.
They talk about volleyball often, though not always. It’s not the only thing they have in common, so while it is the biggest thing they share, they find plenty else to talk about.
Kuroo: Did you know that a wombat’s poop is cube-shaped?
Tooru: it is not
Kuroo: It is.
Kuroo: [image attached]
Tooru: EW
Tooru: WHY WLD U SEND ME THT???
Kuroo: You didn’t believe me, I thought you wanted proof :)
Tooru: i did not
Tooru: im gonna tell u i got you a gift and then ship u wombat poo in the mail
Kuroo: Ok 1. Not the same thing
Kuroo: and 2. That HAS to be illegal
Tooru: i’ll risk jail for this
Kuroo: Wow
Kuroo: Can I visit you in jail?
Tooru: ofc
Tooru: we can have a conjugal visit or whatever
Kuroo: ???
Kuroo: Do you know what a conjugal visit is?
Tooru: lol no hold on
Tooru: oh my god
Tooru: please forget I said that
Kuroo is phenomenally smart. Tooru wasn’t exactly surprised when he found this out, though Kuroo’s propensity for working out and tweeting stupid things did make him seem like a meathead. He gets in the habit of sending Kuroo pictures of his math homework, begging for answers, which Kuroo gives him about half the time.
Kuroo: Wouldn’t you feel better if you got this on your own?
Tooru: lol no
Tooru: i’d feel better if i got it right („ᵕᴗᵕ„)
Kuroo: I see
Kuroo: Sucks to be you, then.
Tooru: (ㅠ﹏ㅠ)
Kuroo: :*
Volleyball does come up often, though, and does so more and more as they near their first major tournament of their third year, but it’s casual. They keep it mostly to strategy and what they do when a particular muscle is sore or they feel like they need to warm up more.
They don’t talk about their potential. They don’t mention that if they both win, they could face each other. They don’t talk at all about the games before or after they happen – not until Seijoh beats Karasuno.
Kuroo: Hey
Kuroo: Saw you guys beat Karasuno
Kuroo: I’m really trying to play them at Nationals, so could you stop doing that? Thanks :)
Tooru: RUDE
Tooru: no congratulations? no ‘you must b proud, oikawa, for doing so well in ur first tourney as captain’
Kuroo: Sorry
Kuroo: Congratulations
Kuroo: You must be proud, Oikawa, for doing so well in your first tournament as captain
Tooru: thank u! And i am :)
Tooru: next time cld do with an exclamation point or four tho
Kuroo: Noted.
Seijoh wins, and they keep winning, until it’s just them and Shiratorizawa. Tooru knows that Kageyama likes to think that they’re rivals, especially after their little spat in middle school, but he’s wrong. Tooru’s real rival is that stupid, buttheaded giant, Ushiwaka. And now, Tooru finally has the chance to beat him for all the marbles and finally put it to bed.
Only, they lose.
Tooru doesn’t want to speak or be spoken to after that. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him, knowing that every time they look at him, they might be replaying all his mistakes and weighing his contribution to their loss. He certainly is. If that set had been higher, if he’d done a dump one point later, if he’d set to Maki instead of Iwa…
His brain is littered with maybes and could’ve-beens as he stares out the window on the bus ride back to school. They didn’t get to shower at the gymnasium, and the bus reeks of sweat and disappointment.
It’s silent. A few people sleep, but most, like Tooru, are focused inward. Iwaizumi sits next to him, like he does on every bus trip, but they can’t even look at each other.
There’s a soft buzz from his duffel bag at his feet, and almost telepathically, he knows what it’ll say. It’ll be from Kuroo, and it’ll say Hey, because every time Kuroo starts a conversation, he starts it with Hey, and he always follows proper punctuation and grammar.
He doesn’t know what he’ll say after the Hey, and he doesn’t want to guess for fear it’ll be worse than he imagines. It’ll probably be some rendition of I’m so sorry, which Tooru already knows won’t make him feel better. He hopes Kuroo doesn’t ask about the game. He hopes that he looked up the score on his own.
The soft buzz is followed by a second, and then a quick third. Iwaizumi nudges the bag with his foot.
“You gonna get that?” Iwaizumi’s voice is quiet and croaky, a tournament’s worth of yelling finally caught up with him.
Tooru shrugs and turns back to the window.
He thinks Iwaizumi is going to let him get away with it until he feels a gentle elbow hit his. “What if it’s Kuroo?”
“I know it is,” Tooru says. “I just don’t wanna know what he’s saying.”
Iwaizumi says nothing, but Tooru can feel his eyes boring into the back of his head. He’s waiting for Tooru to say more, but Tooru’s feeling stubborn. If Iwaizumi wants answers, he’ll have to ask the questions.
“I don’t want him to pity me,” Tooru says, and bites the inside of his cheek. He didn’t mean to buckle so fast. Damn Iwaizumi and his powers of manipulation.
“So tell him that, dumbass.”
Tooru wants to say it’s not that simple, but he knows it probably is. Kuroo is smart and attentive – if Tooru said he didn’t want pity, Kuroo would respect it. But it’s more than that.
“I don’t want him to think I’m…”
“...lesser?” Iwaizumi fills in, both their voices low.
Tooru glares at him, but nods.
Iwaizumi considers this for a moment. “You really like this guy.”
It’s not a question, but Tooru nods anyway. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Well, then,” Iwaizumi says, and Tooru can tell from the tone that he’s not going to like whatever comes out of his friend’s mouth, “then you should trust that whatever he just texted you isn’t gonna be that bad. You like him for a reason. He must not be too big an idiot.”
Tooru laughs for the first time all day. “He’s smarter than you.”
“Definitely smart enough to not offend you by accident then.”
“You offend me all the time.”
“That’s on purpose, though.”
Tooru slugs him on the only place he can reach, the top of the thigh, and then goes for his phone before Iwaizumi can return fire.
Kuroo: Hey
Kuroo: I watched the livestream.
Kuroo: You were phenomenal.
Tooru squeezes the sides of his phone. There’s a pinched, angry feeling behind his eyes, and he refuses to start crying on the bus.
Iwaizumi gets his chance to punch Tooru back, but it’s light and friendly. “See?”
Tooru nods. “Yeah.”
He sends a smiley face, just to let Kuroo know he’s seen his messages and isn’t ignoring them. Then he shuts his phone off and leans back against the bus seat, shutting his eyes, and ignoring the one tear that slips down his cheek.
~~~
The summer months seem to pass by incredibly fast and dreadfully slow at the same time. For one awful period, Kuroo sends his snap-streak selfies in the middle of the day, always accompanied by someone from Karasuno, just to drive Tooru nuts.
It works.
After a few days of this and opening one featuring Karasuno’s tall blonde blocker, Tooru’s had enough. He replies with a straight face and a middle finger with the caption, show this to tobio.
Kuroo sends a chat within minutes.
Kuroo: Absolutely not.
Kuroo: I don’t know him very well and I feel like he’ll either kill me or cry.
Kuroo: And if he cries, then Daichi will kill me instead.
Tooru: omfg i don’t think tobio is capable of crying
Tooru: wld love to see it tho
Kuroo: Evil
Another time, Kuroo texts him a picture of a magazine that Tooru is by now all too familiar with.
Kuroo: [image attached]
Kuroo: Please tell me this is artistic license from the journalist
Kuroo: Please tell me you didn’t actually say “If you’re gonna hit it, then hit it til it breaks”
Tooru: no comment („ᵕᴗᵕ„)
Kuroo: You might actually be an insane person
Tooru: oi, watch it
Tooru: or i’ll hit u til u break
Most of their conversations go like this – teasing and lighthearted, dancing around each other like old friends. Tooru spends much of the summer thinking about either volleyball or Kuroo, and though he refuses to admit it to anyone else, there is a kernel of something beginning to take shape in his chest; something more than attraction to a picture on a screen. Something more real, more tangible.
The fall tournament approaches quickly, bringing with it an immense amount of pressure and a voice in the back of Tooru’s head reminding him constantly that this is his absolute last chance. Our last chance , he thinks, glancing at Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa as they enter Sendai city gymnasium for the first day of games.
Kuroo’s too , the voice reminds him, and he swats it away. He doesn’t have time right now to think about anything other than volleyball, and Kuroo is about the biggest distraction there is to him these days.
As if Kuroo or fate or something else could tell Tooru was trying not to think about him, Tooru’s phone vibrates against his palm. He glances down, and can just see the beginning of a message.
From Kuroo ᓚᘏᗢ:
Hey – hope this isn’t bad timing or weird or anything…
The preview cuts off there, and a shiver runs through Tooru’s whole body. He immediately goes to open the message, but as he types in his passcode, a tremor through his hand sends his phone clattering onto the tiled floor, where it skids into the path of a pack of spectators.
One of them unwittingly kicks it as she walks, and it skids another 10 feet before it thunks against the cinderblock wall and stops. Tooru elbows past them, vaguely aware of Iwaizumi at his heels.
“Oh my God, I am SO sorry!” the girl who kicked it says as he pushes through her friends.
“S’fine,” Tooru mumbles, waving her away. She says something else, but he’s not listening, desperately inspecting his phone for damage.
The screen is shattered. Iwaizumi gives a low whistle as Tooru jams his thumb into the power button. The screen flickers on, distorted with vertical and horizontal lines of pink and cyan criss-crossing over the largest cracks. He tries to swipe on Kuroo’s message, still visible on what’s left of the screen, but the display shudders and warps. He swipes over it again and again, until Iwaizumi rips the phone from his hands.
“You’re gonna cut yourself, idiot.” He gives it a lookover of his own, his thinking-frown once again prominent on his face.
“Prognosis?” Tooru asks, cringing at the sad whine of desperation in his own voice.
Iwaizumi just shakes his head. “Goner.”
Tooru throws his head back. Of all the moments, of all the messages to not get to see, he cannot imagine a worse time to destroy his own phone.
“What’s the big deal? You can live without your phone for a few days, can’t you? Or will your Instagram followers start to worry if you don't post every two hours?”
Tooru levels Iwaizumi with what he hopes is his most withering glare. “It’s not about Instagram.”
Iwaizumi raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “What, then?”
He doesn’t know if Iwaizumi is messing with him or genuinely asking. It’s hard like that with Iwaizumi – he has a very short range of facial expressions and only one speaking tone, so it’s impossible to know when he’s joking.
“Look at the message I just got,” Tooru says, gesturing to his phone, still in Iwaizumi’s hands.
Iwaizumi’s frown pulls deeper as he tries to decipher what it says through the damage. “‘Hey, hope this’ – uh, I can’t see what it says.”
“‘Hey, hope this isn’t bad timing or weird’,” Tooru recites in a deep voice that he for some reason imagines is what Kuroo’s must sound like. The short amount of time he had with the message preview was plenty of time to memorize it.
“Ah,” is all Iwaizumi says, shutting the phone off again. “So you’d pretty much do anything to see the second half of that text, right?”
Tooru nods, hoping for a moment that Iwaizumi might have a solution after all.
Instead, he claps Tooru on the shoulder with one hand and slaps his phone into his waiting palms with the other. “In that case, win fast so you can go get it fixed.”
Irritation bubbles and foams inside him for a moment, but it recedes as quickly as it appeared as Tooru realizes that Iwaizumi is right. He can’t lose sight of why he’s here, not now.
“Right,” Tooru says, shaking his head as if to physically clear the thought of Kuroo from his mind. “Let’s go kick some Niiyama ass.”
When he gets home that night, sweaty and victorious, the first thing he does is race to his bedroom to turn on his computer. He’s the first one home, so there’s no one to distract or stall him, and as much as he loves his family, he’s thrilled. He paces the room as he waits for it to come alive, running his fingers through his sweaty, sticky hari and flipping his destroyed phone over and over in his hand. He thinks he should shower, and takes a step towards the door before wheeling around again.
No time for a shower. He has to try and talk to Kuroo. Even if he doesn’t respond immediately, Tooru wants to put the message out there so that Kuroo at the very least knows he hasn’t been ignored all day.
God, maybe he is addicted to his phone.
After what feels like a lifetime of pacing and pulling at his hair and turning his phone over, the computer makes the familiar chiming sound as the sign in prompt appears. Tooru drops into his seat and his fingers fly across the keyboard as he logs in, opens a browser, and goes straight to Twitter.
They haven’t relied on Twitter DMs for communication for months – not since they exchanged phone numbers. They occasionally send each other tweets they find funny, but that’s all.
Now, though, it’s a lifesaver.
kingtooru: hey omg
kingtooru: u will not believe this but
kingtooru: as soon as i got that txt frm u i dropped my phone and some girl kicked it like 50 ft down a hallway and it got completely obliterated
kingtooru: i nvr saw the full msg but it lookd imprtnt nd i ddnt wnt u thinkng ii was ignorng u all day
kingtooru: bc i wasnt
kingtooru: i jst destroyed my phone beynd recgntion nd then hd 2 play vball
kingtooru: ok god sry for blowing up ur dms
Autocorrect can’t keep up with the amount of letters he drops as he races to explain, and when he looks back at the barrage of messages he’s sent, he suddenly wonders if he should have maybe tried to play it cool.
Too late now. He watches the screen for another moment, willing the ktphosphate is typing… message to appear at the bottom, until the bright white background begins to sear his retinas and he has to look away.
He’ll shower now, he supposes. He changed right after the game, but even the t-shirt he’s wearing now is sweaty and sticking to his skin, and he knows that if he doesn’t deal with the situation soon, he’s risking a full-blown bacne breakout.
Kuroo still hasn’t seen the DMs, so Tooru finally pushes himself away from the computer and heads for his bathroom.
The water is as hot as the shower will get, and while he acknowledges that this probably isn’t good for his, like, lymphatic system or something, it feels amazing. It wasn’t a particularly long or difficult day of volleyball – especially not when considering that they have to play Date Tech first thing tomorrow, followed, potentially, by Karasuno – but his muscles are just tired enough that the scalding water feels like the best thing in the world.
He does a shortened version of his typically complicated routine in recognition of both the fact that he’s going to get disgusting again in fewer than 24 hours and the knowledge that Kuroo may have responded.
He doesn’t bother doing anything more than toweling off before going back to his computer. Water drips out of his hair onto the floor with a soft pat, pat, as he shakes the mouse.
ktphosphate: No, I believe it.
ktphosphate: Good to know you weren’t blowing me off, I guess, but I’m sorry about your phone.
ktphosphate: How was the vball?
Tooru can’t help the grin that cracks his face in two. It’s mostly from the positive response, but there’s also something purely delightful about seeing Kuroo use texting slang, even if it’s just ‘vball’.
kingtooru: oh dont pretend u didnt watch ;)
kingtooru: i kno u at least looked up the scores so u wld kno how nice u had to be to me
ktphosphate: ….
ktphosphate: Yeah, you caught me
ktphosphate: Congrats on the win :)
kingtooru: thank youuu ( ˘ ³˘)
kingtooru: so r u gna tell me what ur message said or am i gna have to beat it out of u? i probs wont get my phone back for a couple days
ktphosphate: Kinky
ktphosphate: Are you sure you wanna know?
ktphosphate: Don’t you wanna keep some ~mystery~ in your life?
kingtooru: don’t be a tease, kuroo
kingtooru: out with it
ktphosphate: Ok, I’m just gonna copy and paste it
ktphosphate: Hey – hope this isn’t bad timing or weird or anything, but I’d really like to meet you in person. Assuming that’s something you want as well, it’d be cool if you came to Nationals. So if for nothing else, kick some ass for me this weekend, yeah?
kingtooru: oh
kingtooru: well i was already planning on kicking ass and going to nationals anyway, but since u asked so nicely, i guess i cld do it for u too
ktphosphate: :)
kingtooru: :)
Tooru keeps his promise the next morning. Date Tech might talk a big game with all their Iron Wall hullabaloo, but Tooru is serving to one of the best spikers in the prefecture in Iwaizumi Hajime, and he’s a pretty damn good setter in his own right. Date Tech doesn’t even take a set from them, and Tooru heads into the afternoon match feeling like playing in Tokyo might be a real possibility, like he can actually almost touch it, like it might really be more than a dream.
But of course, it isn’t, as Karasuno and Kageyama Tobio and their stupid little middle blocker seem eager to prove. It’s nothing more than a dream, and Tooru Oikawa has just woken up to a blaring alarm.
Team meeting seems to go on for ages that night. He can’t bear looking around the gym, knowing it’s over. He’ll play again, of course – he’s going pro if it kills him – but he will never again play with this group of people. He will never again play with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. He will never again play with Iwaizumi Hajime.
He’s completely sapped of energy by the time he makes it home. His mother hugs him and tells him to shower; tells him she’s already made an appointment to get his phone fixed for the next morning.
After his shower, he dresses in his softest sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt – his comfort clothes, if such a thing exists. It’s only by chance that out of the corner of his eye, he sees a little red notification at the edge of his Twitter homepage.
He knows it must be Kuroo, but he can’t stand the idea of yet another person being disappointed in him. He weighs his options, and decides after almost a full minute of standing still in the middle of his room that knowing is better than wondering, and so plunks himself once again in front of his computer and opens his Twitter DMs.
ktphosphate: Hey
ktphosphate: I’m really sorry about today.
ktphosphate: I know how badly you wanted to win.
Out loud, in his room, Tooru scoffs. He’s been on edge for a few hours now, and his fingers are moving across the keys almost faster than he can think of the words. He hopes Kuroo can hear the acidic tone he feels as he writes.
kingtooru: yeah right
kingtooru: i thought you wanted them to win
kingtooru: trashcan showdown or whatever, right?
It doesn’t matter that just yesterday, Kuroo told him that he wanted Seijoh to win so they could meet in Tokyo. It doesn’t matter that Kuroo probably feels every ounce of Tooru’s pain right now. All that matters is that sometime, however many weeks ago, Kuroo told him about how badly he wanted to play Karasuno. Now, angry and exhausted and devastated, Tooru wants to pick a fight; start a fire. And Kuroo is the closest, driest kindling.
ktphosphate: Don’t say that.
ktphosphate: I mean obviously yes, I want to play Karasuno. I’m not gonna deny that now.
ktphosphate: But that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.
ktphosphate: I know how badly you wanted this, Tooru. And I want you to know that I wanted it too.
It’s the first time either has used the other’s given name, and Tooru can’t decide if the bubbling in his chest is elation at the intimacy or rage that of all times to be intimate, Kuroo would choose now, when Tooru is trying so damn hard to be angry with him.
In the time he spends wrestling with this, Kuroo sends another message.
ktphosphate: Don’t push me away because you’re mad right now. Or do, I guess, but know that I’m not going anywhere. You won’t be rid of me that easily.
ktphosphate: If you could, Kenma would’ve done it ages ago.
ktphosphate: And as much as you like to think you’re the most stubborn person in the world, I promise Kenma has you beat.
ktphosphate: Wow, now who’s rambling?
ktphosphate: Fine, I’ll leave you alone for now. But I mean it – I’m not going to let you knock me away, ok?
Tooru doesn’t answer. He simply doesn’t have the energy.
The next day, after getting his phone repaired, he tells his mom he’s going to Hanamaki’s house. As soon as he’s out of her sight, though, he heads towards Sendai City Gymnasium, because if there is one thing Oikawa Tooru is exceptionally good at, it’s making himself feel worse when he already feels like shit.
He gets there just as they begin all the pomp and circumstance, and he promptly distracts himself with his phone so he doesn’t have to listen as all of his worst enemies have their names read out over the speaker.
He opens his text messages to clear the notifications he’s missed in the last two days, and out of habit, taps open the conversation with Kuroo.
Kuroo: Hey – hope this isn’t bad timing or weird or anything, but I’d really like to meet you in person. Assuming that’s something you want as well, it’d be cool if you came to Nationals. So if for nothing else, kick some ass for me this weekend, yeah?
Tooru clenches his jaw. He refuses to cry here today, especially not over this message, which only 48 hours ago made him feel on top of the world. He refuses to cry over Kuroo who is good and kind and funny and who makes Tooru feel like an idiot regularly – not because he’s mean, but because he’s so damn smart that he just can’t help it. Kuroo, who yesterday watched a match between the only two teams in Miyagi he had any personal connection with, knowing that one of them would win and in doing so crush the hopes of the other. Kuroo, who despite all that, was still the same good, kind, funny person he has been all this time because it’s not an act or a persona, it’s the core of him.
Tooru refuses to cry over Kuroo, who has been nothing but nice to him, because he realizes in this moment that he is fully and entirely head over heels for him.
He knew he liked him. He knew from the night he watched Nekoma’s match with Fukurodani and couldn’t keep his eyes off the tall middle blocker with stupid hair and insane talent that he was attracted to Kuroo. But it’s not until just now, buffeted by cheers from spectators as his two most hated rivals take the court against each other and he is somehow able to tune them out entirely that Tooru understands the depth of his affection.
He refuses to cry. Instead, he smiles, his first all day, and begins to type.
Tooru: Hi
Tooru: sorry about last night
Tooru: you were right, I was in a foul mood
Kuroo: I see you got your phone fixed
Tooru: Yeah, I had some free time today :p
Kuroo: Shit
Kuroo: Sorry
Tooru: don’t be
Tooru: i’m sorry for being a jerk to u for no reason
Kuroo: I forgive you
Kuroo: Well, I kinda feel like there’s nothing to forgive. I know you weren’t really mad at me.
Tooru: so u just know everything now, huh?
Kuroo: Pretty much, yeah.
By the time Iwaizumi joins him some time later, Tooru is feeling immensely better. His mood sours every time one of the players on the court below makes a good play, but texting Kuroo throughout the entire affair makes it much better. He can feel Iwaizumi looking at him every time he pulls out his phone, but he ignores it.
He sucks in a breath when Karasuno's 11 blocks an Ushijima spike – something he’s never seen anyone do before, not even his own teammates.
The text from Kuroo comes in immediately.
Kuroo: DID U SEE THT???
Kuroo: TSUKKI BLOCKED USHIWAKA
Tooru: Yes, I am literally in the building?
Tooru: u call him tsukki???
Kuroo: Yes :’)
Kuroo: I taught him everything he knows
Kuroo: I feel liek a proud father right now holy shit
Tooru: Well he’s a real pain in the ass to play against, so good job
Tooru: u know ur gonna have to play him at nationals?
Tooru: like frankenstein killing his own monster
Kuroo: It’s fine, I’m still better than him
Kuroo: Is that really how Frankenstein ends?
Tooru: idk i’ve nevr read it
Tooru: u jst seem like a Frankenstein type
Kuroo: Mad scientist? I’ll take it
Finally, the match ends, and though Tooru knows Kuroo must be thrilled that Karasuno is headed to Nationals, Kuroo doesn’t let on to it much in their texts. Tooru doesn’t mention it either – as happy as he is for Kuroo, his own feelings are still pretty raw.
He and Iwaizumi don’t bother staying for the awards. The halls are nearly empty as they head towards the exit, most of the crowd staying behind to see the trophies presented.
“Seeing Ushiwaka lose doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would,” Tooru says, his voice bouncing off the tiled floor.
Iwaizumi says nothing for a moment, and Tooru wonders if he heard. He’s about to repeat himself when Iwaizumi says, “I kind of feel like an asshole for wanting it to begin with.”
Tooru heaves a long sigh through his nose. “It’s like, knowing how he must feel right now…”
“Has to be a hundred times worse than it was for us,” Iwaizumi finishes.
They glance at each other as they push through the gymnasium doors, a flicker of understanding passing between them as it always does.
~~~
After the minor communication breakdown following Seijoh’s loss, Tooru and Kuroo don’t experience a single other misunderstanding.
That is, until one night near the end of December, when Kuroo’s been so preoccupied with morning practice, school, and an evening practice game that he doesn’t send his usual streak-saving Snapchat selfie until almost 9 pm.
It’s of Kuroo, obviously, from an unflattering angle as he walks home alone in the dark. He has a scarf wrapped up around his ears and is scowling uncharacteristically at the camera. Tooru stares at it for an embarrassing amount of time before swiping over to send a chat.
Tooru: wooooooooow he’s a night owl omg
Kuroo: I think I’m dying
Kuroo: Surely there is no reason to be working as hard as I’m working right now
Tooru: ur fault for trying to go to nationals and do well enough in school to go to university
Tooru: shoulda lost + decided to skip uni like me *u*
Kuroo: You’re awful
Tooru: and yet u love me ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
Kuroo: True.
This sends Tooru into a spiral. His immediate instinct is to send a screenshot to Iwaizumi for analysis, but remembers just in time that Snapchat tattles on screenshotters.
He texts him instead, typing more frantically than perhaps he ever has.
Tooru: iwa
Tooru: iwa pls answer its an emergency
Iwaizumi: real emergeencu or oilawa emreency
Tooru: i dont like the insinuation that all my emergencies arent real emergencies
Iwaizumi: they arnt
For all that he excels at, Iwaizumi is a terrible texter – worse even than Tooru, who could at least justify it because of the aesthetics. Iwaizumi, by comparison, was simply bad at hitting the right keys and worse at proofreading.
Iwaizumi: so whts happninf
Tooru: Kuroo told me he loves me (´⊙ω⊙`)
Iwaizumi: did eh actuallt
Tooru: YES
Tooru: ok no
Tooru: he said ‘ur awful’ and i said ‘but u love me’ and he said ‘tru’
Tooru: so
Iwaizumi: oh hsit
Tooru: ya
Tooru: anyway wht do i say????
Iwaizumi: love u too?
Tooru: ur joking
Iwaizumi: dumpass wht makes you thinsk i actually have any idea wht you shld say
Iwaizumi: *dumbass
Tooru: the one time you ever correct yourself and its for an insult, love tht for me
Iwaizumi: wht do u want from me
Iwaizumi: i have a chem exam tmrw i need to stdy
Tooru: ur useless
Iwaizumi: die mad
Tooru closes his text app and goes back to Snapchat, where Kuroo has sent more messages in the time it took for Tooru to have his crisis.
Kuroo: Do I need to say no homo?
Kuroo: It would be a lie anyway, I am homo.
Kuroo: There’s no way in all the months of nonsense we’ve texted about, ‘love’ is what finally scared you off.
Tooru: omfg no u didn’t scare me off
Tooru: iwa was bein a lil bitch abt his chem exam so i had to deal w him
The lie comes perhaps too easily to Tooru, who has absolutely zero qualms about throwing Iwaizumi under the bus, especially when he was being such a dick about helping him. He picks at his nails and stares at his phone, chiding his quickstart heart for its embarrassing acceleration when Kuroo starts typing again.
Kuroo: Oh yeah?
Kuroo: Well maybe love is too strong a word for now anyway.
Kuroo: We’ve never even met in real life
Tooru’s heart stumbles and sputters, but he picks up his phone and types out a reply, hoping his desperation doesn’t come across through the screen.
Tooru: and wht wld the right word be then?
Kuroo: How’s ‘like’?
Fuck. ‘Like’ is harder to interpret than ‘love’; leaves even more room for interpretation and more space along the friends-to-lovers spectrum.
Tooru takes a deep breath and thinks. There are a few ways to respond: he could simply agree with Kuroo, which is safe, but boring, and won’t advance them at all or get more information. Or, he could do what Oikawa Tooru does extremely well, and take a risk.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he mutters to himself.
Tooru: hmmmm
Tooru: do u mean like, or like like? ¬‿¬
Kuroo: What do you want me to mean?
Tooru: asked u first
They’re dancing around each other, and if this was happening to anyone else, Tooru would say it obviously meant like like because if it was just like, Kuroo would have no reason to be cautious about it.
As it is, he has to get up from his bed and pace around his room to burn off the nervousness that’s sparking through him. In the entire time they’ve been talking, Kuroo has never seemed to have a confidence issue. Tooru’s always seen them as very similar in that regard: completely sure of themselves. He’s just always assumed that for Kuroo it went all the way through him, whereas Tooru’s assuredness never seemed to quite reach bone-deep.
Maybe he’d misjudged.
From across the room, he hears the ping of a new message, and pounces on his bed to read it.
Kuroo: Well, since you’re a few hundred kilometers away and can’t hit me for saying it, I might as well be honest.
Kuroo: Like like.
Kuroo: Now you.
Tooru nearly vibrates off the bed. He closes Snapchat and opens his texts with Kuroo.
Tooru: moving the convo here so it doesn’t disappear
Tooru: bc same
Tooru: like like
Kuroo: Oh
Kuroo: Cool
Tooru: yeah
Tooru: wait say it back
Kuroo: I said it first!
Tooru: ya but you said it on snap and that goes away
Tooru: so u shld also say it here :)
Tooru: please
Kuroo: This is probably the only time I’m likely to get a please from you and it seems silly to waste it, so fine.
Kuroo: I like you, and when I say ‘like,’ I mean ‘like-like’
Kuroo: Are you happy now?
Tooru: extremely
Tooru: so wht now?
Kuroo: I don’t know.
Kuroo: I didn’t think I’d get this far.
Tooru: literally lmao
Kuroo: Literally?
Tooru: yep
Tooru: it just rolled under my bed
Tooru: not joking tho the idea that you wouldntve thought you’d get this far astounds me
Tooru: like u cannot b serious
Kuroo: Nice use of wouldn’t’ve
Kuroo: And I’m absolutely serious
Kuroo: Why would I not be serious?
Tooru: kuroo bb you handsome genius idiot
Tooru: I watched a stream of one of ur matches and then found and followed u on twitter
Tooru: actually i was gna follow u on insta but u were private and i didn’t wanna seem like a stalker
Tooru: even tho that’s exactly what i was lmfao
Tooru: like hello my only motivation for any of that was that i thought u were hot
Tooru: kuroo?
Kuroo: Sorry, you called me hot and I had to reboot my whole system
Tooru: dkfaiufqhodx WHAT
Kuroo: i just rly did not expect that i’m sorry i need a moment
Tooru: take all the time u need ig???
Kuroo: Ok, I’m normal again
Kuroo: You’re hot too, btw
Tooru: oh well thank you
Kuroo: I’ll do better than that eventually I’m just really going through something over here
Tooru: if i’d known calling u hot wld get such a reaction i wldve done it months ago
Kuroo: If I’d known it would’ve made you call me hot I would’ve told you I liked you months ago
Kuroo: Oh yeah, we were talking about how we like each other
Tooru: what abt it
Kuroo: Well, like
Kuroo: Where do we go from here
Tooru: what do u mean?
Kuroo: Ok I might sound insane for this but be nice
Kuroo: Remember that you think I’m hot
Kuroo: But is there any reason I can’t start thinking of you as my boyfriend?
This time, Tooru actually does fall off his bed, with an embarrassingly loud thunk that has his mother calling down the hall to ask if he’s alright.
He yells back that he’s fine, but doesn’t get up off the floor. He rereads the text about 12 times before he’s convinced that he isn’t misreading it; that it really does say what he thinks it says.
Tooru: well we havent gone on a date or ya kno, met irl
Tooru: but those are the only reasons i cn think of
Kuroo: I can’t tell if you're being sarcastic
Kuroo: Do you actually think those are good reasons to not?
Kuroo: Because that’s fine if so!
Tooru: part of me says yes those reasons are good enough
Tooru: but also
Tooru: I kinda don’t give a fuck?
Kuroo: Say more.
Tooru: lol u sound like my lit teacher
Tooru: I guess like, ya those are good enough reasons to not label it, but also, we literally just confessed and we’re still in school and we live kinda far away, so going on a date, let alone multiple, seems like it’ll be difficult and take a long time and since we already know we like each other and we’ve been talking for like 9 months, why not just say fuck it and say yeah, we’re boyfriends now?
Tooru: idk if that makes sense
Kuroo: It makes sense.
Kuroo: Can I call you?
Tooru: Yeah :)
A few seconds pass before his phone begins to vibrate, lighting up with one of his favorite Snap-selfies Kuroo has ever sent, the only one Tooru shamelessly screenshotted (and claimed it was an accident). He answers immediately.
“Hi,” he says, a little breathless.
There’s a laugh on the other end. “Hi.”
Kuroo’s voice is deep, but not ridiculously so. He still sounds like a teenage boy, and when he speaks, he’s just shaky and unsure enough that it sends Tooru’s heart into overdrive, and he immediately understands why Kuroo laughed when he said hi.
“Um, how are you?” Tooru asks.
“I’m good,” Kuroo says, and as he speaks, his voice grows stronger, and Tooru melts. “Great, actually. I think I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me about him.”
He can almost hear the eye roll on the other side of the phone, but when he imagines it in his head, Kuroo is grinning lovingly. “Well first of all, he’s got a terrible grasp on grammar and sentence structure.”
Tooru sits bolt upright. “What? He does not!”
“Tooru,” Kuroo says, stealing the air from Tooru’s lungs, “you are the worst texter I have ever come across.”
You should meet Iwaizumi, Tooru thinks, but says, “Yeah, well, you text like my grandmother.”
Kuroo laughs at that, in a small, light sort of way, and Tooru gasps.
“What?” Kuroo asks.
“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” Tooru says. “It feels like a revelation.”
They’re quiet for several minutes after that, listening only to the sound of each other breathing, and Tooru starts to worry that maybe he should say something to keep the conversation going when Kuroo breaks the silence.
“Tooru?”
There it is again, no less lovely this time around.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad this is happening.”
Tooru grins. “Hey, Tetsurou?”
A soft, “Yeah?”
“I’m really glad, too.”
Tooru’s mother calls him from the kitchen to come and eat, and he relays this to Kuroo. “Can we do this again sometime?”
“I’d love that,” Kuroo says. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
Tooru shakes his head before he remembers that Kuroo can’t see him. “No, tomorrow’s great.”
They hang up, and Tooru spends a little more time laying on his bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling, marveling at the sheer luck that brought him to this moment.
~~~
Tooru watches all of Nekoma’s National’s matches, and knowing what Kuroo wants maybe more than a trophy at the end, Tooru watches all of Karasuno’s matches too, and finds himself rooting for them.
He keeps finding himself in the middle of Karasuno watch parties with his (former, he keeps remembering) teammates, none of whom are willing to entertain the idea of switching to the Nekoma game. Tooru keeps it playing on mute on his phone, heart fluttering every time Kuroo has a particularly good block or they show him in a close-up.
“How’s your boyfriend doing?” Iwaizumi asks him drily. Everyone else has their eyes glued to the Karasuno vs Inarizaki match, but Tooru can’t look away from his phone.
“He’s not my –” he starts mostly out of habit, but Iwaizumi looks at him with a leveled gaze, and Tooru can’t finish the lie. “He’s doing really well,” he says. “He’s amazing, actually.”
When Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, Tooru looks back up to find not only Iwaizumi, but Hanamaki and Matsukawa all staring at him.
“What?”
“Are you saying…” Hanamaki starts.
“...that Kuroo is actually…” Matsukawa adds.
“...your boyfriend?” Iwaizumi finishes for them.
Tooru considers lying again, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to get away with it. “Yeah,” he says, jutting his chin out defiantly, daring them to give him shit, “he is.”
“Well, hot damn!” Hanamaki cackles.
“Why didn’t you say?” Iwaizumi asks.
Tooru knows – or at least hopes – that Iwaizumi isn’t actually hurt that Tooru didn’t tell him. “Because I knew I’d get a reaction like this,” he says, gesturing at Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who are for some reason now gleefully wrestling each other.
Iwaizumi nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, that was probably a good call.” He looks at Tooru sideways. “You’re happy, though?”
Tooru smiles. “Yeah, I am.”
“Cool.” Tooru knows Iwaizumi probably means something like, well then I’m really happy for you, I hope you get married and live a long and beautiful life together, but he’s content with the ‘cool’. That’s just how Iwaizumi is, and Tooru wouldn’t have been friends with him for so long if he didn’t accept that aspect of him.
Eventually, they all refocus on the games. Nekoma’s finishes first, and with a whoop, Tooru informs them all that his boyfriend won his match. He then turns his attention to the Karasuno game, and for the first time ever, is thrilled to see that they might win too.
He’s had the bracket memorized for a while now, and he knows that this is the last obstacle before Kuroo has what he’s always wanted. Karasuno has to win now; if not for themselves, then for Kuroo Tetsurou, who deserves everything in the world and only wants this.
And because they’re Karasuno, they pull it off.
And an idea begins to take shape in Oikawa Tooru’s head.
It takes a lot of convincing that evening, mostly consisting of arguments that one single day of hooky won’t ruin Iwaizumi’s precious future and offering to pay for everything, but eventually Tooru wins. It takes an enormous amount of effort not to say anything when he’s on the phone with Kuroo that night, but he manages it by letting Kuroo do most of the talking.
The next morning, instead of walking to school together like they have for the last decade, Tooru and Iwaizumi walk to the train station, where they buy last-minute tickets and head to Tokyo.
There are pangs of regret and renewed sadness as they walk through Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium together, and Tooru wishes he’d thought this aspect through a bit more, especially when they finally catch a glimpse of the courts. But eventually, the game they came for begins, and every negative feeling leeches away as Kuroo takes the court.
Tooru wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but Kuroo is better in person. Maybe it’s being able to hear him communicate with his team, or seeing more clearly how he excels as their leader, or maybe it’s just seeing his blocks unfiltered by a camera. Regardless, Kuroo is phenomenal.
It hurts Tooru all over again when Nekoma loses. He knows as well as anyone what it’s like to go up against Karasuno and lose, but Kuroo doesn’t seem all that upset, at least, not from this high up.
“I wanna go down,” Tooru says, watching them file off the court towards the locker rooms.
“Ok,” Iwaizumi says, and stands up to find their way down.
It takes some impressive navigational skills (Iwaizumi) and a fair amount of sweet-talking (Tooru), but eventually they make it to the hallway outside the locker rooms, where only players and coaches and staff are meant to be. Tooru bounces on the balls of his feet, reading the whiteboard on the locker room door over and over again, just to be really sure that it does say Nekoma.
Finally, someone exits – a fake blonde desperately in need of a root touch-up who Tooru recognizes from Kuroo’s Twitter and Snapchats.
“Kenma?” he asks, taking a tentative step forward.
Kenma gives him a startled look, before recognition alights on his face. “Are you Tooru?”
Tooru nods, hoping Kuroo has told Kenma enough about Tooru to make this easier.
He apparently has, because the next thing Kenma says is, “Do you want me to get Kuroo for you?”
Tooru nods, and Kenma disappears into the locker room again. Iwaizumi elbows him in the ribs, hard.
“Iwa!” Tooru yelps, hoping Kuroo takes a little longer so he doesn’t have to see Tooru being so uncool.
“Stop nodding at everything,” Iwaizumi growls. “You look like an idiot. Use your words.”
“Oh.” Sound advice, probably, but Tooru still resents the method of delivery.
About a minute passes before the door swings open again. Kenma exits and gives Tooru a quick, tiny smile before heading off, presumably wherever he was headed before Tooru intercepted him. The door swings back on its hinges, and almost shuts entirely before a broad hand stops it.
The hand pushes the door open, and as if in slow motion, Kuroo Tetsurou steps out into the hallway.
He’s sweaty and sticky, and there are dark circles under his eyes Tooru has never noticed before. His eyelashes are ridiculously long and his lips are round and full – things Tooru had noticed before. The fluorescent lighting in the hallway makes Kuroo look both washed out and somewhat jaundiced, and it casts a strange, unflattering shadow.
He is immediately the most beautiful person Tooru has ever seen.
He realizes that while he has been taking all of this in, Kuroo has been staring just as silently back at him. It seems Kenma didn’t tell him who was waiting outside for him, and Tooru feels bad for thinking so rudely about Kenma’s hair.
It’s Iwaizumi who finally breaks the silence with a forced cough.
“I think I’m gonna go buy a shirt,” he says. “You can text me when you’re done.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, knowing he’s not likely to get one from either of the two catatonic men.
They stare at each other for another long moment.
“Hot,” Tooru eventually croaks.
Kuroo blinks in surprise. “Sorry?”
“Hot,” Tooru says again. “You’re hot.”
Kuroo grins slowly and takes a step forward. Tooru hadn’t realized when seeing him on stream or even on the court today, but Kuroo is several centimeters taller than he is. “Oh yeah?”
Tooru nods and takes a step forward of his own. “Yeah. In case you were worried that it was only the Snapchat filters or something, it’s not. You’re hot in person too.”
Kuroo takes another step forward, and Tooru matches it. They’re only inches apart now. “Yeah, well,” Kuroo says, glancing down and then back up, drinking Tooru in from his chest to his eyes, apparently lingering on his lips, “you are too.”
“Glad to hear it,” Tooru mumbles, because they are now so close together that he doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. He tilts his chin up slightly, wondering if Kuroo is thinking the same thing he is, and hoping he won’t have to be the one who makes the first move.
When he thinks back on this moment later (and he will, often), Tooru won’t be able to recall which one of them moved first, or if it was both or even neither. He finds it doesn’t matter who it is, because suddenly they’re kissing and it’s among the best things to ever happen to him.
Kuroo’s lips are soft and salty with sweat and potentially tears, and his mouth tastes like Gatorade, and he is two infuriating inches taller. If Tooru had thought about all of these things before this moment, he would’ve thought it sounded like an awful kiss, but now that it’s happening, he can’t imagine how it could be better.
He is kissing Kuroo Tetsurou and is overcome with the sensation that something must have been wrong in the world before now. Surely, the planet was off its axis, or the magnetic poles had shifted, or we’d been spinning a mile per hour too slowly. Whatever it was, this kiss sets it right, and Tooru’s world snaps back into place, like he’s been to a spiritual chiropractor and had his whole universe adjusted.
He could not tell you for all the money in the world how long the kiss lasts, but he knows it’s not enough. He would go in for more, but some dulled part of his brain reminds him he’s in a public place, so he pulls himself together for now.
He brings his head back slightly to look at Kuroo’s face. Kuroo looks about as dazed and daffy as Tooru feels, which is more of a comfort that Tooru would normally admit. At some point during the kiss, Tooru looped his arms around Kuroo’s neck, and he loosens his grip now to run his fingers through the hair at the nape of his boyfriend’s neck.
“Hey Kuroo?” Tooru asks softly.
“Hm?” Kuroo manages, though he’s been almost lulled to sleep by Tooru’s hand in his hair. It’s amazing to Tooru how they’ve only been in each other’s presence for a few minutes at most and have barely said anything, and yet they already feel completely relaxed.
It’s what makes Tooru feel like he can finally ask the question that’s been weighing on him since they declared themselves boyfriends several weeks ago.
“Do you think I can follow you on Instagram now?”