Chapter Text
Oikawa stands in the middle of the place he will grow to call home with his hands on his hips. It's larger than his previous studio apartment and a lot more imposing. Everything about Tokyo was larger than life and just as intimidating.
He walks over to the small balcony attached to the living room and heaves out a sigh as he watches the busy traffic beneath him. His knee hurt; a constant, throbbing phantom pain. He absently leans down to massage it. His chest felt tight.
He shakes his head, dispelling the tendrils of black threatening to wrap around his mind. A deep inhale.
New city, new me.
Let's rewind and see what led us here.
Boy made of ice. Boy made for ice. Boy, with his feet on the endless white, flying, flying. Boy becomes god when he flies. Boys become gods just to fall. And so he falls with a sickening crack of his bones. Boy, wingless. God turned boy turned walking corpse. Walking corpse finds its way to Tokyo.
And here we are. Standing with god/boy/corpse in the middle of the busy roads of Tokyo while his knuckles turn white around his phone. The maps opened on his phone dims, ready to switch off. He taps the screen and brings it back to life.
If only it could return the favour.
His knee throbs along with his heart. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Crack.
He closes his eyes, breathes out through his nose and continues walking towards his physical therapist’s clinic. He had things to do and nothing (not his knee, not his heart, not his pain) could stop him.
He decides to give it a week.
His physical therapist cleared him for light exercise and had told him to do his stretches without fail (which he already had every intention of doing). She also did emphasize that he was not ready for skating again. Which, he decides, is ridiculous. He has been letting his knee rest for 6 months. It didn't even hurt if he walked for more than 2 minutes anymore. He was practically all fixed.
So, he decides to give it another week. That's more than enough time for his knee to settle down, isn't it?
That's not how it works and he knows. He just shrugs, muttering under his breath, “Fuck it, we ball.”
As he walks towards his apartment, he sees a familiar black-haired man walking the opposite direction from him, a surgical mask on his face as always. He grins.
“Omi-chan~” He yells in a singsong voice. “Good evening!”
Sakusa Kiyoomi lives in the room on the floor below his. The room next to the raven's was occupied by a supposed blonde (Oikawa personally thinks it's piss yellow) who he would very much like to fist fight one day. After two days of bullying the former with cookies (which made him wrinkle his nose and almost shut the door on his face) and a snack that was too salty for his taste (that gained a nod of approval and opened the door by another inch), he got to know that Sakusa was younger than him and was a professional ballet dancer; and a damn good one at that, Oikawa concluded from his very normal, not-creepy-at-all google search about the man. It didn't take a genius to know that he didn't like Oikawa but in all honesty, the man looked like he didn't like anyone so he wasn't overly concerned.
Miya Atsumu, on the other hand, was what his friend Makki would call a yapper. Just from one conversation Oikawa learnt that he was from Hyogo, thought Oikawa was a fake ass bitch (to which Oikawa had piped in a cheeky ‘takes one to know one!’), has a twin brother, is a pro-volleyball player and has a thing for the grumpy ballet dancer (Atsumu didn't actually say that, but anyone under a 5 mile radius could sense the man's big fat crush).
When he sees Sakusa stiffen, he calls out another butchered version of his name just to be annoying. He can see Sakusa's jaw tick at that but the man resolutely stares ahead and picks up his pace into a slight jog, desperation clear in his face. Oikawa cackles and calls out, “Have a good day!” to which he receives an equally passionate middle finger.
He hums as he continues walking towards his apartment, thoughts drifting back to his neighbors. The second and last floor of the apartment housed two middle aged, married couples who seemed pleasant enough when he dropped by to give them some cookies like the good neighbor that he is. Funnily enough, the only one in the complex he hadn't had the fortune (or misfortune) of meeting is the elusive man living right next door to his place.
Atsumu had told him that his name was Iwaizumi Hajime and he was a 40-something year old policeman that was ‘too cool’ to be his neighbour (Oikawa didn't know what exactly was so cool about an old, possibly balding cop, but decided not to ask). Apart from that, their schedules seemed to clash horribly even though Oikawa spent most of his time lazing around on his couch, obediently taking rest just like his physical therapist recommended. The brunette only heard any signs of life in the opposite flat after 9 pm. He had debated knocking and introducing himself but then promptly discarded the thought when his mom's etiquette lessons came to mind (never disturb anyone after 7 pm unless it's an emergency). He had no luck catching him in the morning, either; the man seemed to be one of those weirdos who left the house before 5 am.
He's still thinking about sleep schedules and mysterious neighbors when he stands in front of the elevator. Usually, he wouldn't bother with the lift for just going to the first floor but he'd promised himself that he'd rest for a week. Might as well not half-ass it, he shrugs and reaches out to press the elevator button, only for the doors to open before he can.
Oikawa absolutely does not gape, but it's a pretty close thing because standing in front of him was probably the hottest man he had ever seen, what the fuck.
The only reason the man didn't seem to notice his blatant gawking was because of the earbuds in his ears and his eyes glued to his phone, a fact for which Oikawa was immensely grateful for. Tan skin, green eyes and a jaw sharp enough to cut- the man seemed to have stepped right out of his daydreams. And oh god, his body. How can someone be so fit? He didn't think he had a thing for gym bros; hell, he didn't even think he had a big thing for any kind of bros before looking at the guy. But judging from his clammy hands and the way his mouth had gone dry, he thinks he can safely conclude he is very, very into that.
The man seemed to smile at something on his phone, showcasing the dimple on his right cheek and Oikawa was gone.
The mystery man steps out of the elevator without looking up. When he walks past him, their shoulders brush and even through the layer of clothing separating them, Oikawa could feel how warm the guy was.
“Sorry,” he absently mumbles as he walks away and Oikawa thinks he's going to collapse because how can someone's voice be hot?
He walks back to his apartment in a daze. Only when he settles down on his couch does he realise that he could've said something like a normal fucking person. A hi, maybe, and asked for his name but no, he just had to rediscover his bisexuality all over again and watch the stranger walk away from him in slow motion like he was living in a fucking rom-com. Mortifying. Someone should put him down like a sick dog.
“So long, hottie,” He mutters mournfully as he pulls out his phone to order dinner.
He hears the wretched blender for the first time at 4:30 am.
He almost jumps out of the bed at the sound that seemed to blare right by his ear. Heart in his throat, he shoots up on his bed with wild eyes and frenzied breathing, clutching his pillow tight in his hands to… do what, he isn't sure. Maybe smack the source of danger with a pillow? He senses the ridiculousness of that plan and lowers the pillow, slumping on the bed. For a second, he almost thinks that he had imagined the sound only to be proven wrong when the whirring starts up again, louder than it seemed before.
“Jesus fuck!” He swears, chest heaving. His mind was buzzing with panic and he finds himself shaking from having woken up in such an abrupt way. A quick scan outside the window shows that there was no construction work going on. Then where….?
The noise picks up again and Oikawa realises that no, the earth isn't splitting open and he isn't going to die. His neighbour just has a really fucking loud blender.
In a moment of blind anger, he throws the pillow on his lap at the wall connecting his room to his neighbour's house with all the power he can muster. It hits its destination with a loud smack. The whirring pauses.
Oikawa sighs, relieved. Just when he's about to lie back on his bed, the whirring starts up again, loud, droning and fucking annoying.
“Shut the fuck up!” Oikawa screams, throwing another pillow from his bed. “Shut up, oh my god!”
A pause shorter than the last one. Then the blender starts again. Motherfucker.
Oikawa finally rolls out of his bed and starts thumping on the wall. “Hey! Asshole! It's way too early for this shit!”
The sound picks up as if his neighbour had turned the blender on to a higher setting. Oikawa snarls, raising his fist. “You sonnova-”
Thump, thump!
Oikawa jumps at the new sound that seemed to come from below him. Two more thumps, and then, “Oikawa! It's 4:30 am! Shut the fuck up!”
The image of a sleepy Sakusa glaring at the ceiling with a mop in his hand seemed equally terrifying as it was hilarious. He frowns. “It's not my fault! This guy won't turn off his cursed blender!”
Somehow, the whirring sound gets louder. Oikawa lets out a guttural groan, kicking the wall when Sakusa hits the ceiling with his mop again. “I don't give a shit! If you don't go the fuck to sleep right this moment, I will rip out your vocal chords and feed them to you!”
Oikawa freezes. The blender continues whirring triumphantly.
He stomps back to his bed after picking up his pillow, grumbling about awful neighbours. He smothers his ears with pillows and blocks out the noise as much as he can and screws his eyes closed. It's only because he's exhausted that he falls back asleep.
Oikawa- 0
Blender Bastard- 1
Sometimes, Oikawa finds himself getting into these… moods where everything slows down to a stop and the world seems sluggish and grey. His limbs felt like they were tied down to the ground and breathing felt harder than ever. And when he does get into those moods (which seemed to be more often than not lately), he stands underneath the shower till he can breathe properly. Till he feels himself wake up from his black and white lucid dream.
That's how he finds himself sitting naked on his bathroom floor at 2:35 am with his phone blaring some shitty pop song he can't bother paying attention to. His ears were ringing and he barely felt the water raining down on his skin. He barely felt anything, actually. Except the pain in his knee. That was a wound that refused to close, an old friend who embraced him with knives instead of arms. He always felt his knee. It was always him and his mind and his knee and his pain. Sometimes he wondered if that's all there was to the world. If that's all there ever will be to his world. If he'll die without feeling the sun on his skin because his knee was throbbing, if he'll never smile at someone without thinking when his legs will collapse beneath him.
Thump. Thump.
He blinks. The ringing in his ears recedes, but doesn't stop.
Thump, thump!
Someone was banging on his wall. He can hear it along with the sound of the shower. Good for you by Olivia Rodrigo was playing and someone was banging on his bathroom wall.
“Oi! Keep it down!”
Oikawa grins.
His neighbour- Iwaizumi?- continues banging on his wall like he wants to break it down and throttle him. Oikawa stands up on unsteady legs and reduces the phone volume. The thumping stops.
Then, he begins singing.
“GOOD FOR YOU, YOU LOOK HAPPY AND HEALTHY, NOT ME, IF YOU EVER CARED TO ASK!”
A dull noise and muffled curses like the man fell out of bed in surprise. Oikawa holds back a cackle and continues,
“GOOD FOR YOU YOU YOU'RE DOIN' GREAT OUT HERE WITHOUT ME, BABY, GOD I WISH THAT I COULD DO THAT-”
Iwaizumi starts banging the wall again, livid. “I will kill you if you don't stop singing right now, you tone deaf piece of shit!”
“I LOST MY MIND I SPENT THE NIGHT CRYING IN THE FLOOR OF MY BATHROOM-”
“Shut up, you shitty bastard!”
“BUT YOU'RE SO UNAFFECTED I REALLY DON'T GET IT-”
“Oh my fucking god.”
“BUT I GUESS GOOD!! FOR!! YOU!!”
The wall rattles with the force of his next punch. Oikawa decides to stop the impromptu concert because he doesn't know how he'll explain a broken wall to his landlord, because at this rate the brute was definitely gonna punch a hole in the wall.
After one more song, that is.
Oikawa- 1
Blender Bastard- 1
(That night, he falls asleep with loose shoulders and a wide grin on his face, the grey in his vision and the pain in his knee long forgotten. He does wake up screaming because of the wretched blender, though.)
Oikawa doesn't lose his mind during the seven days he spends in his new home during his self-imposed complete-rest week. It's nothing short of a miracle, really.
He had never been good at being idle. Idle mind is a devil's workplace but in his case, his mind is the devil. To keep the devil quiet he had to keep himself occupied, which he had managed to do the last 6 months. He barely had any time to think straight, what with the excruciating pain in his knee, the shame of failure eating at him, and searching for apartments in Tokyo. Instead of sleeping, he used to watch the tape of the match that changed his life into whatever the fuck it was now. His mom would occasionally drag him out of his room to eat dinner and he would stick around listening to her making awkward conversation with her dad before trudging back to his room. It was not exactly the best way to keep himself occupied, but at least it was something.
But now he was in Tokyo and he knew no one and his knee hurt even when it didn't and he left the match tape at home and he kinda misses his mother's cooking and it was too quiet, too still, too much. This was supposed to be a new start, but it only felt like a dead end.
Despite all the odds, he doesn't go completely insane and it's all thanks to his bastard of a neighbour.
Oikawa's day starts at 4:30 am with the sound of that god-awful blender. He screams at the wall for a solid 10 minutes, telling Iwaizumi to keep it down (“Shut the fuck up or that blender will be up your ass real soon!”) and spewing some other choice words, to which the sounds only gleefully increase while his neighbour doesn't utter a single word. This goes on till Sakusa bangs his mop on his ceiling and makes some… interesting threats that are way too graphic for him to ignore. He'll pout his way back to bed, stuff his face into his pillow, and sleep till noon.
He does the stretches his physical therapist advised him to do, eats lunch and whiles his time away watching reality TV shows and Hell's kitchen. By 7 pm, he takes the elevator down to Atsumu’s house and drags the athlete fresh out of the bath after his practice to Sakusa's apartment, where they have to convince the man they're clean and won't make too much noise. Sakusa lets them in even though he knows they will.
(When he asks Atsumu about the mystery stranger on the elevator, he looks at him with a strange glint in his eyes before informing him that he's the nephew of the couple upstairs. Sakusa stays suspiciously silent, only glaring at Atsumu when he is asked for his input.)
After two more hours and a dinner cooked by Sakusa, he would go back to his room, lie back on his bed and stare at the ceiling. And stare at the ceiling. And stare at the ceiling.
Static. Grey. Crack.
Sometime after twelve when it gets too hard to breathe, he would stumble into his shower, turn on the trashiest pop song in his phone and sit on the floor numbly till the banging starts. By the time Iwaizumi throws the first insult, Oikawa is smiling ever so slightly.
Though they spend a good chunk of their day cussing each other out, Oikawa was yet to catch a glimpse of the man. He's not too bothered about it; after all, it's not like he's looking forward to getting yelled at by a cop for disrupting his sleep at night.
It's bad. But not so much.
Oikawa starts the day after his rest week well-rested, determined to seize the day.
He had planned to make sure nothing could ruin his day. He went to bed wearing his newly acquired ear muffs to make sure his sleep won't be disturbed by that demon incarnate of a blender, kept his alarm on vibrate and placed it under his pillow- he had always been a light sleeper- to make sure he woke up peacefully and not with his heart beating out if his chest like he had gotten used to the past week.
He wakes up by 6:30 am, goes jogging in the nearby park, does some light stretches and starts his day. After a bath, burnt toast for breakfast and filling the washing machine with clothes from the day before, he almost feels peaceful by the time he leaves the house.
The private skating rink he booked for the day took almost an hour by train. He doesn't really mind the travel; it was the only rink out of all the ones he had looked into that checked all his boxes- spacious, private, reasonable hourly fee and didn't ask too many questions even if they recognized him. It was almost perfect.
Almost perfect, because he just can't have good things in life.
Oikawa walks inside the rink humming a random tune under his breath and stops to greet the receptionist, Yachi. He doesn't try to make conversation because the last time he tried, she looked like she wanted to curl into herself like a shrimp and remain that way forever. This time he just settles with a simple ‘good morning’ and from the relief he sees in the girl's face, he thinks it's safe to assume that was the right move.
He removes his bag which contained his skates and stops in his tracks when his eyes fall on the rink. He notices two things in rapid succession: One, think rink was occupied. Two, one of the three people in it was the Hot Guy from the apartment elevator.
Oikawa gawks at the man who, apparently, was an ice hockey player. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the man snags the puck from his teammate and gets in stance to shoot a goal. The goalie- a guy with hair that made him look like he just rolled out of bed- grins at him, mocking and cat-like. Oikawa watches with bated breath as the Elevator Guy narrows his eyes and in one clean flick of his wrist, sends the puck flying towards the net in a motion too fast to follow. It sails through the ice into the net with a satisfying swish.
Bedhead groans. The other teammate- Oikawa labels him as Sleepy Eyes- whistles, impressed. Elevator Guy bares his teeth in a grin (Sharp, he thinks, gulping), displaying the dimple on his right cheek. Oikawa feels a little dizzy.
He's only able to ogle the guy for a few more seconds before the man peels his gaze from his friends and turns to face him. Oikawa feels like a little kid getting caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar.
“Can I help you?” The guy asks, not unkindly, and Oikawa feels a jolt go through him. I've heard that voice before.
He shakes the thought out of his head and concentrates on the situation in front of him. If he was anyone else, he would've stuttered and stammered his way out of the mortifying ordeal of getting caught staring. But he's not anyone; he's Oikawa Tooru, master of deception and charm.
So he flashes him a million dollar smile and says, “I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have to interrupt your little game. I had booked the rink for an hour from now,” He pauses and adds for good measure, “that was a good shot, by the way.”
The man didn't seem very impressed by his signature smile or his compliment. Oikawa pouts to himself when he glances back at his friends. Hot Elevator Guy exchanges a few words with Sleepy Eyes, who responds with a shrug. With one last glare towards Sleey Eyes, Elevator guy turns to him again. “There must've been a mishap, because it seems like both of us booked the rink for the same timing. It's not a big deal, we can just share the rink. We were just doing some practice drills anyway.”
Oikawa's body locks up. There is a feeling rising up in his chest that feels too much like panic and desperation and he's remembering things he doesn't want to. While it's not an unreasonable request, Oikawa has waited for this day since the week after his injury. 6 months. 6 months to be cleared for light exercise. During his week of rest, he had even thought of the easiest routine he could practice, the simple strokes, glides and loops he could brush up on to get used to the strain on his right knee.
The point is, he had a lot to do and he needed space to do that. He needed to be away from prying eyes and concerned stares when he inevitably doubled over clutching his knee, when he messed up a move he should be able to execute with his eyes closed, when his eyes become dangerously close to teary. He had planned this day meticulously. Made sure every detail was perfect so that nothing could ruin his first practice after the injury. He had come so far; he was not going to let some hockey players ruin it all.
“No,” He says, sharper than he intended. “You can take your game somewhere else. I booked this hour. The rink is mine.”
Before he can start regretting his words, Elevator Guy scoffs and pretends to look around. “I don't see your name.”
“My name?”
He smirks. “You said the rink's yours. I don't see your name written on it.”
Behind him, Sleepy Eyes muffles his laughter behind his hand. Bedhead has no such courtesy; he cackles, sounding eerily similar to a hyena.
Okay, he takes it all back. He just wants to break the guy's face now.
Oikawa’s about to give him a piece of his mind when Yachi bursts into the room. She looks like she's about to cry.
Oikawa steps towards her, concerned. “Yachi-san? Is everything alright?”
Her lips wobble. Oh god, she's going to cry, isn't she?
“I'm so sorry, Oikawa-san, Matsukawa-san!” she cries, bowing so low that her forehead almost touches the ground. “I messed up! I booked Oikawa-san and Matsukawa-san in the same time slot by mistake! Please forgive me!”
“It's alright, Yachi-san,” Sleepy Eyes- Matsukawa- says. “It's not a big deal.”
She slowly straightens up, hopeful. “Really? I didn't ruin both of your practices?”
Oikawa takes a deep breath to calm himself and beams. “Of course not!” Do it for Yachi-san, “We can just share the rink.”
Elevator guy snorts. Oikawa sends him a warning glare and smiles at Yachi in a way he hopes is reassuring. The blonde relaxes and responds with a smile of her own. “Okay then, I hope you have a good time, Oikawa-san!”
“Oh, I'm sure he will,” Elevator Guy drawls. It takes all of his self-restraint to not kick his face in.
After an hour of yelling and almost sucker punching the green-eyed bastard and his friends, Oikawa decides to storm out of the rink and go home (his decision might have been influenced by Yachi begging them both to leave the place tearfully, but whatever). He had barely managed to practice anything. Everytime he got ready to try a spin, Bedhead deliberately sent the puck to his side and sauntered to his side of the rink with an shameless ‘oops, my bad’. To make things worse, the trio were looking at him the whole time. He spent more time yelling at them to fuck off than he did practicing.
Throwing one last glare and middle finger at the cause of his elevated blood pressure, he removes his skates, waves a polite goodbye to Yachi and walks out of the place.
The sun on his skin makes him sigh, content. He had almost forgotten how good it felt to take a walk somewhere that isn't his apartment terrace or living room. Makki had been right, he really did need to touch some grass.
He plugs on his earbuds and starts walking towards the station, humming mindlessly. The piece, a smooth, haunting melody composed with piano and violin, reaches its crescendo and he can already imagine the skating routine for it. He puts the song on repeat and gets lost in his mind.
Before he knows it, he's in the train station. Glide, toe-loop, flourish. Hand on heart, sorrow in eyes. His train speeds to a stop in front of him. Forward stroke, forward stroke, camel spin. Raging. Shaking. He gets in. There are no seats. Triple axel. Triple axel-
Someone bumps on him, hard, sending him stumbling. He curses and looks up, ready to yell, only to meet the eyes of the bastard from the rink.
Oikawa removes one earbud and scowls. “What, are you following me now?”
Hockey Jerk rolls his eyes. Oikawa hates how attractive he looks even when he's mocking him. “Please, as if I'd stalk a shitty bastard like you.”
Once again, a part of his brain scrambles to remember where he has heard his voice before. Even him saying ‘shitty bastard’ seemed familiar. Oikawa frowns to himself and turns away from the guy, waving his hand dismissively. “Whatever. Just don't come near me.”
“Gladly. Don't wanna catch your annoying-cunt disease.”
Oikawa grits his teeth and raises his middle finger over his shoulder. Mood ruined, he unlocks his phone and clicks out of Spotify to open Candy Crush. He decides he might as well do something mindless to ignore the warmth radiating from the man standing beside him and how he wants to lean back into it, just a little.
The train stops in his station just as he finishes a level that had been making him lose his mind for weeks. Elevator Guy long forgotten, he grins to himself and clicks on the next level, walking out of the train.
It takes him a few minutes to sense that he was being followed. By the same guy, nonetheless. His stomach starts feeling queasy. He throws the spiky haired gorilla a stink eye without stopping. "Okay, this is not funny anymore. Cut it out."
Elevator Guy's eyebrows furrow. He shuffles forward and catches up with him. "Cut what out?"
Oikawa throws his hands in the air. "This! Following me! Stop it!"
The brute scoffs. "You flatter yourself. I told you, I have better things to do than following a shitty bastard like you.”
Oikawa gapes at him. The guy- seriously, he should really ask for his name, it was exhausting to come up with names to call him- smirks back. He quickens his pace and bites out, "Fine! Do whatever you want."
He can almost hear Hot Guy's smug smile, can almost see him shrug. "I will."
His apartment was coming closer and closer and the asshole showed no signs of leaving. Hot Guy continued trailing behind him, hiking the bag with his hockey sticks over his shoulder. Oikawa calls out, "You don't want to mess with me! I know karate!"
"Oh yeah?" The man calls back. "I don't remember asking, but okay."
Four steps to the lift. Oikawa swirls around and points a furious finger to the stranger's annoyingly well built chest. "I have pepper spray in my bag."
The man merely raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the hockey sticks hanging over his shoulder. Oikawa scowls.
"I'm gonna ask you one last time. What do you want?"
The man huffs, exasperated. "And I told you, I just want to go home."
Tooru takes a step forward, digging his finger on Hot Guy's chest. Because he wants to be intimidating. That's all. No other ulterior motives, nope.
"Then why are you in my apartment?!"
"No," His new arch nemesis states calmly, wrapping his fingers around Oikawa's wrist. "We are in my apartment."
Tooru shakes his hand out of his grip. "No you aren't."
"Yes I am."
He barks out a haughty laugh with his hands on his hips. "Okay, fine. Where do you live, then?"
"First floor, room 317."
Oikawa freezes. That's the room next to his. The room with-
"Iwaizumi-san is your dad?" He blurts out. Please say no please say no please say no please-
Elevator Guy blinks, "Yes? What about it."
It's too early for this shit, Oikawa laments, tearing his gaze away from the guy- Iwaizumi, apparently. He looks at the stairs and asks, "Where is your dad now?"
A pause. Then a very, very confused, "In Sendai? Why are you even asking me this.”
Then, everything clicks.
The voice. The elevator. The familiarity of him saying 'shitty bastard'.
"You're Iwaizumi Hajime, aren't you?" Oikawa says faintly, more a resigned statement than a question. Iwaizumi answers him anyway.
"Yes? Are you okay? You look like you're having a stroke."
Oh, Atsumu was so dead.