Holy crap this ask inspired me so much!! I don’t normally write a lot of Oikawa (I leave that to Admin Alyx) but he just spoke to me this time. Please enjoy!
~Admin Emma
Oikawa fussed with his sweater and jeans, smoothing them over his chest and adjusting them until they laid just right. He picked at imaginary lint and pills, played with his hair until he was satisfied, and shifted from one foot to the other. He was nervous. He didn’t want to screw up again. He knew in his heart that if his sweater was a little wrinkled or a hair was slightly out of place, it wouldn’t matter, but at the moment it was something he could control. He needed that control right now.
He was lucky you’d even agreed to meet him. Your break up was… messy was putting it lightly. He’d considered flowers, or sweets from that bakery you liked, or expensive gifts he couldn’t really afford in the off season… but he knew you. You’d see right through that. You always did see right through him. It’s what made you so understanding about his love of volleyball, about his fan club that he honestly couldn’t really control. It’s what made you trust him even if he was mildly flirtatious with other girls, even if you did get adorable and pouty afterwards (he always liked that), and it’s what made everything about you set him at ease. It’s what made you perfect for him.
But he fucked it up. His stupid anxiety and his stupid brain drove you away. You hated him now. But maybe… just maybe… he could fix it.
He finally stopped pacing and stepped into the bar where you’d agreed to meet. Honestly, he was so braced to not see you–to have been stood up–that it was a genuine shock to see you. You were dressed simply–the dark blue cardigan he loved, the jeans that hugged your curves… to anyone else, it was a cute, casual outfit, but to him… were you sending a message? And if so, what did it say?
He shook himself, plastering on that fake smile of his that he always wore. He knew you’d see right through it, but it made him feel more confident than he was. He tapped you on the shoulder, and thrilled a bit when your chilled expression softened when you saw him.
“____-chan,” he began.
You held up a hand to interrupt him; “Don’t call me that, Oikawa.”
He rubbed at a spot in the middle of his chest; after two years of teasing ‘Oikawa-kun’s and sultry ‘Tooru’s and loving and affectionate purrs of ‘darling’ and ‘my love,’ his surname stung.
“Apologies, ____.”
The bartender chose that moment to come over to take his drink order. He just ordered one of what you were having without looking at it. The bartender shrugged, pouring a glass of dark red wine that was sure to be very oaky and floral and earthy and dry and whatever other things red wine tended to be. Oikawa made a face–he wasn’t a fan of reds. But he was committed now. Besides, he wasn’t here to drink.
“Can we talk?” Oikawa asked with a pointed look at the bartender.
“We’re here, so talk,” you said in a clipped voice
“Please, ____. Please can we just…” He trailed off helplessly.
You sighed, taking your wine glass and standing from the stool; “Fine. Let me settle up and we’ll get a table.”
Oikawa stepped over you, sliding a fold of bills that was probably more than enough to cover the 1600 yen worth of wine plus a too-generous tip across the bar. He didn’t care. He just… he needed to talk to you. Now.
“Oikawa, that’s not necessary. I can pay for my own drinks.”
“I know,” he said. “And I know why you don’t want me to pay, ____, but don’t see it as a grand gesture or a piece of control or anything like that, alright? You agreed to meet me when you clearly didn’t want to. Let me at least buy you a drink.”
You shrugged, leading him to a secluded table. It wasn’t so secluded that exits were blocked off, but you were well out of earshot of the bartender and the other dozen or so patrons milling around. You waved off the waitress with a polite smile before folding your hands and fixing him with a withering stare.
“Alright, Oikawa. Talk. What do you have to say?”
He took a breath to make his case; he had a big, dramatic speech prepared about how sorry he was, how perfect you were together, how much he’d changed and seen the error of his ways and if you would just give him another chance… but it all felt so fake. He took a deep breath again, collecting himself. He couldn’t control the catch in his throat, or the way his expression crumpled into something ugly and miserable.
“I miss you,” he said, folding in on himself.
“Oikawa…” You shook your head, exasperated. “Tooru. You know why we broke up.”
“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled, more mad at himself than anything else. At least you’d called him by name… that was something, at least. “I know.”
“I told you there was nothing between Iwaizumi-san and I,” you continued. “I told you that you had no reason to be jealous. Iwaizumi-san told you that you had no reason to be jealous.”
“I know!” His hands balled into fists of frustration. “I know that.”
It had been stupid. Of course you and Iwa-chan spent time together. You’d been very quick to befriend his very best friend, which was another thing that had made you perfect. You’d both had an easy relationship with the each other. You’d cooked for Iwa-chan. You’d run errands with Iwa-chan. You’d had inside jokes with Iwa-chan.
And that was it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that you got along with Iwa-chan–that was pretty much expected if you were to be in Oikawa’s life–but the fact that you got along so well. Oikawa would never admit it, but he’d felt inferior to Iwaizumi since middle school. Iwa-chan may have never had a fan club, or been overly popular with the ladies, but he’d never been dumped just for being himself around someone who was supposed to love him. He’d never felt the need to hide who he was. He’d had three steady relationships since Oikawa had known him, and if Oikawa knew Iwaizumi, he knew the only reason they hadn’t stuck was because Iwaizumi was too kind to keep a high school girl on the hook when he was going to college in Kyoto.
It was only a matter of time, right? It was only a matter of time before you’d realize that Iwaizumi was so much better than him for you–for anyone–and then he’d have to face the hell of losing you by degrees. He would lose you, because he wasn’t good enough for you. You were perfect, and he was this awful, ugly monster filled with rage and anxiety and hatred and–
“Tooru,” you said softly, running your fingertips along the back of his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you still love me?”
You sighed deeply, which was never a good sign. He took a sip of his wine just for something to do with his hands… and pulled a face. Yeah, he definitely hated red wine.
Then you answered in a way he couldn’t have anticipated; “Of course I love you, you big idiot.”
“What?” He nearly dropped his glass, which would have been bad for a lot of reasons.
“Tooru, I will always love you,” you said emphatically. “I mean, sure, you’re kind of childish and petty and hyper competitive… you hide way too much of yourself behind this gaudy exterior that you’ve oh-so-carefully constructed and boy howdy do you have some serious demons that a professional should probably try and unpack–”
“Wow, what do you say about guys you hate?”
“But you’re also sweet. And passionate and caring and beautiful. You’re generous, and for people you love you are unfailingly kind. Who couldn’t love you?”
“Then… why can’t we make this work?” Oikawa asked. “Because I love you, too!”
“Tooru, you know why! I told you there was nothing between me and Iwaizumi-san, and you didn’t believe us. And you tried to control me, and when I wouldn’t put up with it you pushed me away. I couldn’t bare the hell of losing you by degrees, so I took mercy on myself and ended it,” you said quickly, like you were trying to get it out before he could interrupt. “I told you all of this when we broke up!”
“But–”
“No, Tooru,” you interjected, lowering your voice like you were aware that it had been steadily rising. “I love you, and I’ll always love you, but I am not your goddamn possession. I don’t want to deal with your grand gestures and your speeches. I’m not looking for shoujo manga, here. I thought we had something real.”
“I know,” he said, burying his face in his hair. “I know! You’re… you’re the first person I could ever see it being real with! You’re the first woman I could have seen being forever. And I broke it. I saw you and Iwa-chan and I wanted to possess you both so completely, I lost you both.”
“You’ll make up with Iwaizumi-san someday. Just give it time.”
“Look, I had a plan,” he continued like you hadn’t spoken. “I thought I could waltz in here and lavish you with praise and platitudes and apologies and you would take me back with open arms. I’m not trying to be self-deprecating or manipulative when I sincerely say I’m sorry for the way I acted. I was an idiot, and you deserved better!”
“Tooru–”
“No, please, let me finish,” he pleaded. “____, I love you. I love you so much, and every day without you is just this agonizing reminder that I need you. I wouldn’t blame you if you threw your wine in my face and told me to fuck off and get the hell out of your life forever, but… I miss you. And I want to try again, if you’ll let me. So please… please, ____. Please give me another chance.”
“How do I know it’ll be different?” you asked quietly. “That… that can’t happen again, Tooru.”
He took a deep breathe, averting his eyes; “I know. I was… I was terrible to you. I wish it was as easy as me just… blaming my anxiety and calling it a day. But that’s not fair to you. I’ll always be possessive of you, because you’re so important to me, but… but I understand I have to let you be your own person. I can’t prove that I’ll be magically better… but I can try. I can be better.”
It was the longest, most deafening silence he’d ever experienced. He hated it. He stiffened in his seat, waiting for you to slap him, or tell him to get lost. Instead, you sighed deeply, and he heard the scrape of your chair against the floor. You were leaving… of course you were leaving. Why wouldn’t you leave.
“Tooru,” you said softly, your hand brushing against his neck. You pressed your knuckle into the soft spot just below his ear, sending a delicate shiver down his spine.
He turned his widened eyes on you, and your sly smile sprung him into action. He followed you onto the street to hail a taxi, and while you waited, he pressed into your back. He took a deep breath, taking in your scent. He knew the look in your eyes when you’d passed him. He knew it meant you hadn’t forgiven him yet… but you were inviting him home. It wasn’t a large opening, but it was an opening nonetheless.
This was enough. It had to be enough.
So good Emma!
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