Monologue From Oikawa Tooru

Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru

Haikyuu!! Corvine
Oikawa (top) x Kageyama (bottom)

The moment Tobio saw Oikawa, stillness expanded all around, from his gaze to Oikawa's. Every inhale and exhale twice as loud, his heart pounded right in his throat. Oikawa wore a V-neck with faded, form fitting jeans that were molded to his legs. His handsome face, sculpted and vulpine, twisted into a grimace once he realized it was Tobio. Of course he wouldn't be happy to see you, Tobio thought. Stupid. He turned his back to Oikawa, pushing through the ocean of swaying people and damp skin. Something tight squeezed his chest, like a fist, about to crush him until he couldn't breathe. He needed to get out of here. Away from the pulsing, stifling heat. From the
painful pressure in his chest. From everyone and everything. But he couldn't. Sugawara was the only one who could drive that was sober, and Kageyama didn't know where he was, and even if he did know, Sugawara still had to drive Hinata and Tanaka as well. He took a deep breathe. Calm down. Once he found one of the guys, maybe they could take the train or bus. He scanned the crowd.

Tanaka's face floated toward him: flushed-cheeked and glitter-eyed. Tobio headed toward him, waded trough the throngs of people.
"—

"Never thought I'd see you here, Tobio-chan," said Oikawa. "You're such a big boy now."
"Go away."
"Rude.

"'Kay, bye bye!"

"Oh damn," a guy said, "I wanted to buy you that drink."
"I'm not interested."

Even from here, he whiffed the earthy smell of sugary pine.
"You smell good," he said. She squinted at him, appraising. A pregnant pause, before she threw her head back and laughed.
"Is that how you charm all the girls? By smelling them?" Embarrassment rose inside him, swelled him bright red. She must think he was some kind of weird creep. "I'm sorry. I'm just teasing you.

By the time we arrived at my house

"I'm a virgin," Tobio blurted. He blushed, while Oikawa only grinned ruefully at him.
"That's obvious." He flustered even more, attempting to push Oikawa away from him. Oikawa tutted, shushed him like a child. "Lay still." When he continued struggling, Oikawa gave an agitated sigh. "Stop squirming, idiot. I don't mind that you've only been with me," Oikawa said, "I like that I'm the only one who can see you like this." Then Oikawa kissed him on the mouth, and like the pathetic fool that he was, he melted into the sensation of Oikawa's lips on his. His skull was invaded by the musky scent from Oikawa, and his skin was hyperaware of every brushing touch of skin. Sensory overload. He clutched Oikawa's hair closer, pulling him with desperate and clumsy movements. He wanted closer.
"Eager, are we?" He winched, overcome by sudden shyness.
"Shut up."
"No need to be embarrassed, Tobio-chan. With my looks, you just can't help yourself." Tobio gave him a blank stare.
"I've seen better," he stated, dead-pan. Oikawa rolled his eyes.
"You should really practice your dirty talk." This time Tobio was the one to roll his eyes.
"Just kiss me." Oikawa obliged, and again the room fell away, time and space receded, and everything left were them. The world narrowed to light and sweat, touch and breath.

Moonlight spilled trough the window, draped their bare skin in a luminous sheer of mercury paleness.

"I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die. I'll be gentle."

"You're really bad at this." Tobio glared at him, lips still wrapped around Oikawa's cock. He pulled away, wiped his mouth. "Like really bad."
"Do you want me to bite you?"

"Tell me if it hurts."

Tobio's parents were both musicians: his mother, a music teacher and a skilled pianist; his father, both a guitarist and drummer, and the owner of a record store. While his mother wreathed his days with classical music of Shostakovich or Dvorak or Bach, his father strained rock artists like Alice Cooper or The Eagles. Tobio always wondered if they were disappointed that he never ended up being a rock guy, all pegged jeans and and punk-tees, or a classical dude, perhaps at Julliard like his mother. Instead volleyball became everything. The smell of varnish and sweat, the squeak of sneakers on the floor—the world contracting to nothing but the court, six players on one side, six on the other. From the first moment he tried to play volleyball in second grade, he loved it more than anything. He still did.

The message from the screen burned inside him, angry hot, like a reopened wound. Even though he remembered it clearly, he kept fingering his iPhone, wanting to look at it one more time.

"Don't call him over here! He'll think I'm weird!"
"You are weird."
"Yeah," he said, "but he doesn't need to know that."

The sky blushed a soft pink the day Kageyama Tobio moved to New York. He remember watching from the plane, thinking that the whole world was wrapped in pastel.

There was no point in changing, the world had already decided who I was.

Kageyama Tobio: Passive --> determinism. Accommodate others needs before his own. Risk averse.

This is what happened: a kiss between two boys, both flushed-cheeked and bright-eyed, draped in moonlight sheer. Cool, pale arms wrapped themselves around Tobio in an embrace, he was hyperaware of the rise and fall of Oikawa's chest, every movement and breath. The trail of touches down his stomach felt more like kisses than the kiss itself—which was something else as well; something scorching hot, and sweet. A revelation unfolded in his chest, remained inside of him there like the light you see when you've stared at the street lamps for too long, and then you close your eyes, the needle-point of brightness in the dark: the knowledge that he was in love with Oikawa Tooru. It filled him with fluttering anxiety, and for a moment, deep resentment. Of course, of all the people in the world he'd fallen in love with it just had to be Oikawa—the person who would never feel the same. Tobio pulled his face away, let his gaze fall to the ground. The silence between them hollow, all the air sucked out suddenly, at once.
"I-I'm sorry," Tobio said. "I know you hate me and—"
"I don't hate you," Oikawa said, strangely sincere.
"Since when?" Oikawa sighed, stayed silent for what felt like an eternity.
"Since I...Do we have to talk about this?"
"Yes, we do. You can't just say you don't hate me when you've treated me like you've done. You just can't. You can't."
"So touchy," he said. "It's annoying."
"This is what I mean. If you don't hate me, stop being such a jerk. Especially after we..."
"After we what? Hmm?"
"You know what," Tobio said. Oikawa sighed again, this time louder and more exaggerated.
"Tobio-chan, it's just a kiss. It doesn't mean anything. Haven't you ever kissed anyone before?" Tobio flushed, shoved his hands into his pockets. He really wanted to punch Oikawa in the face.
"Oh," was all Oikawa said. Tobio shouldered past him, there was a lump in his throat. "Wait! Stop for a moment. Wait!" He continued to walk, then spring, away from Oikawa. Going nowhere, only away. He sprinted until his lungs burned, the pain swelled and spread everywhere, until he stopped in some street he didn't know, in the middle of the night—alone. He cried, and once he started, he couldn't stop. He knew it would be like this, that Oikawa would tear his heart open. He knew. Yet, he continued trying. He continued to hope, because maybe Oikawa would one day look at him and feel the same. So stupid.

He inhaled, then exhaled slowly. Dried his tears with his sleeve, his fingers ached from the cold. From above, snow fell to the earth like ash. He fumbled with his phone, typed his mother's number. It rang a few times.
"Tobio? That's you, right? Where are you?" she croaked. She'd been crying, of course, she must have been worried sick.
"Mom, I'm sorry. I-I don't know where I am....and I wasn't...I think I went past the sushi place, you know the one I used to eat at when I was in middle school."
"Yeah, I remember that."
"And there's a

"You can't be serious. What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Your mom called

"Look, I'm—"
"Shut up."
"No, I need—"
"I said shut up."
"I don't care.
I'm trying to tell you something impo—"
"No, you really don't. Don't say anything."

"You don't understand anything. Just leave me alone."
"How can I understand when you won't tell me?"
"I've told you lots of times, you just don't listen. You don't listen or care about anything I have to say. You just do what you think is best, you couldn't care less about what I think."
"That's...that's not true." Oikawa's mouth tightened. "I do care what you think."
"No," Tobio said, "you don't."

"Why didn't you say anything?" He looked upset, his mouth pressed in a tight line.
"I don't know. I'm not like you. Like, you know when somebody says something really rude or mean to you, and you get that uncomfortable feeling in your chest, and you know you should say something back, and maybe you would, but for me, all I want is to just disappear. That's my instinctual reaction to conflict, I think. Compared to you, who's just so...so fierce. Ready to claw out eyes and dunk it out. Does this make sense? I dunno if this makes sense. Maybe I should just shut up."
"You don't avoid conflict on court though."
"That's different."

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