seijaku

Life was all fun and games until the day Oikawa Tooru collapsed on live television.

It had happened once before, albeit not so blatantly in the public eye. It was during his third year of high school when his mind wasn’t in such a great place and his only escape from the bitter turmoil that plagued his family was volleyball. His sister was in the middle of a divorce and it was taking its toll on their family as well as their in-laws. Naturally, Oikawa spent every waking hour that he could on the court, refusing to go home until he was drenched in sweat and his lungs screamed for oxygen and his arms and legs never stopped burning.

Iwaizumi scolded him, as did the coach, but he still performed well during their games, so they couldn’t complain much—until he didn’t. It wasn’t a serious match, just a practice game against another school, and the score was in Aoba Jōsai’s favour, but only just. Maybe it was the angle at which he landed, or the exhaustion finally catching up to him, or his senseless need to push himself past limits to take a bigger lead when they were already ahead—whatever the case may have been, after he came down from a perfect set, his right leg gave out completely from underneath him and he felt a searing white pain shoot out from his knee, so intense he was sure he had blacked out for a couple of seconds because the next thing he knew, his entire team was crowded around him and people were shouting and he could remember the fear and worry etched into Iwaizumi’s features as clear as day.

This time wasn’t much different, except the stakes were so much higher. San Juan had made it to nationals and the road to the Olympics was all but painted in gold right in front of them. Oikawa tasted a funny sense of deja vu when he jumped for the ball, a strange, relaxing sort of numbness in his right leg that had been throbbing since they finished the first set, and for a moment he felt relieved. The ball touched his fingers, and when it left them, it felt good. He could see the arch it would follow through the air, see the exact moment when it would connect with the spiker’s hand, see precisely where it would land on the other side of the net.

His smile was laughably victorious when his feet touched the ground again, followed quickly by his right knee, his hip, his face. If he had to describe the feeling, he would say it felt like sliding down the handle of an extendable umbrella, the way he fell. His face felt fuzzy, twitchy, undoubtedly due to his laboured breathing in the minutes that preceded his collapse, not unlike the frantic swallowing of air during a panic attack. He had tried to push himself up, but the moment he placed any weight on his right knee, he fell right back down again. The referee called a mandatory time-out, his team swarmed around him with a flurry of questions and concerns, and he was hauled away to the gymnasium’s infirmary on a stretcher. All the while, rather than cursing the pain in his leg, he was desperately trying to be released, to say that he was fine, to get back out on the court and finish the game. He had to, he couldn’t afford to walk away when his team needed him the most, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

In the end, though, it was out of his hands. Even when he got to the infirmary and tried to insist, once again, that everything was fine, he took one look down at his swollen knee and felt that weight in his chest that always resurfaced when he knew it was hopeless. He had to be sent to the hospital, where he was scolded for allowing such an injury to have worsened like that because he had refused to let his knee set properly the first time, and he was ordered to stay in that hospital room for no less than a week before he was even allowed to get up and walk again.

That week had been the longest seven days of his life and certainly the hardest to endure. His teammates came to check on him, his captain scolded him some more, they left him flowers, and for the longest time they wouldn’t tell him how the game turned out.

They lost, of course.

Of course.

When Oikawa was sent home, it was under the explicit condition that he did not try to play volleyball again for at least another month. The only thing he could focus on was his studies at school, studies that he drowned himself in without respite because if he let himself stop and think for even a second, he knew he would sneak away to the gym or take his volleyball out to one of the parks or do something that would only make things worse and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

His captain came to visit him at his dorm only two weeks after his release from the hospital, along with his coach. Oikawa felt the dread in his heart the moment he saw both of their faces, and it only grew unbearably deep when they regretfully informed him that he was being dropped from the team. They couldn’t have a liability like this, someone who didn’t know when to stop and worked himself to death, and they were so, so bereaved by having to let him go because he was such an amazing setter, but none of that really meant anything when he was being denied the opportunity to play, now did it?

A week and a half after that, he got a call from his parents. Their company was filing bankruptcy. Stocks were at an all time low, there just wasn’t as much demand as there used to be, and the current economy wasn’t all that great, either. It was during that same conversation that his parents informed him that they wouldn’t be able to afford his student loan debt and tuition fees anymore. And to top it all off, they lost their house in the collateral seizure.

When it rains, it pours.

Oikawa dropped out of university and took the first flight back home to Japan, where he promptly moved back in with his family, except now they were all living in his sister’s house, which really wasn’t made for five adults, her deadbeat ex-husband included, and a teenager. Oikawa’s ex-brother-in-law had only moved back in with his own parents for a couple of months before they kicked him out again for gambling and, lo and behold, he ended up back at his ex-wife’s house, just as much in debt as the rest of them were.

All except Midori, his sister, which was the only reason all of them weren’t homeless by now. She worked her ass off to be able to support and feed them all. Their parents looked for work wherever they could find it and so did Oikawa, though he never had much luck. He quickly came to realize that he wasn’t exceptionally good at anything besides volleyball. He tried delivery work, waiting tables, and even resorted to trying to earn some quick cash from a stranger at a bar who thought he looked pretty enough to pay for.

That particular endeavor never lasted any longer than the one night, though. Oikawa was disgusted with himself and riddled with shame and regret the day after, and he wanted nothing more than to go talk to his old therapist from high school, but that wasn’t an option and at least he had earned enough money to buy dinner for his family that night.

Recently, however, he had landed a spot as an assistant gallery instructor at the local planetarium. He was understandably delighted with the opportunity, even if it were only part-time, so he agreed to start right away. The pay wasn’t much, considering he was only an assistant, but it was something. It was something that he hadn’t had in months since returning to Japan. If he could just keep this job for a little while and save up enough money, he could focus on digging his family out of the abyss they’d found themselves in. All he needed was time.

Time was not on his side, though. Not with Midori’s ex-husband being hunted by the gamblers he owed who seemed to have struck a deal with the goddamn Yakuza to start sending threats and showing up to their house to make their presence known. Oikawa had met one at the door once, and when he had foolishly tried to send them away, he earned himself a black eye and a broken nose, much to the shock and horror of his sister, parents, and nephew who had all witnessed every second of it. The slimy rat who still squatted with them was nowhere to be found, of course. Oikawa had never liked that guy in the first place and he had really begun to wish he had been more vocal about convincing Midori not to marry him all those years ago.

So this was his life now. It was no longer fun and games, no longer a life driven by his passion to be on the court, no longer the long summers spent with friends or the school years that always brought something new and exciting with them. It was just hard, and depressing, and had a bitter kind of aftertaste to it that made Oikawa wonder how anyone ever survived like this. If he bothered to look at the statistics, which he didn’t, he would have found that few rarely did.

He sat on a bench outside while he waited for the evening bus to come around to take him home after a particularly exhausting shift at the planetarium. Oikawa thought he would have adored spending so much time there—after all, he loved everything to do with space—but the charm died off soon after he came to the realization that his work duties were more about paperwork and running errands than actually doing any of the instructing. In fact, he rarely got to spend any time at all in the “dome”, as it was called, where all the magic happened. He had already had his passion for volleyball crushed; what was another?

“Excuse me, sir. Is this seat taken?”

Oikawa glanced up at a man who now stood next to the bus stop bench, clad in a crisp black suit and a briefcase in his hand. Inwardly, he scoffed. Must be nice to have your life together, he thought. Rather than voice his bitterness aloud, though, he simply shrugged and scooted over to make room. The businessman smiled and sat down, and for a moment, Oikawa had hope that they would be able to sit like that in silence until the bus came. He should have learned not to get his hopes up about anything by now, though.

“If you don’t mind, could I interest you in—”

“No, you can’t,” Oikawa cut in before the man could continue, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy exhale. “Not to sound rude or anything, but I’m really not in the market for whatever sales pitch you have planned. I couldn’t afford it anyway.”

“Well, that’s alright,” the man said, unfazed. “I wasn’t going to ask you to buy anything. Just the opposite, in fact. I was wondering if you might be interested in a game.”

Oikawa opened his eyes again, his gaze slowly drifting to the left to regard the man with furrowed brows. He watched as the man placed his suitcase on the bench between them, popping it open to reveal three compartments: two for circular pieces of card stock with traditional samurai imagery on them and one for what appeared to be a decent amount of yen. Oikawa’s eyes widened at the sight of it, watching intently as the businessman picked up two circles and held them up.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Menko, right?” he asked with an all too innocent smile on his face. The crease in Oikawa’s brow deepened.

“The…kid’s game?” he asked. The businessman nodded.

“Precisely. Indulge me, and I’ll pay you twelve thousand yen for each time you manage to flip my card,” he explained. Oikawa’s eyes widened yet again before they narrowed, his lips pursed.

“You’re saying you’d pay me twelve thousand yen for beating you at a kid’s game?” He scoffed. “What is this? Some kinda weird advertisement for a new product?”

“Nothing of the sort,” the man deflected. “The terms are just what I’ve said. You flip my card, I pay you twelve thousand yen. Simple as that.”

Oikawa continued to squint at him for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest as he licked his lips in thought.

“...And if I lose?” he pressed. The man smiled again.

“Well, to keep things fair, I should only ask the same from you. If I flip your card, you pay me twelve thousand yen.”

Oikawa laughed incredulously, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I get it. This is like a scam, right? Your card is weighted differently or something, so when I try to flip it, nothing happens, but you flip mine without a problem. Is that it?”

He felt quite proud of himself for sniffing that out, but the businessman remained infuriatingly unconcerned with his accusation. If anything, he seemed to find it amusing.

“You misunderstand. As I said, this is all about keeping things fair. It wouldn’t be very fair of me to use a weighted card, now would it?” he pointed out. “To prove it to you, I’ll even let you hold them both to see for yourself. And, if you’re still not convinced, you can choose either card you like.”

The businessman held out the cards to him and Oikawa only hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to take them. Holding one in each hand, he contemplated the weight of each, unable to notice any discernible difference in either. He pursed his lips, glancing back at the businessman.

“...Twelve thousand yen?”

“Twelve thousand yen.”

“Fine. You’re on. I pick this one,” Oikawa said, handing back one of the circular cards whilst holding up his choice of the samurai with the water motif designs. The man’s smile widened as he stood up and Oikawa soon followed.

“Lovely. As a show of good faith, I’ll let you go first,” he said, bending down to place his card on the sidewalk in front of the bus stop.

Oikawa glanced around to ensure that no pedestrians were heading in their direction to potentially interrupt their game, then looked down at the card still in his hand for a moment. With a final shrug of acceptance for this outlandish situation he’d found himself in, he lifted his hand and brought it down like a whip, slapping the card down at his feet. It bounced off the businessman’s card without flipping it. Oikawa felt his eyebrow twitch.

“Hm. Beginner’s misfortune, I guess,” the man hummed, sounding all too full of himself. He bent down to pick up his own card and then, with a cheeky wink, he threw it down on the ground with perfect aim. Oikawa’s card flipped over with a resounding pop upon impact. The brunet felt himself deflate as the business dusted his hands. “That’ll be ten thousand yen.”

Oikawa stiffened. When he had agreed to this stupid game, it had been with every intention of winning on the first try because how hard could it be? At least then he would have had the twelve thousand yen to wager in the first place. He glanced over at the businessman out of the corner of his eye, a nervous smile tugging at his lips as he reached up to scratch at his cheek.

“Uh, about that…” he began, looking off to the side. “I don’t exactly…have twelve thousand yen on me. Currently.”

“That’s alright. How about you pay me with your body instead?”

“Excuse me?!” Oikawa all but shrieked, face flushing instantaneously, much to the other man’s apparent amusement.

“Every time you lose, instead of you paying me, I’ll slap you. Just like this.”

The man didn’t wait for a response before promptly striking Oikawa across the face. The latter’s head snapped to the side, less from the force of the slap and more out of shock (not that the man hadn’t put a little power behind it). Oikawa slowly brought his hand up to his face, jaw slack as he turned back to look at the smiling businessman.

“Would you like to continue?” he prodded.

Oikawa narrowed his eyes. Damn his competitive nature.

Approximately ten rounds later—ten rounds of the resounding noise of getting slapped in the face and his own ensuing groans of displeasure each time he failed to flip the businessman’s card—Oikawa finally tasted victory in the form of watching that gaudy samurai caricature popping off the ground and twisting in the air. He didn’t hesitate to pump his fists up above his head with a triumphant shout.

“Finally! In your face you tawdry little smarta—”

He was abruptly cut off when a couple or yen notes were held up in front of his face. Oikawa blinked and looked over to find the businessman’s permanent smile as he offered him the cash. Looking back at the money, he slowly lifted his hand to take it, his own smile having vanished in favour of a skeptical look.

“Congratulations,” the man said without a hint of irony. “You know, there are more games like this you could play for a chance to win even more cash.”

After holding up the yen note to the lamp light to ensure its authenticity, Oikawa snorted as he slipped it into his pocket.

“As much as I sincerely appreciate the offer,” he drawled, his tone of voice contradicting his words, “I’m not really interested in gambling over silly kid’s games, or risking even more abuse to my gorgeous face. This was fun, but no thanks.”

He peered down the street to see the headlights of the approaching bus come around the corner, idly rubbing at his sore and likely reddened cheek.

“Oikawa-san,” the businessman said then as he clipped his briefcase shut again after replacing its contents.

Oikawa paused, then slowly, haltingly turned his head to look at him again, his expression having lost all hint of humour.

“How did you—”

“Oikawa Tooru. You’re twenty-seven years old. You attended Aoba Jōsai High and later moved to Argentina to pursue your career in volleyball while studying at the National University of San Juan. You joined the Club Atlético San Juan volleyball team and played for six years before suffering a serious injury on the court. You were then removed from the team, you dropped out of university without a degree, and you returned to Japan last summer to move back in with your family so you could support them through their financial crisis.

“Your sister divorced her husband ten years ago and her son, your nephew, is sixteen years old. Your sister’s ex-husband is five million yen in debt for gambling, your parents still owe 225 million yen after the collapse of their enterprise, and you, yourself, are six million and seven thousand yen in debt for your student loans and unpaid tuition fees which, if I’m not mistaken, are still accruing interest every month.”

For a long time, Oikawa said nothing. He could only stare at the businessman, face drained of all colour and his heart beating far too loudly in his ears. The bus pulled to a stop in front of the bench and the doors opened, but Oikawa didn’t move.

“...How do you know all that?” he asked then, voice barely audible over the hum of the bus engine.

The businessman was no longer smiling, but instead had an oddly sympathetic look on his face that made Oikawa want to return each slap he’d given him tenfold. Rather than explain himself, however, the man simply reached into his jacket pocket and produced a card that he held out. Oikawa looked at it, observing the three shapes on the front—circle, triangle, square—and numbly took it to turn it over and read the phone number on the back.

“Spots are filling up quickly. You may not get another chance like this,” the man said. Oikawa looked up at him again. “Think about it. Give us a call if you’re interested.”

And with that, the man straightened his suit and turned to walk away. Oikawa stared after him for seconds that dragged on until he was yanked out of his trance by the honk of the bus horn and the driver snapping at him to hurry it up already. Oikawa jolted back into action and grabbed his bag from beside the bench before hurriedly boarding the bus, nearly tripping over himself in the process as he shuffled toward the back. He caught a glimpse of the businessman through the window just before he sat, staring as the man looked over his shoulder to offer him another smile and wave before continuing on his way.

The jolt of the bus moving forward prompted him to take his seat finally. Settling his bag on the floor between his feet, Oikawa looked down at the business card in his hand again, reading over the phone number again and again.

What the hell?

“Tooru! You’re home late,” Midori called from the kitchen when Oikawa stepped through the front door.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I just…got caught up,” he replied, voice trailing off as he recalled the encounter by the bus stop. Midori came around the corner as he was toeing off his shoes, donned in an apron with a stirring spoon in her hand and her long brown hair drawn up in a messy bun (of sorts).

“Well hurry and freshen up. Supper’s almost ready,” she said, flashing him a smile.

Before she could disappear down the hallway again, though, Oikawa grabbed her hand and slipped the twelve thousand yen into her palm. She blinked up at him and then looked down at their hands, gasping softly at the sight of the yen notes.

“Tooru, where did you get this kind of money from?” she asked, holding it up to the light to examine it the same way he had done when the businessman handed it to him.

“It was…a bonus from work,” he lied. “I guess they’re really starting to appreciate me out there.” Midori glanced back at him, clearly skeptical.

“A bonus? Really?” she asked.

Oikawa tucked his hands behind his back and nodded as he rolled back on the balls of his feet. Midori studied him for a moment longer before humming.

“Alright, then. I guess you do always go above and beyond no matter what you do. It’s about time they started acknowledging your worth, otouto-kun~” Oikawa groaned as she snickered and skipped back to the kitchen with her little brother in tow.

“Why do you still call me that? It’s embarrassing. I’m almost thirty years old, you know. I’m not that little anymore,” he complained as he went to take a seat at the dining table to watch her cook.

“You’ll always be my little brother. And I’ll always be here to tease the living crap out of you~” she sang from the stove. Oikawa huffed out an exasperated sigh through his nose, resting his chin in his hand, but he smiled at her nonetheless.

“No doubt about that. I won’t get a moment of peace until the day I die, that’s for sure,” he muttered. Midori tossed him a look of mock-offense over her shoulder.

“You take that back, you little runt. I am an angel. Every moment spent with me is a blessing,” she said matter-of-factly. Oikawa snorted.

“Or a curse,” he added.

“Tooru, quit antagonizing your sister,” came his mother’s voice from the doorway. Oikawa straightened up and looked at her with bewilderment.

“Me?! She’s the one who started it!”

“I’ll be the one to finish it, too, if you don’t shut your trap,” Midori said with a halfhearted warning glance.

“Moooom,” Oikawa droned.

“Now now, kids, settle down. It’s time to eat,” their mother said as she moved to start setting the table just as two other figures appeared in the kitchen: their father and Midori’s son, Takeru. Oikawa craned his neck a little to glance behind them, pursing his lips.

“Where’s the bas—”

“Tooru!” Midori chided as she leaned around him to place a pot in the middle of the table. She threw a cautionary glance at Takeru, who seemed wholly uninterested in any conversation happening around him. Oikawa rolled his eyes.

“Right, sorry. Where’s Mako-san,” he asked instead. Midori clicked her tongue, continuously moving around the table to arrange the food.

“He won’t be in tonight. He said he’s staying over at a friend’s since they’ll be out late,” she said.

Oikawa shared a knowing look with their mother, but they didn’t comment on the painfully obvious excuse that Midori’s ex-husband had given to go drinking again and, more than likely, gamble.

“Well, more for the rest of us!” Oikawa said as he plucked his chopsticks off the table.

As everyone else sat down, they all put their hands together in front of themselves and chimed out a warm “Itadakimasu!” before digging into the hearty meal his sister and mother had prepared. For the time being, Oikawa was able to forget about the strange businessman he met at the bus stop and simply enjoy eating a meal with his family, this time without the awkward, smelly presence of his ex-brother-in-law.

He even managed to get Takeru to smile a bit and join in the conversation when he asked his nephew about how his practice was going. He was as happy as he was saddened by the way Takeru spoke about volleyball. He was in his second year of high school and had managed to land a spot on the team as the starting setter and Oikawa couldn’t have been more proud. All of his stories and experiences reminded him so much of his time at Aoba Jōsai that his chest felt tight at moments, but he had long since learned to work through that and continue to support his nephew through his endeavours. It would have to be enough simply to live vicariously through someone else at this point in his life.

That night in his bed, Oikawa found himself scrolling through old pictures on his phone, unable to keep himself from smiling when he came across certain ones. Group photos with the team, photos taken by Hanamaki and Matsukawa when they got their hands on his phone and decided to spam his gallery, photos of Iwaizumi seconds before he stormed over to scold Oikawa for one thing or another. There was also, of course, the one he took at his high school graduation with Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki, the four of them squished together to fit into frame with Iwaizumi right in the middle and none too pleased about it.

Even he couldn’t hide his grin that day, though. Hanamaki had gone in for a last-minute bunny ears gesture behind Matsukawa’s head, to which Matsukawa responded by curling his arm around Hanamaki’s head to hook his finger in the corner of his mouth and yank. Oikawa stood between them and right behind Iwaizumi, his arms linked around his ace’s shoulders and he recalled the feeling of Iwaizumi’s hand resting softly over his, just out of frame.

His eyes lingered on Iwaizumi’s face in that one, heart clenching at the sincere joy in his eyes while he was surrounded by their friends, tinged with a little bit of remnant sadness at having to go their separate ways, and the way he looked right into the camera as if, even back then, he was looking at Oikawa when he reminisced over the photo.

He hadn’t called Iwaizumi in a while. They had spoken over the phone as soon as Oikawa got back to Japan—he couldn’t very well not immediately call Iwaizumi after making the trip and surprise him with the news—and they had tried to keep in touch since then, but with everything going on in their lives, it was…difficult. Oikawa had been busy trying to find work for the past few months and Iwaizumi was off training Japan’s national volleyball team and preparing them for stardom. It was only natural that neither of them would have time to call each other every other day like they used to.

Opening up his contacts, Oikawa scrolled until he found Iwaizumi’s ( 💞 Iwa-chan 💕 ) and his thumb hovered over the name. Then he glanced at the time, however, and thought better of it. Iwaizumi wouldn’t appreciate a call at that hour, even if Oikawa were sure he would answer regardless. Instead, he opened up their text conversation and began typing out a message.

Oikawa quickly backspaced the heart he had tacked on tot he end of that message before hitting send, his own heart beating furiously at the mere thought of tacking that on to any of his texts. Was he nuts? Maybe a little, all things considered.

He had never managed to work up the courage to tell Iwaizumi how he felt about him and he only had himself to blame for the heartache that accosted him every time Iwaizumi’s name crossed his mind. He had had all the time in the world to say something before they parted ways after graduation, but he couldn’t do it. There were moments when he had come close, moments when Iwaizumi would look at him expectantly and it would be right on the tip of his tongue, but he had always chickened out at the last possible second and diverted the topic somewhere else entirely. In those moments, he could also swear he saw disappointment flash in Iwaizumi’s eyes, but that was more than likely just wishful thinking on his part.

Oikawa stared at the message he sent for a moment longer before sighing and lowering his phone to his chest. He looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom, which wasn’t much, considering he shared it with Takeru. He glanced to his side to see his nephew sleeping soundly on the other side of the room, their beds pushed into opposite corners. It was far from the ideal situation for two men to share a room in such close quarters, especially when Oikawa had a habit of encroaching into his nephew’s space with his belongings and Takeru could get on his nerves a little on days when they were both stuck inside for extended periods of time.

He wished it didn’t have to be like this, but his parents already slept in the guest bedroom and Mako crashed on the couch most nights when he was actually here. A part of him envied his sister for having a room to herself, but, then again, this was her house, and she was letting them all stay there out of the goodness of her heart, so he really didn’t have any room to complain.

After tossing and turning for a little while longer and failing to get any rest, Oikawa tugged on a pair of slippers and a robe and made his way outside to the back porch, where he glanced back through the door to make sure he hadn’t awoken anyone. Only once he was certain did he pull out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter he had stowed away in the pocket of his robe. He wasn’t proud of developing this habit by a long shot, but he couldn’t deny the cravings he got every so often when the stress began to eat at him too much.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a vibration in his other pocket, quickly huffing out the smoke in his lungs as he fished out his phone again to look at the notification. His face lit up when he saw Iwaizumi’s name, tapping on the notification to open the new message.

<

💞 Iwa-chan 💕

Today 1:32 PM

Hope you’re having a good evening Iwa-chan 😊 Just checking in~ I hear the jackals have a big game coming up. I'm rooting for you!

1:32 AM

Who the hell else would you be rooting for? Why are you up so late?

1:36 AM

Just couldn't sleep. Started thinking about you

*You and the guys.

Did I wake you? I'm sorry.

1:37 AM

No you didn't wake me. Not having much luck sleeping myself tbh.

How's your family?

1:39 AM

We're managing...can't really say much more than that.

And yours?

1:40 AM

They're good. Ma's still in and out these days but Dad's been keeping an eye on her.

Doctors say she's showing signs of improvement.

1:41 AM

That's great! I hope I can come visit soon :) I would love to say hi to auntie~

1:42 AM

Yeah me too.

It would be good to see you again Shittykawa.

1:43 AM

Not likely with that nickname 🙄

1:44 AM

You love it.

1:45 AM

We'll see about that when I actually put together some money to come all the way to Hokkaido.

1:46 AM

Don't worry about all that right now. You have more important things to save up for.

1:46 AM

Yeah but I can just imagine the look on your face if I showed up out of the blue 😉

1:47 AM

Do it and I’ll kill you.

1:48 AM

Iwa-chan you wouldn’t dare!!

1:48 AM

Try me.

1:50 AM

😐

1:50 AM

I'm kidding.

1:51 AM

...

1:51 AM

Oikawa.

1:51 AM

🤭 I know that Iwa-chan. You're so silly.

1:52 AM

Well you're sillier.

1:53 AM

Am not ☹️

1:53 AM

You totally are.

What are you doing right now?

1:55 AM

Just standing outside for a bit of fresh air.

1:55 AM

Oikawa wouldn’t dwell on the fact that that was the exact opposite of what he was doing out here as he took another puff of his cigarette. Despite his best efforts, he started grinning at some point or another and hadn’t been able to get rid of his smile since.

<

💞 Iwa-chan 💕

Today 1:32 PM

Can you see the moon from Kyoto?

1:57 AM

When faced with the question, Oikawa’s curiosity got the better of him and he glanced up in search of the bright white beacon in the night sky. He was almost disappointed to see only clouds, but as he walked to the other end of the porch, he finally spotted the moon’s silver luminescence peeking over the roof of the house. His smile widened at the sight of it amidst the smattering of stars that shone through the gap in the clouds.

<

💞 Iwa-chan 💕

Today 1:32 PM

Can you see the moon from Kyoto?

1:57 AM

Yes!! It's so pretty tonight. It looks like it's almost full.

1:59 AM

Thought you'd enjoy that. I know you're not taking the time to breathe and enjoy things lately.

2:00 AM

Even over a thousand miles away, Iwaizumi could still read Oikawa like an open book. His eyes softened as he looked over the words.

<

💞 Iwa-chan 💕

Today 1:32 PM

Can you see the moon from Kyoto?

1:57 AM

Yes!! It's so pretty tonight. It looks like it's almost full.

1:59 AM

Thought you'd enjoy that. I know you're not taking the time to breathe and enjoy things lately.

2:00 AM

Somehow you still always know just what I need to hear when I need to hear it.

Or read it I guess 😛

Thank you Iwa-chan.

2:02 AM

You're welcome. Now go get some sleep and quit overthinking shit.

Everything will work out in time. I promise.

2:04 AM

Goodnight Iwa-chan.

2:04 AM

Goodnight Oikawa.

2:04 AM

Oikawa took a deep breath and turned off his phone, tilting his head up toward the sky again as he leaned back against the porch railing. As he stared up at the brilliant moon, he wondered if Iwaizumi could really see it where he was, too, or if he just took a shot in the dark and hoped for the best. Whatever the case may have been, it brought a smile to his face to think that they could both be looking up at the same moon right now. It truly was a breathtaking sight.

After snuffing out his cigarette, Oikawa made his way back inside, tip-toeing through the house so as not to make the slightest noise as he crept back into the room he shared with Takeru. Luckily his nephew was still fast asleep, so Oikawa shrugged off his robe and slipped back into bed wordlessly. He might have been about to close his eyes and take Iwaizumi’s advice, but as he laid his head down on the pillow, he caught sight of the golden business card sitting on his night stand.

He stared at it for a long time. Everything will work out in time. That was what Iwaizumi had said, and as much as Oikawa appreciated the thought, he knew it wasn’t true. Time was not on his side. With the gambling debt collectors sending the Yakuza after Mako, sending them to his sister’s home, where his entire family lived, with creditors stuffing their mailbox full of thinly veiled threats every week, with his inbox getting just as many notifications about his loans and tuition fees, they had already run out of time. The longer they remained like this, working themselves to the bone both to support themselves and pay back the debt they all owed, the more they were just killing themselves to reach a finish line they had no hope of crossing. Interest would continue to accumulate. The Yakuza would grow impatient. Maybe Midori’s house would be the next thing they tried to take. There was more at stake here than any one of them could handle alone.

And he wanted to see Iwaizumi again. As selfish as it sounded, he wanted to squirrel away any bit of spare cash he could just so he could take a train to Hokkaido and see his best friend and the love of his life after so many years. They had arranged visits on occasion after Oikawa moved to Argentina, of course, but it was never for long, and it certainly was never enough. Oikawa knew that Iwaizumi had struggled for a time, too, both with work and helping his father take care of his mother. Prolonged visits just weren’t feasible back then, and after a while they stopped altogether.

Oikawa’s hand moved from under the covers to reach for the card before he even realized what he was doing, flipping it over to reveal the phone number on the back again. He swallowed, already in disbelief that he was even considering this. He turned down his phone volume and dialed the number.

“Hello? Who’s calling?” asked a voice on the other line after a couple of rings. Oikawa froze up for a moment, surprised that someone had actually answered. “Hello?” the voice asked again. Oikawa softly cleared his throat.

“H-Hi, this is— You gave me your card,” he said, narrowly avoiding giving his name. The man he had spoken to seemed to know everything about him, but just on the off chance that this was some sort of prank or something more nefarious, he wanted to refrain from providing too much information at the start.

“Do you wish to participate in the game?” the voice asked, sounding far more certain now than before. “If you do, please state your name and date of birth.”

Well. So much for that.