Ship: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Oikawa Tooru Fandom: Haikyuu!! Major Tags: None Other Tags: Non-graphic implications of violence Word Count: 682
this caught my eye when you first posted it, i'm glad it's back ;) hope you like it!
***
Oikawa knows the jig is up when he hears the rustling of the shower curtain.
It’s soft. Barely a whisper, barely louder than the breath from his own lips, but in the carpeted hush of the hotel room, everything echoes like a death knell. Careless. Careless.
He weighs up his options, makes a split-second decision; when Ushijima Wakatoshi emerges from the bathroom a moment later, smelling of baby shampoo and that cologne he’s always used, Oikawa’s lounging back on his bed with his jacket unbuttoned, falling open over one shoulder. He greets him with his most devastating smirk.
“Ushiwaka-chan, the quality of pillows in this establishment leaves much to be desired.”
Ushijima doesn’t look in the least ruffled to see Oikawa there, which pisses Oikawa off just a bit.
“Oikawa. Might I ask you, at least, the courtesy of removing your socks?”
Oikawa scowls. He makes a big show of wiggling his toes. “They’re very stylish Tikachu socks.”
“They certainly are,” Ushijima agrees, with a solemn nod.
Oikawa sniffs and removes his socks, tossing them one by one across the room. They land in a balled up heap near the coffee table. Ushijima remains standing, silent, a towel round his shoulders.
“I assume you are here to dispatch me,” he says. His gaze never wavers. Oikawa feels it burning into him, pinning him down to the bed where he lies, and it’s only the ice-cool glass of the vial in his hand that keeps the smile on his face.
“It’s always business with you, isn’t it, Ushiwaka-chan?” says Oikawa, the corner of his lip curling.
Ushijima tilts his head. “What else is there?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just thought you might have some feelings about me taking this assignment. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. It makes perfect sense to send you. An analysis of my weaknesses would show—”
“Your weaknesses?” Oikawa laughs, leaning forward. His fist is clenched so tight it hurts. “Me? Are you joking?”
Ushijima finishes drying off his hair and sets the towel down neatly over a chair. When he turns to face Oikawa again, he takes a step to close the distance between them, a careful, measured pace; Oikawa can’t help noticing he still keeps him at arm’s length, and it’s another pang twisting in his gut.
“I do not joke,” says Ushijima, and Oikawa laughs again, for he of all people should have known that.
He sighs, slides over to the edge of the bed and crosses his legs. In his lap, his palm’s still balled up. He unfurls it slowly, deliberately, looks down at the swift release that swirls within.
“Well, it looks like I’ve botched the job,” he says lightly. “And I have certain… instructions. I’m delighted we got to meet one last time, at least—the conversation’s been scintillating—”
He doesn’t even see it coming, and that’s why, that’s why, he’s always failed with Ushijima; he doesn’t see Ushijima move to knock his palm away and send the vial softly to the floor, doesn’t see him drop to his knees in front of him and trap his arm in a grip he cannot break, knuckles pressing old imprints where Oikawa still wears their memory. He doesn’t see any of it coming at all. Ushijima’s always been fast, for his size, and armed with unerring game sense.
“What’s this?” Oikawa breathes. “Getting in my way again?”
“I do not wish to see you take your life,” says Ushijima, and in this moment, his voice is a raw thing, its own kind of poison, ringing clear and true. “I should be sorry, to see you die.”
As Ushijima’s hand circles round his wrist, unexpectedly tender, it occurs to Oikawa that he had wanted to be caught, all along. How silly, that he did not see it before. It is so obvious to him now, in the light of Ushijima’s honesty, stripped bare. It would have been tragically romantic, to go like this.
But he is once again thwarted, and it is always Ushijima who leaves him with nothing else to say.
FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, T
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: Non-graphic implications of violence
Word Count: 682
this caught my eye when you first posted it, i'm glad it's back ;) hope you like it!
***
Oikawa knows the jig is up when he hears the rustling of the shower curtain.
It’s soft. Barely a whisper, barely louder than the breath from his own lips, but in the carpeted hush of the hotel room, everything echoes like a death knell. Careless. Careless.
He weighs up his options, makes a split-second decision; when Ushijima Wakatoshi emerges from the bathroom a moment later, smelling of baby shampoo and that cologne he’s always used, Oikawa’s lounging back on his bed with his jacket unbuttoned, falling open over one shoulder. He greets him with his most devastating smirk.
“Ushiwaka-chan, the quality of pillows in this establishment leaves much to be desired.”
Ushijima doesn’t look in the least ruffled to see Oikawa there, which pisses Oikawa off just a bit.
“Oikawa. Might I ask you, at least, the courtesy of removing your socks?”
Oikawa scowls. He makes a big show of wiggling his toes. “They’re very stylish Tikachu socks.”
“They certainly are,” Ushijima agrees, with a solemn nod.
Oikawa sniffs and removes his socks, tossing them one by one across the room. They land in a balled up heap near the coffee table. Ushijima remains standing, silent, a towel round his shoulders.
“I assume you are here to dispatch me,” he says. His gaze never wavers. Oikawa feels it burning into him, pinning him down to the bed where he lies, and it’s only the ice-cool glass of the vial in his hand that keeps the smile on his face.
“It’s always business with you, isn’t it, Ushiwaka-chan?” says Oikawa, the corner of his lip curling.
Ushijima tilts his head. “What else is there?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just thought you might have some feelings about me taking this assignment. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. It makes perfect sense to send you. An analysis of my weaknesses would show—”
“Your weaknesses?” Oikawa laughs, leaning forward. His fist is clenched so tight it hurts. “Me? Are you joking?”
Ushijima finishes drying off his hair and sets the towel down neatly over a chair. When he turns to face Oikawa again, he takes a step to close the distance between them, a careful, measured pace; Oikawa can’t help noticing he still keeps him at arm’s length, and it’s another pang twisting in his gut.
“I do not joke,” says Ushijima, and Oikawa laughs again, for he of all people should have known that.
He sighs, slides over to the edge of the bed and crosses his legs. In his lap, his palm’s still balled up. He unfurls it slowly, deliberately, looks down at the swift release that swirls within.
“Well, it looks like I’ve botched the job,” he says lightly. “And I have certain… instructions. I’m delighted we got to meet one last time, at least—the conversation’s been scintillating—”
He doesn’t even see it coming, and that’s why, that’s why, he’s always failed with Ushijima; he doesn’t see Ushijima move to knock his palm away and send the vial softly to the floor, doesn’t see him drop to his knees in front of him and trap his arm in a grip he cannot break, knuckles pressing old imprints where Oikawa still wears their memory. He doesn’t see any of it coming at all. Ushijima’s always been fast, for his size, and armed with unerring game sense.
“What’s this?” Oikawa breathes. “Getting in my way again?”
“I do not wish to see you take your life,” says Ushijima, and in this moment, his voice is a raw thing, its own kind of poison, ringing clear and true. “I should be sorry, to see you die.”
As Ushijima’s hand circles round his wrist, unexpectedly tender, it occurs to Oikawa that he had wanted to be caught, all along. How silly, that he did not see it before. It is so obvious to him now, in the light of Ushijima’s honesty, stripped bare. It would have been tragically romantic, to go like this.
But he is once again thwarted, and it is always Ushijima who leaves him with nothing else to say.