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Nobody really expects, on an average day, to run into an old rival they knew back in high school after a long day of being the second parent to rambunctious toddlers.

It’s not like Sugawara would have expected it either, not when most things in his life go according to plan. He hears a voice behind him, one that’s too familiar not to recognise despite it being years since they’ve last seen each other. He lifts his head with furrowed eyebrows, wondering for a second if his ears are playing tricks on him, and sees an old face from the good old days. “Is this—” it begins, but the man doesn’t get to finish his sentence by the time he makes a turn around the door.

Sugawara, who’s also been grovelling after an especially tiresome day at work, rises to his feet, seized by surprise. He stares at his old friend—if that’s what they can call each other, after all this time—and the long-yearned feeling of nostalgia comes knocking on his door. “Oikawa,” he’s the first to call out, breaking the silence. He’s forgotten the fact that he’s wearing an apron that’s covered in fingerpaint and mud, and that he looks like an utter disaster, but in the intimacy of the moment, nothing matters.

Oikawa’s face lights up when he catches a familiar face, and he starts folding the little slip of paper in his hands like he’s already found what he came to look for. “Sugawara Koushi, what a surprise,” he remarks, welcoming himself into the humble school. He’s gotten much taller than he was before, so it’s a little embarrassing seeing him, who could easily touch the ceiling with his palm, walk in. He doesn’t look any less confident than he was back then, and he seems to have refined that signature smirk of his too.

Sugawara has to admit, although he’s never been fond of the guy, considering their history as rivals, he can’t help but be a little impressed by the fact that he’s standing in front of such a man. He’s managed to work his way up into the wider world in the years that they moved on from their high school life, and during most competition seasons, his face finds its way back on Sugawara’s television screen. He’s well-known and cherished by not only Japan but Argentina, the team that he’s now playing for, and sometimes, his name becomes the topic of conversations between old friends.

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s impressed—no, not when Oikawa still hasn’t lost that ego of his. He’d hate to be a contributor to it, and be the victim to any more teasing. “Haven’t you been in Argentina for the past few years? What are you doing back here, in Miyagi?” Sugawara asks out of genuine curiosity, knowing that it should be the training season for professional volleyball players such as him.

Competitions are going to commence within the next few months, and knowing Oikawa, if he hasn’t changed since before, he should be dedicating all his days to practice.

“I see you’ve been following me,” Oikawa remarks snarkily, walking closer. There is an obvious limp in his leg when he walks, and when he does, he presses a hand against his knee too. Sugawara makes this observation with a hint of concern, because a limp couldn’t mean anything good.

Oikawa catches him staring at his leg, and decides he owes some explanation for his questionable re-appearance back in this small town. “I injured my knee badly during one of my training sessions—eh, actually, doctors tell me I’ve been overworking myself for too long and this is the consequence. I can’t participate in the next competition season so I decided to return to Japan so I could wind down.”

“Ouch,” Sugawara empathises. “That sounds tough,” he acknowledges, pulling out a chair for him to sit on. He wipes it quickly with one of the several rags hooked to his apron, seeing as though some of the children coloured it with their crayons during the earlier arts-and-crafts lesson.

Oikawa laughs, charmed by the effort to make him feel at home. “It’s fine, it hurts worse when I sit down.”

“Suit yourself,” Sugawara shrugs, returning to his cleaning. It’s probably a good thing that somebody decided to show up at a time like this, else he’d still be moping in his chair and staring at the ceiling while contemplating the decisions that let up to a career like this.

At some point, he thought nurturing children would be the easiest job in the world because of his supposed affinity for caretaking, and after having to raise a whole volleyball team of troublesome juniors, he was certain he’d be able to handle it. Recently, he finds himself victim to the same gruelling routine time and time again, waking up at seven to prepare for the same children who leave him with more stress than anybody else, then leaving at night when even the cars on the road have grown tired of the daytime.

Even now, it’s not like he hates his job. It’s just, going through a year of it has made him realise that he doesn’t love it as much as he did before—back when he was a new teacher and so dearly loved by the bunch of little ones that adored him as their new teacher. Nowadays, these children’s love depends on whether they’re given fries for lunchtime meals or not, and Sugawara realises that it’s no longer worth it for the price he has to pay. Alas, in Oikawa’s eyes, he looks as hardworking as a newtime employee, scrubbing down the floors, and re-arranging the tables into their right places.

“Funny thing, I came to Japan to reconnect with some old friends back in highschool, wanting to find out what they’re all up to these days. Then, I found out half of them weren’t even in Miyagi and I ended up with you,” Oikawa drawls.

Sugawara makes a face. “It’s not like I asked you to find me—which, by the way, I don’t know how.”

“Tobio-chan told me,” he smiles, lifting the folded piece of paper he previously tucked away. “I had a hard time finding the address but hey, I found you.”

“This is the only preschool in the area,” Sugawara points out, amazed by his ability to get lost in the same neighbourhood that raised him from the moment he was born. Alas, he knows better than to truly be surprised by anything that Oikawa manages to do, knowing that he has done worse. He continues to attend to his cleaning again, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible to avoid the embarrassment of having a conversation over the sound of sponges squeaking against the floor.

Oikawa chooses not to reply to the question and feigns interest in the preschool instead. He starts pacing around slowly, careful not to strain his knee further. He remembers having to pick up Takeru from here back during his late days in middle school, and how he must have been one of the children here too. A small smile makes its way on his face at the thought.

Meanwhile, Sugawara happens to notice a knee brace, and injuries on his leg that have yet to recover. He almost winces at the sight, wondering how hard he must’ve taken it on himself. “Did it hurt… badly?” he asks tentatively, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. He sits back on his feet, leaving the rag against his knee as he waits expectantly for an answer.

Oikawa doesn’t turn to look at him, but he knows what the topic of the conversation has spun into. “It doesn’t hurt as much as having to skip an entire season,” he says regretfully, lowering his head. “Worst part is, I’d do it again, if it means I can improve faster, but all that effort’s gone to waste now.”

Sugawara feels a little pitiful for the guy. “Are you staying with your parents?”

“My parents aren’t in Miyagi. They moved to Sendai a while ago, I’m pretty sure.”

“Wait, so you’re not going to visit your parents while you’re in Japan—”

“No, I came to visit some old friends, but,” Oikawa laughs, “Obviously that didn’t work out for me.” He turns around, and by this point, he finds Sugawara looking at him intently with those scrying eyes of his, like he’s searching for something, anything, even if it’s not there, because he always knows something’s going on. He’s always been that way—overly intuitive, and it’s become a natural part of his charm but Oikawa can’t help but feel intimidated by it sometimes. He’s secretive these days, more than he used to be before becoming famous. He’ll hope to laugh things off, pretend they’re not that big of a deal but Sugawara would know he’s lying.

“Where are you staying?” Sugawara asks.

“No idea,” Oikawa chuckles, as though it isn’t one of the biggest problems he should be having. “I tried to get a room at the inn, and the hotel that’s a few minutes away from Miyagi but none of them had any more rooms. Apparently it’s busy around this time of year.”

Sugawara grimaces at his stupidity. “Of course, I mean, this is precisely the time when the highschoolers are on break so they’re going to start travelling. You should know this—oh, unless, being overseas for too long has made you forget everything about Japan.”

“I didn’t even plan to come over, okay?” Oikawa admits. “It was an impulsive decision.”

“Well, where are you going to stay now?” the latter questions, and while it’s simple, he knows it’s one that Oikawa wouldn’t be able to answer. It’s incredible how he’s decided to show up in his neighbourhood with no prior information on who he’ll find back here, with a single address on a paper slip and nowhere to stay. Sugawara is a measly two seconds away from facepalming.

“I could stay with you—”

“With me?!” Sugawara says so loudly that he rises to his feet. He makes an appalled expression, unable to believe the audacity of this man to make such a bold offer when they haven’t met in years. They should be ten years older than the immature young boys than they were back then, but it seems as though one of them is yet to mature. “Is this why you came all the way out here to find me? To bunk with me—”

“That’s not it, I swear!” Oikawa promises, walking closer. “I had good intentions.”

Sugawara eyes him suspiciously, not convinced by his vow. “You’re lying.”

“Well, even if I were lying, it’s not like I’d magically have someplace to stay,” Oikawa retorts as a matter-of-factly, and for once something logical has left that stupid mouth of his. He looks around the room, as though searching for a reason to elaborate on his cause. “If you’re living with somebody else, I promise I won’t—” he starts to beg, like this was his motive in the first place.

“I shouldn’t have bothered to ask in the first place,” Sugawara grimaces, running his hand through his hair. He thinks about denying it at first, not because he’s bitter over a casual enmity that has fallen since they last met, or because he doesn’t have enough space at his house, but because it’s been so long since his house has ever been a home for anybody else, that he can’t imagine what it’s like to having someone around. Then, he sees Oikawa’s pleading eyes, looking at him like a dog abandoned in the rain.

Keeping completely silent, he turns his back to Oikawa, off to put his cleaning supplies away. Hiding his face, he says, “Fine, you can stay with me for as long as you’re in Miyagi. I live alone, anyways.”

He decides, with a small smile, he will ignore Oikawa’s happy little dancing until next time.

xxx

Observation 1: Oikawa’s existence is quieter than can be easily believed

It’s an important observation, one that nearly prefaces every other observation on hand. It comes easily noticed as Sugawara observes, one night, that he sees less and less of Oikawa with each day that passes. He rarely leaves the house, which is why the epiphany strikes as strange; and even when he does elect to spend his time elsewhere, his roaming is limited to the court outside their flat, where the highschoolers have been spending their holidays practising for the prefectorials.

Oikawa’s moving in concludes so easily, it feels like he’s always been there. He doesn’t bring much with him—only a single suitcase which he’d brought with him once he fled from Argentina within a single night, in which are only clothes to last him a week if he were to recycle them, and keepsakes from his teammates back in a country he was learning to call home. Oikawa doesn’t scatter his things either—he keeps them all organised within a corner where they’re easily retrievable.

It’s only a matter of time until Sugawara notices that Oikawa chooses to exist only within his peace, and nowhere outside of it. He’s rarely seen anywhere in the home—be it the kitchen, or the living room, or the corridor with bookshelves and cabinets to store textbooks, and much less than anywhere else, the guest room where he’s been given a place to stay. It’s only during meals when he appears in the kitchen to collect a plate for himself, that they get the chance to exchange a few words.

Sugawara tries not to probe. He’s content with letting Oikawa bask in his own bubble of a world, lingering in empty corners of the house which once used to remind him of his own loneliness. But he can’t help but feel like this quietness is uncharacteristic of the vivacious teenager he once knew—so enthusiastic and full of life, like nothing in the world could dampen his spirits.

Their only notable interaction is as follows;

Oikawa appears at his doorway one midnight, making his presence known with a polite knock to the door and a smile on his face. He’s wearing a pair of clothes lent to him by Sugawara, because it’s been a little depressing watching him reuse the same set of shirts and trousers for the past month. “Do you mind helping me lower the air conditioner in my room?”

“I’ll come in a bit,” Sugawara says, if a bit tiredly, his attention focused on the many documents he has to sift through to prepare for the upcoming field trip he has with the kids at the preschool. “I need to get through this pile, or I’m going to lose my focus.”

Oikawa falls silent for a bit, after that. He fidgets at the doorway, averting his gaze elsewhere as though to look for a reason to stay. He remains standing where he is, shoulders sagged into an awkward posture as a mixture of his tiredness and visible confusion. “My knee’s acting up again,” he blurts, and Sugawara recognises it as an excuse to ask for his attention. He turns in his chair, eyeing Oikawa to search for any clue on his expression as to what he intends to do.

“How do you want me to help?”

Oikawa’s ears flush at the question, and he decides, all things considered, he shouldn’t have come here in the first place. “Nevermind,” he murmurs quietly under his breath and retreats to his room without ever answering the question posed. Sugawara, a little disoriented, returns to his work.

Observation 2: Oikawa pretends he doesn’t mind his injury (he does)

The string of observations starts with Sugawara returning home too late one night and hearing crying from the guest room. He draws his eyebrows together, confused by the sound, and slowly pulls his cardigan off his shoulders. Slowly, he approaches the muffled sound and pauses at the doorway, his back pressed against the wall; and surely enough, behind the half-closed door, he hears weeping. Guilty about making himself privy to such a private moment, Sugawara steps away after a few moments.

He realises the crying stops once he closes a door a little too loudly.

His injury is one that remains a sour spot often untouched between them both, because such is the kind of personal boundary that he’s not close enough to Oikawa to cross. Even so, it’s evident in multiple things—in the way Oikawa is seen sitting on the dining table some evenings with polaroids documenting his time back in Argentina, in the way he leaves the room with an excuse of being too tired when the television broadcasts a volleyball competition, in the heaps of magazine articles he surrounds himself with out of his desperation to remain connected to Argentina even so far away.

A small part of Sugawara wonders if the reason why Oikawa had to leave so urgently was because reality had caught up to him too quickly and he could see no way out of his ill-fate. It’s evident in everything he does just how much he misses his team back home, but perhaps even the deep-rooted belonging he has toward his new family could not make the ache of sitting out of competitions any better.

Sugawara can’t, in good faith, blame the pain on Oikawa’s competitiveness (although he knows that the sadness, in all of its wholeness, stems from there). He has always sought to be the best, even as a child, even as a teenager, and maturity could not have done much to chisel away his ambition. He could never stomach loss very well, as much as he would try to paint himself otherwise.

Sugawara knows, however, if Oikawa hadn’t gone through a rigorous cycle of believing he was never good enough, losing one chance to play with his team would not feel so permanent. He tries to look past the glaring indications at the fact that every smile he wears on his face is a mask over the fact that his coming to Japan was a means for him to escape his reality, that every reason he’s tried to provide to make his sudden reappearance make sense would never be enough.

But—why me?—Sugawara is yet to understand.

Observation 3: Oikawa needs help; proper help

Sugawara recognises, all things concerned, that Oikawa can’t keep pretending that he’s doing alright when so much of this pretending is chipping away at his spirit. He’s been spending so much of his time sulking around the house, the comfortable silence has grown eerie. If he’s not watching the children on the makeshift volleyball court, he’s watching the television with a blank stare, or staring at the same cover page of the same magazine he’s been observing for the past week.

It’s been easy, for so long, to ignore the signs probing at the fact that Oikawa needs an intervention of sorts, some help, before his wallowing becomes drowning and he reaches a point where he can’t be saved from the copious amounts of self-pity that he’s been shouldering for months. Sugawara shouldn’t have left him to bear with so much grief on his own—with coping with the fact that he can’t compete when volleyball has always been such a large part of his life, with trying to grow accustomed to a place which his heart considers far from a home, with learning how to love again without centering his life so much around what he has lost.

So, Sugawara sits him down for a conversation instead of going to work. He calls in sick the morning of, and makes it a point to wake Oikawa up early in the morning; early enough before he sneaks out of the house to make rounds around the volleyball court with the excuse of exercise.

“You’re not okay,” Sugawara says, if a bit flatly, folding his arms. He rests them on the table and maintains a stern expression—his teacher face, better put. And the reaction which follows is unexpected; instead of instant denial like predicted, Oikawa’s expression contorts into a bitter one at first, before tears start gathering in his eyes. Taken aback by the adverse reaction, Sugawara panics and reaches his hands out to hold Oikawa’s. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not your fault,” Oikawa smiles sadly, trying to wipe the tears away from his eyes. Although he makes a feeble attempt at hiding his sadness, his nose has flushed red and his wiping is no help in hiding the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Things, uh—they’ve been hard,” he admits, burying his face in his hands once he decides no amount of pretending can save him from digging his own grave.

Sugawara coos at the sight, hastily rising from his chair to wrap Oikawa into a warm hug. “I wish you would’ve told me instead of keeping it all to yourself,” he sighs, holding their bodies close in an embrace.

And eventually, Sugawara understands, Oikawa has been searching for home.