Pastime
A Haikyuu! oneshot
by mew-tsubaki
Note: The Haikyuu! characters belong to Furudate Haruichi-sensei, not to me. Just when I thought I'd sated my Washinaga hunger, it strikes again. :3c Read, review, and enjoy!
- ^-^3
Letting his eyes trail after him is sometimes a conscious thing to do, but, more often than not, it happens without Onaga truly paying attention, without his realization.
Calling Washio's pull on him "magnetic" wouldn't be wrong, but it certainly wouldn't be fitting, either. Onaga's met magnetic people this past year—Bokuto, Nekoma's Haiba, Karasuno's oddball first-year combo—and Washio doesn't feel so completely out-of-this-world in the ways they do. Thank gods for that, too. Otherwise Washio would feel entirely out of Onaga's reach.
But…he's not. In fact, somehow, between the tournaments and despite the two years between them, eyes that once met by chance a few times too many and then met as per instruction on the court and then met with purpose off the court belong to these two middle blockers who've kindled something tangible and intangible all at once between them. And they've enjoyed every second of it.
Even if it is coming to an end.
Always at that thought, Onaga freezes and draws himself up, holding on to every last shred of confidence he has, because he can't think like that. He can't. It doesn't matter that the Spring High is behind them. It doesn't matter that Fukurodani came close and lost in the end. It doesn't matter that team activities are back to slightly less than normal because there are two months left in the school year and the third years have more important matters to juggle.
He catches sight of Washio rounding the corner at the end of the hall with Konoha and Sarukui as the lunch bell chimes and signals the students back to their classrooms. Onaga's eyes follow the tall owl until even the back of his heel is hidden by the corner.
Onaga reminds himself to breathe, because two months are still two months. There's no need to panic yet.
Maybe he noticed Onaga, too, because Washio's head pops back around the corner, and he cocks his head at the first year. Then his right eyebrow lifts as if to say "Onaga? Shouldn't you be getting to class?"
Onaga chuckles and nods. He waves to his senpai, and then it's easier to head back to Class 1-4.
Washio never has to say much, if anything at all. But he always knows the right thing to say, the right thing to do, when Onaga needs it. So it's not that there's no need to panic yet.
There's…no need to panic. At all.
- ^-^3
Outside of club and maybe lunch when they have occasion to eat together, the best chance to spy Washio occurs in the outdoor corridors, between buildings. It's one reason why Onaga likes to hang out near the windows or simply by the paths. These times usually are Onaga's eyes seeking out the lengthy, sturdy form that's rather delicate in comparison to his own on purpose.
He doesn't have to wait long during study hall later in the day to see Washio. The older boy's friendship with Konoha often lands him in a small group of classmates who chat freely amongst each other as if they're the best friends in the world, even when not everyone in said group actively chats. And today's group isn't much different: There's Washio, Konoha, another guy Onaga doesn't recognize, and four girls who Onaga guesses are probably also third years. The group intermingles easily, and the girls aren't scared of Washio the way underclassmen tend to be. Perhaps they really are fellow third years; they've had time to get acclimated to the relatively silent and seemingly gruff demeanor of Washio Tatsuki.
If he didn't have the experience of interacting with Washio during practice, Onaga would be crap at reading the third year now. But…he does have the experience. He knows that the better Washio knows a person, the less he talks because he needs fewer words—except where necessary (like telling Konoha and Komi not to steal from his or Sarukui's lunches, reminding Onaga to cover his head when Bokuto's serving especially since he and Washio are large targets, correcting the other third years when reviewing their homework over break, and…even piping up when together with Onaga, telling the younger boy everything he's doing that's right—there hasn't been an instance yet where Onaga's done anything wrong).
So it's not surprising to see Washio respond as needed when someone directs their attention at him. He actually converses well, and Onaga is amazed every time he witnesses Washio speaking with Yamiji-sensei or another teacher because the quality of their syntax feels more elite than even the "academy" in "Fukurodani Academy" implies.
Onaga's meandering thoughts screech to a halt when the tallish girl with dark brown ringlets tilts her head towards Washio and laughs. Washio's words trail off, and his gaze flits this way and that.
Don't look over here, don't look over here.
He meets Konoha's eyes, and understanding passes between the two friends. Konoha's on notice that Washio's no longer having much fun.
Don't look over here, don't look over here.
But, as luck would have it, Konoha glances Onaga's way. The blond does a double-take, and that fox's grin tugs the right corner of his thin mouth upward. He knows what the rest of the team has mused, because he and Washio share more secrets than one might suppose the friends would.
So, of course, Washio follows his line of sight and sees Onaga. And he relaxes.
It's such a subtle thing to capture—the way his rigid shoulders slacken just a smidge, how his ears move downward when he stops involuntarily clenching his jaw, the way his dark eyes widen in what equates to delight in Washio-speak. And it makes Onaga feel giddy and guilty simultaneously.
Washio's never had an eye for girls. And he hasn't looked at other guys, as far as he's told Onaga. It's just been Onaga. And, before that, no one.
Still, the reassuring thought isn't all that comfortable. Because there had been no one…until Onaga. That means that things change in Washio's life, as they're wont to do in anyone else's. Things change.
A month and a half, Onaga thinks, not against giving Washio a comforting smile before he heads back into the building and tries to forget that other people exist who are fine with Washio just the way he is, that Onaga isn't the only one who knows Washio is more than worth the time of day, that he's cool and awesome and sweet and special.
Things change. A lot can change in a month and a half.
- ^-^3
Usually when their eyes meet because they intend it, Onaga and Washio are in the stairwell to the roof, eating lunch with a few of their friends if they're being too rowdy or with everyone if the rest are on their best behavior. There's no enjoying the early spring breeze on the rooftop anymore because the teachers have located all copies of the roof key, so the door's locked 'round the clock now.
"I'm thinking karaoke marathon, nonstop, as soon as exams are over," Konoha announces at the top of the flight of stairs from beside Komi and Shirofuku. "Twenty-four–seven, karaoke and snacks—or longer. Maybe until the last person's throat turns to sandpaper."
Washio, Sarukui, and Akaashi wear identical expressions of distaste, Akaashi just this side of turning green on a middle stair and Sarukui making a silent deal with Komi that the libero can have the rest of his fried shrimp if he sides against Konoha. Washio simply groans and leans back against the bannister, nudging Onaga's foot with his, a nonverbal "help me."
"Oh, stop it, Akaashi," Konoha growls, pointing with his chopsticks. "I was thinking third years-only. The girls from Komi's classes said something that got me thinking about it."
Suddenly, Onaga's chilly despite having his blazer on, and he peeks at Akaashi and at Suzumeda, second years but underclassmen like him. Onaga's the only one whose face falls at the clarification. Akaashi heaves a sigh of relief, which displeases Bokuto, who wants to bring him along anyway, and the setter dodges the hug coming his way by scooching closer to the freckled manager, who, in turn, doesn't stifle her laughter over the spectacle.
"We'll be doing a club party right before exams anyway," Suzumeda points out as she sticks one long leg out to keep their ace from tumbling down the stairs. A grateful Bokuto catches himself and resumes eating his onigiri.
"One is more than enough," Washio pipes up, and Onaga moves his gaze to his boyfriend. Washio pauses and adds, "The club one is more than enough."
But is it?
Konoha starts rattling off all the advantages of the third-year karaoke marathon while Shirofuku takes a cue from her fellow manager and reminds them how much fun the VBC's year-end parties are, and the others devote their attention to them, chiming in with ideas and opinions and memories. Except for Washio and Onaga.
"You…wouldn't prefer the marathon?" Onaga asks quietly, enough so only Washio hears. Though, even as he says it, he finds fault in that logic.
Washio knows, too, because he is not the sing-in-public type; about the closest he comes is singing "Happy Birthday" to his friends as long he's part of a group doing the singing. But Washio doesn't mention it. "The more time spent with you, the better," he states with the kind of finality and shining eyes that put an end to the discussion. He sits up until their hips touch, and he even leans against Onaga's left arm, resting his head on Onaga's shoulder once he's done eating.
Onaga appreciates the concern and all Washio does to blow it away, but nothing's set in stone. Sure, there's a month left, and plenty of their friends have an idea of the future—Akaashi will be captain starting in April, Suzumeda will be looking for another manager to work beside her in April, Bokuto will be in front of pro scouts in April (if he hasn't been in front of any already), Konoha and Komi will be taking more mock entrance exams in April, Sarukui and Shirofuku will be doing as Washio will and be studying the pros and cons of dorms versus apartments starting in April—but those are their friends. Friends, who think very little will be changing once March passes. Friends, whose tastes and hobbies and interests will generally remain the same even as some put Fukurodani behind them.
Boyfriends, girlfriends, friends.
Onaga is the only one from his middle school who came to Fukurodani, so he knows.
Even these things change.
- ^-^3
"…naga-kun? Onaga-kun."
The first year blinks and returns to his surroundings. He's in the hallway by the second-year classrooms, on his way back to homeroom upstairs to get his things after finishing his day duties, and the Modern History teacher, Maeda-sensei, idles beside him. "Sorry?"
Maeda-sensei gestures over his shoulder to the nearby classroom, 2-6. Akaashi's homeroom. "I've got to take a call, but I promised Kidou-sensei I'd put his reference materials away for him today since he had a family emergency. Would you mind taking his and my things to the history prep room? My stuff's on my desk in the faculty lounge." He raises his thin eyebrows behind his small glasses.
Polite beyond reason, Onaga nods, and he wishes he could recapture the moment that just had him mesmerized: Washio slipping his blazer back on and readjusting his tie after being outside—likely wrapping up his day duties, too. There'd been a brief, knowing glance, and for once Onaga wondered if Washio had been laughing at him a little, knowing he'd seen the first year somewhat slack-jawed.
"Oh! Washio-kun! Perfect. Could you help Onaga here carry some things?"
Wait. What?
Washio retraces his steps until he's beside Onaga. There's mirth in his eyes as they crinkle and he confirms with Maeda-sensei. "The history prep room? Of course. Shall we reshelf them or leave them in separate, organized piles for you and for Kidou-sensei?"
"Ahh, mine you can put back on the shelf, chronologically. Kidou's, leave on the study table in there, because I'm not sure if he's coming back for them." He claps Washio on the shoulder. "Thank you! You guys are lifesavers!"
Though Washio doesn't usually cough up his smile for anyone besides Onaga or their friends, he does smile politely now as the Modern History teacher takes a few backwards steps and then gives them a thumbs-up before jogging back downstairs.
Weird, Onaga wonders. He and Washio duck into 2-6 and grab an armful each of oversized hardcovers, and Onaga replays the scene in his mind. He glances down at Washio—he's always had to, but now he's no longer more than an inch taller than his boyfriend, he's going on three inches further from being eye-to-eye with him—and he has to wonder about the soft smile lingering on the usually unperturbed poker face.
They're days away from finals, and, really, Onaga should be happy that they're enjoying a surprise walk together when they both ought to be heading home with their noses buried in flashcards. But the tiny exchange with Maeda-sensei just now is a reminder that they're days away from finals, and March is almost over, and Washio has never gotten into details with Onaga of the kinds of people he likes, and Maeda-sensei is plain like Onaga but wears his hair stylishly like Shiratorizawa's Ushijima, and maybe Washio doesn't even notice when he smiles impulsively like that, and that was kind of the way all the accidental glances between the two of them turned meaningful halfway through the year, and this year is almost over, and Onaga will be another thing left behind—
"Onaga?"
They make it all the way to the history prep room at the opposite end of the hall, and Washio cocks his head to one side, that eyebrow slightly raised once again like "You've got a couple of fingers free—care to open the door?"
Onaga slides the door open, and Washio enters ahead of him. But, as they're only dropping this stuff off, there's no room to stop and have a proper chat about the whirlwind churning up in Onaga's mind. He sighs when Washio's back is to him, and they exit just as silently to go collect Maeda-sensei's books.
In the faculty room, the other teachers don't bat an eye—they don't even really pay them attention—when Washio and Onaga gather the books spread out on Maeda-sensei's desk. Then it's just a quick trip back up to the prep room, and then it's homeward bound.
Or, it would be, if Washio hadn't slowed his pace. He studies Onaga as they climb the stairs. But he does it so long and quietly that it reminds Onaga of the summer training camp and how Hinata would drink in every one of Bokuto's moves, and it makes him nervous.
"Washio-senpai?"
Washio comes to his senses and averts his gaze. This time he's the one better angled to open the door, and he motions with a quick nod for Onaga to head in first. He closes the door behind them.
Onaga rifles through the latest round of texts. "Oh, jeez… There are slimmer volumes tucked into the fatter ones. Are we supposed to separate everything?" If so, this could take twice as long.
"We should," Washio decides, and he waves for Onaga to pass him the thin book on old wartime propaganda posters first. The behemoth on World War II maritime policies and how they've shaped some modern laws comes next.
Like this, with Onaga separating and Washio sorting and shelving, a few minutes pass as they work quietly. A time or two, their fingers brush, and Onaga feels the way he did that time before, giddy and guilty.
By the time they're a third of the way through, Washio interrupts the flow by hooking his fingers around Onaga's. The first year stops and waits to see if Washio says something. He does: "You've…been looking away quickly these days."
Oh. Has he? Maybe he has. Ever since the tear- and snot-fests the team had at the hotel after losing the tournament in January, Onaga hasn't paid much attention to things aside from his academics and club and this sinking feeling he has about him and Washio…
Washio tugs on his fingers, but he turns, too, still at the bookcase but half facing Onaga and wishing to know whatever Onaga's clearly not telling him.
But how do you tell the one you love that you fear you're just a pastime for them?
That's what it is. All it takes is a good, long look at Washio's calm face tinged with a touch of concern by the way his heavy brow knits together, and Onaga feels the tiniest of reliefs to put a name to his worries. Of course the frets over Washio marrying some girl in university or turning out to prefer plain-looking older (not merely taller) men or simply realizing he's better off friends with his now former fellow middle blocker are all a part of this conundrum, but the heart of the matter is that Onaga worries he is simply one of things that has made high school fun and interesting for Washio.
Washio sighs, but Onaga knows it's not really a sigh. It's a sound to cover the cough to clear his throat as he looks away and pulls Onaga closer to him. They stand at the bookshelf, fingers still linked, and Washio removes his other hand from the nearby shelf, rests it on Onaga's cheek. Then he stares at Onaga anew.
It's Washio's own brand of coercion, and, damn, it makes Onaga want to talk. He gives Washio the lame smile he can muster in this moment, and he hopes his heart calms down when he rests his hands on his senpai's waist. He has a second to fret about this being an issue before he recalls Washio closed the door and that it's the end of the day right before exams so few people are around anyway. Then Onaga relaxes a fraction before his anxiety hits him full-force with that stupid question bouncing around in his head once more: Am I just a pastime for you? Am I just a pastime for you?
Washio's mouth is a straight line like usual…no, it's not. There's a small shadow on his chin, beneath his lips, a shadow cast by the single overhead light in this room, and it's the result of Washio biting his lower lip a fraction.
So Onaga exhales, takes the cue, and kisses Washio. He kisses him for as long as Washio wants and how Washio wants and how he wants to kiss Washio, too, and he pushes aside all these coulds, woulds, and shoulds (because these are future regrets, they haven't happened yet) that gang up on him and are meaner than any instance of having been called "Omonaga" by mistake or on purpose.
Washio softens in Onaga's arms, in his hands, and rests against the younger teen when he's satisfied and happy. He holds on for a while, and no work gets done, and it's as if Washio is trying to do the right thing yet again, say the right thing yet again. Whatever Onaga won't share, Washio is trying to prove that they're one thing not to doubt. They're solid. Right now, they're solid. Blockers that stuck together, lovers that stick together—they're solid.
And Onaga nods, caving to Washio being so hardheaded. He holds on a bit tighter than normal, too, and his brain cycles around to the only reassurance he might still believe: There's no need to panic.
…yet.
- ^-^3
B3 So, firstly, I was mean by adding "…yet." I know, I know. ;P But originally this fic was supposed to be light and funny and romantic…and then the story ran away from me some. On the other hand, where Onaga's doubting that things between them are little more than a fairytale, Washio's response in "Talent" should put his mind (and yours! XD) at ease, so please enjoy that, too! Also, damn, Onaga rly knows how well to read Washio to pick up on all of that. C'mon, boy. Goodness! (Also, Washio is handsome and soft off the court and Washinaga is too asdfghjkl GAH I love them, okay?) Two quick final remarks: The "academy" thing stems from "Fukurodani Gakuen Koukou," which literally translates to "Fukurodani Academy High School." And "Omonaga" means "long face," and it's a mistake Onaga has to deal with being called in canon (it's his current concern on his character page).
Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other [HQ!] fics, too, if you liked this! Go read "Talent," too~
-mew-tsubaki :3