Two weeks pass from that day and the shit-ton of assignments effectively take Wakatoshi's mind off anything that isn't school as he falls into a depressing routine of work, eat, sleep and repeat. After classes he stays cooped up inside his dorm room or the library, constantly brooding as he toils, barely exchanging a word with anyone. He doesn't have to be so strict though, he could spare an hour or two for a volleyball match once every two or three days, but seeing the Karasuno shrimp again has been a nasty surprise which brought back all that shit and now he's too upset to play.
What would be the point anyway?!
He no longer has any drive for it, no goal, it doesn't mean anything anymore. Not worth the effort – it's not like he can reverse time and go back there, to that time when he was still hoping, no, when he was sure that he'd-… Before his mother and her side of the family put their foot down and crushed his dreams.
'In the end, volleyball is not going to get you anywhere. You need a serious profession'.
And they used that final defeat against him.
Technically, it didn't mean anything – just because his high-school team had failed to make it to the nationals in his third year didn't mean that he wasn't ready, that he wasn't good enough to be selected and become a professional volleyball player. But they used it anyway, that damned moment of weakness, of insecurity.
'That's not it, they were probably going to do this anyway at some point… like maybe right after nationals? I mean how many people actually go pro after all?' Satori told him at the time and the Guess Monster was one of good intuition. Still, in the end it doesn't matter why or how it happened. Getting to the bottom of it doesn't make Wakatoshi feel any less like he's rotting alive.
But he needs to let it go.
It's been more than two years, he needs to let the past go and look forward to the future. He knows that, but it's easier said than done. Sure, Ushijima has heard the saying that happiness breeds more happiness and negativity brings about more reasons to be miserable, but he doesn't believe it until it actually happens.
It's a cold, late afternoon at the end of March. It may look like spring already but as the sun goes down the wind becomes biting, forcing Wakatoshi to speed up his step as he shivers in the light coat the morning sun fooled him into wearing. He's tired and even moodier than usual, and the sight of a newly-opened café at the edge of the campus reminds him that he missed lunch.
Absently, the brunet wanders inside drawn in by the rich aroma of butter croissants and plops into a cushioned seat, setting his notes binder on the table with a long sigh. He throws a vacant glance around before whipping out his phone to check his Instagram feed– the cafe is cozy but much too artsy-fancy for his taste, it's the kind of place he'd bring a girl to, maybe. He for one has no interest in the plushy, black-and-white striped sofas or the abstract paintings decorating the walls. Truth be told, he doesn't care much for pastries either, but he's hungry and hoping they at least have decent coffee.
"Hello and welcome! What can I get you?"
Ushijima barely registers the waiter's voice, save for the light snort which precedes the question, and his gaze briefly tears from the screen to land on the glossy one-page menu already laid out on the table.
"Um, I think I'll have a long espresso and a simple butter croissant, no filling. Thanks," he mutters, without a single glance towards the man, resuming his bored scrolling through the feed.
Shortly afterwards his order arrives, a fine porcelain cup and plate gracefully placed in front of him by an elegant, long-fingered hand.
"You know, I was wondering when you'd eventually show up here to give us some bad vibes, Ushiwaka," the waiter says instead of 'Enjoy' and Wakatoshi's head snaps up abruptly to stare at the owner of the suddenly familiar voice.
None other than Tooru Oikawa now stands beside his seat, watching him quizzically from behind a fancy pair of black-rimmed glasses. The former Seijoh captain looks as sharp as ever, chestnut hair perfectly styled and the crisp white shirt and black dress slacks flattering his slender form. His smug air is unchanged as well and the other's irritation spikes tenfold at this very unlucky encounter. His day already sucked and this was the last thing he needed.
"You work here?" Wakatoshi asks mindlessly (and stupidly, because the answer is obvious), for lack of a better reaction. "Huh. I didn't know you had come to this college as well, I haven't seen you around until now… And, uh, this place is new, isn't it?" he asks with a scowl.
"We opened in December. You missed all the promotions," Tooru trolls him with a grin, appearing entertained at the very least. "Oh, I have seen you several times during these years. But I was quick to sense the usual 'you-should-have-come-to-Shiratorizawa' bad vibe from far enough and steered clear from your path just in time, heh."
Twist the knife in the wound, why don't you…
He nods slowly, grumpily. "So, what do you mean 'us' anyway? Who else is here?" Might as well take the whole shit spoonful in one go.
"Well, I'm sure you remember the infamous Chibi-chan," Oikawa says with a smile, stepping aside slightly to reveal a certain petite redhead perched behind the counter and fumbling with his sketchbook. He's wearing the same crisp white shirt and purple velvet bowtie as the former setter. "He's on the next shift."
Well. The planets surely have aligned today, damn it.
"Yeah," Wakatoshi replies, leaning back in his seat, forcing the scowl off his face in an attempt to 'regroup'. "Actually, I met him a couple of weeks back at the gym, while I was playing some volleyball with my friends." He stresses the last two words out of impulse – his friends are not actually that close, not the way his high-school team was anyway, but Oikawa doesn't need to know that. He mustn't know that, or how bad they play, or how unhappy he is with how things are in general right now. Damn it, he shouldn't have mentioned this at all, better change the subject. "But as it turned out, he doesn't remember me though."
"I'd say that's the least sad thing about what happened to him. But what was he doing there?"
"He was drawing the players, the game, stuff like that," Ushijima shrugs indifferently, momentarily ignoring the questions popping in his mind as he takes a bite of croissant. "He drew me too."
Technically it's not a lie, he did see himself in the shrimp's sketches, but it looked like a random study among many, thus meaning absolutely nothing, and most importantly this is hardly enough to really rub Oikawa's well-known vanity the wrong way. For that reason alone it's kind of a half-assed thing to say – looks like the Seijoh bastard caught him on the wrong foot today.
A brief look of surprise appears on the other's face, but melts quickly into more smiles. "Pfttt... you sound flattered."
Maybe he was.
He shrugs again. "Maybe you should try it sometime as well, I bet you too have some artsy-pansy major, don't you?"
"Yeah, but mine's interior design, what I always wanted to do," Tooru clarifies amused. "Also, I do remember you quite well, so I have absolutely no excuse to do something like that."
Wakatoshi snorts. Unfortunately for him there are only a few people in the cafe at this hour, so it looks like Oikawa has plenty of time to antagonize him to his black little heart's content.
"So," he asks casually between bites, "Don't tell me you're friends with Shrimpy now that you work together and he doesn't remember anything." He couldn't care any less, but the former setter seems to know stuff he's unwilling to share so there's a chance that asking about it might annoy him.
"Oh, and why not? Truth be told he was never an asshole like the other brat he used to hang out with all the time – my kouhai - and even if he doesn't remember, I guess it was fun to... start anew on the ashes of our past rivalry. I even told him that he kinda used to piss me off back in the day, heh."
He laughs lightly, and suddenly Ushijima is reminded why the former Seijoh captain has always irritated him. The guy can just open his mouth and spill whatever he thinks – and does not overthink – with an ease and clarity which makes Wakatoshi look (and feel) like a constipated grinch in comparison.
"Well, I'd love to stay and chat some more but my shift is over in five minutes, so I'm afraid have to get going now. See you around and don't forget to leave a five-star review on our Facebook page!" Oikawa says next with a wink and sticking the tip of his tongue out, before waltzing away graciously and no doubt satisfied with the even sourer mood he's managed to leave Wakatoshi in.
Sipping on his bitter coffee, the other brunet watches him as he slips behind the counter and says something to the absorbed first-year hunched over his work while patting the boy's shoulder affectionately and making the petite ginger smile in turn. That's another thing, equally aggravating – Oikawa's always been popular, he knows what to say to make people like him, he makes friends easily when he wants to.
Again in contrast, Wakatoshi isn't a chatty person - he usually says what's on his mind concisely and to the point, sadly more often than not managing to come off as blunt and tactless. It's a fact, he's bad with words and soft skills and he's been deemed by many as a thoroughly unpleasant person, the former Seijoh captain included. Still, he's quickly realized the importance of this lacking ability upon getting into college, where his volleyball skills didn't matter anymore and Ushijima needed to start cultivating other qualities instead, so he does think that he's made at least some progress since his high-school years.
Not a very big progress though, the business student concludes, unable to help comparing himself with the other. But there's something else Wakatoshi lacks as well – namely the ability to resist a challenge, whether it's out in the open or he barely sniffs it, and even if it's only in his head. And that's the thing, right now he can't help but feel challenged on some deep, essential level by these two persons who have moved on with their lives past their history together and who do not share his current misery.
Leaving some bills on the table, the brunet picks up his half-empty coffee cup and walks towards the counter with slow, casual steps, coming to take perch on one of the bar stools right in front of the infamous Karasuno shrimp. Oikawa has disappeared somewhere in the back, so there's no danger, he thinks. Danger of what? He couldn't say. He doesn't even know why he's doing this in the first place, why he's choosing to twist the knife of painful memories in his own wound.
Hinata is caught up in his work – whatever that is – the one free hand currently busy ruffling his ginger strands into a complete mess, and Wakatoshi wonders if he's done this before, when he was still playing volleyball. If he too had always had a plan B to cling onto afterwards, just like everyone else aside from him, apparently.
"Hey," the older student greets quietly and a tad uncertain.
The shrimp looks up at him, puzzled at first, but then he smiles – a bright, pure and luminous smile Wakatoshi has never seen before - and for the second time in less than an hour he is caught with his guard down.