It takes two months for the novelty of the States to wear off and leave Oikawa feeling like a husk of himself. Everything feels empty. He feels isolated. He can't connect. The things that were so simple at home feel impossible. Class is hard, socializing is hard, life is hard.

Back in Japan, Oikawa was a star student. He breezed through his classes, acquiring the admiration and respect of his teachers and peers. He was always the top student in exams, or at least near the top. He grasped concepts easily and studied late into the night to master them after class. He would pester Iwaizumi as he studied for exams all night, knowing that in the morning he would do fine without having to open a book. Iwaizumi always hated him for that.

Now, however, his usual tactics were no longer working. In class he had to translate the information in his head before even beginning to understand the lesson, and by the time he had a question they had moved on to a different topic. He doesn't know how to catch up, how to struggle this hard. Nothing is coming to him like it used to. He feels frustrated, he feels stupid. He hates it.

Oikawa Tooru was never a genius, but he was also never stupid.

On the court, he has trouble connecting. His entire strategy relies on learning his teammates strengths and weaknesses in order to play them. But he can't seem to learn anything. Sure, his teammates are kind, but it all feels so superficial. He only sees them at practice, and they all seem to be closer to each other than to him. And as a first year, he's spending more time on the bench than anything, and it's frustrating. Everything is frustrating.

He hasn't made any friends. Not any real friends. Just his teammates. The closest one is probably Ricky, who checks in on him every now and then, but Oikawa can tell that the upperclassman just has a crush on him and he doesn't have time for that. He has Iwaizumi. Even if he's leagues away and he just wants to be held sometimes. It's hard. It's frustrating. He hates it.

Iwaizumi is the only person he talks to. Every moment of the day he spends texting him this or that, random thoughts, updates, jokes. He never talks about anything negative. He paints a perfect picture of the perfect life abroad. All the friends he is making, all the points he's scoring, all the classes he's enjoying. It makes him a little sick, but he doesn't want Iwaizumi to worry. And plus, he's good at putting on a mask. He used to be good at a lot of things, but now it seems like that's his only remaining talent.

Even so, he's just texting into the void. When he's awake, Iwaizumi is asleep; when Iwaizumi is awake, he's asleep. And so the days go as Oikawa texts into the void, sleeps, and wakes up to a slew of responses form Iwaizumi. Once a week they meet up at odd hours on skype, but those are getting harder to schedule with midterms on the horizon.

Oikawa hates it. Oikawa hates everything.

He's miserable.

The only thing that keeps him going is knowing he gets to go home for winter break. That he'll get to see Iwaizumi soon and hold him, and hug him, and kiss him, and feel him. He can't wait. He needs it more than he's ever needed anything.

All this, however, changes one mid-November day.

It's their first real match and Oikawa can't bring himself to be excited. He simply goes through the motions. He packs his bags, he rides with his team, he plasters on a charming smile, he gets to his hotel room and he kinda wants to cry. He kinda wants to cry a lot these days. And it sucks. But he holds it in. Takes a deep breath, and heads to the gym for warm up.

He sends a few last text messages to Iwaizumi before he steps through.

k time for my first match. wish me luck ^3^

not that I really need it of course ;)

ill text u after the game. luv u

The gym is huge and they're the only ones there. The other team is beginning to file through, but they pay them no mind, too focused on their own last minute practice. Because of this it takes a moment for Oikawa to recognize him. He doesn't realize until a few minutes before they're supposed to line up, when he looks over the net and sees Ushijima Wakatoshi staring back at him in surprise.

Oikawa doesn't expect, nor does he fully understand, the surge of happiness that swells within him at seeing a familiar face. Of recognizing someone in this foreign sea. And seeing the recognition in Ushijima's own eyes, suddenly feeling special. And he is hit with a wave of homesickness, an illness that had been fermenting in the pit of his stomach, finally exploding outward. The cure for which stood before him, past a flimsy net.

And he wasn't going to let it go.

"Ushiwaka-chan!" Oikawa calls, waving excitedly as he races to the net. Ushijima pauses a moment, looking around before carefully placing the volleyball he was holding down on the ground. He then paces to meet his fellow Japanese, nodding in acknowledgment at his greeting.

Oikawa glitters, slipping into Japanese easily, with relish, "I didn't know you were in America too!" He begins, "Are you here on a volleyball scholarship? What have you been up to? Still as annoyingly bland as ever?" He teases, and he feels like himself for a second. Comfortable, confident, cool. Charming. In control.

"Yes. I am." Ushijima begins, staring at Oikawa critically, as if taking him all in. Oikawa wonders if he felt just as lonely. If he was struggling. If he had someone back home he missed. Was Ushijima even capable of feelings? "I have been playing volleyball."

Oikawa can't help but laugh, loudly, letting the feeling seep through his form, and have his shoulders shake. He had not laughed honestly in a long long time. Only the occasional chuckle from a text from Iwaizumi. It wasn't as if Ushijima had said anything particularly funny. It was just that he had said something so particularly Ushijima-like. It felt as if nothing had changed, even though everything had, and Oikawa craved that sameness. That piece of home seas away.

He didn't want to part with it.

Ushijima stares at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly, in non-understanding. Oikawa is about to respond when his captain calls him back to line up. The game is about to start. He would have to catch up with his rival afterwards.

Even though he sits on the bench most of the game-being a first year-he can't help but grin the entire time in anticipation.

Long after the games are completed there is a migration to a local pub, known for its lax rules-lax carding. Oikawa ends up there with his team, hoping to catch Ushijima, and does. The awkward man is standing with his team, sipping at his own drink, probably offered to him. He's tense and looks out of place, staring down at the table as his teammates joke loudly around him.

Oikawa eyes him, makes a motion, and Ushijima seems to understand-or maybe he simply wants to get away from his very drunk teammates-and makes his way over to Oikawa's side.

They sit side by side, ignoring their teammates increasingly drunk merrymaking. They form their own bubble, with their shared tongue that they've both missed using. Oikawa doesn't want it to end. He doesn't realize how much he has missed speaking Japanese, how much comfort it brings him to have words come so easily to him. To feel fluent, to feel eloquent, to not feel stupid.

It's late in the night and he can feel his phone buzzing but he could care less at the moment. Too focused on listening to Ushijima's own stunted recollection of his past few months at college. The similar longing for home, the difficulty adapting to a new country, the pain of speaking English.

Oikawa is surprised at how he hangs on every word. He's surprised that the anger for this person, boiling for six years of his life, is quieted down so easily. How he clings to the man he kept at bay for so long. He wonders how much of it is from the steady alcohol he is consuming and how much of it is from his sappy lonely heart.

But the alcohol definitely does help. It's hazy in the bar, and dim, and getting progressively louder. It's why he's leaning so close to Ushijima, to hear him over the din. And he's getting dizzy, and that's why he starts holding on to Ushijima's strong arm. For support. Only for support.

And then he doesn't really remember leaving the bar. But they do. He remembers Ushijima stumbling heavily and he remembers supporting Ushijima as much as Ushijima supports him. He's surprised he doesn't remember falling once.

And then there's another blur. He thinks at one point he starts crying, and he doesn't know why. The tears just wont go away, as Ushijima ducks him into his hotel room and offers him tissues as he blows his nose pathetically.

And then he remembers crawling toward Ushijima, whining and pleading and he remembers Ushijima mumbling something. But he silences him with a needy kiss and then he remembers everything quite clearly.

They start against the wall, with Oikawa rutting into him desperately, never leaving his assault on his rival's lips. He's holding Ushijima close, constantly trying to get closer, and closer, until there is nothing left of himself. It feels like an excruciating moment, but finally Ushijima's hands relax at his sides, where they had been in tight tense fists, to roam freely along Oikawa's body.

Oikawa maneuvers him masterfully, guides his large, calloused hands towards his rear, letting Ushijima cup his ass and have a field day. Throughout this he murmurs encouraging moans and groans against Ushijima's slick lips, peeking up at him with watery brown eyes. Hold me closer, grope me harder.

From this angle Oikawa can appreciate Ushijima-well, appreciate as best he can with the world swirling around him in a drunken haze. He admires Ushijima's strong jawline, the light stubble grazing his cheek every time he goes in for a hot kiss, his dark eyes peering straight into him, his coarse dark hair a bit sweaty from the bar. He tastes of alcohol and salty sweat and Oikawa laps him all up desperately.

At one point they end up on the bed, and Oikawa has successfully disrobed them both of their clothing.

Oikawa knows they don't have sex. They're too drunk, too messy, too uncoordinated, for that kind of complex venture. But he does remember Ushijima's strong grip around him, stroking him hard and slow and thorough. And Oikawa remembers falling apart like that, arching his back and groaning. He's pretty sure he got Ushijima off too, but it's hazier, an action post bliss, slow and warm. And then he remembers sleeping, exhausted, spent, in more ways than one.

When Oikawa wakes up, he knows exactly what he's done. It's clear as the marks he made on Ushijima's back. It's as clear as Ushijima's resting face, brows furrowed as if permanent. It's as real as the dirty sheets he's sitting in. It's as real as the vomit he forces out into the toilet when he gets out of bed. It's as real as the regret and self hatred that pools into his empty stomach, more forceful than ever before.

He doesn't know what time it is. He doesn't know anything other than that he's fucked up, fucked up worse than ever before. He's shaking, shuddering.

He gropes for his phone, crawling back into the bathroom and closing the door, careful not to wake Ushijima. He presses it on, and sees its 10:22 AM, and the light of the screen is blinding.

But he also sees 19 unread messages, and he wants to die. He can barely make them out through his tears but he knows they're all from Iwaizumi. Because they always text each other throughout the day, for the other to read when they wake up. Like a morning paper, personalized for the one they love.

Oikawa wants to throw his phone out the window.

Oikawa wants to throw himself out the window.

He slides his phone open.

Wow you only sent like four messages must have been a busy day.

Hope your game goes well. Don't be too stingy with your tosses.

Also, DO YOUR READINGS DUMBASS! Don't just ignore them cause they're boring. Academics are important. You can't just copy off my notes anymore.

My test went well. Do you know Sugawara is also pre-med? He's thinking of going into Pediatrics instead of Athlete Care. We're taking all the same classes though.

I went home after my last class. Gonna stay there all weekend. Mom says hi. Also, your mom says you don't call enough. You should call more, I know you love hearing yourself talk so you have no excuses.

I visited Seijoh and they seem to be doing well. Kindaichi says hi. He was very adamant I tell you that.

You know the tree in my backyard? The one that makes a bridge? I think its starting to rot. I don't know how long its gonna last. I'll show you when you come back. I might have to help my dad clear it out in the spring though.

I found some of our old vhs tapes, you know how you would like, record all those discovery channel specials on aliens? You always left a ton here. I watched some. They're still stupid.

Your texts haven't been as noisy lately. Are you sulking? Stop that. Imagine me punching your gut right now.

Seriously though, are you doing ok? You know you can tell me.

I love you.

I miss you a lot.

Fuck I always get sappy late at night thinking about you.

It's your fault that happens. You and your stupid alien obsession.

Whenever I see the stars I think of you.

That sounded more poetic than I meant it. You're not that special. Don't let it get to your giant ass head. You have a big enough ego already.

I should sleep.

I love you.

Good night.

Oikawa does throw his phone, letting it clatter on the other side of the small bathroom, hitting the tile roughly. He wonders if its broken. He hopes it is.

He's sobbing into his knees.

He's a mess.

He's ruined everything, and he doesn't know how he can ever make it up to Iwaizumi. How he can ever look him in the eyes. How he can ever feel happy again knowing what he had done. That he had cheated on him, and on Ushijima no less. It's disgusting. Sickening.

He hates himself.

He sits there, crying and sniffling, and feeling like shit until theres a light knock on the door.

He knows its Ushijima and he knows its time to go.

He just doesn't know where he's headed anymore.

i drink tears for breakfast

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