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Iwaizumi Hajime has betrayed Oikawa in every sense of the fucking word.
By the time Oikawa had made it back to his hotel room, more than a little tipsy thanks to the insistence of one Sugawara Koushi, he was stumbling through the halls like a madman. He had already been fantasizing about taking a hot shower, cranking the AC to full blast, and passing out in his bed. He just wanted to get this night over with.
Lady luck had other plans.
When he reached the door, he let out a relieved sigh, keycard at the ready—
And then he saw the sock on the door handle.
“Wh… Whazzat?” he muttered. “No fucking way…” Call it morbid curiosity, but he pressed his ear up against the door.
“Oh God, oh God, oh god—” the muffled cadence of Iwaizumi’s voice cut off with a squeal. “You’re so—fucking—big—” he barely managed to moan. There were smacking noises in the background that Oikawa consciously chose to ignore. “Atsumu!” Iwaizumi gasped out.
“Yeah, you like that Hajime, don’t you?” Atsumu’s smug voice purred, that Kansai twang of his thick and syrupy in the heat of the moment. “Yer so pretty like this… yeah, just take it… just begging to be split open on my —”
Oikawa pulled away, red in the face like never before. “Iwa-chan,” he whispered, horrified. “How could you?”
With nowhere else to go, Oikawa wandered the hotel’s halls aimlessly, still not fully lucid. He was starting to sober up thanks to those noises coming from his room, but now he wished he had more liquor.
Seriously, they sounded like a bad porno.
Walking through an open doorway and sitting on the floor in front of the vending machine, Oikawa considered his options. Even if they were done by the end of the night or Atsumu didn’t sleep over, there was no way Oikawa was going to sleep in a room that reeked of sex.
His phone was dead, so he couldn’t ask anyone for help. Otherwise, he would’ve already called Makki and Mattsun, fake-crying melodramatically and begging for shelter. They didn’t mind sharing a bed, and even if there was sexual tension, they wouldn’t fuck with Oikawa in the room. (He shuddered. Or maybe they would.)
Kindaichi and Kunimi, his sweet, innocent kouhai, were already asleep, having forgone the ‘drinking’ part of their reunion. He could just bang on their door and force them to let him in, but he had no clue which room was theirs. Hinata and Kageyama had left at some point to play volleyball despite the fact that they were shitfaced drunk, and Oikawa had no idea when they would return.
The obvious choice was Bokuto, Miya’s roommate for the night. Their room would have a free bed. Unfortunately, that man acted like he snorted six lines of coke while chugging several red bulls at once, and that was when he was sober. Oikawa did not think he wanted to experience that chaos firsthand. He seemed like a man who would wake up at ass o’clock in the morning with absolutely no regard for those still asleep.
Oikawa put his head in his hands.
Who did that leave?
“Oikawa?” a deep voice rumbled.
He froze.
“Are you alright?” Ushijima asked.
Oikawa, who had lost his verbal filter alongside his sobriety, candidly told him, “No.”
Ushijima blinked. “No?”
This must be so hard on his tiny little brain, Oikawa thought. “No,” he repeated, flat. “I’m not alright. I’m fucking wasted, my pants are soaked in red wine, and I just wanted to go to bed. But no, Atsumu fucking Miya is currently balls deep in Iwa-chan in our shared hotel room.”
“Oh. You walked in on them,” Ushijima said, matter-of-fact.
Oikawa shrugged. “Iwaizumi left a tie on the door.”
“Hm. At least he had the courtesy to give you a warning.” Ushijima’s face scrunched up in distaste. “I had the misfortune of seeing my flatmate in… compromising positions with various women.”
Oikawa laughed. Of course Ushijima would put it like that. “You can just say fucking, you know. Going to town, doing the hanky panky, the frick-frack paddywack—”
“I am perfectly aware of that, I just do not see the need to use such crude language.”
“I mean, sure, but you just sound like some sexless robot.” There was a silence as Oikawa tried to hold back his drunken giggles. “I mean, you have had ‘sexual intercourse’ with other people, have you not?” he asked mischievously.
“... I have,” Ushijima confirmed, turning away.
“What’s this?” Oikawa gasped mockingly. “Do tell.”
“Well, you know.” Ushijima scratched at the back of his head, mulling over his words. “Being a professional athlete…there are many desirable men out there.”
Oikawa gawked at him shamelessly. Ushijima Wakatoshi, certified volleyball dork and resident dumbass, was sexually liberated? “Uh,” he said, eloquent as ever.
“Do you mind moving over? I would like to purchase a drink,” Ushijma told him.
Oikawa scooted over on the floor, ignoring the way his pants would get dirty. These slacks were probably ruined anyway; approximately half a bottle of red wine had spilled on him when—well, at some point. The details are fuzzy. Oikawa groaned, rubbing at his temples and sprawled on the floor. Passing out here doesn’t seem too bad.
“Do you need a bed?”
Oikawa sat up instantaneously. “Please.”
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no fucking way.
Ushijima strolled into the room, completely oblivious to Oikawa’s crisis. Or intentionally ignoring it, either way.
Staring at the singular bed in the middle of the room, Oikawa coughed awkwardly and shut the door behind him. “So. Uh. I’ll sleep on the floor—”
“Nonsense. These floors are incredibly dirty,” Ushijima cut in. “Just sleep on the bed.”
“Are you… also? Sleeping? On the bed?” Oikawa asked in disbelief.
Ushijima looked entirely unphased. “Yes.”
Is he fucking with me? Is Tendou going to pop out from underneath the bed and tell me I’m on some sort of prank show? He said there are many ‘desirable men’ as a professional athlete… am I a desirable man? Well, at least I’m a professional athlete. God, I’m not sober enough for this. “Cool. Um. I’m going to shower…”
Bent over his suitcase, Ushijima was digging through his things. “Do you need clean clothes?”
Oikawa swallowed. Hard. Looked down at his soiled pants and rumpled shirt. Looked back up to Ushijima’s stoic expression.
“I can lend you some of mine.”
This is such a bad idea. Don’t you dare Oikawa, no, don’t you dare— “Are you sure?” he croaked.
Ushijima shrugged. “I always pack an extra set of clothing for emergencies. This seems to qualify as one.” He gestured to the enormous red mark on Oikawa’s pants, which was still clinging to his legs unpleasantly.
“Cool, cool, cool,” Oikawa muttered. My life is a cosmic joke.
Donning an enormous white t-shirt and a pair of black briefs, neither of which were his, Oikawa stepped out of the bathroom with his heart beating out of his chest. I always underestimate how big this man is. He’s built like a brick shithouse, and I am absolutely drowning in this shirt.
Ushijima turned to look at him, his face dark and unreadable. As Oikawa tugged at the hem of the t-shirt, his eyes followed the movement.
Oikawa took a hesitant step forward. Two steps. Five.
He slipped under the covers.
It was warm. His hair was still slightly damp.
Ushijima was staring at him.
Does this man have no fucking shame?
“Okay!” Oikawa said cheerfully. “Goodnight!” Then he turned over so his back was facing Ushijima and completely ignored him.
The mattress shifted as Ushijima settled in. “...Goodnight, Tooru.”
Tooru? Did he just call me Tooru? Oikawa thought frantically. ...Whatever. Sober Oikawa will deal with the implications tomorrow. Please don’t let this hangover kill me.
Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take Oikawa long to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Oikawa came to, the hotel room was still dark. One glance at the clock on the dresser told him it was 5 a.m. He groaned and tried to settle back to sleep, sinking into the warm body pressed against his back.
Wait a moment.
Ushijima, still fast asleep, nuzzled the back of Oikawa’s neck, pulling him closer with arms carefully wrapped around his torso. Said arms were underneath his shirt, skin on bare skin. Their legs were tangled together and yep, yeah, that was definitely his crotch.
Oikawa had no doubt his face was bright red. Ushijima Wakatoshi was spooning him. Oikawa was currently the little spoon. He was furious, absolutely humiliated, and so, so comfortable right now.
Ushijima let out a breathy little sigh, his hands sliding up higher until they were nearly at Oikawa’s chest.
I hate to say it, but I could get used to this.
Holding Ushijima’s hands through the fabric of his shirt, Oikawa’s eyelids fluttered shut once again.
This was one hell of a wake-up call.