Chapter Text
With trembling hands, Tobio did the last thing he wanted to do and used his fail-safe: he called Oikawa Tooru.
At least he hoped it was Oikawa.
Tobio was banking on the fact that people didn’t change, at least not fundamentally.
That meant that across time and space, Kageyama Tobio had Oikawa Tooru’s number saved correctly because it was Oikawa-san.
Better yet, smart, stubborn, and kind Oikawa-san would be amenable to helping poor, hapless Tobio-chan after a bit of pleading.
On some level, Tobio had nothing to lose. He was desperate. Plus, Oikawa had already seen him at all levels of low — tripping over his shoelace running after Oikawa in junior high, the whole ‘King of the Court’ debacle, getting scratched by a street cat outside the Lawson’s (a street cat that ran straight to Oikawa for pets), bowing and asking for help before Spring Inter-high... At worst, Oikawa would laugh in his face and hang up, prompting Tobio to wake up from this strange nightmare by power of "Oikawa-san is right".
Still, as the line rang, Tobio was rapidly rethinking his decision. Did Oikawa have his number? Was this even Oikawa’s number? Why did he think this was a good idea again?
“Tobio-chan?”
He flinched, nearly falling off his seat.
Still, a lump formed in his throat as relief immediately flooded his body. Maybe this was the real reason why he’d called Oikawa. He’d needed a constant, something — anything — to convince him he wasn't losing his mind. And strangely, somehow, he knew Oikawa would deliver.
When Tobio took too long to respond, Oikawa spoke again.
“Hello, Kageyama Tobio-chan~? To what do I owe the displeasure?”
Tobio snorted, though it came out more like an aborted sniffle. “Oikawa-san,” he greeted. “I…” He paused. He couldn’t find the right words, so he finally settled on, “It’s good to hear your voice.”
And it was.
If the call had gone to voicemail, if someone else had answered, if Oikawa had answered with another greeting… Tobio wasn’t sure what he might have done.
(Past, present, future, in all worlds their lives intersected, Oikawa would be Oikawa-san and he would be Tobio-chan. It was comforting to think so, at the very least.)
...
Kageyama Tobio had gone to sleep in the year 2013 and woken up to the future.
Throwing himself out of a nightmare, he’d found himself in a stranger’s bed with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. Except it wasn’t a stranger’s bed, it was Kageyama Tobio’s bed because raggedy old Vabo-chan sat nestled next to his pillow, staring up at him.
It wasn’t his bed though, the bed was larger than he remembered it being, the sheets softer. His body wasn’t his either, hands strangely large and voice weirdly deep.
On the other side of the room, the calendar on his bed was flipped to August 2019.
This had to be a joke, right? He was still dreaming, right?
Like he was having an out of body experience, Tobio felt himself crawling back under the covers and closing his eyes.
Sleep did not return.
Giving up, he’d stumbled around the room, searching for his phone. He knew where he would have put it, on his desk, but he was still learning to use this new body he now inhabited.
He almost missed it on the desk, eyes automatically searching for a chunky, low-tech flip phone. This body remembered though, hand grabbing the slim device.
Once he picked it up, Tobio barely even looked at the screen before he was throwing it across the room, narrowly avoiding a shattered screen.
August 15th of 2019.
It was Obon, Ghost Festival.
Tobio stood motionlessly, staring down at his hands. The palms were wider, the fingers longer, but the nails were cut and filed to perfection.
Swallowing, he picked his phone back up. Well, he wasn't a ghost, that was for sure.
His lock-screen was no longer the photo of the Miyagi sky, like it should have been. Instead, it was one clearly taken in a future-past he’d yet to live through: a slightly older version of Tobio, Hinata, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and Yachi in their Karasuno uniforms. Huh, Yamaguchi would be captain in their third year.
This phone had a passcode. It was probably easy to guess, if only Tobio hadn’t been catapulted six years into the future.
Now that he was actively thinking about it, muscle memory didn’t kick in and Tobio had to rack his brain for ideas. 1234 did not work, neither did 0000, 1222, 1996, or 0720. In the end, all he had to show for his tries was lock-out timer.
At that point, his only option was to use the emergency call feature — call the police or call an emergency contact.
He’d chosen the latter.
Now, he could hear Oikawa huff into his phone. “Tobio-chan,” Oikawa scolded, though he sounded more exhausted than annoyed. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Tobio was very serious. It really was nice to Oikawa’s voice. He also had a very serious situation he needed fixed.
“Well,” Oikawa sighed. “If that’s all, you’re wasting my precious time. I’m hanging up.”
“No, wait!” Tobio yelped, scrambling. “No, please Oikawa-san, don’t hang up. I…”
There was a pause as Oikawa, thankfully, did not end the call.
“I…” Tobio tried, but trailed off once again. He was feeling this weird sense of deja vu; this situation strangely reminded him of that time he asked Oikawa for advice about Hinata before Spring Inter-high.
“Well?” Oikawa prompted, obviously losing his patience.
“What would you do if, say… Iwaizumi-san called you about this strange dream he was having —”
“Tobio,” Oikawa cut him off. “What are you talking about? If you want my help, get to the point.”
Wow, Tobio really was getting flashbacks.
Something about that specific memory — the way Oikawa had given him real advice, Oikawa’s tone of voice, Tobio’s desperation — prompted Tobio to tell the truth. Oikawa had helped then and he would help now.
“I woke up this morning in what I assume is my apartment but I don’t remember anything. My phone says its twenty-nineteen, but that can't be right. It can’t be. I haven’t gone to the bathroom or looked in the mirror because I’m scared to see what I look like,” Tobio wheezed, gasping as the words came pouring out. “I haven’t opened any windows either because I’m afraid I’ll look outside and it won’t be Miyagi. And I’m losing it a little because I have no idea if I travelled to the future, if that’s even possible, or if I somehow lost six years of memories, or if this is just some strange parallel universe. I’m not sure which one would be worse. Am I an alien? Oikawa-san, I—”
“Calm down, Tobio,” Oikawa interjected, stopping him before he could hyperventilate.
Tobio tried to calm down, breathing in and out slowly as he let his hands unclench. He hadn’t known he had that many words in him.
“How… How old do you… How old are you, Tobio?” Oikawa eventually asked.
“Sixteen,” Tobio answered. “I’m still in my first year at Karasuno,” he added, hoping that would help somehow.
Oikawa sucked in a breath of cold air. “I see,” he said, voice carefully neutral.
Tobio felt immediate relief; that was not the worst case scenario. “So you believe me?” he asked hopefully. He wasn’t sure what he would have do if Oikawa didn't believe him — he could barely believe himself.
“Well, I…”
Oikawa trailed off and Tobio furrowed his brow, the relief short-lived. Obviously this was a strange situation, but it was doubly weird for Oikawa to be so considerate with his words. He wasn't used to being treated with fragility, at least not like this.
“Why did you call me?”
Once again, Tobio felt compelled to tell the truth. “I can only call my emergency contacts,” he admitted. He hoped Oikawa would overlook the fact he was one of Tobio’s emergency contacts. “I don’t know what my phone’s passcode is,” he sheepishly added.
“I’m one of your…,” Oikawa noted, unfortunately not ignoring that detail, then trailed off. “Never mind. Did you try your jersey number?”
“I don’t know my jersey number,” Tobio responded. The strange mixture of hope and horror was coming back. Assuming he was still playing volleyball, and he did assume because he couldn’t see or feel any major injuries, Tobio had no idea what team he played for. Had he joined a university team or, as was more likely, was he playing in the V.League? Speaking of volleyball, when did his team have practice? Had he missed practice?
He could feel Oikawa rolling his eyes, even through the phone. The guy probably even sneered. “I meant your Karasuno jersey number.”
“Oh.” Tobio blinked. He hadn’t thought of that.
He hastily tried it out, typing in ‘0009’.
The phone unlocked.
“It worked,” Tobio breathed out, trembling. His home screen was set to the right background, a picture of the Miyagi sky. Just looking at it made him feel homesick, longing sinking deep into his bones.
“Huh, it’s not my birthday? I thought I was your favorite, Tobio-chan!” Oikawa complained, sounding more like himself.
Clearly, Oikawa was relieved to hear Tobio’s phone was unlocked too. Even the teasing was calming, a familiar caress against his nerves. .
“It’s not,” Tobio confirmed. “I tried that earlier.”
Oikawa paused. “You tried my birthday before your tried your jersey number.”
Shit. Tobio hadn’t even realized that himself. Flustered, he could only fidget in silence and pretend they hadn’t said anything.
“Right,” Oikawa said, shaking his head. “Your phone’s unlocked. Problem solved. Yay. You should call someone else and let your dear Oikawa-senpai rest now.”
“No, wait, Oikawa-san,” Tobio hurried to protest. He probably should call someone else, someone who wasn’t so clearly trying to end their conversation. But… “I don’t want to tell anyone else about this.”
Oikawa was silent.
Tobio really, really hoped Oikawa wouldn’t hang up.
On any other day, he wouldn’t have minded so much — Oikawa’s false niceties and dripping condescension would not be his first, second, or third choice.
But today was different. Tobio was currently a child, mentally 16 when this physical body was 22. At the moment, he did not have the emotional capacity to act older than he felt. At least with Oikawa, he knew what to expect; at least it felt somewhat normal to be treated like some snot-nosed brat.
(Not so deep down, he trusted Oikawa implicitly.)
“Tobio, we don’t live in Miyagi anymore,” Oikawa said slowly, having gathered his thoughts.
Tobio’s heart dropped, though he had already suspected this to be true. Why else would he have moved into this new place?
“A far as I know,” Oikawa continued, “You live in Tokyo.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Tobio wasn’t sure what to do with that information. What was this 22-year old version of him doing in Tokyo?
Either way, Tobio wouldn’t be braving the outside world any time soon. Walking outside and not seeing Miyagi might be too much of a shock at the moment. Not like he could find his keys anyways.
He waited for Oikawa to continue. (Oikawa had said ‘we’, we don’t live in Miyagi anymore.)
“And Tobio, I…,” Oikawa said, voice uncharacteristically soft, softer than Tobio had ever heard directed at him. Vaguely, Tobio registered the tone as the one adults used to let kids down gently. “Tobio, I don’t live in Japan.”
Those words took a moment to compute and Tobio was filled with… something. His heart almost fell out of his ass, but that was somehow not the worst thing Oikawa could have said. Because Oikawa might have meant it as “Tobio, I can’t help you”, but he hadn’t actually said that.
“Do… Do you live in Italy?” Tobio hesitantly asked. He’d always thought Oikawa fit somewhere like Italy quite well, a distinct set of warmth and grace that matched the cobbled streets of Rome. The thought filled him with a familiar awe: overseas, Oikawa had gone overseas.
Oikawa let out an airy chuckle, strained. “Wow, you’re really not joking.”
“Of course not,” Tobio shot back, indignant. “You said you believed me earlier!”
“Sure, sure,” Oikawa said, waving that away. He had, in fact, not said anything of the sort. To himself, but also directly into the receiver, he added, “Tobio-chan isn't smart enough for a prank this elaborate.”
“Hey!”
“I live in Argentina,” Oikawa said seriously, answering his previous question.
Tobio almost got whiplash with how quickly Oikawa’s demeanor changed. Damn, he still wasn't used to how Oikawa could do that. There was twist in his gut, that familiar feeling of distance, that large chasm separating Kageyama Tobio and Oikawa Tooru surfacing once more. (How much further ahead was he now? How much running did Tobio have to do to reach across the ocean?) “That’s… far.”
“It is.”
“Sorry,” Tobio murmured. “Did I interrupt something important?”
Oikawa waved the apology away. “No, you’re fine Tobio. I could have ignored you if I wanted to, I was just making dinner.”
It seemed neither of them knew what to say after that.
It was dinner time where Oikawa was, in Argentina. It was still early morning here, in Tokyo, 2019.
This Oikawa really was worlds away.
But even so, even so… Oikawa had picked up the call, had stayed on the phone, had yet to say “I can’t, I won’t help you.”
“I don’t want to tell anyone else,” Tobio whispered, helpless.
“You…”
“Please, Oikawa-san.”
There was nothing else he could say.
After what seemed like an eternity, Oikawa muttered, “Give me a moment.”
Oikawa then seemed to walk away from his phone, though Tobio could hear him going “shit, shit, shit! goddammit, stupid Tobio-chan” and then a string of words that was probably curses in Spanish. Wisely, he did not respond to that.
“Fine,” Oikawa growled into the phone, having come back from whatever he was doing. “Since you miss me soooo much, your favorite Oikawa-senpai will be visiting Japan. You seriously owe me, Tobio-chan.”
Tobio immediately perked up. “Thank you, Oikawa-san!”
“Shut up, you little brat. I’ll text you the details,” Oikawa snapped, groaning. “Wait, no, I don’t trust you. Where do you live? Send me your address.”
“I don’t know where I live.”
“Tobio-chan, were you dropped as a kid?” Oikawa asked saccharinely. “How can you not know where you live? Even a kindergartener knows the way back home!”
“I found out I live in Tokyo five minutes ago,” he reminded Oikawa, albeit filled with embarrassment. Being compared to a kindergartener at the ripe age of 16 (22?) was a new low.
Oikawa coughed awkwardly. “Oh. Right.”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” Oikawa said, recovering quickly. “Tobio-chan is smart enough to read, right?”
Tobio frowned. Of course he could read; he might have barely passed Japanese Literature, but poems were poems. “Of course I—“
“You’re going to look for mail or something and you’re going to text your dear Oikawa-senpai your address,” Oikawa commanded, speaking over him and ignoring whatever Tobio was going to say. “You have twenty-four hours to figure it out. Otherwise, find someone else.”
“Okay, Oikawa-san. Thank you,” Tobio said, but Oikawa had already hung up.
***
If he though 18-year old Oikawa Tooru was attractive, 25-year old Oikawa Tooru made him want to run for the hills.
Standing with Oikawa in his doorway, Tobio felt every bit like the teenager he was — flustered, inexperienced, hormonal — a frightened rat in front of an amused big cat.
Because Oikawa was hot. So hot his shitty personality was unironically charming, because God had to even the playing field somehow.
It came as a shock to find Oikawa was now slightly shorter than he was. His hair was cut differently too, shorter than it was in high school, but it highlighted his features. Notably, his eyes — still endlessly brown, framed by long lashes. And were those freckles?
Tobio had always known Oikawa didn’t need to style his hair, but now it pissed him off. It was one thing for him to look fine after a long rally, but how did Oikawa manage to look so put together after an international flight?
Unable to help it, Tobio’s eyes traveled down and away from Oikawa’s face.
Obviously, obviously, the professional circuit was more taxing than high-school and Oikawa’s figure reflected his heightened athleticism. Before, Tobio had always been surprised by the amount of power Oikawa could generate, elegant in ways high-school players like Ushijima or Iwaizumi were not. Now, Tobio swallowed, eyes catching on the way fabric pulled and stretched around Oikawa’s chest, his forearms, his thighs.
Oikawa was tanner than before too, clearly having basked in the Argentinian sun. Contrasted with the pale, pale walls of his apartment hallway, Oikawa seemed to glow.
He shook his head quickly and looked back up, awkwardly making eye contact with a smug Oikawa.
“Where are your manners, Tobio-chan?” Oikawa questioned, raising an eyebrow. It was, unfortunately, a devastating look on him. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
Not giving him a change to respond, Oikawa pushed him to the side and walked in. Who was the one without manners now?