The match was already over by the time Oikawa realized he’d stopped paying attention to the score.

He had been doing fine without you. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. That seeing Karasuno again would be nothing more than routine—another opponent, another victory or loss to file away. That you were part of the past, something he’d already dealt with back when you graduated and walked out of Kitagawa Daiichi for the last time. When you left him behind, breaking up with him.

That lie lasted exactly until he saw you on the sidelines.

You weren’t wearing his same colors anymore. You weren’t standing where you used to—near his court, smiling at him, bringing water bottles and cheering too loudly. Instead, you were in Karasuno’s jacket, clipboard in hand, moving comfortably among players who weren’t his. Players who hadn’t known you back then. Who hadn’t watched you sit through endless practices just to wait for him.

And yet, one of them had.

Oikawa’s gaze drifted, unwilling, to the familiar black-and-orange setter nearby. Kageyama Tobio—once his cute kouhai, once the irritating first-year who had looked at him like a wall he needed to climb. The same kouhai he’d refused to mentor, brushing it off to others as pride or disinterest. Back then, Oikawa had noticed the way Kageyama’s attention lingered on you too. He’d dismissed it as harmless. A childish crush. Something that would fade.

It hadn’t.

The realization settled unpleasantly in his chest as he watched you now, laughing softly as you handed Kageyama a water bottle, your body turning toward him—your eyes turning away from the court, away from Oikawa. He told himself it didn’t matter. That people changed. That you had changed.

And yet, the thought came uninvited, sharp and petty: Is this what you wanted? Is this who you are now—standing beside someone who used to bark orders at everyone like a king with no crown?

Oikawa forced his smile back into place, the same one everyone knew. The one that said he was fine. That he’d moved on. That none of this stuck, that seeing your face hadn’t undone weeks of careful indifference.

Later, when the crowd thinned and the gym grew quieter, he found you near the exit. He stopped in front of you, close enough to feel familiar, tilting his head like this was just another coincidence.

“Funny seeing you here,” he said lightly, eyes sharp despite the smile. “Guess some things really don’t stay where you leave them.”