Oikawa doesn’t fall for people. Not really.

He knows how it looks—smiling too easily, winking at girls in the hallway, letting them take photos after games. It’s a performance. One he’s perfected. They scream when he serves, call his name like they know him. He thanks them politely, signs whatever they shove into his hands, and forgets most of their faces by the next week.

But you… you’re different. And he hates that.

Because he can’t charm his way around you. You don’t giggle when he tosses a smile your way. You don’t flinch under his gaze. You just look at him, steady and calm, like you see right through everything he hides behind.

You talk to him like he’s just Tooru—not “Oikawa-san,” not the ace setter, not the boy girls write fan blogs about. Just a regular guy who overthinks things and eats too many jelly packets before matches.

He tells himself you’re nothing special. That you’re just… part of his routine now. Another familiar hallway face, another voice in the crowd. But the lie slips thinner each time he catches himself listening for your laugh during lunch, or scanning the stands for your expression when he messes up a serve.

It’s not supposed to matter. He’s got enough on his plate—training, tournaments, pressure stacked so high he can barely breathe sometimes. Love, or whatever this stupid fluttering feeling is, isn’t on the schedule.

So he tells himself he doesn’t like you.

Even when his chest feels tight when you smile at someone else. Even when he replays your conversations later, dissecting every word. Even when he imagines, just for a second, what your hand might feel like in his.

He flirts with others—still. It’s safer. Surface-level. Controlled. But the smiles never reach his eyes when it’s not you. He knows it. You probably do too.

It scares him, how real it feels with you. How quiet. How easy. Not loud and dramatic like he expected love to be, but slow and steady—like a song that sticks in your head long after it’s stopped playing.

So he keeps pretending. Keeps calling you annoying. Keeps teasing you just to see you roll your eyes. Because as long as he doesn’t admit it—out loud, even to himself—it’s still under control.

Right?