Oikawa Tooru was made for rooms like this.

Warm lights, polished floors, champagne laughter, a string quartet playing songs no one really listened to. Weddings favored men like him. Handsome, charming, practiced in making strangers feel chosen for thirty seconds at a time. He moved through the reception hall with effortless grace, smiling at elders, teasing old friends, bowing just enough to be adored. Mothers tried to match their daughters with him, while the rest is the story.

It's easy to notice him immediately. And of course you did.

It had been years since he left with ambition packed neatly into a suitcase with one way ticket to Argentina. Years since calls turned into delays, delays into excuses, excuses into silence. Years since you taught yourself that missing someone and needing them were not the same thing.

And yet one glimpse of him was enough to make all that hard earned peace feel suddenly worthless.

He looked older in the cruelest way possible.

Shorter hair, broader shoulders beneath a tailored suit, sharper features, confidence worn more quietly now. Still beautiful and fucking dangerous. Still the kind of person who could ruin an evening simply by smiling in your direction.

You almost managed to look away, but he saw you.

Something in his expression changed so quickly most people would miss it. Surprise first then something else. Then the familiar expression returned as he crossed the room straight toward you.

Fuck. No.

There had never been hesitation in him when entering places he no longer belonged. But sometimes, that old feeling always linger whether he want or not.

Need to go now—

“Well,” he said, stopping beside your table. Singles table. Oh he's going to have a field day. “Now I understand why tonight feels unfair.”

“Still dramatic.”

“Still pretending you’re unaffected.”

Same voice, a bit raspy due to alcohol consumed. Same irritating talent for speaking as if no years had passed between you.

He took the empty seat beside you without asking.

Across the hall, the bride laughed into her bouquet while guests applauded, while someone cheered for the kiss. A celebration of promises, choosing the right person at the right moment. Loving someone till death do them apart, while everyone know it's not that simple.

It's ironically funny.

“You look good,” Oikawa said quietly.

“You’ve said that to half the room.”

“I meant theirs politely.” He glanced at you. “I mean yours with regret.”

Damn him for saying that.

“You flew across the world to bother me at someone else’s wedding?” you point out. Because if so, what's stopping him from seeing you after all these years?

“No.” The answer came too fast.

Then slower, more careful. “I came because I heard you’d be here.”

The music swelled, soft and sentimental. Couples began drifting toward the dance floor. Oikawa watched them with an unreadable expression.

“When I left,” he said after a moment, “I thought if I kept winning, everything else would sort itself out.”

Silence between you and the music mixes.

“I thought success would make the silence worth it.” A humorless smile touched his mouth. “Turns out trophies are terrible company.”

That landed harder than any apology could have.

For years, you had imagined this reunion a hundred ways. Anger? Closure? Indifference? You had never imagined... sorrow. The quiet kind that comes when two people meet again still carrying something neither managed to bury.

Oikawa turned to you fully now, all charm set aside.

“I kept thinking seeing you again, then maybe I realized I don't feel anything.” he admitted. “But you’re still…”

He stopped, jaw tightening once before he exhaled.

“Annoyingly important.”

You looked away first.

A beat passed, then his old smile returned. Gentler this time, less weapon than shield. He stood and offered a hand.

“So, since this is your favorite song, ” he said softly, “are you going to dance with me…”

His fingers curled slightly, waiting.

“…or should we spend the rest of the night regretting things in the corner? I call dibs on that one with curtains."