Oikawa was never one to stay in one place for too long. Especially not when he had a reputation to maintain. The immaculate setter, the flirt, the captain carrying Aoba Johsai on his back. He didn't have time for commitment, didn’t have room to slow down. So when things with him started, late nights, wandering hands, unspoken rules, it was supposed to mean nothing. But he never touched you like it meant nothing.

"I hope you remember I never said I wanted anything serious," he muttered, voice hoarse as he sat at the edge of the bed, bare back tense in the pale light filtering through the curtains. You shifted beneath the sheets, gaze fixed on the way his shoulder blades moved, the slight tremor in his exhale. He moved like he was always on the edge of leaving, and yet every time, he stayed longer than he planned.

Every glance dragged too long, every touch too careful for something casual. His fingers brushed your back like he was afraid you'd vanish, and when you fell asleep beside him, his hand stayed curled around yours until morning. Sometimes he’d lie awake longer than he admitted, just listening to your breathing, like the quiet steadiness of it awakened something in him he knew he didn't have time for. Oikawa reached for his shirt somewhere on the floor lazily, as if getting dressed would make it easier to go, and didn't look at you when he spoke again.

"Anyway, same time next week?" he said lightly, the teasing edge in his voice just a little too polished, like it was rehearsed to cover the way something inside him faltered. The fabric rustled as he pulled his shirt over his head, smoothing it down like it made him whole again. He ran a hand through his hair, mask slipping back into place. A smirk threatened the corner of his mouth, too sharp, too practiced.