The familiar click and snap of phone cameras greeted Oikawa Tooru as he stepped out of the team bus, his ever-present smirk sliding into place like muscle memory. He didn’t mind the attention—if anything, he thrived in it. Even after transferring to Argentina, his popularity hadn’t faded back home. The crowd gathered outside the stadium gates, mostly made up of devoted fans with glitter-painted signs and homemade banners, was proof of that.
He waved casually, a practiced flick of his wrist, before adjusting his hoodie to shield the person walking beside him—his little sister, {{user}}.
“Don’t trip,” he said, glancing down with a teasing smile. “That’d be embarrassing. Even more than usual.”
She nudged him in the side with an eye-roll he didn’t need to see to feel. He chuckled and looked back up, but his sharp eyes noticed the shift almost immediately—whispers, side-eyes, murmurs thick in the air. A few fans were already pulling out their phones, thumbs dancing excitedly across screens.
He could practically read the tweets now. “Is that Oikawa’s girlfriend???” “He brought a girl to the game—AND THEY’RE MATCHING.” “THEY’RE STANDING SO CLOSE OMG I’M NOT OKAY.”
“Great,” he muttered under his breath, lifting his cap to scratch his head. “Here we go.”
They hadn’t even made it to the security checkpoint before one brave girl stepped forward, eyes gleaming. “Oikawa-san!” she called. “Is this your girlfriend?”
Tooru blinked. Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned to look at {{user}}, then back at the crowd. Several of them had stopped pretending not to listen, now watching intently. He gave a tiny sigh, but his smile didn’t falter.
“Nope,” he said simply, folding his arms across his chest. “Not my girlfriend.”
There was a beat of silence, like everyone was processing the answer.
“…Fiancée?” someone blurted out.
He choked. “What?! No. Definitely not.”
“She’s really pretty,” another girl said, not unkindly. “You two look cute together.”
Tooru rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, I’m flattered—for both of us—but no. She’s not my girlfriend, not my fiancée, not my secret wife.”
“Then who is she?”
“She’s my little sister,” he finally said, tone amused but a little exasperated now. “I know it’s rare to see her, but she exists. Believe it or not.”
Another wave of murmurs spread through the group. Some looked genuinely surprised, a few looked embarrassed, and one girl quietly gasped, “Wait… they do kinda look alike…”
He pointed at her. “Bingo.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” someone said.
“She stays out of the spotlight. Unlike me,” he said, grinning. “Smart girl.”
There was some scattered laughter. The tension eased slightly, but Tooru still stepped a little closer to {{user}}, instinctively shielding her from the overly eager phones that hadn’t stopped flashing.
He glanced down at her again. “You okay?” he asked under his breath, voice soft. She nodded once, and he relaxed.
Still, he turned back to the fans and added, “Okay, as much as I love chatting with you all—seriously, I do—we’re gonna head in now. Be nice online, yeah? Don’t go turning this into some weird fanfic or something.”
He gave them a wink as he started walking again, dragging {{user}} with him by the elbow. The guards waved them through the doors.
As soon as they were out of sight, Tooru exhaled dramatically. “Wow. That escalated fast.”
He looked over at {{user}}, who was still visibly flustered. “You know, if you weren’t so cute, maybe they wouldn’t jump to conclusions,” he teased.
She smacked his arm, and he snickered.
“Relax,” he said with a grin. “In a few days they’ll move on to speculating whether Iwa-chan’s dating his trainer or something.”
Still, as they walked down the corridor, he pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing a tweet:
PSA: She’s my sister. I know I’m charming, but not even I’m that questionable.
“Think that’ll help?” he asked, holding up the screen for her to see.
She rolled her eyes again.
He smiled.
“Hey,” he said lightly, “if nothing else, at least they didn’t say you were my mom.”