the winner takes it all (oikawa tooru x reader)

Chapter 4: Hammer To Fall

Over time, you couldn't help but notice that Oikawa stayed behind after practice. To do what? Well, it wasn't your fucking business, but you didn't like the idea of him being by himself, and working himself until his body basically fell apart.

So one evening after practice, you waited till everyone else had left, leaving Oikawa still doing those goddamn serves of his, as you stood in the doorway. You shifted your weight, so you were leaning against the threshold, observing him silently, your gaze irritated and skeptical.

After a while, he was forced to acknowledge your presence, and turned around with an absurdly fake smile. "Can I help you, Grumpy Pants-chan?" he asked, his voice reminding you of a cake containing arsenic; sugar coated and sweet, yet with a much darker, angrier secret beneath.

(Honestly, fuck that nickname. Up the ass.)

You scowled, wrinkling your nose, deciding to confront him head on. "Every day, you stay behind after practice for god knows how long," you proclaimed, "and I would like to know why."

"Hmm, is that so?" Oikawa's eyes glinted with untold mischief at your statement. "Are you perhaps worried about me, (L/n)-chan?"

"No," you answered so quickly that his smile faltered slightly.

With a sigh, he faced the court again, leaving you to look at his back. "Then why do you want to know?" he questioned.

"If you fuck up and get yourself injured, the team is going to suffer," you replied, lazily checking your watch for the time.

"So, you do care about your job," Oikawa remarked slyly.

"I don't give a shit if I don't want to do it, if it's something I have to do, I'll fucking do it," you snapped, already frustrated by his attempts to dodge your original inquiry. "Now tell me how long you stay here after practice."

There was a pause, before he answered; "One or two hours, usually."

You almost laughed, but repressed any signs of amusement from slipping into your expression, instead opting to press a hand to your forehead. "So, if I'm correct, you stay here until about seven or eight at night," you muttered.

"Yes," Oikawa responded, in a somewhat uninterested tone.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you hissed furiously, your hands shaking in anger, "you can't be serious! Not only are you basically missing dinner, you're going to overwork yourself till you bleed, and no one's around to tell you when to quit it, or even walk you home!" your voice escalated to a yell, as your rage bubbled up, "That's so fucking dumb! If you think that's going to work out, then you're stupid as hell, Oikawa!"

The brunette was rendered speechless at your outburst; true, Iwaizumi had scolded him many times before about staying behind and overworking himself, but he had known Iwaizumi since elementary school.

You were his new manager, who he'd known for less than a week, and yet here you were, yelling at him to cut the bullshit.

He scanned you from head to toe, noticing how you were visibly struggling to control yourself, clearly absolutely fuming with him. Oikawa was ashamed to admit that he'd taken you for the stereotypical, fuck-all delinquent, who hated everyone and everything.

But perhaps there was more to you than he thought.

His lips curled upwards as he mused over this interesting prospect, much to your displeasure. "The fuck are you smiling about?" you snarled, infuriated at how amused he seemed to be.

"Nothing at all," he returned, chuckling to himself. "But I'm not sure what I can offer. I'm going to practice, whether you like it or not."

You thought to yourself for a moment, then replied. "Fine. Then I'll stay as well."

Oikawa blinked, taken aback by your strangely kind behaviour; "Huh?" he murmured dumbly, staring at you.

"Not with you," you barked, shooting him a glare. "I have things to practice as well you know. I'll do some shit here until you're done, then I'll leave with you. Finish at 7:30."

You didn't give him room to argue, and left without another word, slamming the doors to the gym loudly as you did. Oikawa remained shocked for a second, then laughed aloud to himself.

God, you really were something else.

-

If there was any doubt before, there wasn't now; Oikawa Tooru was one stubborn little bastard. If it weren't for your limited self restraint, you would've tackled him to the floor as soon as he'd told you he stayed so late at the school.

Luckily, you had one thing that calmed you down, and that was playing your violin. Which is what you were doing now, in a small empty music room.

If you were going to wait around for golden boy, you might as well be somewhat productive.

You were no prodigy at violin. You knew that much; your fingering was clumsy, and you would occasionally clutch at the bow too hard. But it produced a wonderful sound, and it was the only thing that genuinely made you feel peaceful.

Your parents had figured this out when you were 7 years old, having been searching for something that might soothe your irrationally angry attitude. They tried everything, from enrolling you in art clubs, to piano lessons, but the extra effort made you somehow even more righteously pissed.

In the end, violin had been the answer. It was like a flick of a switch, as soon as you could properly play the thing, you were uncharacteristically relaxed, as if in another world.

People were irritating; music was not.

(Well, music that you liked.)

Fun fact: the first piece you ever learned to play was the USSR national anthem.

The Soviet March from Red Alert 3 came next, then-well, you get the idea.

Since you'd started from such a young age, and had been learning the instrument for over ten years, it was expected that you were at grade 8. In fact, you were now hoping to get a musical diploma, which would look pretty darn good on your CV.

As of right now, you were practicing Korobeiniki, yet another Russian piece, that went insanely fast, but you found great enjoyment in playing it.

However, your hand began to ache, and you reluctantly set your instrument down, and checked the time; 7:23.

It wouldn't hurt to go down early. Besides, then you could bully him into leaving if he protested and wanted to stay longer.

So, you strolled back to the gym, with your violin case over your shoulder, and your bag over your other, and opened the door with a very loud 'bang', which caused Oikawa to jump two feet in the air, and screech.

"Alright hotshot," you ordered, placing your hands on your hips. "Get out. You're going home."

"It's only 7:28..." he whined, and then gestured to the messy court, "and what am I supposed to do about this?!"

"For fuck's sake," you hissed, dropping your bag carelessly, but placing your violin gently on the floor, then striding over to the other side of the gym, where balls were littered everywhere.

Oikawa was once more shocked by your initiative, as you began to clean up. Shit, he'd really misjudged your character. He'd always prided himself on being observant, and understanding a person from the smallest of things, but because of your initial impression, he'd been petty enough to dismiss you as yet another angry teenager.

Boy, was he wrong. You really did have a lot more going for you.

Oikawa found himself smiling again, as he watched your scowling expression, and eyes full of what he could only describe as intense concentration. You intrigued him to no end, truly.

You noticed his somewhat unsettling grin, and straightened up, observing him suspiciously. "Are you watching television or something?" you questioned in a sarcastic manner, irritated by his lack of help.

Oikawa shook his head, and also started to clean up, but his smile didn't leave, nor did he answer your question.

He'd definitely have to pay more attention to you.