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oikawa tooru x f!reader

warning: profanity

college, roommate au

-/-

i don't want memories to pass me by / but let me hear your voice as if time’s melody will never fade

-/-

Oikawa Tooru didn't believe in love.

Not in the traditional sense, anyway.

He stopped believing in love right after his parents got divorced and his mother took his sister somewhere where he could only see her once every week.

His father constantly had women hanging off his arms, their hot hands and dizzying breath curl around him, itching to peel off distracting layers of clothing. His father's mouth was always a straight line, moving like it's pulled by a string as it hitches to one side.

He distantly remembers the way the corners of his mother's mouth were always pointed downwards, like the weight of his father's transgressions were too much for her to bear, the way her words always came out drenched in the noisome stench of disappointment and sadness buried for far too long.

But true love, Oikawa decides one night, when the screaming is all too much for him to take, isn't real. That fairytale, sweep-her-off-her-feet gallantry doesn't exist.

It can't exist, he thinks as he covers his ears and burrows further into his sister's arms, if it causes so much pain and only ends in explosive disaster.

-/-

In the beginning, she is just another face.

She's all bright grins and satisfied huffs, surveying the apartment around her.

"It's nice to meet you, roommate!"

Oikawa likes the way her voice sounds, like peach schnapps flowing from her throat: warm and just sweet enough to make him feel pleasant.

He slides his fingers against her palm and watches the sliver of skin that peeks out of her sweater sleeve.

"Nice to meet you too, roommate," he rolls the word on his tongue and watches her eyes light up at his ready answer. Up and down their hands pump, the beginnings of trust sparking within him.

-/-

Oikawa is far smarter than people give him credit for.

Smarter than all that "Grand King" bullshit, smarter than being on the honor roll for two years in a row, smarter than the murmurs that accuse him of emotionally manipulating three women at a time.

He knows how to read people, and it doesn't take him long to read her.

She doesn't hide anything, and she's too upfront for her own good sometimes.

He likes that.

Her professors don't, that's for sure, but he appreciates her honesty.

They don't talk as often as one might think, because both are physically more honest that they are verbally. He likes the squeeze her hand and watch her face scrunch up in mock discomfort. She likes to sneak up behind him and poke his sides and laugh at the way he shrieks and drops whatever dish he'd just been washing.

He discovers that she's all sharp lines and jagged edges when she's angry. She snaps with a snarl on her face, pacing back and forth in a quiet, thoughtful way that promises buried secrets and fiery retorts.

And so, Oikawa has learned to wait.

In their small shared space, there isn't enough room for useless shouting or unneeded anger. So he waits for her, he waits for her to come back down, waits for the anger to bleed out of her muscles and take her hand, waiting for her to come back home, back to him.

-/-

They share the apartment for a year and a half.

She's dealt with more than her fair share of his temper tantrums and he's dealt with her episodes of sudden sadness.

They have movie nights on Sundays and takeout dinners on Fridays and his favorite look on her is that one cute blue sweater with the flowers and those sleek black leggings and don't tell anyone, but he secretly enjoys it when she falls asleep on his shoulder.

She falls asleep on their couch all the time, and one day, he catches her their in the hours between evening and dusk. She's on her side, little snores falling out of her opened mouth, her hands curled together by her stomach.

The setting sun makes her eyelashes cast spiderwebs across her cheeks, and he thinks maybe he could make them scatter if he brushed a fingertip against her.

He doesn't; instead, he shifts her head against his arm, feeling her warm breaths puff against the skin of his arm.

-/-

They share the apartment for a year and a half.

She never brings anyone home and neither does he.

There is a mutual, unspoken agreement that if they were to have sex, it wouldn't be in the apartment. The walls are far too thin to mask the distinctive sound of chewing on mochi.

At some point, though, Oikawa finds it harder to just drop by other people's apartments for a quick fuck, the thought of her swinging her legs while sitting patiently in the kitchen chairs, waiting for him to come back too much for him to take.

He never finds out whether or not she has the same thoughts as him, never finds out whether or not she's been to other people's places to have sex.

He finds himself slowly more concerned about her, when she comes back late from her job or doesn't show to their meeting spots after class he's scared that she won't show.

He gets an ugly feeling rearing in his chest when he sees her laughing with other people, and an oddly positive one when she waves them goodbye and runs to him.

Even during practice, he wonders what she's doing and if she's okay. His coach makes him run lap after lap for being distracted, and he doesn't even notice his teammates rolling their eyes

He told Iwaizumi over FaceTime, once, about his situation. Iwaizumi only shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and sighed.

"Pretty sure you're in love with her, Tooru."

The lack of profanity and formalities would've shocked him, were it not for the fact that he was vehemently rejecting the idea of love.

But one night, over a greasy dinner of pizza and chocolate, the realization hits him.

Oikawa Tooru doesn't believe in love, but he believes in her.

For him, that's more than enough.

-/-

She kisses him first.

It's unexpected and wholly unnecessary, but she kisses him anyway.

She tastes like mint, he thinks hazily, mint and hope.

Her lips are smooth and her hands are soft as they drift under his shirt.

"Hey," her eyes are light and her canines poke out playfully when she pulls away from him, "I think I like you."

His heart soars and the charcoal sky above them explodes with stars and something like joy.

His hands cup her cheeks and he presses butterfly kisses to her eyelids and cheeks. She's warm and there, and he can finally understand why people like love so much.

"Hey, I think I like you too," he whispers, his voice shaking.

And he does.

Oh, god, does he like her.

-/-

They share the apartment for a year and a half.

That year and a half is the most blissful year and a half in his life, until it isn't.

He starts noticing her agitation, through constantly tapping fingers and listless sighs.

At first, he suspects something happened at school, but as this drags into winter break, he has no idea what could possibly be causing so much distress in her life.

He starts catching her staring at him, and he begins wondering if maybe, just maybe, she's unhappy with him.

It scares him, honestly, because he can't lose her, too. He's finally found someone he maybe-possibly-sorta loves, and if he loses her, he doesn't know what he can do.

"Tooru, what do you think of us?" she asks, curled against his side.

His blood runs cold, mouth drying out. "I-- I think we're great, why?"

She shrugs and stands up, running a hand through her hair. "No reason."

He's terrified, and he's sure that it shows.

-/-

"I'm sorry," is the only thing she has to offer.

Dammit, fuck, he should've seen this coming.

He should've seen it coming from a mile away, he should've fucking seen it coming.

Fuck you, he wants to spit, I hate you.

"Why?" his voice cracks pitifully.

She squeezes her eyes shut. "I just-- I don't love you anymore."

"Why!?"

She looks so helpless and guilty and sad. He hates this, he hates it.

"Tooru, I--"

"DON'T fucking say my name."

She looks away, "I'm sorry."

"Is there someone else?"

She shakes her head.

"No."

Her mouth is pointed downwards, just like his mother's, and it's killing him. Oikawa stares at her, betrayal clear in his gaze, and even though he wants, needs for her to stay, he knows he can't make her stay.

So he lets her go.

-/-

Oikawa didn't believe in love.

Not in the traditional sense, anyway.

He used to hate the flushed-cheek, dizzying high, swoon into a faint kind of romance.

He didn't believe in love, but she drinks her coffee with two sugars and a cream and bites her nails when she's nervous.

She swirls into his life like a gentle spring breeze, smelling of peach schnapps and peppermint, and just as soon as she comes in, she slips away from him.

So, despite the destructive sound of his heart snapping, he lets her go.