Ruminate {Oikawa x f!reader}

History

You're still in your school uniforms when you meet the team outside, Ema holding your wrist only for a moment to make sure you keep up with her long strides. Her hands have always been soft for volleyball, her skin just warm enough for your own body to cling onto. You've never had the warmest body nor the coldest, but Ema has had the warmest touch you've ever known, even standing next to her is enough for heat to wrap around your shoulders and ears and cheeks- "So, it's only a ten-minute bus ride- and luckily the buses are never busy around four on a school day. Everyone, of course, has to keep working." Her touch has left you for Oikawa's eyes, your own subtly appraising her form. In her school uniform or volley uniform, in pajamas or the highest quality of clothes, Ema looks like perfection, a sculpture of the Gods, every painter's muse- Even the sun's, rays hitting her black hair, reflecting in her black eyes, and absorbing in her slightly tanned tawny skin. You're now jealous of the sun.

"So, you've been there a lot?" Everyone starts walking, you trailing beside, and slowly behind, Ema. She's talking with Oikawa and you're watching the smooth sidewalk turn into the white lined and worn street before the smoothness appears again. And suddenly, you have to stop. There's an odd number of you already, because you're you and you're a manager not a player, so the bus is a complicated situation, nonetheless. At least, to you it was until Ema took your arm once again and brought you next to her while Oikawa stood in front, grip on the pole beside him, like his shorter, ravenette friend. Iwa-chan, right? Then they start talking and you start staring yet again.

You're jealous of the sun, the clothes touching her body, the lip gloss on her mauve lips, the way Oikawa can stare at her and feel her love sha has for him radiating off her like the sun and he's a plant. You're even jealous of the you who first met her. You were so pitiful then, eating alone in a class empty enough for your sorrows to comfort you. It was hard when you were a first year, but it became normal when you were a second year, you looked out for it until you switched clubs for extra credits and suddenly it became torturous again. They were all so friendly, still are, every single one of them, and you never could be without a push, you never could smile with an awkward essence, and you could never talk without someone asking for repetition in your quiet voice.

You were all sorts of wrong until the end of last year, when she transferred at the wrong time yet still came on top of most of her classes and wore the uniform in a way that rivaled all models. You can even remember how she smelled of fresh strawberries, shoes new unlike yours. You can remember her heavenly voice, you can remember her hair being shorter, you can remember her soft hand against yours shaking it even though that's not a Japanese custom. And you can remember her replacing your sorrow's comfort. "Y/n," she repeats, waving her hand in front of your eyes, her own unsuspecting of your admiration. You blink, inching back slightly at how close you drew to her. "Huh?" She lets her lips crease a little, a huff of humor exiting her nose as she addresses you, treats you as a human with some worth, not a child, "I was just asking if you would recommend anything with spice. Oikawa says he likes spice like you."

You want to loudly, outwardly, verbally berate her smile, her joyous attitude, her lilt, her eyes, her nature you crave from a mother- "The miso ramen comes spicy." She nods, encouraging, of course encouraging you to elaborate, be human for once, "What's in it?" She should know, she always treats your team at least once a month, uncaring of cholesterol as she watches everyone dive into joy. "I get it with tofu and vegetables, but you can get pork or soft-boiled eggs, and the broth cooks into the noodles so it can be spicier than you expect." You find Oikawa, looking up at him from where you're seated right in his view. He seems to perfect to enjoy spice, you seem to share that thought with his friend, his words echoing and adding humor to your veins, "You shouldn't eat that, you can only tolerate a bite of spice on a good day-" "Iwa-chan!"

The two seem like an old married couple, they seem like a couple in general. "Well, Y/n has a high-ass spice tolerance, her dad gave it to her I think." Iwaizumi nods, Oikawa directing his attention to you. "Oh, is your father a chef or something?" You hate talking about yourself, that's why your feelings have become what they have for Ema. She's the one who understands you, the one who touches your arm when you need a push no one is capable of giving. You need her, and her hand on your thigh, smile on her lips, is all you'll ever get. "He's in accounting-" "You must be good at math." You shake your head. "Average-" "She got straight a's last year, this year is already starting the same-" "No it's-" "Y/n, let me brag, you deserve it with how long you study-" "I really don't though-" "No, you do study a lot, I mean you substitute your meals for it, it seems-" You meant the praise, the bragging of you.

"You get straight A's too." The conversation shifts towards her again, her touch and smile taken yet again from the brunette. Your gaze also shifts, oddly, to the ravenette that's Oikawa's friend. You want to know his actual name for a change. The bus stops almost in approval, Ema shushing your teammate even before she announces, "Ramen!" Luckily, she's not the only one, from your team or Oikawa's, all of them rushing out of the bus for food. This time, Ema doesn't grip your hand and take you out with her, this time, you're left to follow her as she takes Oikawa's hand.

The ravenette is behind you when the doors close, backpack slung on his shoulder as he watches Ema and Oikawa converse. He finds your eyes befroe you can part, and you don't even as his appraise yours. "What's your name," you ask, e/c hues flickering between his muted green ones. "Iwaizumi Hajime." You nod your head, going to look at your captain and his. Its then that you mess up. "You like her?" It's then that you leave all hope of your love for her being historical, it's public and it's irritating and it's not yours anymore. Really, she never was, so why does that make your love for her any different?