you’ve noticed lots of things about oikawa’s hands, over the course of the past few months of talking to him. first of all, oikawa’s nails are always cut very short, and kept very neat and clean. it’s because of volleyball, you know — hands are a legacy, weapons that need to be upkept and treasured.
another thing you’ve realized is that oikawa’s hands never shake — not that you’ve seen, anyway. they are always sure and steady.
you figure out he loves you, long before he will ever say it, because he lets you hold his palms in your own. it’s not handholding, oikawa is very fond of that with just about all of his friends, but it’s rather: you, folding your smaller hands over oikawa’s large ones, tucked into his argentina national team hoodie; and oikawa, no product in his hair, glasses on, relaxed and softened as you pull out the athletic tape.
he looks at you, honey sunlight bleeding through the late morning haze, and you feel the crushing weight of his trust like a deity’s gift, a palm shoving into your heart, a punch strong enough to knock you off your feet.
“don’t tell me,” oikawa starts. he’s eyeing you because you’ve stilled, quiet as you contemplate the callouses on his fingertips. “you’re so in awe of me, you’ve realized you can’t possibly me worthy enough to touch something so divine. fear nothing, i can and will allow you the privilege of being close to me.”
it feels like a privilege, you want to say. you are so vulnerable like this, so loving like this. how could i not feel blessed.
instead, you say, “shut the fuck up,” with all the fond annoyance that is settled in your stomach. you unwrap the athletic tape.
oikawa grins, brilliant and knife-quick and so achingly genuine you are involuntarily smile back. “it’s that or you have a hand kink!” he teases. he’s practically glowing with contentedness and satisfaction. it’s a good look on him.
he is so happy here and you are so happy here, with him, like this, right here.
this does not stop you from pinching the soft skin on the underside of his arm, and taking your own satisfaction in his yelp and subsequent whine.
oikawa’s hands are steady in yours and that is enough. you suspect it will always be enough, to have him trust you like this, just to have him beside you.
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