[ And, again, this is something he’s used to– people over explaining. People struggling to pick up whatever ball they dropped and trying to somehow patch up something that isn’t even ruined. Daisuke listens and he listens genuinely. He’s polite enough to make eye contact and nod to the right parts. He wonders if this guy does this all the time or of it’s just specifically him that’s causing it.
He seems like the type to say the wrong thing, regardless. To flounder and flip flop around until he can scrounge up a decent enough excuse to not seem as ignorant. Like now. It’s not an insult. Yuu is the very same way– and that. That’s enough to get Daisuke’s mind to wander off to the left and think of Yuu. This guy looks nothing like him. Too pretty, too well groomed– okay. Despite the food on his clothes and face. But that’s beside the point. The point is that he’s too–
Neat. Yeah, neat. He’s too neat to be Yuu. Yuu who leaves his uniform shirt untucked and tie too loose. Who never gels his hair and whose glasses are constantly smudged with fingerprints.
Silly, idiotic, childish fucking Yuu.
Daisuke’s mouth thins before it turns up in a smile. Like he doesn’t really want it to happen but it does anyway. He flags a hand at Oikawa, waving off the apology with a cool air about him. ]
It’s fine. Not everyone knows it. Your friend sounds like he just likes to mess with you. But– [ Daisuke shrugs. ] – friends do that. Anyway, I don’t play volleyball. I run track but my friend takes me to volleyball games to look at girls. [ Yikes, a bit too honest there but that’s Daisuke for you. And if Oikawa were to look hard enough he’d know that the idea isn’t his own and not one he’s particularly fond of.
He drums his fingers on his stomach. ]
I probably saw you– Come to think of it, yeah, I did. Big group of girls around you. Right? With some short guy yelling at you, I think.
You mean Iwa-chan? -He says, laughing a little at that, a gust of air puttering out of his nose as he rests his elbow on the counter and openly regards him with the side of his gaze. Iwaizumi, that always seems to be the main descriptor for him when it comes to other people. Oikawa doesn’t know why that is when it comes to him, but short and muscular, he is, they list off. An even shorter fuse, a cool guy, someone who puts you in your place, with loyalty and dedication piled up on the side servings. Oikawa thinks of him then and there vividly, with fondness, with his own loyalty unmatched, and he pipes out another soft chuckle, raising his hand up to stave it with a brush of his fingers as his eyes crinkle up at the corners, genuineness displayed full force.
God, some short guy yelling at him, what a view. It always seems like an always-there debacle with them before some of their home games, but fuck, he didn’t know people were witnessing that, much less seeing Iwaizumi make a fool of himself, all loud and crowing. Still -- Oikawa wets his mouth, slow as a dream, and it’s there he mirrors this man’s movement with his own -- waving his hand dismissively as he clears his throat out and starts off again.-
You go to look at girls, huh? Are they pretty enough for you? -He jokes. He doesn’t know how to move onto the sign language portion of this conversation just yet; so -- girls it is for now. Pretty girls, fawning girls, flowery girls. Not something he’s unknown about or unfamiliar with.
Track and field, he thinks too afterwards, and then he laces that topic on the tail-end, tacking it there with a blue pin as he asks him, if he’s any good. Conversations are Oikawa’s strong suit, once he starts he doesn’t know how to finish them. This -- this -- seems to be a memento of that right now... Hopefully this man isn’t put off or think Oikawa as gaudy, like many other people tend to.-
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