fluff, first night with Oikawa Tooru
By the time Oikawa slides the front door shut behind you, the house has already settled into its nighttime quiet.
You pause just inside the entryway, fingers still hooked around your bag strap, listening. Somewhere deeper in the house, a TV murmurs softly. The lights in the hallway are dim.
“My parents are home,” Oikawa says quietly, slipping out of his shoes. “But they’re doing their own thing. You’re fine.”
You nod, lowering your voice instinctively as you set your bag down. It feels different, being here at his house. The place he grew up in.
Oikawa notices the way you look around.
“Relax, cutie,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not intruding. They like you.”
“That’s somehow more nerve wracking,” you whisper.
He chuckles softly. “You’ll survive.”
You move further inside, careful, your steps quiet on the floor. The house is warm, comfortable, lived in. Framed photos line the walls, tournament shots, childhood pictures you definitely weren’t supposed to see.
“You didn’t warn me about these,” you say, stopping in front of one.
Oikawa groans under his breath. “Ignore those. Those are propaganda.”
You spend a while talking in low voices, leaning against the counter while he pours you a glass of water, the conversation drifting lazily from practice to school to nothing important at all. Eventually, the weight of the day catches up to you. You tug absently at your uniform skirt.
“Do you mind if I change?” you ask. “I’m still freezing from school.”
“Yeah, of course,” he replies easily. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Door on the right.”
The hallway is quiet, the bathroom light warm. When you change into your pyjamas and step back out, the air feels cooler than before. You rub your arms as you head back toward him.
Oikawa looks up, and immediately notices.
“You’re cold,” he says, not even phrasing it like a question.
He leads you quietly to his room, careful with the door. Inside, it’s warmer, softer, more private. Posters on the walls, books on the desk, the bed neatly made like he expected company.
He opens his closet and pulls out a hoodie without hesitation, holding it out to you.
“Here,” he says gently. “Put this on.”
You slip it over your head, the fabric soft and unmistakably his. The sleeves fall past your hands, the hem past your thighs.
Oikawa smiles, slow and fond. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That looks really good on you.”
You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm.
“Sit for a second,” he says, nodding toward the bed. “I’ll change too.”
You do, perching near the edge while he steps back into the hallway. When he returns, he’s wearing an oversized hoodie and plaid pyjama pants, hair a little messier, shoulders relaxed like he’s finally off duty.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Now we’re comfortable.”
He grabs his laptop and sets it up on the bedside table. “Wanna watch a movie?”
“Yeah,” you say, already settling further onto the bed.
The lights are dimmed, the blanket pulled over both of you. The movie starts, the glow flickering softly across the room. At first, you sit close but not touching, both focused on the screen.
A few minutes pass before Oikawa shifts. His arm slides around your shoulders with easy confidence, pulling you gently into his side. You lean in without hesitation, your head resting against his chest.
“There,” he murmurs. “Better.”
You hum softly in agreement, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.
The movie plays on, but your attention drifts when his fingers lift your chin. You look up at him, meeting his gaze. His expression is calm, sure, affectionate.
“You’re really cute like this,” he says quietly.
“Focus on the movie,” you whisper back.
He smiles. “Can’t help it, baby.”
It’s slow and warm, confident without being overwhelming. His hand rests at your waist, steady, grounding. You kiss him back easily, the moment stretching until it becomes just distracting enough.
You pull back first, laughing softly. “Tooru.”
He chuckles quietly, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Alright. I’ll behave.”
He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and settles back, arm still around you. “Movie.”
You relax into him again, warmth sinking in. The sound of the film blends with the steady rhythm of his breathing. Somewhere between scenes, your eyes grow heavy.
Oikawa notices when your weight sinks fully into him, your breathing evening out. He looks down at you, smiling softly.
He adjusts the blanket, tucks you a little closer, and lets the movie play on, careful not to move too much.
The house stays quiet. And he stays right there.
You wake slowly, the kind of half dreaming awareness where you’re not entirely sure what pulled you out of sleep.
There’s movement beside you, subtle, careful. The mattress dips, then lifts again. Fabric rustles quietly, like someone trying very hard not to make noise.
You blink your eyes open just enough to register Oikawa standing near the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt. His hair is still messy, curls falling into his eyes, the early morning light slipping in through the curtains and softening everything.
“sorry,” he murmurs immediately when he notices you stir. His voice is low, gentle. “Did I wake you?”
You make a small sound in response, somewhere between a hum and a complaint, and roll onto your side. Your eyes refuse to fully open.
He pauses, watching you with a fond smile. “Hey. Go back to sleep, baby. I’m being quiet.”
You squint at him. “Mm what’re you doing?”
“Getting ready,” he says, tugging on his socks. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Getting ready for what,” you mumble.
He glances over his shoulder, completely unapologetic. “My morning run.”
Your eyes open a little more. “You’re serious?”
You stare at him for a beat, still half asleep, hair a mess, his hoodie bunched around your shoulders. “You’re really going to leave your girlfriend alone in your bed,” you say slowly, “to go running. On a Saturday morning.”
Oikawa laughs, soft, warm, unmistakably amused. “When you put it like that, it sounds terrible.”
“It is terrible,” you mumble, sinking back into the pillow. “Cruel, even.”
He steps closer, looking down at you. “You’re being dramatic.”
You reach out without thinking, fingers catching the sleeve of his shirt before he can step away. The fabric wrinkles under your grip.
“You’re awake enough to be sneaky,” he says, amused.
You tug him closer, pressing a sleepy kiss along his jaw, right where you know it gets him every time. “Stay,” you murmur. “Please.”
Oikawa exhales softly, eyes closing for half a second. When he opens them again, there’s that familiar confident fondness there, like he knows he’s already lost.
“You know,” he says quietly, leaning down so his forehead brushes yours, “I had a whole plan.”
You kiss his jaw again, lingering this time. “Better plan now.”
He chuckles under his breath. “You’re impossible.”
He smiles. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”
With a quiet sigh, he kicks his shoes aside and climbs back into bed, pulling you into his chest without hesitation. His arm wraps around you easily, secure and warm.
“There,” he murmurs. “Run can wait.”
You relax instantly, curling closer. “Good.”
He presses a kiss to your hair, voice low and teasing. “You know you totally manipulated me, right?”
“Mhm,” you mumble, already drifting again. “Worth it.”
Oikawa smiles, holding you a little tighter as the house stays quiet around you.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “It really is.”
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