Chapter Text
Would you believe me now
If I told you I got caught up in a wave
Almost gave it away
Would you hear me out
If I told you I was terrified for days
Thought I was gonna break
Oh, I couldn′t stop it
Tried to slow it all down
Crying in the bathroom
Had to figure it out
With everyone around me saying
You must be so happy now
[Light On – Maggie Rogers]
Timeline: August 2022 - Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture (Japan)
After the game, the adrenaline was still pumping. All it took was a snort from Bokuto and a very serious question from Sakusa – “Is there real food or just Instagram stuff?” – to convince everyone to head to the first decent izakaya they could find. As if they weren't adult athletes with contracts and creaky knees, but kids who had just finished a tournament game in the gym.
Oikawa walked at a relaxed pace, close to Wakatoshi and Iwaizumi. He let the others make a fuss, although he occasionally raised an eyebrow at comments that, frankly, he didn't have the strength to ignore.
The place was noisy enough to drown out the chaos in many people's heads. Laughter, chatter, clinking bottles. Bokuto was recounting for the fourth time that spectacular save he had made at 21-all, and Atsumu interrupted him only to add false details. Shoyo kept trying to prove that his diagonal jump was higher than Hoshiumi's – with questionable results.
Bokuto threw himself onto the table with a triumphant expression and banged his hands loudly on the wood. “I KNEW IT!” He exclaimed loudly, startling a couple at the next table. “That wall was huge, wasn't it? EH? EH?!”
Sakusa didn't even look up from the bowl of edamame he was methodically shelling. “I saw,” he said, carefully removing a pod. “You screamed so loud that I lost my hearing for three seconds.”
Atsumu leaned back with a defiant smirk, waving his chopsticks in the air. “Well, if we're talking about incredible plays... I'd say my set—”
“You missed three times out of five shots in the second set,” Kageyama interrupted him curtly, without even turning around, intent on pouring himself some tea.
Atsumu stared at him with feigned surprise, one hand pressed to his chest as if deeply offended. “So you do have the gift of speech, when you want it. You're not such a good boy anymore.”
Hinata chuckled with his mouth full, lifting a half-eaten skewer. “I loved when Kageyama did that fake set and everyone fell for it! Boom!” He exclaimed, mimicking an explosion with his hands.
Goshiki turned to Ushijima with a mixture of respect and tension, his back straight as if he were still wearing his school uniform. Time had passed for them too, but he had deep respect for his senpai from high school days. “Ushijima-san…” he began, serious as if he were asking for an assessment of his entire career. “In your opinion, today...did you think my spikes were good? I mean, powerful... but also accurate. Like the ones you used to do.”
Ushijima stared at him for a moment, chewing slowly before replying. “I noticed them. Spikes were good: they are no longer just strong, now they go where you desire. Keep it up.”
Goshiki stiffened, then nodded repeatedly until he turned completely red once he realised that Wakatoshi had just paid him a compliment. “O...oh, thank you! I'll do that!”
Oikawa leaned towards Iwaizumi with a smirk. “Remember when that look used to petrify even the poor first-year freshmen? Now it traumatises them on a professional level.”
“You were no different,” replied Iwaizumi, without even looking at him, busy pouring himself a second glass. “Except that you talked twice as much and knew how to say things more delicately.”
Suna, leaning casually against the wall, peered at the group over the rim of his glass. “I liked the moment when Atsumu tripped over the camera cable and pretended nothing had happened,” he said flatly. “Pure class.”
“OH, COME HERE!” Atsumu blurted out, reaching out to him as he laughed. “I don't want to be bullied by you again!”
Oikawa, sitting with controlled elegance next to Ushijima and Iwaizumi, sipped his drink with a relaxed air. “The most tragic thing,” he said in a calm voice, “is that you have professional contracts.”
Yaku, on the other side of the table, raised an eyebrow and leaned on his elbow with a crooked smile. “Is that coming from His Highness the Choreographer?” he retorted, pointing at him with his chopsticks. “I thought you were still busy choosing the right lighting for your set.”
Oikawa slowly turned to face him: “Actually, the lighting was terrible today. I hope I look good in the photos.”
Iwaizumi snorted with laughter and patted him on the shoulder. “You're the only one who would ask for an Instagram filter during a match.”
Oikawa turned to him: “Iwa-chan, why are you always talking against me? Drink your cheap beer.”
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, gripping his beer so tightly that Oikawa swallowed hard, immediately understanding the message: if he spoke again, the beer mug might become his neck. “How touchy you are, Iwa,” Oikawa cooed, snorting slightly.
Yamamoto appeared out of nowhere, carrying a plate full of steaming karaage and looking shocked. “Did someone say cheap beer?!” He exclaimed, picking up a piece. “This is the best brand in the prefecture, guys!”
Ushijima looked at him seriously, frowning slightly. “I didn't think it was the best beer in Kanto.”
Oikawa turned abruptly towards him, with an expression halfway between amusement and heartbreak. “We're in Miyagi Prefecture, Wakatoshi.”
Ushijima nodded slowly, completely unperturbed. “Miyagi, yes,” he simply repeated, as if the mistake were completely insignificant.
Iwaizumi sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Geography isn't exactly your strong suit.”
“GUYS!” Bokuto suddenly shouted, raising his glass in the air. “Here's to us! To our knees that are still holding up, to our strong opponents, and... to fried chicken!”
“KANPAI!” Almost everyone shouted in unison, raising their glasses.
Sakusa, clutching his cup of tea, raised it slightly and muttered, “There isn’t even any disinfectant on the table. It’s a miracle we’re still alive.”
At one point, however, Kageyama, who had been quieter than usual, turned to Oikawa with a candid expression. “Where is Kahori? I thought she was coming too.”
Oikawa stiffened only for a moment, but it was enough for those who knew him well to notice. “She told me that Yachi wasn't feeling well, so she and Kiyoko decided to have a quiet evening at home,” he explained, bringing a glass to his lips without much enthusiasm.
“All three of them? But if I'm feeling ill, I want to be left alone in peace, don't I?” asked Hoshiumi, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Kuroo leaned back in his chair, looking distracted, and said, “Female solidarity? Who knows.”
“There's nothing to worry about. Yachi probably isn't that bad and just wants some company,” suggested Iwaizumi, trying to quell the insistence with a note of common sense. But he didn't really convince anyone.
“Unless they're having one of those girls' nights with cucumber masks and romantic dramas,” Atsumu speculated, nudging Suna with his elbow. “You won't believe it, but I once found myself in the middle of one. It was a trap.”
“Yeah, a trap you walked into with six beers and the latest Tekken video game in your hand. Romantic,” Suna commented with a straight face.
Hinata, who had been calm until then, became more serious. “So... everything's fine, right? I mean, there's nothing you're not telling us, is there?”
Oikawa tightened his lips for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “She didn't say anything strange. Just that Yachi wasn't feeling well and she wanted to be with her. I have no reason to doubt her.”
Kuroo looked at him for a moment, as if trying to read between the lines. Then he snorted and stood up. “I'm going to order another bottle of sake. Maybe they'll show up later in the evening. Or maybe we'll have to toast them too.”
“As long as Bokuto doesn't give another speech about how amazing his spikes were,” said Sakusa, rolling his eyes.
“Hey!” protested Bokuto. “But those spikes were really amazing.”
And so, amid jokes and half-asked questions left hanging, the evening continued, while in an apartment a few kilometres away, something very different was about to happen.
[...]
The living room was silent. There was no music, no television on. Only the sound of the clock hanging on the wall, and the ticking seemed to mark the wait with almost cruel punctuality.
Yachi sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, her elbows on her legs, her hands supporting her face. Her face, usually expressive and lively, was tense. Every now and then she looked up toward the hallway, from where Kiyoko should have returned. Next to her, Kahori sat on a chair with her hands clasped in her lap, stiff, as if loosening them for even a second would cause her to collapse completely.
Kiyoko entered the room with a light step,but the silence she found there was almost palpable. She carried the small white box with her closed, just to give her sister time to gather her strength and open it herself.
“It's ready,” she said simply, without inflection in her voice. Then she turned to Kahori. “Are you ready?”
Kahori took a deep breath, but that was all she could manage. She didn't answer. She stood still for a moment, lowering her gaze and twirling a strand of hair between her fingers—a gesture meant more to relieve the tension.
Yachi was the first to speak. “It's not necessarily what you think. Maybe you're just stressed, or it's because of the trip, or something you ate...”
Kiyoko turned to her with a look that, while gentle, left no room for naivety. “Yachi.”
Yachi lowered her eyes. “I'm sorry.”
Kiyoko approached Kahori, still holding the box in her hands. She placed it on the table next to her. “Have you had these symptoms for a long time?” Kiyoko tried again.
Kahori finally looked up, and for a moment Kiyoko saw the answer right there, in those eyes that could no longer hide anything. She wasn't surprised, at least not entirely. “I think it's been a few weeks. Perhaps just over a month. It's not the first time I've missed a period. Yes, I mean, it can happen...” Kahori murmured, swallowing.
“What about Oikawa?” Kiyoko asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.
Kahori shook her head slightly. “He doesn't know anything. I'm not even sure I want to know.”
Silence fell again in the room, thicker than before. None of the three dared touch the little box on the table, as if the mere gesture could change everything.
It was then that Kiyoko leaned toward her, placing a warm, steady hand on her knee. “Whatever that test says, we're in this together. You're not alone, okay? But we have to do this test, we need to have an answer.”
Kahori nodded again, more vigorously this time, as if clinging to those words. Then, finally, she reached out her hand toward the box. Her fingers trembled, but the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, and even Kiyoko and Yachi seemed to be holding their breath.
The small plastic rectangle resting on the table seemed almost harmless, but one glance was enough to set everything in motion. Two lines. Clear, decisive, unambiguous.
Yachi was the first to react. “Is it... positive?” she asked, even though the answer was clear.
Kiyoko nodded slowly, and for a moment the two looked at each other with half-smiles, almost moved. Yachi turned to Kahori with an expression bordering on wonder. “Hori... this is good news, isn't it?”
But the girl didn't answer. She was motionless, her eyes fixed on the test. Her hands in her lap had stopped shaking, but only to make Kahori's gaze even more bewildered and frightened.
“Hori?” Kiyoko called her, worried.
It took a moment. Then Kahori moved slightly, as if her body had just remembered to breathe. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide, and in an instant the color drained from her face.
Yachi jumped up, ready to approach her, but it was Kiyoko who moved first, crouching down beside her. “Hey... Kahori, tell me. Are you feeling sick? Are you feeling nauseous?”
Kahori shook her head, almost imperceptibly, then closed her eyes tightly and, as if something inside her had suddenly broken, burst into tears. Not quiet sobs, but heavy crying, mixed with confusion and terror.
Yachi stood motionless, her hands suspended in midair, as if afraid of doing the wrong thing. The smile that had touched her face had faded, giving way to sincere concern. “Why are you crying? Everything's fine... I mean...” she looked at Kiyoko, her eyes pleading for help.
Kiyoko said nothing. She approached her and hugged her tightly, without words, just with her presence. Kahori's crying continued for a while, until her shoulders began to relax and her sobs slowed down.
“Is it because of Oikawa?” Kiyoko asked softly, gently. “Are you afraid of his reaction? Didn't you talk about it? Didn't he want to...?”
Kahori made a half-motion with her hand, as if to say, “That's not it.” Finally, her voice still broken, she replied, “I don't know... I really don't know, Kiyoko. I don't even know what he would think. Maybe he would be happy. Or maybe... no. But that's not it.”
Kahori wiped her tears with the back of her hand, staring ahead without focusing on anything.
“It's just that... I'm scared.” The words came out slowly, as if she were finally letting them out. "I've never been so scared in my life. I can't even think straight. It's too much. It's too big. It's too sudden, it wasn't planned. And I... I don't feel ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. It's like I'm trapped between wanting to run away and wanting to stop time to think about it more."
Kiyoko gently stroked a strand of her hair. “It's normal. To be afraid, to feel small in the face of something enormous. No one is truly ready. And if you think you are, you're not.”
Yachi finally approached, more uncertain, but with a new sweetness in her eyes. “You've always done courageous things, Hori. This is one too. However, I think that before getting nervous, it would be best to talk to Oikawa about it.”
Kahori took a deep breath, resting her forehead against Kiyoko's shoulder. For a moment, the room fell silent again.
But now, that silence was no longer empty.
[...]
Voices overlapped in a familiar buzz, a cheerful and affectionate hum, made up of jokes, delayed laughter, stories heard a thousand times but always new when shared with the right people. The atmosphere was like a refuge after a long match—muscles still sore, but hearts full, light, satisfied.
It was into this vivid, bustling scene that the three girls entered, almost on tiptoe, as if they wanted to make their way through without breaking the spell. The door closed behind them with a muffled thud, and for a moment no one seemed to notice them. Suddenly, as if an invisible thread had been pulled, heads began to turn.
“Ohhh?! Look who's back!” exclaimed Bokuto, jumping up exuberantly, as if the chair had become incandescent beneath him. He waved his arm in the air, his hand wide open and smiling, as if to call the whole room together. “So you're still alive!”
Atsumu, sitting a little further away, turned abruptly, already anticipating the opportunity to tease someone. A smile spread across his face like an ink stain. “We thought you were locked up in Kiyoko's house for a secret ritual. Like a cult…”
“You certainly have a rather disturbing view of girls' nights out,” added Suna, without even looking up from the glass he was slowly rotating between his fingers. “And anyway, you were the only one thinking that.”
Kageyama looked up, struck more by curiosity than by the general buzz, while Hoshiumi made an exaggerated grimace, raising his eyebrows as if he had just seen a mirage.
Kahori let out a small smile, looking more shy than tired. She had put on a touch of make-up before going out, nothing flashy: just enough to mask the shiny edges of her eyes and the redness around her nose. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, her pace calm. But those who really knew her would have noticed the silent tension in her shoulders, her slow but uncertain step, her slightly swollen eyes, revealing that she hadn’t spent the evening laughing.
Kiyoko, on her right, walked beside her with the reserved elegance that had always distinguished her. From time to time, she glanced at her sister, without insistence, as one does with someone who one fears might disappear if looked at too long. Yachi, on the other hand, seemed to be holding her breath, but when she met Kahori's gaze, she gave her a firm nod to convey her strength. A silent encouragement.
Oikawa was the last to notice them. He had his back against the bar, a glass in his right hand, his body leaning to one side as he was saying something to Sakusa and Wakatoshi. His gaze rose as soon as an uneasy silence fell over the bar, and the moment he saw Kahori, something lit up in his eyes.
He took a step forward with genuine surprise, but also with a hint of uncertainty. He knew that look. He knew it all too well. “Hori?!” The nickname came out softly, spontaneously, like a caress. “I thought you were staying home because Yachi…”
Kahori gave a half-smile, then slipped between the tables towards him, as if the rest of the room were blurred, distant, irrelevant. “Yachi isn't ill, she's never been ill,” she replied quietly. She said nothing more, but her eyes met him with a gravity that seemed to draw his attention to something greater, something that words alone couldn't convey. “Can we talk for a moment? Outside.”
Oikawa stared at her for a moment, as if trying to read between the lines of her face, nodding later. He placed his glass on the counter without saying a word and led her towards the exit.
As soon as they stepped outside, the noise from the bar faded away like an echo behind a closed door. The evening welcomed them with its damp, silent air. A gentle, barely perceptible breeze lifted strands of her hair. The asphalt reflected the warm light of the street lamps, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of fireworks could be heard.
Oikawa watched her silently. His expression was relaxed, but his eyes betrayed a slight concern, a state of contained alertness. “Has something happened?” he finally asked, his voice low and patient.
Kahori looked at him. Her hands trembled slightly, but with a slow, almost ceremonial gesture, she brought them to clasp his. Her fingers sought refuge among his, slowly intertwining with them.
“I don't really know how to tell you this,” she murmured, lowering her gaze for a moment, as if searching for words among the seams of the world. “But I had to do it now. Yes, I mean, now that I'm sure and we can talk about it…”
Oikawa said nothing, but in his eyes she saw all the patience and care she had feared she wouldn't find. Okay, maybe a hint of fear too, but nothing she couldn't understand. His hands didn't let go of hers — in fact, they barely moved, holding them in a warm, encouraging grip, as if to say: I'm here. Keep going.
“I’m pregnant,” Kahori finally said, and it was as if her words unfolded in the air with the fragile lightness of origami thrown into the wind — fragile, yes, but precise, capable of bending the entire reality around them into a new shape.
Oikawa's face remained motionless for an eternal moment, frozen in time. Then, slowly, it came to life — first with a flash in his eyes, a spark of amazement, almost childlike, followed by a look of disbelief that raised his eyebrows slightly. But it was the emotion that followed that changed everything: a deeper, trembling expression that softened his gaze and took his breath away, as if he had realised the meaning of Kahori's words within himself.
“Wait... wait, really? You and me... us?” His voice cracked slightly, a whisper between dream and reality.
Kahori nodded, with a small but meaningful gesture. Her lips tightened into a thin line, while her eyes began to moisten, betraying the emotional wave she had held back with her fingernails until now—well, held back with Oikawa, of course.
Kahori had never considered that possibility. Perhaps she should have, given that precautions were taken precisely to avoid that possibility. But it had never crossed her mind that it could happen like that, almost “on the sly”. Perhaps she had forgotten to take her contraceptive pill? She had always been so precise and obsessive about those things. But something had “gone wrong” and she had noticed it a little too late. Too much work, too much travelling. Too much of everything to pay attention to the signals her body was giving her. She had missed a period before, and the contraceptive pill gave her the confidence she needed to rule out pregnancy. Yet there it was, the positive test.
He reached her in an embrace that wasn't just a gesture, but a refuge. Slow, measured, as if he were approaching something sacred. His arms surrounded her with an almost reverent tenderness, and one of his hands brushed her hair with cautious movements, as if he feared that his mere existence at that moment could ruin everything.
“Kahori…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “That's the craziest and most wonderful thing you could have said to me.”
She couldn't find any words to add. Her hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, and her face sought refuge against his shoulder, as if she wanted to lose herself in him to escape the turmoil growing inside her. The warmth of his body reached her chest and throat, momentarily soothing the knot of fear that was tightening her throat.
But it was precisely that happiness that disoriented her.
Kahori didn't answer. She just stood there, her face pressed against his chest, motionless. Her grip didn't get any stronger or weaker: it remained tense, frozen. And Oikawa, who knew her all too well by now, felt that silence thickening between them like an unexpected cold wind.
He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. And what he saw wasn't joy. It wasn't a relief. It wasn't even confusion, at least not simple confusion. “Kahori,” he said softly, moving a strand of hair behind her ear, “you don't look as happy as I am.”
She lowered her gaze.
It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Precise. Inevitable. Like the sentence she herself had uttered a few minutes earlier.
“No,” she admitted in a whisper. “Not like you.”
He nodded slowly, there was no anger in his face. Only an initial, restrained disappointment, which quickly gave way to something deeper and more mature. An attentive calm, as if he sensed that this was not the moment for impulsive reactions.
“Don't you want the baby?” he asked after a moment's pause. It was a sincere question, not an accusation.
Kahori took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.
“I don't know,” she said finally. “That's the problem. I really don't know. I can't even imagine myself in that... in that role. Mum. It doesn't even sound real.”
Oikawa fell silent. He remained beside her, his hands still clasped with hers, as if he wanted to give her support without invading her space. A discreet anchor.
“It scares me,” Kahori continued, her voice trembling slightly. “It's not that I don't want to... it's that I'm terrified I won't be able to do it. And then... There are too many things going on. Work. The contract. Travelling with the team. And Aaron is preparing me for a new level of responsibility. If I give up everything now, if I stop... I don't know how I could start again. I don't know if I could do it.”
Oikawa gently brought their hands to his chest. He didn't have any answers ready. He wasn't looking for any. He had learned from her that certain silences needed space to be inhabited. He didn't want to force anything, but to give her space to think. He looked at her, and in that look there wasn’t only love, but also respect — for her confusion, for the responsibility she was carrying, for the fact that she was so sincerely vulnerable in front of him.
“I know you're scared,” he said softly. “I am too. I don't even know where to start, I have no idea how to do it... being a father. But I do know one thing. I am here. And I will be here. Always.”
He paused, before continuing. “You don't have to do everything on your own. You won't be doing it on your own. That decision isn't just yours, but it's not just mine either. It's ours. And whatever we choose, we'll do it together. If you don't feel ready now, I'll wait.”
Kahori looked at him for a long moment. He wasn't talking to comfort her. He wasn't trying to push her anywhere. He was just staying by her side. He was there. Present. With his warm hands on hers, with his steady gaze reminding her of who they had been, and who they could still be. Together.
A silence fell between them, but it was no longer filled with uncertainty. It was like a blanket spread over an unmade bed: imperfect, but sufficient. She took a deep breath. A breath that still contained traces of anguish, but also something new. Calmer. Deeper. As if his words had opened a glimmer of light among her clouds.
“I don't know how it will go,” she whispered. “And I know it won't be easy. But if you're there…”
Oikawa just nodded to her. There was no need for dramatic promises, not at that moment.
“I'll be there,” he said simply. “I promised you at the altar, didn't I? I'll always be there.”
Kahori closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself be lulled by that thought. She was still scared, yes. But she was no longer paralysed.
“All right,” she said finally, her voice a whisper. But it was clear. Firm. “Tomorrow I'll call my sister's gynaecologist, just to get some tests done and have a check-up, since we have to catch a flight soon. When we return to Argentina, I am looking for a gynaecologist who can monitor my pregnancy.”
Oikawa smiled softly. It was one of those smiles that appears when something inside finally aligns with what is outside. And when he pulled her close again, Kahori let herself go completely. And for a moment, just one moment, everything seemed to slow down.
Oikawa's fingers returned to playing with hers. Their breathing had become more regular, and for the first time since the conversation began, there was a new light in his face: a thrill of excitement that seemed to make his words vibrate even before he uttered them.
“Can I tell the boys?” he asked in an almost childlike voice, a sparkle in his eyes, as if he were eager to share a wonderful secret.
Kahori looked at him, surprised. She hadn't expected such an immediate request, nor his desire to tell others. It was all still so new, it was all still too soon. What if it didn't go well? She was only at the beginning of her pregnancy, in that delicate phase where everything could change. The idea that Oikawa wanted to talk about it right away, naturally, almost proudly, took her aback. Something tightened inside her.
She felt inadequate.
She remembered Kiyoko, the way she had stared at her with those dark, sweet eyes after seeing her pacing back and forth in the bathroom with the air of someone trying to escape from herself. She also remembered her firm voice saying, “Have you taken a pregnancy test?”
No. She hadn't, until then. She had preferred to ignore everything, hoping that time would resolve her doubts on its own. Only when Kiyoko had confronted her with the evidence had she faced up to it. She had feared judgement, feared not knowing what to say, even feared the reaction of her closest friends. As if admitting that truth also meant admitting that she, Kahori, might not be up to the task of this new event.
Was it so wrong to be afraid? Perhaps it had been a while since she had felt that sense of inadequacy. Perhaps she had been afraid that her past demons had returned to haunt her.
And now Tooru was there, beside her, ready to shout the news to the world.
Kahori lowered her gaze, staring at her trainers. “It feels strange,” she said quietly. “Knowing that you already want to talk about it… I… I even struggled to admit it to myself.”
Oikawa didn't answer right away. He waited. He lifted her chin gently with two fingers, forcing her to look at him. There was no trace of reproach in his eyes, only understanding.
“It's not a competition,” he said genuinely. “It's not that I'm more ready than you are. But I understand that it's different for you. And that's okay.”
Kahori felt herself sinking into that warm welcome. Her defences gradually softened. She wondered if the guilt she felt was linked only to herself, to her own rigidity, or if it also had something to do with that implicit comparison with his natural enthusiasm. Yet something in Oikawa's tone reminded her that she didn't have to prove anything.
“You can say it,” she said then, in a whisper. “So, are you sure you want the baby? There's no turning back now.”
Oikawa smiled simply, as genuinely as he could. “Yes,” he said without hesitation.
She nodded. The fear hadn't gone away yet. Neither had the uncertainty or all the doubts running through her mind. But perhaps time would give her space to better process this new perspective on life.
When Oikawa returned to the room, something had changed in his expression. His cocky attitude and slightly upturned smile hadn't left him, but there was something different. Oikawa seemed... shaken, but in an almost poignant way. It was as if one sensed that he was happy, but was forced to hold back to avoid exploding and screaming.
Iwaizumi noticed him immediately. He was leaning against the wall with one shoulder, drinking half a beer left over from a previous toast, and the look he gave Oikawa was typical of someone who knows every wrinkle on that face by heart. He narrowed his eyes slightly and tilted his head slightly. Oikawa moved as if he had just seen something he couldn't keep to himself. The corners of his lips trembled as if he were holding back laughter, and his eyes—those brown eyes that Iwaizumi knew every nuance of—seemed to sparkle with emotion.
He seemed like a man on the verge of something: joy, tears, panic, wonder. All at once. All seasoned with that cocky attitude he used to mask when something was going in a different direction, when something inside him was stirring.
“Tooru...?! Iwaizumi murmured softly as the other passed by without saying anything. He wasn't ignoring him: it was that kind of trance you find yourself in when you're still trying to figure out whether what you experienced was real or a dream. Iwaizumi watched him as he crossed the room — the music had returned to the background, there were voices, toasts, laughter, but for Oikawa everything seemed to fade into the background. He stared straight ahead, as if preparing himself for the moment.
And that was when Oikawa stood up straight.
Iwaizumi also sat up straight in his chair, as if he sensed that something was about to happen. Kuroo, who had been laughing quietly with Bokuto and Atsumu, turned around as soon as he saw Oikawa climb decisively onto a wooden chair near the counter. And the scene changed in an instant. The buzz gradually died down as people noticed that familiar figure posing as the presenter of the world final — chest out, arm raised, expression somewhere between solemn and ridiculously theatrical.
“Silence, please!” he announced, his voice loud but broke slightly with something real that he was trying to mask with irony. “The princess has news, but her worthy consort is going to tell you.”
“Get down from there, Oikawa!” Taketora whistled, laughing.
“If he falls off his chair and breaks something, I don't want to know,” muttered Kuroo, his chin already resting on his hand as if he were watching an old Shakespearean drama. “Is he already drunk enough to start doing things like that?”
“Shhh! It's important!” he replied, looking at Kahori's face. She was still sitting, her hands clasped in her lap, but with a small smile on her face. Oikawa lowered his voice a little and became serious. Really serious. But he didn't lose his sparkle completely. “Kahori is pregnant. We're going to be parents.”
Those present in the room suddenly fell silent. Kahori could hear someone coughing because someone had choked on their drink, while others stared at them with wide eyes and open mouths.
Suddenly, everything erupted at once.
A yell from Hoshiumi, a simultaneous “NO WAY!” from Atsumu, glasses raised, shouts, whistles, hands banging on the wooden tables. Kuroo began to applaud, while putting two fingers to his mouth to whistle. Sakusa simply smiled, raising his glass in a silent toast, and even Wakatoshi, sitting a little further away, nodded seriously, solemnly approving the event—his own way of saying that they had his “blessing”.
“WHAT?!” It was Shoyo, his eyes as big as two gold coins, staring at Oikawa as if he had just said he would bring the moon to Earth. He turned abruptly to Kageyama, as if seeking confirmation. “Have you heard that?!”
Kageyama, who had remained motionless until then, with the water bottle suspended in mid-air, nodded slowly. His expression was indecipherable. He lowered his gaze, looked back up at Kahori, and said in a low, somewhat awkward voice, “Congratulations. It's... it's wonderful and unexpected.”
Hinata tapped him on the shoulder. “How can you say that? You have to smile when you say things like that!”
And he replied, with a slight pout, “I am smiling.”
“And that's supposed to be a smile?” asked Hinata, raising an eyebrow.
Meanwhile, Hoshiumi had taken out his phone to film Bokuto, who was now singing something incomprehensible on top of a chair, pointing to his chest and shouting, “I'M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE”.
“He'll end up falling,” commented Goshiki, watching him with his arms crossed but with an amused half-smile on his lips.
“I'll bet you a beer he'll crash into the chandelier,” said Romeo, sitting with Ojiro, who snorted but couldn't take his eyes off all the madness. Finally, Ojiro said, “what does he have to do with all this?”
“Wait!” Atsumu shouted above the voices, pointing a finger at the couple. “Is it a boy or a girl?!”
“Yes! And what will you name the baby?” pressed Bokuto, now down from his chair, but still excited as if he had eaten handfuls of sugar. “We have to think of a name right away! I vote for Musashi! It sounds strong, powerful! Like... a samurai!”
Hinata, his eyes wide, immediately turned to Kahori. “What if it's a girl? Then Otohime! Like the name of a princess!”
“Come on, Otohime is for grandmothers,” joked Atsumu. “It has to be something modern. Like... Tamagoro! It sounds cheerful, doesn't it?”
“Tamagoro?!” Kuroo burst out laughing. “It's a baby, not a plate of eggs.”
“Please, stop it,” Sakusa muttered, but no one listened to him.
“How far along are you?” Hinata asked, leaning forward. “Are you feeling well? Are you eating enough? Is Oikawa spoiling you properly?”
Wakatoshi nodded. “Protein, you need lots of protein,” he said simply, nodding at his own statement.
Goshiki looked at him, confused. “I don't think she should be eating like an athlete…”
“Not like an athlete, but she'll definitely need to eat enough,” Iwaizum interjected.
“Has the baby started spiking yet?” added Hoshiumi, with a curious look and a half-smile. “He must be a champion, even in there!”
Suna turned to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed in a puzzled expression. “I don't think you have much idea how it works…”
Kahori took half a step back. Her heart was pounding, and for a moment she felt as if the floor was swaying slightly beneath her feet. The voices sounded blurred, the faces blurred between the heat of the lights and the excitement. She should have been happy about all the enthusiasm. Yet it only made her feel nauseous again. Everyone was happy and excited, and once again she felt guilty for not sharing their happiness at that moment.
Kiyoko noticed it immediately.
With calm, confident steps, she approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey... take it easy. You don't have to respond to everything right away,” she said in her calm, steady voice. She turned next to the players: “Give her some breathing space, guys.”
The buzzing subsided slightly, and Kahori gave her a grateful look. Oikawa brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, smiling slightly, as if to say, “Everything's fine.”
It was Kiyoko who spoke for her, with the naturalness of someone who knows how to keep a group together without raising her voice: “Those are good questions, but it's all still so fresh. And everything has its time. For now, we're just happy. Right?”
Kahori nodded, then, with a deep breath, found the strength to smile genuinely, fully. “Right,” Kahori finally confirmed, her voice hesitant. “I can't answer all these questions, we're only at the beginning and... everything is uncertain.”
Those last words were enough to quiet the room, bringing everyone back down to earth. Kahori wasn't trying to dampen their enthusiasm, but reality still weighed heavily on her heart: everything was so fragile. She was still so fragile.
Hinata tilted her head to one side, a serious expression—for once—framed by her orange hair. “Everything will be fine,” he said with such genuine conviction that it seemed he wanted to pass it on to her directly. “Now that you know, you just need to get some more rest.”
“Exactly,” echoed Kuroo, leaning back in his chair. “Rest, nutrition, low stress.”
“And in excellent arms,” added Atsumu with a smirk, pointing at Oikawa with his chin. “Even if those arms are a little narcissistic.”
“Hey!” protested Oikawa, but without conviction. His fingers sought Kahori's, silently intertwining them.
Bokuto, meanwhile, had moved a little too close, as if he wanted to protect her with the sheer force of his energy. “Kahori needs peace and quiet to rest, so everyone keep your voices down and be quiet.”
Yamamoto turned to him: “You're the only one causing trouble…”
“Let's not exaggerate,” Iwaizumi grumbled. “But he's right. Slow down, it's fine. Sometimes slowing down helps us see the path more clearly.”
Kahori smiled, struck by how much those words, despite their bizarre undertones, resonated with her. Her heart was still beating fast, but now it was a different kind of beat. Perhaps slowing down a little wouldn't be so bad after all.