Chapter Text
“Unh fuck, yes yes yes right there!”
Wakatoshi’s eyes fly open, accidentally jerking himself awake from his almost-sleep. He blinks and fumbles at his blanket, disoriented as the voice filters through the thin wall again.
“Fuck yes, ahh. Oh god, harder!”
His fingers close around his phone and he holds it up to his face, squinting blearily at the screen as light blasts into his face when he turns it on.
2am. Exactly like clockwork. Wakatoshi throws the phone back down, glaring at the ceiling as the ungodly noise continues. Damn the bad infrastructure and the bad positioning of bedrooms.
Turning onto his side, Wakatoshi winces at the ache in his shoulder, his body reminding him just how tough today’s training was. He flips his pillow and tries to punch it into shape, trying to get comfortable on its cooler side. He’s pretty sure he’ll be sore all over tomorrow, but that’s all the more reason to rest well tonight before struggling through yet another killer training regime in the morning.
His neighbour moans again, high pitched and whiny, a huge, glaring roadblock in Wakatoshi’s attempt to fall back asleep. He tries anyway, folding the pillow over his ears and trying to ignore the rhythmic “uhn, uhn, uhn” that’s steadily getting louder.
Late night disturbances or no, he’s going to get his goddamn sleep.
Ten minutes of counting sheeps and attempted meditation later, Wakatoshi throws his blanket off and abandons any attempt of slumber.
He pushes himself up and leans back against the headboard in resignation, blowing out a sigh as his neighbour continues with the never ending stream of cusses and moans. It’s a talent, really, he thinks idly. That guy must have insane stamina to keep going that long.
It doesn’t sound like he has a partner either. So far, he’s only heard one voice every time, and with how thin the walls are, he’d have heard the partner’s voice, no matter how soft they are. There’s also the fact that the neighbour, in his history of rambling and muttering and cursing during sex, has never once called out another person’s name.
He’s also, annoyingly enough, very athletic. Wakatoshi can recall on one memorable occasion sitting cross legged on his bed for two hours and thirty seven minutes (Wakatoshi counted), just listening to the neighbour scream himself hoarse. So either the neighbour must be very bad at self pleasure, or he likes drawing it out.
Listening to the soft sighs and gasps that manage to pass through, Wakatoshi lets his hand wander down to his shorts. With nights like this, in the solace of his room, darkness hugging every crevice, and a very loud, very horny neighbour virtually ear fucking him with his voice, Wakatoshi has developed a bad habit of jerking himself off.
It had started when he’s awakened, as usual, to the lewd noises next door. He’d been in the middle of a risque dream, one he doesn’t quite remember, and he finds himself groggily reaching down to palm his cock, already half hard and thickening at the contact.
He gets himself off like that, teeth clenched around the thin cotton of his shirt, hand spreading his pre cum down his shaft to ease the way, twisting and moving his wrist jerkily as he builds the bubbling tension in his stomach to the cries of a stranger.
He had focused on the timber of the voice, the way it cracks a little at a whine, and nearly cums embarrassingly quick from the way the husky voice pleads for ‘more, more more’. In the end, he spills all over his stomach, surprisingly quiet as the orgasm has his eyes rolling back into his head. He cleaned up and fell asleep quickly, dreaming of soft, sultry tones drawing him deeper into an unknowable void.
The same sultry voice that's currently got his interest right now, especially when it's crying out "Mmm, yes daddy". It's a little worrying how the words go straight down south.
Wakatoshi frees his cock from his briefs, giving it a perfunctory tug and swipes at the head, hissing at just how sensitive he is. It’s been days since he had the chance to pleasure himself, school and volleyball practice having taken up way too much of his time this past week.
He lets himself go momentarily, spitting on his palm to lube himself up, settling back into his pillow as he jerks himself leisurely. It’ll be quick today, he knows, but he has no reason not to make it enjoyable.
As if his neighbour could hear his thoughts, a ‘God, it’s so fucking thick’ pass through the wall, followed by a string of gasps, as if he’s having the breath fucked out of him.
Wakatoshi lets out a silent groan into the shirt bundled up in his mouth. If he’s to be honest with himself, his annoying neighbour sounds exactly like his type.
The lilting tone, the desperate inclination when he begs, the way he runs his filthy mouth when he’s near his climax - Wakatoshi shuts his eyes and thinks of a nameless, faceless man, keening and moaning in time with the neighbour’s own as he rides Wakatoshi’s dick. Maybe he’ll beg just like that when teased. Maybe he’ll whine just as prettily when his nipples are being sucked until they’re puffy and swollen. Maybe he’ll even cry out Wakatoshi’s name when he’s splitting that hole open with his cock.
His orgasm takes him by surprise. One moment he’s stroking himself, wrist twisting just the way he likes it, other hand fondling his balls, and in the next he’s making a mess of himself, panting hard as he spills into his hands and down his thighs.
Behind him, the neighbour gives a muffled shout. Guess Wakatoshi had timed his release just right.
He moves himself out of bed gingerly, going into the small bathroom to clean himself up. The sex noises were gone now, replaced with blessed silence and the occasional humming.
Wakatoshi tucks himself back into bed (2.35am he notes resentfully) and settles in for the night again. Around him, all was quiet and dark, with only the occasional traffic punctuating the stillness.
As the heaviness of sleep drags him down under, Wakatoshi thinks about confronting his neighbour, sooner or later. He doesn’t know whether to berate or thank him though, but that’s a problem for next time.
Both, he decides, as he drifts off into dreamland.
By some miracle, his neighbour decides not to engage in any late night escapades for the next two weeks.
Wakatoshi gets his blessed 8 hours of sleep, which greatly improved his mood during the day. Even his project group mates have mentioned that he looks less cranky lately.
It’s not as if the neighbour is completely silent. Wakatoshi can still hear him going about his day, clanking the plates and doors slamming and singing along to unheard songs. His neighbour is chatty, mostly talking and humming to himself when he’s home.
Wakatoshi wonders if the other man is aware that he can hear everything. Considering that, despite his size, he's pretty light footed and quiet, he hazards a guess that his neighbour probably doesn’t know.
He could easily end up resenting the noise. But in a small apartment hundreds of kilometres away from his family and friends, surrounded by strangers and new circumstances, struggling to carve a place for himself in this new environment, Wakatoshi craves for a taste of regularity.
It does get lonely sometimes, and between the endless cycle of class and training, he doesn’t have much time to socialise - not that he’s very good at that either. At the end of the day, while he’s hunched over his desk trying to type out another five thousand word essay, listening to the man next door murmuring about something or another does make him feel like a little less alone.
Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly grateful, he’d buy a box of chocolates, tack on a well thought out thank you note, and leave it at the neighbour’s front door. He doesn’t put his name or apartment number on it, but when he leaves for school the next day, the gift is gone and the neighbour’s singing increases.
That evening, as he slips into the shower to wash away the sweat of his practice session, Wakatoshi contemplates sending another box as thanks for not waking him up in the middle of the night. He spends a solid ten minutes contemplating it as he shampoos his hair but decides against it.
It just feels spiteful, he thinks as he wraps himself up in his towel. Feels petty. It wouldn’t be very nice of him to do that.
Mind made up, he goes to him room to change and get ready for another good night’s sleep
Wakatoshi is wrong. He should have been mean. He should have sent that damn box of chocolates.
It’s 4 in the afternoon and he’s on a zoom call with his group mates, discussing a possible strategy to the project they were tackling, when the living room bluetooth speaker in front of him turns on.
Wakatoshi stops mid sentence and frowns at it. He didn’t do that.
Then, the unmistakable sound of porn starts playing abruptly and Wakatoshi freezes in his seat.
His two other group mates, Lilo and Haruka, stare at him, bugged eyed.
Wakatoshi takes a deep breath, opting to rush through his explanation before muting his mic. Unfortunately, the sound of skin slapping skin and a man’s very loud, very fake moan nearly drowns out his voice.
Haruka recovers first, smirking at Wakatoshi’s red face. “Damn Ushijima-san, I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”
“I am not.” Wakatoshi says curtly. The volume of the speaker chose this time to increase, and the disgustingly wet sounds of porn makes him wince. He clears his throat, speaking louder over the din. “I think my neighbour’s phone accidentally connected to my bluetooth speakers when he’s trying to, uh, well, have his own private time.”
Lilo giggles, high and nervous. “How unfortunate.” Her eyes flit across the screen as Wakatoshi sits there, stoned face, anger slowly building in his gut.
The highly exaggerated wailing increased in pitch and speed, indicating that the video, at least, is about to come to an end. Lilo jumps in her seat, clearly frazzled, and finally clicks the button to mute Wakatoshi.
“Um, ah, Ushijima-san, I know you’re a bit inconvenienced right now so why don’t you just type what you wanted to say in the chat box instead? We’ll read it and do the talking for this session.” She grimaces as Haruka tries to stifle his laughter. “Don’t worry, we’ll still put it in the paper that you participated during our group session.”
Wakatoshi sighs, opening up the chat function to begin writing out his explanation. Around him, the sound continues to blast through his tiny apartment, squelching and sloshing and mocking him through his pain.
Wakatoshi endures another fifteen minutes of graphic noises of two men copulating before his neighbour gets the hint. He’s in the middle of trying to describe a particularly tricky equation when the sound abruptly cuts off, followed by a horrified scream.
Good, he thinks viciously, smashing the letters on his keyboard so hard he’s sure they would break. I hope you feel the burn of embarrassment like a thousand burning suns for what you did to me.
He keeps himself muted, opting to transcribe everything he wanted to say. At least this saves him the trouble of transcribing the meeting again after the call is over.
Wakatoshi wouldn’t describe himself as a particularly angry individual. In fact, it takes a lot to set him off. He prefers to simmer and stew in his thoughts, stashing grievances away like an elephant with a particularly long memory. If he so chooses, he could forgive the transgressor, but he sure won’t forget.
After what his neighbour did, Wakatoshi thinks that he could go through the fires of hell and be reincarnated into an ant and he still wouldn’t forgive or forget him for all that he did.
He unmutes himself at the end, gruffly saying goodbye to a still sniggering Haruka and a very traumatised Lilo. He promises to buy them lunch, even though they protested against it, with Lilo looking terrified to spend more time with him than was necessary.
He manages to get them to agree to at least have him pay for their coffee the next time they meet, apologising profusely for the unwanted interruption.
Grovelling done, he marches out of his place and stomps his way over to his neighbour’s front door.
He doesn’t intend to, but the knocks he made sounds a lot like he’s trying to break the door down. Wakatoshi steps back a little, trying to calm himself down, already formulating what he would say to the inconsiderate man.
The knob turns ever so slightly and swings open, revealing a sheepish man clutching at the frame, a chastened smile on his face.
Wakatoshi braces himself. "Hello, my name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. I'm your next d-"
His carefully prepared speech dies in his throat.
In the past year of him living here, he had built up a vague idea of what his neighbour looked like, based on his voice and habits. But never in a million years would he have guessed that his annoying, inconsiderate, oblivious, sex-crazed neighbour would be the most handsome guy he’d ever seen.
The neighbour blinks up at him, boy band worthy features making him look particularly innocent. Wakatoshi coughs, trying to get the words that had deserted him to come back.
Before he could say anything, his neighbour interrupted him.
“You must be the guy who lives next door! I’m Oikawa Tooru and I’m so so sooo sorry for what I did. I never meant for that to happen! You see, I had my airpods in and I was er, I was…um, doing my thing but I didn’t check to see if it was connected properly and there I was lying in bed with my thing in my hand like a complete idiot, turning the sound up louder and louder, wondering why it’s so soft and muffled and I took off one earbud and bam! It was actually connected to your speaker! Oh God I’m so sorry that must have been so mortifying I -”
Wakatoshi shuts his eyes, a little overwhelmed by it all. He holds out a hand and the man’s - Oikawa - mouth snaps shut.
Wakatoshi frowns a little, trying to piece together everything Oikawa had told him. “So this was all just…an accident? You didn’t realise it was connected to my speakers instead of your earbuds?”
Oikawa nods earnestly, opening his door a little wider now that he’s certain Wakatoshi isn’t going to start pummelling him into paste. “I’m really really sorry. It’s never happened before and I promise you it’ll never happen again.”
Wakatoshi nods slowly, starting to accept the apology. Then, he remembers his promise to himself to pass some strongly worded criticisms along to the man.
“While we’re on the topic of unfortunate noise levels, did you know that the walls in this building are quite thin?”
Oikawa cocks his head in confusion. Wakatoshi waits at the doorway patiently as he lets the sentence marinate in Oikawa’s mind.
He could pinpoint the moment realisation sets in. Oikawa’s eyes widened comically and he blanched. He stands there, crossing his arms, triumphantly drinking in the expression of a man who knows he’d fucked up, big time.
“Fuck me,” Oikawa whispers, mind definitely flashing back to his late night sessions. Wakatoshi itches to reply back with a pithy “Don’t mind if I do” but opts to continue watching Oikawa melt down in his own embarrassment.
His neighbour stares at the ground for a minute, knuckles white against the wooden door frame, looking like he regrets being born. He stands there, shoulders slumped, looking like such a model of a pitiful creature that Wakatoshi could almost forgive him right then and there.
Just when Wakatoshi is beginning to regret torturing the poor man like this, Oikawa speaks.
“I, ah, uh. I have no idea how to apologise for something that humiliating. It wasn’t my intention to disturb you like that.”
He looks up, close to tears, eyes a little glassy. Wakatoshi softens, just a little, when Oikawa’s bottom lip wobbles.
He uncrosses his arms, placing a hand on Oikawa’s arm in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. Oikawa lets him, and he’s surprised to feel corded muscles and considerable heft under his palms. “It’s ok. Now that we’ve cleared things up, I hope there’s no hard feelings between us.”
He pets Oikawa’s shoulder awkwardly, looking away from those pitiful brown eyes, and turns to leave.
“Wait!” A hand wraps around his wrist, and he whirls back in surprise. Oikawa tugs at his hand in earnest, long fingers elegant and excited. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? Let me cook something for you as an apology for everything I had you go through.”
Wakatoshi considers the offer. He thinks of the carnage of instant noodle wrappers in his trash and the struggle of trying not to burn eggs. He looks at the handsome man in front of him, really looks, and feels his resolve wavering in front of the pretty little thing.
“Sure,” he says, making no move to pull away. “Let me go and have a shower first and I’ll be right back.”
Oikawa lets go of his wrist, a tiny smile of victory at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be sure to have something delicious just for you.”
Wakatoshi lets his eyes slide down Oikawa’s body, past the hurriedly thrown on oversized shirt meant to hide the fact that he isn’t wearing any pants, down those bare thighs, and up again to his face, hope bare and open.
He smiles, feeling just a tiny bit predatory. “And I’ll be sure to eat it all up.”
Wakatoshi takes his time washing up, making sure to wear his clothes with deliberate slowness before making his way to Oikawa’s place again. He decides on a plain tee, comfortable and familiar, especially when worn with his favourite pair of jeans. He’s not exactly sure what ‘visiting neighbour for an apology dinner’ outfit is, but he hopes a pair of pants that he knows hugs his thighs just so is a good choice.
He knocks on Oikawa’s door again, gentler this time, and listens as his neighbour’s heavy footstep walks over to open it.
Oikawa flings the door open, and Wakatoshi’s brain short circuits for the second time.
He’s wearing a frilly pink apron over the oversized shirt he had on earlier, thankfully with a pair of shorts - albeit very short ones - on. He holds a ladle in his hand and the long fringe of his soft, brown hair is pinned up above his forehead. Wakatoshi thinks he resembles a picture of a domestic savant.
Oikawa beams up at Wakatoshi, beckoning him to enter.
He bows a little at the invitation, muttering a quick greeting as he steps in and arranges his shoes at the entrance. Oikawa’s place has the same layout as his, nearly identical rooms and flooring.
But, where Wakatoshi’s decor is sparse, almost clinical, Oikawa’s apartment bursts with warm tones and cosy furniture, with various knick knacks and accoutrements littering the place.
He could see just beyond the entrance into the living room, where a worn out couch lies, a white throw blanket draped over it. A few plump pillows in blue and white are stacked in the corner of the sofa, contrasting sharply with the carpet that has been patterned to look like moss. Up on the mantle, next to the TV, were a few framed photographs, too far away to distinguish who is in it, and a tiny figurine of vabo-chan waves cheerily next to one.
It’s vibrant and full of life, and Wakatoshi wants to take his time to explore, to learn little tidbits of an interesting life lived just from the trinkets carefully placed around the living room.
Oikawa makes a beeline for the kitchen, Wakatoshi trailing behind him. Already, a pot full of delicious smells is bubbling away on the stove, with various bowls and ingredients scattered around the countertop. Oikawa gives the ladle a cursory rinse and sticks it back in the pot, peering into it as he stirs.
Wakatoshi scrubs his hands with soap and gives it a rinse. “Let me help you out.”
Oikawa waves it away. “Don’t be silly, this is a dinner in your honour. Go sit in the living room and look pretty while I prepare the meal.”
Wakatoshi stands behind the counter obstinately, staring at the back of Oikawa’s head until he sighs.
He juts his chin out, gesturing at the chopping board. “I trust you know how to dice vegetables. I want them in tiny cubes. Tiny.”
Wakatoshi surveys the onions, carrots, and celery neatly arranged beside the knife. He picks up the carrot gingerly, opting to start with the easiest one to cut. “You seem to have very low opinions of my cooking skills.”
Oikawa snorts. “You already said the walls are thin. And I’ve never once heard you cook or bake or chop anything the whole time I lived here.” He continues to stir the pot, pausing to throw in a few mysterious leaves.
Wakatoshi suspects that when Oikawa isn’t being mortified and apologetic, he’s a menace with his wit and looks. “You’d be correct. I was never much of a cook - my talents lie elsewhere.”
Oikawa throws him a look over his shoulder, coyly dragging his eyes up and down Wakatoshi’s body. “Mmm, I’m sure.” he bats his eyes, laughing softly when Wakatoshi nearly nicks his finger on the sharp knife. “Tell me more about those talents.”
Wakatoshi clears his throat, steadfastly training his attention on the carrots. “I’m more of an athlete myself. I’m in the collegiate volleyball team but I hope to make it to a national team by the time I graduate.” He focuses on cutting the carrots into ever smaller pieces, trying to ignore Oikawa’s hot gaze.
"Volleyball huh?" Oikawa's eyes come to rest on his hands, meticulously chopping the celery now. "Explains those palms. You know what they say about big hands." He winks at Wakatoshi, turning around to stir the stock again.
Wakatoshi cocks his head, not fully understanding the joke.
"Anyway," Oikawa continues lightly. "No wonder your name sounds so familiar. I'm on the volleyball team too. Not our uni though - got scouted for the Chuo University team instead." He pauses, as if expecting Wakatoshi's praise and wonder.
Wakatoshi frowns, trying to place Oikawa in the roster of names he keeps in his mind. "I don't think I've heard of you before."
Oikawa deflates. Then, he bristles. "You take that back you brute, or I'm gonna poison your portion of stew." He throws his hair back huffily like a peacock. “I’ll have you know I got the best all rounder and setter awards in Miyagi back in high school. You’re lucky I got caught with a nasty sprain and Coach wouldn’t let me out on the court. I’d have taken your team down otherwise.”
Wakatoshi believes him. Still, his pride demands that he makes a case for himself.
“I’ve had the honour of being on the starting roster since I joined. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I would say I am the strongest on the team.” He skins the onion easily, bracing himself for the barrage of tears that would start stinging his eyes the moment he cuts into it. “When you get back on the court, when I meet you across the net, I look forward to beating you soundly.”
Oikawa turns the gas off, switching his ladle for a large, wickedly sharp knife. Pulling out a defrosted chicken from the fridge, he lays it out on a separate chopping board. Pointing the boning knife at Wakatoshi, he grins, smile as cutting as the blade. “Bring it on, big guy.”
The knife slams down on the chicken, effortlessly cleaving it in half. Wakatoshi is unsure if he should be intimidated or aroused. He settles for a mix of both.
“I’ll keep my sights on you,” he vows, strong and valiant as his words. He tries to ignore the onion induced tears dripping down his face.
“Yeah.” Oikawa sniffles as he chops the chicken into chunks, looking a little teary himself. “Me too.”
With two people in the kitchen, their dinner is prepared quickly. Oikawa - sans frilly apron and hair clip now - plates and garnish their dishes with a flourish. “Chicken stew.” he says proudly. “With lots of veggies. Perfect as a healthy, wholesome meal.”
Wakatoshi helps to set the table, eyeing his own bowl with unconstrained hunger. When everything is set out and they’ve muttered a quick “thank you for the meal”, he digs in.
The stew tastes of home. It’s piping hot, hearty, savoury, delicious, and Wakatoshi has to hold himself back from devouring the whole thing and demanding seconds. Beside him, Oikawa takes a bite, spoon lingering in his mouth as he closes his eyes to savour the taste.
Oikawa savours his spoonful as Wakatoshi savours the sight of the man in front of him. Secretly, he thinks the food tastes more delicious than usual, partly because he helped make it, and partly because he’s enjoying it with a very handsome man.
A very handsome man that he’s been jerking off with for the past year. The memories rush to him, and Wakatoshi blush hard. He digs into his stew with renewed vigour, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind.
Next to him, Oikawa takes another big spoonful and sighs in pleasure.
Fire burns in Wakatoshi’s cheeks. He hunches his shoulders, fully aware that if he so wishes, he can recall with unerring certainty how Oikawa sounds in bed.
And if he’s not mistaken (and he really, really isn’t), it sounds exactly like how he’s eating his food right now.
It’s different though, having Oikawa so close to him, moaning and humming in delight as he eats. Without a wall to muffle his voice, without the privacy to imagine just how he looks, Wakatoshi is fully exposed to the full force of his desire.
Something knocks his knee under the table, startling him out of his thoughts. He looks down, surprised to see Oikawa’s leg resting against his own. He looks up, and Oikawa only winks at him.
Hazarding a guess, he hooks his ankle around Oikawa’s and twines their legs closer.
Oikawa’s resulting smile makes him feel warm all over. His hands itch to grab something more substantial than a spoon.
They finish their meal like this, in relative silence, connected below the table. And if Oikawa is a little more vocally appreciative of the food, and Wakatoshi starts to stroke that bare leg with his foot, nobody has to know.