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“Budge up,” Iwa whispered, nudging Oikawa in the back with his knee.
Oikawa scooched over without complaint. He must have been exhausted, Iwa thought, not to whine like he normally would. He settled into the warm presence of his best friend and rolled to face his back.
After a few slow blinks, Iwa noticed Oikawa was surprisingly still. He wasn't kicking at the covers or rolling onto Iwa's pillow or draping his limbs over Iwa, all of the obnoxious fidgeting Oikawa usually needed to get comfortable.
Iwa leaned forward and pressed his face into Oikawa's neck, smiling into the smell of his hair, still a little damp from the shower. His smile slowly faded though, when he realized how tense Oikawa's muscles felt under his touch.
“Hey, you alright?” Iwa propped himself up on an elbow to try to get a look at his face. The light was too dim to make out his features, but Iwa could see his eyes were open. Oikawa’s silence irked him more than it probably should have, but something seemed...off. “Oi, shittykawa. Did you go deaf all the sudden?” Annoyance made his tone rough.
“I heard you fine, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa finally said. His voice was soft but strained, and something like fear thudded in Iwa’s chest. Before he could think of the question he knew he should ask, Oikawa spoke again. “There isn’t enough room for us both.”
“What?” Oikawa had barely moved his lips. He was so still, and Iwa felt like...it felt like Oikawa was trying to shrink away from him, put as much distance as possible between them. It was dread, Iwa realized, not fear. A heavy dread was settling over him.
“We’re not kids anymore. We can’t fit in my bed together.”
“Oh.” The dread covered his limbs and was making its way up his throat, getting closer to suffocating him. They’d been able to fit fine last weekend, and they’d fit in Iwa’s bed without trouble only two night ago.
“I should get the guest futon.” Oikawa didn’t make a move.
“I’ll get it,” Iwa offered. He dimly realized that wasn’t the right response. They should bicker and banter and tease. Oikawa should have petulantly told him he was hogging all the space and threatened the guest futon, and Iwa would respond with an insult and demand that Oikawa get it himself if it was so damn important, and they’d squabble and tussle and eventually settle to sleep. But now Iwa’s body was moving on autopilot. The right words and actions were lost, too tangled up confusion and hurt and a sudden, strange shame Iwa couldn't bear to examine very closely.
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Iwa lay cold and uncomfortable in the guest futon. They hadn’t said another word. Iwa hadn’t even been able to bring himself to say goodnight. His clenched jaw was the only thing holding him together.
They’d both been sixteen for months, and now suddenly they were too old to sleep side by side like they always had. Nothing had happened that day to change things, he was sure.
Tomorrow Iwa would be mean, and it wouldn't be at all playful. Oikawa would be sharp beneath his airy tone. The words my Iwa-chan would slip out and Oikawa would avert his eyes from Iwa's furious hot glare. They'd talk around the empty space in Oikawa's bed until Iwa feels so sick he goes home.
The unfamiliar detergent smell of the clean bedding kept him up all night.