Archive of Our Own

you didn’t expect to see him here. it must have been at least five years since you last saw him but he looks the same as he ever did, surrounded by a group of his peers and admirers, his presence drawing you in like a magnet and you find yourself turning towards him without even knowing.

he spots you across the bar and you smile, raising your glass. he grins at you, bright and dazzling, before heading over to where you’re seated, waving goodbye at his friends.

you watch him approach with a pang, his movements so achingly familiar yet not and you remember so startlingly clear the last time you held him in your arms, warm, young and naive before life tore him away from you.

“issei” he greets you, smiling, “didn’t expect to see you here. it’s a bit far out from where you are nowadays isn’t it?”

so he knows, you think to yourself, trying to stamp down the nasty spike of what tastes like hope from rising in your throat when you realise he still keeps track of you, that you still matter to him.

“i had a conference in town,” you say, “thought i’d drop by for a drink afterwards. small world isn’t it, oikawa?”

he orders another drink and the two of you sit and chat for a little, shoulders brushing, about the old group of friends, his old group of friends, and what everyone is up to now. as indestructible the bonds of friendship had seemed back then, when they had just finished high school with a wealth of opportunities in front of them, are now stretched thin; time and responsibilities eroding them away.

you don’t think about that now. now, you can only think about him.

he, as sharp-eyed and observant as he had always been, notices. “i’ve got a room upstairs” he says and you are caught in the curve of his smile, nodding before think better of it. there is nothing for you to think about - you have never been able to say no to him.

later, when the two of you are curled together, inseparable like you used to be, you stroke his hair gently and give a thought to what might have been. you bury your thoughts, your regrets, like you always do and press a soft kiss on the crown of his head.

he sighs softly, “i missed you, issei” he says and you can hear the sad smile that he presses into your skin.

you left you don’t say to him, swallowing it down like you did, before.

he will leave again, you know, because he has always been restless, too many great things pulling him in too many directions and rises every time as the stars pull him apart.

you hold onto your pieces of him tightly and for this moment, he is yours.

“You know this place is closed off to the public don’t you?” Iwaizumi grumbles as he spots Oikawa’s crisp white three piece suit ducking past Constable Kyoutani’s guard.

“Oh don’t be like that, Iwa-chan,” he says, smiling brightly, “after all, we both know I’m no ordinary member of the public.”

“You’re something else alright,” Iwaizumi sighs, letting Oikawa walk further into the room with him, “how on earth do you always know when something’s happened?”

“I’m just extremely well informed, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, “and the owner is an old friend, of course.”

“Of course” Iwaizumi echoes.

The body lies at the foot of large mahogany chest of drawers, her head bleeding from where it had made contact with the corner of the chest.

“Poor thing,” Oikawa says, peering into the drawers, “bit young to have been caught up in something so dire that she was murdered for it though”

“What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

“Because,” he drawls, his lips curling into a small smirk, “if it was a simple accident, why is the lady missing her strand of what must have been very expensive pearls?”

Two car chases, three bullets and one heartstopping moment of terror later, Iwaizumi had to concede that Oikawa was right. Again.

It’s worrying, Iwaizumi thinks as Oikawa’s butler, Kindaichi, leads him into Oikawa’s parlour, how often a case brings him here.

“Nightcap, Detective?” Kindaichi says, holding a bottle of very good brandy. Iwaizumi nods and thanks Kindaichi as he leaves to fetch Oikawa.

Iwaizumi sinks into the soft, plush cushions of Oikawa’s lounge and waits, the soft crackle of the fire and the sweet heat of the brandy helps release the last of the tensions from the case.

Oikawa sweeps into the room wrapped in a blue silk night gown and it’s like his entire being fills up every corner of the room, makes it brighter, warmer. “It’s not like you to drink on the clock, Detective Inspector.” he says, eyeing the glass in his hand.

“I’m not on the clock anymore,” Iwaizumi says, “you were right. The pearls were found at the Manor, Miss Hawthorne was smuggling jewels onto the Continent in her dress deliveries.”

“Ah.” he says, smiling. “Perhaps a celebration is in order then?” Oikawa gestures at Kindaichi who has reappeared holding a tray of cigars. Iwaizumi takes one long look at them, at Oikawa, and thinks why not?

He takes a long drag of his cigar, the burn of it settling into his chest and lingering, almost like the way Oikawa has invaded into his personal space, and life.

He sighs and says “You were right”.

Oikawa looks at him, smiling confusedly, “You already said that, Hajime”.

“No, I mean, before, when you said you weren’t ordinary,” Iwaizumi says, the smoke curls lazily around Tooru and he looks almost ethereal in the dim lighting, “you are by no means ordinary”.

“Are you crying?” Iwaizumi blinks, staring at Oikawa who's sitting in the middle of a mountain of wrapping paper.

“N-no!” He says, voice suspiciously watery, “I just didn't think you'd get limited edition Kayano 23’s when t-”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, suddenly flustered, “they're just shoes.”

“But you remembered.”

Of course, Iwaizumi thinks, I remember everything you say.

Oikawa insists they write each other letters. It's stupid because they call and line and video chat each other every single day but Oikawa has to be a stupid romantic and Iwaizumi is always weak to anything that'll make him happy.

He's glad for it in the end. There's something infinitely more intimate about pen on paper and Oikawa writes letters like a confession, honest and unsure, in a way he rarely lets anybody else sees. Iwaizumi responds in like, as if the words he writes would be able to build a bridge towards Oikawa, so that they'd always be connected.

Years later, with a ring on his finger and a box overflowing with letters, he thinks that perhaps that bridge they built were more beautiful than they had ever imagined it could be.

There's something soothing about the way the steam rises from the bath, swirling in the air and curling around him, almost tangible. The bathroom mirror is foggy and he stares at it for a moment, the details of his features indescript and insignificant.

Don't sweat the details Tooru, he tells himself.

He sinks into the warm water, sighing softly as the throbbing of his knee fades slightly.

You will stand on a court again.

“Wha-Tooru why are you sparkling?” Issei says, staring at his boyfriend.

“It's glitter! We are going clubbing after all!” He chirps, doing a little twirl, “What do you think?”

Issei follows the movement, the trail of glitter smeared over his chest showing through his mesh shirt, twisting around his biceps and reaching up his neck to his cheekbones.

“-attsun? Mattsun!” Tooru says, clearly waiting for his response still. Issei blinks at him and Tooru’s grin widens, turning sultry.

“The glitter’s edible you know.”

"That looks good on you," Iwaizumi chokes.

"I know," Oikawa says coyly, smoothing down the wrinkles of his red, pleated skirt, making them fan out across his thighs. Iwaizumi finds his eyes drawn to the motion, following Oikawa’s hands down and down and - fuck, Oikawa definitely knows he’s staring, the tips of Iwaizumi’s ears starting to burn.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Oikawa smiles, knowingly, and Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi thinks “fuck it”, dropping to his knees and placing his hands on Oikawa’s thighs, brushing against the red fabric, smirking slightly when he catches the flash of surprise on Oikawa’s face.

“How about I just show you?” he says, leaning in.

Iwaizumi knows that, to anyone else, Oikawa may seem too frivolous, too flippant-

-but more than anyone else, Iwaizumi knows Oikawa.

Iwaizumi was there, after all, at every late night practice, every early morning, every time he found Oikawa asleep at his desk, volleyball strategies strewn everywhere.

Oikawa Tooru never stops reaching for the stars and that's why Iwaizumi (could) never stop believing in him.