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Iwaizumi doesn’t really feel like dealing with a blubbering Oikawa Tooru on his back door step, he never really does.
Yet here he is.
“You scraped your forehead.” Iwaizumi says, sounding exasperated beyond his eight years.
“I KNOW IWA-CHAN! AND IT H-H-HURTS.” Oikawa yells back, voice cracking as it hitches with emotion.
Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa breaks down into more hiccupping sobs, hot tears streaming down his perpetually rosy, boyish cheeks and snot dripping from his nose, an inconvenience Oikawa can’t even be bothered with as he balls his fists at his sides, stomping a foot dramatically against the cracked pavement.
Tooru is really annoying when he cries.
Is what Iwaizumi thinks, looking upon his friend as the other lifts a finger tentatively to his forehead, the sight of blood on his fingertips only sending Oikawa into another loud fit. Iwaizumi studies the scrape for a moment. It’s an angry red and dripping blood, but only slightly.
Oikawa’s overreacting again.
But what else is new?
“Did you fall off your bike again?”
Oikawa’s lips pull into a hard pout, bringing the back of his hand to his face, furiously wiping at the tears.
“NO!”
Tooru fell off his bike again.
But Iwaizumi doesn’t say so out loud, it would only make Oikawa scream louder, cry harder, and worst of all Oikawa wouldn’t storm off like most but stay around if only for the sole purpose of grating against Iwaizumi’s indifference until he’s forced accept the apparent cataclysm that is Oikawa’s slight discomfort.
Oikawa never really has anything better to do, after all.
Faced with little other options, Iwaizumi eventually huffs and takes a step towards the sniveling boy, putting both hands firmly on either side of Oikawa’s face before leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead, just to the right of the light scrape.
Oikawa’s crying stops almost immediately, whining cries dying down to only the occasional hiccup and sniffle as he looks at Iwaizumi with watery eyes.
Iwaizumi crosses his arms over his chest, “My mom does that when I get hurt.” He mumbles as Oikawa blinks at him, a smile slowly raising the corners of his previously trembling lips, “It makes me feel better.” Iwaizumi pauses before adding, quieter, “Does it feel better?”
Oikawa nods enthusiastically, all traces of his fit forgotten amongst bright eyes and genuine smiles, only his tear-stained cheeks ruining the illusion, “Yeah! It’s like magic!”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
But not a heartbeat later, Oikawa’s smirking, hands on his hips as he leans forward, getting into Iwaizumi’s face as he teases, “So your mom still kisses your boo-boos, Iwa-chan~?”
“A-At least I don’t call them boo-boos, stupid!”
“YOU’RE STUPID.”
“NUH UH.”
“YEAH HUH.”
Tooru is only a little less annoying when he’s not crying.
***
“Son of a bitch.”
Oikawa hisses another string of profanities between gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the edges of the hard, metal bench in the Aobajousai locker room.
“If you didn’t overwork yourself this wouldn’t happen, moron.” Iwaizumi mumbles, Oikawa’s ankle propped on his thigh, his fingers unwrapping the multiple layers of bandages, revealing purple bruises and swelling around the bone, spreading to the very joints of his toes, “It looks awful.”
“Charming as ever, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa replies, smirk curling into a cringe as he lifts his leg, moving with the intent to stand before Iwaizumi stops him.
“Like hell you’re putting any pressure on that. I’ll get it.” He says, lifting Oikawa’s ankle from his thigh to the bench before standing to walk to the opposite side of the room, retrieving an ice pack from the small freezer in the corner.
“You’d make a fantastic nurse.” Oikawa sing songs from behind him, that stupid smirk persisting even as pain reflects clearly in his other features, shoulders tense, fingers clenched, chest tight as he holds his breath in intervals to suppress the throbbing aches. Iwaizumi would be more annoyed if he didn’t feel overwhelmingly concerned for the other, despite humming noncommittally in response to the career proposition.
He takes his previous seat, pressing the ice pack as gently as possible around the curve of Oikawa’s ankle, the other responding with an involuntary jerk as the cold connects with sensitive skin, snaring more profanities from between bitten lips.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Oikawa mutters, like an anthem under his breath, inhaling shakily as Iwaizumi looks up to catch his eye.
“How does it feel?”
Oikawa laughs sharply, “Well, the ice pack is pretty damn cold.”
“Oikawa, seriously.”
“It hurts, Iwa-chan.”
The words spark a memory, an idea, a consideration; a consideration that brings a subtle flush of heat to Iwaizumi’s cheeks, and with it, a doubt; a doubt that’s almost immediately overridden by another thought, fleeting and impulsive, yet surprisingly persuasive.
Fuck it.
Iwaizumi leans forward, pulling the ice pack away to press his lips against the ridge of Oikawa’s ankle bone, the inflamed skin cool against his lips, tasting of dried sweat from too many hours of repeated motions meant to perfect, meant to hasten a fragile process, begetting injury rather than improvement.
Pulling his lips away, Iwaizumi glances up to meet Oikawa’s eyes, to observe the way the other has been rendered silent, eyes wide and lips parted in subtle, but pleasant surprise. The look makes Iwaizumi’s heart race slightly, and he takes a moment to gather his words, spoken so many times, but so long ago that they feel clumsy falling from his lips.
“Does it feel better?”
Iwaizumi feels reassured in his actions as Oikawa nods slowly, but only until the other’s lips curve into a teasing smirk. Iwaizumi knows it’s coming before Oikawa even opens his mouth.
“But you know what would feel even better if you kissed it, Iwa-chan~?”
“How ‘bout I mess up your other ankle too?”
“So harsh, I miss nurse Iwa-chan.”
“You’ll be missing teeth if you don’t shut up.”
“You wouldn’t, not in my crippled state.”
“Test me.”