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i. missing
The screech of cicadas match the cacophony in Iwaizumi Hajime’s head.
He sits on the edge of Miyagi’s local pool with his legs dangling in the water up to his knees and those cicadas screech and scream and white-out whatever he had just been thinking before he walked in.
Warm, muggy air drifts over Iwaizumi’s bare arms. There’s a splash and then a scream from the other side of the pool. And something swoops by close overhead — a bird probably, looking for shade.
But all of that is lost somewhere between it happening and the electro-chemical reactions snapping between the neurons in Iwaizumi’s brain.
Because his throat is dry. His pulse is stuttering. His palms feel clammy and he wipes them unconsciously against his ugly, orange swim trunks.
It’s like his body has just been thrown into the deep end and he doesn’t know how to swim. He’s frozen, unable to look away from the boy just yards away.
Until said boy speaks.
"Iwa-chan!"
The voice that echoes across the pool is like a splash of ice-cold water to the face. Iwaizumi flexes his fingers against his thighs and then stands, dripping chlorinated water all over damp concrete. He raises one hand in greeting, smiles just a bit.
And then Oikawa is in front of him.
Just Tooru, a little voice in Iwaizumi’s head says and yeah, he thinks. It is.
It’s just Tooru.
The kid Iwaizumi’s known for as long as he can remember. The kid who had turned into a teenager and then into a young adult alongside him. The one who had gone far, far away for college while Iwaizumi had stayed close to home.
The one who Iwaizumi hasn’t seen in person for so long that their late-night, grainy, video-chats have started to feel like a phantom limb. Like an arm he’s been missing until now.
The same Tooru who’s standing in front of him right now — grinning that megawatt, annoying smile and wearing an obnoxious pair of neon green swimming trunks, feet stuck in flip-flops. His hair is as meticulously kept as always. And he’s looking at Iwaizumi like he’s daring him to punch him.
"Hey," Iwaizumi says. He’s not sure if his voice really sounds that gruff or if he’s only imagining it.
Up close Iwaizumi can see little imperfections. A pimple scar on Oikawa’s right cheek. A hair out of place, falling down to lie against his forehead. A smudge of sunscreen not fully rubbed in streaked white over his chin.
And somehow that helps. Somehow that clears the drone of the cicadas still echoing in Iwaizumi’s ears.
Oikawa’s grin widens. Iwaizumi scowls. On the inside he breathes a sigh of relief.
His pulse is steady again. His palms feel dry.
"Did ya miss me?" Oikawa breathes. He rocks a bit in his sandals. He’s gotten taller and Iwaizumi isn’t sure how that’s possible. He doesn’t like it either. Oikawa’s already too damn tall, always towering over him.
His eyes are as bright as ever though. Chocolate-brown and wide, childlike almost as he stares Iwaizumi down.
They’ve always seemed brighter than most. Like Oikawa holds some depths of the universe in them. Not that Iwaizumi would ever say shit like that out loud to be heard by other people.
"How could I miss you?" Iwaizumi mutters, just relieved that he feels normal again and less like he’s about to throw up. "You Skyped me every fucking night."
Oikawa’s grin only stretches larger. His eyes burn and when he stretches out a hand to touch Iwaizumi — pat his shoulder or tug on his ear or whatever else the idiot plans on doing — Iwaizumi swats it away, eyebrows furrowing.
"Aww," Oikawa coos, stretching his arms over his head, unfazed. His white t-shirt rides up, baring a sliver of pale skin just above those green trunks. Iwaizumi barely glances at it. "You called me too, Iwa-chan. Don’t you remember that?"
"Yeah. You mean when I was drunk and didn’t want to get mugged on the way home?" Iwaizumi scoffs. There’s another loud splash behind him, then the lifeguard’s voice rises above the melee around them, warning a kid against running near the pool. The sun beats down. Sweat is beginning to prick at the back of his neck.
"Mmhmm," Oikawa hums. "So cute. Iwaizumi calling me to be his knight in shining armor."
Iwaizumi pulls a face and then punches Oikawa’s arm and it’s so natural, so easy. All of those months, all of those days — this whole past year —- all of it has melted away onto the hot pavement below their feet and it feels like they’d never left home. Like they hadn’t left each other.
Iwaizumi is glad.
Because even when he turns around to walk away from Oikawa and his sleazy leer, ignoring his best friend’s shouted protest before he dives smoothly into the water, he can’t lie to himself.
The water closes over his head and Iwaizumi lets himself think the truth now, while his thoughts are muffled by the watery weight of the pool around him.
He had missed Tooru. More than he had ever thought he could miss a person.
ii. remembering
"What’re you doing here?"
Iwaizumi blinks blearily at the sight in front of him.
Oikawa stands on his front porch, two thin, plastic bags in his hands. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt Iwaizumi recognizes with painful clarity — one of his stupid alien tees, worn and pale. His hair is damp, like he just showered.
But his eyes… his eyes behind his glasses are alert. They look brighter than yesterday, at the pool. Or maybe Iwaizumi’s just forgotten how bright they can get.
Forgotten? How could you have forgotten your best friend?
The thought is… unsettling. Terrifying, almost. And Iwaizumi misses what Oikawa says — blinking a few more times — because of it.
"Um, I mean, we don’t have to - I mean, I can come back tomorrow night. I probably should’ve called - I just thought -"
"Tooru," Iwaizumi interrupts. Oikawa’s babbling. It’s something he does when he’s nervous — Iwaizumi hasn’t forgotten anything. His nerves settle.
"It’s okay," he continues, remembering more. Oikawa shifts in his old sneakers, rustles the bags while he readjusts his grip. "Movie night. Right. Come on."
It is Saturday, he realizes as Oikawa grins again — all signs of nerves gone in a blink — and pushes inside, toeing off his shoes in the front. And Saturdays had always been their movie night in high school.
Iwaizumi guesses he just hadn’t expected Tooru to show up now. Not on the first Saturday night of their first summer break back from uni.
"So, um, do you -," he begins, keeping his voice low. His parents have gone to bed. Iwaizumi had been halfway there himself before his phone had dinged with Oikawa’s message — I’m outside.
Oikawa finishes the thought before Iwaizumi can get the words out. He holds up the plastic bags, shakes them a little. He smells like strawberries. Iwaizumi takes a step back, realizing how close they are in the cramped entrance, arms brushing.
Oikawa’s skin is warm. The cicadas are quiet outside now, this late.
The slight buzz in Iwaizumi’s ears is not.
"I’ve got sour gummies for you and cinnamon bears for me, Iwa-chan. Who do you think I am? An amateur?"
Iwaizumi snorts and shakes his head. "I don’t think you want me to tell you what I think you are."
"Mmm," Oikawa hums, plastic bags rustling at his sides. His eyes gleam in the dim light — Iwaizumi hadn’t bothered flipping any lights on besides the one still glowing in the kitchen and suddenly he has an odd sense of regret about it because Oikawa is close again, heat radiating through his thin t-shirt to caress Iwaizumi’s bare arms. His grin is wicked.
"I think I’d love for you to tell me," Tooru breathes and what the fuck? Iwaizumi’s stomach dips for no reason, like he’s gone over the top of a rollercoaster and he’s paralyzed, looking up at his best friend in the entrance to his own house with his mouth wide open like a fish. Oikawa’s voice sounds different.
His eyes look different, locked onto Iwaizumi’s.
He smells like strawberries.
"Idiot," Iwaizumi chokes out a beat too late, for lack of anything better to say, and then his legs finally cooperate. He turns, shivering, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks only feel warm because it’s still unbearably hot outside, even though the sun had gone down hours ago. And the fish his mom had cooked for dinner must’ve messed with his stomach because it feels weird, all twisted and achy.
Anyway, there’s no use lingering at the front door in the dark. They’ve got movies to watch.
He hears Oikawa hum again and then pad after him, those plastic bags rustling in the quiet.
Just like that, it’s like the past has yawned open and swallowed them both. Like they’ve skipped back the past year and it’s the summer after high school graduation and whatever weirdness he still feels from being separated is finally melting away.
It feels like old times.
"I’ll grab the soda," Iwaizumi murmurs over his shoulder, gesturing to the stairs. "Go on up, my laptop’s on my desk."
"Kk, Iwa-channn," comes the reply and then Oikawa is gone, slipping upstairs in his socks — a jarring lime-green again — and disappearing on the landing.
Iwaizumi lets loose a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
What is wrong with him tonight? No, actually, what’s been wrong with him since yesterday?
Iwaizumi opens the fridge, relishing in the cool air that fans over his cheeks. He grabs two cold cans of soda from the back and then shuts it again, flipping off the light so that he’s thrown into complete darkness.
Then he leans against the counter and counts to ten.
It’s only because you haven’t seen him in a while, he reasons. You guys have never been away from each other that long before. Of course it feels a little weird now. But it’s only been two days, give it some time. Oikawa hasn’t changed. He’s still annoyingly upbeat and obnoxious. He’s still Tooru.
Iwaizumi grins, shaking his head. It’s true. Tooru is still Tooru — despite the extra height and the new shampoo and the weirdness in his voice a few minutes ago. And that’s probably just from a summer cold or something. He had seemed a little flushed out on the porch.
Taking note to avoid mixing up their soda cans — because the last thing Iwaizumi wants is to get sick in the first week of break — he looks around, grabs a few napkins from the pantry, and then climbs the stairs to the bedrooms.
He ignores the little voice in his head that asks, But if Tooru hasn’t changed then… have you?
iii. feeling
"This is horrible." Iwaizumi’s voice is deadpan. He grabs another handful of gummies and pops one into his mouth.
"It’s not that bad," Oikawa argues, but Iwaizumi can hear the weakness in his voice. It is bad and Oikawa knows it.
"It’s pretty shitty," Iwaizumi pushes, eyes still on the train-wreck of a sci-fi movie that had been Oikawa’s recommendation. On his laptop screen an "alien" shoots chunky, green goo from one of its twenty mouths and a human runs offscreen screaming, clawing at his eyes and shouting something unintelligible.
Oikawa sighs. Iwaizumi side-eyes him, grinning. His best friend is slouched back against the foot of Iwaizumi’s bed, pouting. His knee digs into the side of Iwaizumi’s thigh where he’s got his legs crossed — criss-cross, applesauce, like always.
Biting the head of a cinnamon bear off viciously, Oikawa leans forward and slaps the pause button. The movie stills, quieting. Iwaizumi snorts.
"Don’t be a baby," he says, grabbing another gummy and swallowing it. His tongue is starting to feel numb from the amount he’s consumed. "We can always watch -"
"If you say Godzilla, Iwa-chan, I’m leaving." Oikawa takes a drink from his can and frowns at the fake alien onscreen. "I thought this was going to be good."
Iwaizumi reaches over and ruffles Oikawa’s hair, grinning when the other boy whines and knocks his hand away. He’s getting sleepy and it makes it easier to show Oikawa little displays of affection like this — it’s always been easier when Iwaizumi is tired or has had too many beers. He doesn’t ponder on the why.
All he knows is that he’s comfortable and happy. He’s missed this, like he’s missed Tooru. He’s missed arguing over shitty sci-fi movies and re-watching Godzilla a billion times and eating candy until they feel sick.
It feels like nothing’s changed in this moment. Nothing at all.
"I wasn’t going to say Godzilla," he lies, rolling his eyes at Oikawa’s scoff of disbelief. "I was going to suggest we sleep and go watch something at the theatre tomorrow night."
Oikawa stills with his can halfway to his lips. Iwaizumi notices the odd pause but his eyelids are growing heavier so he shuts them.
Until Oikawa speaks.
"You want me to stay?" he asks — and his voice is so quiet — hushed almost — and the question is so weird that Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter back open. He looks over, head leaned back against his bed.
"Why wouldn’t I?" Iwaizumi asks, genuinely confused. He frowns. "You’ve always spent the night, dumbass."
Oikawa looks away so that all Iwaizumi can see is his side profile. His eyes wander over Iwaizumi’s room, like he’s just seeing it for the first time and then he sucks in a tiny, little breath and Iwaizumi just watches while questions spin in his head.
Now Oikawa is definitely being the weird one. As if he’s never slept in here or something after their Saturday movie nights. Jeez.
"Just get in the bed," Iwaizumi mutters, getting to his feet. He’s suddenly exhausted. He grabs his laptop and the candy and sets them on his desk in the corner and then turns back around -
Oikawa is gaping at him.
Iwaizumi is too tired for this.
"What?" he demands. "Why’re you looking at me like that? Did that movie fuck with your mind or something?"
He rubs at his eyes and by the time he looks back, Oikawa’s face has straightened out. He’s grinning instead.
"Aren’t you going to grab me the futon?" he asks Iwaizumi coyly, simpering. "Iwa-chan is being so generous, sharing his bed."
"Jesus," Iwaizumi growls, sidestepping their half-empty soda cans and crawling onto his mattress. "I’m too tired to get the futon. Just get in. But keep your legs to yourself or my fist will be in your ribs."
"I’ll be a gentleman, don’t worry, Iwa-chan," Oikawa teases lightly — as if he hadn’t been staring at Iwaizumi like he’d grown twenty mouths just a second ago.
Weirdo, Iwaizumi thinks. He pulls the covers up over himself and turns to face the wall.
A few moments later, the lamp on his desk is clicking off and then the mattress dips as Oikawa crawls in beside him. There’s a bit of rustling and the blanket shifts over Iwaizumi’s skin when Oikawa pulls and then silence.
Iwaizumi keeps his eyes closed. Even when one of Oikawa’s arms brushes against his back. Even when a quiet, "Goodnight, Hajime" pierces the dark.
"Night, Tooru," he murmurs back and even though he’s not facing him, Iwaizumi swears he can feel the curve of Oikawa’s grin. There’s another shift and then one of Oikawa’s long legs pushes up against Iwaizumi’s thigh.
He ignores it. He’s too tired for punching.
He’s too tired to feel anything but Oikawa’s warmth and the space he takes up in his bed.
And he swears he doesn’t feel anything more than that despite the weird skip — weirder even then Oikawa’s reaction — that thumps briefly through his chest.
iv. realizing
"Why are we here again?"
The air smells like floor wax and sweat and Iwaizumi taps his fingers impatiently on the bench he’s sitting on. Dark beams of late-afternoon sunlight stream in through the gym windows, painting his scuffed-up sneakers gold.
He sighs when Oikawa’s muffled reply — of which he can’t make hide nor hair of — echoes across the polished wood to him.
Oikawa is half-in and half-out of the storage closet on the other side of the gym. All Iwaizumi can see is the curve of his spine as he bends over and the length of his legs, clad in dark denim.
Iwaizumi closes his eyes while he waits. If he looks around too much he knows he’ll start remembering. And if he starts remembering, his perfectly normal Sunday afternoon is going to turn nostalgic.
Iwaizumi doesn’t know if he can deal with nostalgia right now. Having Oikawa home and here with him is bittersweet enough.
He hadn’t quite realized it until this morning. And then he had felt it like a punch to the gut, waking up to find Oikawa tangled up in his blankets — drooling on half of his pillow with his hair a mess around his slack face and those long, black lashes fluttering with dreams.
Iwaizumi swallows around a dry throat.
There are so many memories trapped here, in this room. Things Iwaizumi had longed for during the past school year. Things he had ached for in that quiet space between dawn and sunrise, lying in his tiny dorm bed and staring at the ceiling — three and a half hours away from home and countless minutes away from Tooru overseas.
There had been times that he would’ve given up breathing to be back here.
Keeping his eyes closed, Iwaizumi watches the sunlight make bright spots in the darkness behind his eyelids. Shadows and colors mix and blur with each other. He’s growing sleepy too, resting here in the stuffy warmth of the gym, legs stretched out in front of him.
They had supposed to have been catching an afternoon movie at the small theatre downtown. Somehow they’re here — back at Aoba Johsai.
Oikawa had grabbed Iwaizumi’s arm halfway to the movies, tugging him down a side street. And he had absolutely refused to answer any of Iwaizumi’s questions, no matter how many times Iwaizumi had growled and threatened him.
Oikawa obviously hasn’t grown any less stubborn over the past one-hundred and seventy-five days or so. If he wants something, he gets it — one way or another, bruised ribs or not.
Iwaizumi wonders suddenly if -
"Hajime."
Iwaizumi opens his eyes. For a second, he can’t see anything but a tall, dark shadow in front of him, blocking out all the sunlight that had been warming his upturned face.
Then Oikawa’s face swims into view.
"Tooru," Iwaizumi answers back. Oikawa doesn’t smile though.
He’s biting his lower lip. His eyes are dark, serious.
Iwaizumi sits up straighter.
"Tooru -," he starts again but Oikawa butts in.
"I wanna show you something," he says. His voice is quiet. The afternoon sunlight forms a halo behind his head and Iwaizumi can’t help but feel a shiver of something run through his bones.
A shiver of the past. An unspoken bond between them.
But there’s something else there too, winging around deep in Iwaizumi’s chest. He watches Oikawa turn around and walk back to the court, stopping at the serving line.
There Oikawa stands. Tall, towering. Strong.
He takes a breath that Iwaizumi can feel all of the way across the room.
Iwaizumi watches. His nails dig into his thighs but he barely notices because his eyes are flickering down to Oikawa’s knee, just for a second.
He inhales when Oikawa exhales.
And when Oikawa jumps — when he flies — and hits a serve that holds every ounce, every inch, every scrap of work he’s done since they’ve been apart within it… Iwaizumi nearly has to look away for fear of being blinded.
The afternoon sunlight flares around Oikawa’s form as time slows, as it wraps around his shoulders and lifts him higher than Iwaizumi has ever seen him.
Iwaizumi realizes then what that feeling is, so deep in his bones.
Pride. So much of it that it hurts.
v. wanting
"It was cool, right, Iwa-chan? I looked cool, didn’t I?"
Oikawa is only teasing, Iwaizumi knows. He can tell by the tone of his friend’s voice, the smirk on his stupid face.
But that doesn’t keep Iwaizumi from reaching out to hit Oikawa in the side. His fingers barely manage to brush Oikawa’s shirt before long, warm fingers wrap around Iwaizumi’s hand, stopping him.
"Rude, Iwa-chan," Oikawa coos, fluttering his eyelashes at Iwaizumi’s scowl. "And predictable, might I add."
Iwaizumi yanks his hand away. "Shut up."
It’s been a week and Oikawa still hasn’t stopped talking about that afternoon in the gym. Mostly, he hasn’t stopped talking about Iwaizumi’s reaction.
Apparently Iwaizumi’s face had been "dumbstruck" and "shell-shocked". Along with twenty other variations of the term.
Iwaizumi knows it had been. He also knows that he had (embarrassingly) nearly cried.
But Tooru doesn’t mention that part. Because if he did… if he did, then he’d also have to admit that the moment Iwaizumi had run to him and yanked him into a hug — telling him how fucking proud he was — he had actually cried. Just a little. Just enough to leave a small damp spot on the right shoulder of Iwaizumi’s t-shirt.
Neither of them have mentioned it since it happened. But Iwaizumi knows and he holds it close. It feels warm, like the dampness of his shirt had, there in the dust-mote-filled air on that afternoon.
"Anywayssssss," Oikawa hums now, leaning back on the hood of Iwaizumi’s old car, elbows propping him up, "I was thinking we should go to Kinkasan next weekend."
Iwaizumi pauses with a fry halfway to his mouth. He looks over at Oikawa but Oikawa is staring out across the view from the lookout they’ve parked at tonight. The moon hangs heavy and full in the sky. His hair ruffles a little in the breeze.
"Kinkasan?" Iwaizumi repeats dumbly.
Oikawa doesn’t look at him but he smiles. "Yeah," he answers, soft. "I thought it’d be nice, ya know? Just to get away for a little bit."
Iwaizumi chews slowly, thinking. Doesn’t Oikawa know that they’re already "getting away", right now? That this summer is their "getting away"… which to Iwaizumi really means "coming back together".
He’d rather die though. He’d rather jump from this lookout over their tiny town than admit that he’s been happier, lighter even, since Oikawa has come home. So he swallows his fast food and studies the foggy beams of his headlights out over the dark space in front of them and the little pinpricks of light farther down below and he thinks of Kinkasan Island.
"Just the two of us."
Oikawa speaks the words like he’s thinking out loud. But when Iwaizumi snaps his gaze back towards him, there’s no sign that he hadn’t meant to. Oikawa still stares out at the town and the hills and the dark, smudged shapes of trees and mountains in the distance and Iwaizumi wonders if he’ll remember this forever.
If he’ll remember the shape of Oikawa’s mouth in the hazy yellow of his headlights. If he’ll remember the heat of his hand, so close to Iwaizumi’s on the car hood, their pinkies nearly brushing. If he’ll remember this feeling he’s having right now — like he’s the one flying this time.
"Yeah," Iwaizumi hears himself saying, still looking at Oikawa with something giddy flapping in his chest. "Yeah, we should."
They should. They should go. It’ll be nice. A little road-trip. They should definitely go, just the two of them.
Iwaizumi wants to.
He wants it more than anything else this summer.
vi. needing
"Have you?"
The words slip from Iwaizumi’s mouth with more force than he likes. He can’t help it. There’s something burning, pushing, beating in his chest — something heavy that he doesn’t like. Not at all.
Somehow, the expression on Oikawa’s face makes it worse. It’s like he’s feeling the same thing but Iwaizumi doesn’t know what that thing is.
He can’t put his finger on it… and it’s driving him crazy. It ignites something hot in the pit of his stomach, something ugly and horrible and hard to swallow around.
"A few," Oikawa answers, but his voice isn’t right. It’s too upbeat. It’s too sickeningly sweet.
Iwaizumi knows that tone.
He also knows that Oikawa’s answer has only made the feeling in his chest — the weight in his stomach — heavier, hotter. Suddenly, the sunlight glancing off of the ocean is too bright. The sea-salt air feels like it’s scratching at his throat, staining his lungs with grit.
"Any girls, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa had asked just five minutes ago, sitting on a rock, bare feet dangling into the water beneath them.
The question had come from nowhere… almost like it had in Iwaizumi’s own head that day in the gym, while he waited for Oikawa to fish the volleyball out of the closet.
Iwaizumi wonders suddenly if - if Oikawa’s ever fallen in love with someone. If he’s found someone he wants and if he’s gotten them.
Iwaizumi swallows again, now, in the present. His heartbeat feels too heavy.
They had just walked out here, to the beach, sticky and sweaty from the heat — they had been talking about something Iwaizumi can barely remember now.
They’d been having a good time, out here on Kinkasan Island. Just the two of them.
And now Oikawa has ruined it.
Iwaizumi doesn’t know how, but he doesn’t feel so great — so light — anymore. He feels nauseous. He feels like he’s sinking below those waves farther out, seawater closing over his head.
He keeps seeing Oikawa’s hand — those hands he knows so well, every line, every scar — in someone else’s hair. He keeps seeing those fingers tangled in long, dark hair and he sees him kissing someone else and he -
"A few," Iwaizumi repeats, choking it out past a knot in his throat. He looks down into the water and runs his fingers through the blue, watching the water break and then come back together around his hand. Watching the ocean suck at him and then let go.
"Yeah," Oikawa answers, still so upbeat. "But I guess nothing like what you and Airi-chan had, huh?"
What?
Iwaizumi stops trailing nonsensical patterns in the water. He looks up, lungs beating too hard in his chest. He feels a little sick and it must be the heat.
"Airi and I -," he starts, thinking back to the one girlfriend he’d had this past year — the one that had lasted a grand total of two weeks because something hadn’t felt right — but Oikawa only waves a hand loosely at him, grinning large and bright and fake.
It’s so fake. Iwaizumi can see right through it.
He just doesn’t know how to fix it.
"Mine were just one-night stands," Oikawa interrupts. "Nothing serious. But look at you, Iwa-chan. I’m so proud."
The words are as flat as cardboard. They’re nothing like those words Iwaizumi had breathed in the quiet of the gym those weeks ago, holding Oikawa close and inhaling the familiar smell of his skin.
Iwaizumi struggles for words.
He wants to tell Tooru that it hadn’t been serious. He wants to tell him that it hadn’t lasted.
He needs to tell him -
But there is where Iwaizumi falters, stopping short. He needs to tell Tooru what? He needs to tell him why?
Is it because Oikawa is looking away now and getting up, dusting off his shorts and then holding out a hand for Iwaizumi and he suddenly feels like the entire afternoon has turned upside down? Is it because he can tell when Tooru is hiding something from him and right now he feels it more than he ever has before?
Or is it because Iwaizumi needs Oikawa to look at him? He needs him to look at him and see him and know.
He just doesn’t know what it is that he needs for Oikawa to realize.
He doesn’t know what either of them needs.
vii. giving
Iwaizumi wants to stay here forever.
He wants to stay here in the shelter of his childhood bed and he never wants to leave.
He breathes slow and deep, inhaling. His bed smells like his cologne — like his soap and the laundry detergent his mom has used all of these years.
And it still smells like strawberries, just faintly.
"Shit," Iwaizumi mutters, rolling over onto his back and staring up at his ceiling. A poster of Godzilla is plastered up there, peeling at the edges with age.
Iwaizumi feels like he’s peeling at the edges. Like he’s crumbling.
It’s been a week since Kinkasan and he hasn’t seen Oikawa besides a completely random run-in at the grocery store last night.
"Sick nephew" has been the excuse every time Iwaizumi texts or calls. Takeru has been under the weather and Oikawa has been taking care of him.
Or so he says.
Somehow — like he does with most things with Oikawa — Iwaizumi can feel that his best friend is lying. He had seen it too, in his eyes last night as he laughed too loud and spoke too loud and left too quickly, leaving Iwaizumi behind under the flickering fluorescents and in the chill of the freezer section.
Iwaizumi is… confused. Hurt. Down. Irritated.
He’s a whole mix of things and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Which is why he’s here. Tangled up in his sheets, buried under his covers, sinking into the old mattress.
He’s not leaving. He’s never leaving.
Not even if -
"Hajime! Tooru is here to see you!"
Iwaizumi shoots up from his bed like he’s been shot. His mother’s voice rises up the stairs and Iwaizumi is stumbling from the tangle of his covers before he can wonder anything at all. His heart beats in a thunderous roar in his ears.
The moment he reaches the top of the staircase, he sees him. The moment he does, Iwaizumi freezes.
Oikawa stands at the foot, looking up at him. He looks tired. There are dark smudges under his eyes under his glasses and his hair is a mess. He’s smiling — most likely because of something Iwaizumi’s mom has said — but the moment their eyes meet, it falters and then fades.
Iwaizumi has never felt more afraid in his life.
"Come on up," he mutters, holding his lips closed afterwards. If he doesn’t, he’s afraid of what’ll come spilling out. He turns around without waiting to see if Oikawa is following.
God, he thinks, sitting on the edge of his bed and waiting. He doesn’t know why he’s so - he’s so -
Nervous? his brain offers.
Yeah. Nervous.
Oikawa enters the room slowly, like it’s the first time he’s ever been here and oddly, Iwaizumi has a flash of déjà vu to that second night — the Saturday they had spent up here eating candy and watching a crappy movie. The night Oikawa had taken his place back where he belonged — the night he had re-claimed the space he had in Iwaizumi’s bed.
No, the space he had in Iwaizumi’s life. The space he has in Iwaizumi’s life.
The space that has never been filled, not once, by anyone else. Not Airi-san. Not distance. Nothing.
Oikawa belongs here. So why is he looking around like he’s lost? Why does he look as lost as Iwaizumi has felt this past week?
Why -
Like a lightbulb, it goes off. It goes off right there, while Iwaizumi sits on his bed and wipes sweaty palms down over his jogging pants and smells strawberries.
Iwaizumi’s heart stops beating. His brain stops — those little electro-chemical reactions snapping between neurons stuttering to a staticky halt.
He watches Oikawa sit down at his desk, turning the chair around to face him. He watches him and then he wonders how he’s been so stupid to not see it before.
It all comes rushing back in, like the waves on the beach.
How much Iwaizumi has missed Tooru since they graduated and how that weight had lifted from his chest that day at the pool, floating away in chlorine.
How afraid he had felt when he had believed that there were things about Tooru that he may have forgotten. Little subliminal things he had just remembered, that evening Oikawa showed up on his front porch.
How his chest had felt that same night, lying in bed with Oikawa so close to him — the feeling he had gotten then, a skip in his never-ending pulse. An answer to the breaths of the boy sleeping next to him.
How he had realized how proud he is of his best friend in the school gym that afternoon. So, so, unimaginably proud. So much that it aches somewhere deep down inside him.
How much Iwaizumi had wanted to go to Kinkasan with him, just the two of them.
And how, just recently, he had needed for Tooru to know that Airi-san hadn’t meant… she hadn’t meant anything.
Not compared to him.
Iwaizumi sucks in a breath for the first time in what feels like a long time — his head no longer under those sea-salt waves.
Oikawa looks at him. He speaks and Iwaizumi can barely hear him.
"I’m just going to be straightforward," Oikawa is saying, fiddling with a thread dangling from his t-shirt. His fingers move like they’re on strings themselves, jerky and uncertain. He’s got that stupid grin on his face again, a smile so faint and barely there that Iwaizumi wonders why he even tries at all.
But Iwaizumi can only hold his breath and try to focus, despite everything.
It’s hard. He’s so lost in his own thoughts that everything else is fading away. His heart is the roar of the ocean in his ears.
He likes Tooru. He likes Tooru. And maybe it’s more than that but for right now, Iwaizumi can only handle so much at one time -
"Iwa-chan?"
Iwaizumi jerks, really focusing on Oikawa and then curses in his head. He’s totally just lost whatever Oikawa had said and Oikawa has noticed. His eyes are dark behind his glasses, eyebrows furrowed. There’s a smudge of sunscreen on his chin again, not fully rubbed in.
"Sorry," Iwaizumi murmurs.
Oikawa shakes his head, still smiling. It looks sad. Iwaizumi hates it.
"No, Iwa-chan, it’s okay. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’ve been… busy. But I’ve been a crappy friend over the past week."
"No, you haven’t -," Iwaizumi butts in, feeling irritated all of the sudden. He hates this. He hates all of it — how sad Tooru looks. How guarded he’s being. The lies, on both of their sides.
Lying to each other. Lying to themselves, even. At least, Iwaizumi has been.
"Yes," Oikawa interrupts right back, sitting up straighter. His eyes flash behind his thick-framed glasses, chin tilting up defensively. "I have. And I’m saying sorry."
"Shittykawa," Iwaizumi growls, feeling the hot summer air push in from all sides, "if you don’t stop lying to me, I’m going to kick your ass."
Oikawa blinks at that, eyelashes fluttering. "What?" he asks, eyes no longer so narrowed and defensive. His shoulders curve in, just a little bit.
"I said," Iwaizumi repeats, breathing deeply to calm the rapid-fire pulse at his wrists, "that you need to stop lying to me. Please."
His voice softens on the last word. Oikawa blinks again. His grin curves down, sharp edges melting away into the humidity.
His next words stop Iwaizumi’s heart entirely.
"Airi-chan," Oikawa breathes, staring at Iwaizumi. "I’m — I mean, I - I thought you’d like to spend some more time with her this summer, you know. If I wasn’t taking up all your time, I thought you could. Go see her, I mean."
There. There it is. There’s the truth… or part of it.
There’s Oikawa giving Iwaizumi a chance. A chance to set the record straight. A chance to fix this.
"I don’t," Iwaizumi chokes out, swallowing hard. He feels like he’s lost the ability to talk. Oikawa’s eyes are so dark. So vulnerable.
"I don’t want to," Iwaizumi tries again, breathing the words out.
But that’s not the right thing to say.
One of Oikawa’s eyebrows raises. "What?" he asks, lips curling with confusion.
Outside, the screech of cicadas match the cacophony in Iwaizumi’s head.
"I don’t -," he tries for the third time and God, please let him be able to speak now. "I don’t want to, Tooru. We’re not even together any more."
Why is this so fucking hard?
Oikawa face shifts. His eyebrow lowers. His mouth goes flat. His eyes behind his glasses are unreadable.
"Oh," he says. Iwaizumi wishes suddenly that he could read minds. But all he can do is curl his fingers into his covers and hold on tight.
"Yeah," he answers, licking his lips. He must be imagining it too, but Oikawa’s eyes drop to the motion, just for a millisecond. Iwaizumi’s skin feels sticky, hot.
"I’m sorry," Oikawa tries next but Iwaizumi shakes his head.
"Don’t be," he says honestly. "It didn’t last long. It didn’t -"
Feel right, he wants to say. But silence fills the gap instead.
Oikawa nods, rubs the back of his neck. A slant of afternoon light from outside catches the side of his face — beautiful eyes caught in gold, a halo around his head.
Iwaizumi feels blinded.
"Hajime -," Oikawa says.
"Tooru -," Iwaizumi starts.
They laugh, but it’s awkward and unsure. Iwaizumi’s fists tighten on his bed.
"You first," Oikawa says quietly. He smiles. It’s less sad this time. It makes Iwaizumi’s heart flutter.
This is Oikawa giving him one more chance in the same afternoon. It’s time for Iwaizumi to give him something in return.
"Okay," he says, rubbing his palms on his pants again. "Okay. Um, I - I mean I -"
Oikawa watches, quiet. Iwaizumi’s throat feels too tight for words.
"I missed you."
That is not what he had wanted to say, but it comes out anyway and Oikawa’s smile edges up a little farther in return. He swings back and forth a little, in Iwaizumi’s desk chair.
That stupid, fake smile turns a little more real. His eyes look a little more bright.
"Well I would hope so, Iwa-chan," Oikawa purrs, but Iwaizumi frowns and shakes his head. No, he has to get this right — or he’ll regret it. He knows he will.
He can’t believe he’s about to do this.
"No," Iwaizumi says. "No, Tooru, that’s not what I - I mean, yeah, I missed you, but what I’m trying to say is I missed you."
Oikawa laughs. It sounds confused. Iwaizumi feels confused.
And the cicadas are too damn loud.
"God damn it," he curses under his breath. But when he glances back up, Oikawa’s cheeks look… flushed?
Well, Iwaizumi thinks, that could be a good sign. He guesses. So he keeps going.
"I mean I missed being with you. I missed watching you play volleyball. I missed having our Saturday movie nights. I missed needing to tell you to rub your sunscreen in all the way." He gestures at his own chin, his cheeks burning.
God, this is terrifying. He feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, but Oikawa doesn’t even make a move to wipe at the dollop of sunscreen on his skin, ignoring that part of Iwaizumi’s spiel. He just watches him, oddly quiet now.
Iwaizumi swallows.
"Anyway, what I’m trying to say - what I meant to say - was that I miss… I miss us."
Ugh, still not exactly right. Not enough, he starts to berate himself inwardly, wiping his palms again on his pants.
He wants to say the words. The ones sitting on the edge of his tongue but too afraid to jump. Why can’t he? Why can’t he just spit them out?
I like you, Tooru.
But the quiet in the room stretches on. Oikawa’s face is still unreadable and it makes Iwaizumi fidget.
Iwaizumi scowls at Oikawa’s silence after another moment, a defense mechanism to shield how incredibly vulnerable he feels right now.
"Oy, Shittykawa, all that and you’re not going to say anything? God, I can’t even get you to shut up when I want you to and now I’ve spilled my guts out and you’re just going to sit there and stare at me like an idi-"
"I missed us too." Oikawa’s fingers clench and unclench on top of his thighs. His eyes keep flickering as Iwaizumi watches — on Iwaizumi’s face, then to his bed, then to the threadbare Godzilla plushie Oikawa himself had bought Iwaizumi for his eleventh birthday — and oh he’s being antsy, the way he gets when he’s nervous. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to remember that — he knows.
That realization makes Iwaizumi a little less anxious… as if that makes sense.
And Oikawa keeps going, as if he can sense it. Like he’s grabbing at an opportunity.
"I mean I missed you. A lot. I hated not being able to see you or show you how hard I’d been practicing or hear your voice. I hated it."
Oikawa’s voice breaks. Iwaizumi gapes. Is he going to cry?
He gets up on instinct — to comfort — and Oikawa’s eyes flash to his, surprised. Then his face settles. Something else seems to settle too. Some kind of resolve and Iwaizumi doesn’t want to get his hopes too high but his heart is slamming against his chest and Oikawa is looking at him like - like - like he does when he really wants something and he’s dead-set on getting it.
When Oikawa stands up, Iwaizumi is struck once more by how tall he is, crowding into Iwaizumi’s space with his long, lanky limbs and that obnoxious laugh and his dumb jokes. With his beautiful smile and pretty eyes and steady hands. With the familiar smell of his skin and the curve of his mouth Iwaizumi knows by heart and all of those subliminal things he hasn’t forgotten.
All of those subliminal things that no one else gets to see.
"Iwa-chan, I want you to tell me to stop if you want me to stop talking, but I have something to tell you and I’m going to say it now. Even if you’ll hate me for it."
"Okay," Iwaizumi breathes, too numb to really speak. I could never hate you. Never, he thinks.
His fingers feel cold. Oikawa reaches down to grab them with a hand, so slow Iwaizumi thinks he may be imagining it until warmth envelops his palm and Oikawa steps closer. Close enough that Iwaizumi has to tilt his head back to keep looking at him. Close enough that he can all of those little imperfections again and their knees bump.
The cicadas outside are deafening.
We’re holding hands, Iwaizumi thinks dumbly. They’re holding hands.
And Oikawa is so close he can smell his shampoo and the soft, sweet scent of his soap and a little bit of sweat from the heat outside and Iwaizumi wonders dimly if this is how everyone feels when their best friend is this close to them.
Like he’s catching fire and flying at the same time. Like he’s burning in that afternoon sunlight.
"Hajime," Oikawa starts and he licks his lips and Iwaizumi can’t stop from staring at that tiny, little, insignificant motion. It sends his stomach dipping low. That and the way Oikawa is looking at him — like he’s afraid and excited and hopeful and happy and sad all at once.
"Hajime," Oikawa starts again, nervous… but suddenly, Iwaizumi can’t take it anymore.
"I like you."
The words fall like pool water dripping to concrete. Oikawa’s facial expression is… priceless. Iwaizumi is mortified.
He bites his lower lip hard enough to taste blood. Shit, he thinks. Shit, shit, shit, why did I open my big mouth? God, he looks like he’s going to pass out.
And Oikawa does. He looks so taken aback, so startled — his brown eyes are wide, his mouth hanging slack.
He’s still holding Iwaizumi’s hand but that’s a distant, distant thought in Iwaizumi’s panicking brain. He just confessed to his best friend. He just confessed to Tooru, here in his bedroom.
He actually said those words out loud. He said them.
Because he thought - because he had thought that Tooru had been about to -
Oh God, what if he’d gotten it wrong? What if he’d misread everything and now -
"Iwa-chan, you jerk," Oikawa says and Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker up from where they’re resting uncomfortably at Oikawa’s shoulder level to look him in the eye, surprised and speechless.
"You stole my spotlight. I was talking, you know. And you just butted right in."
It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to gape.
"I was supposed to go first, Iwa-chan," Oikawa all but whines next and really?? Is he really complaining right now? After Iwaizumi cracked his entire heart open in front of him?
"Tooru, I swear to -," Iwaizumi starts, too breathless to really make his voice menacing but trying to anyway.
But Oikawa’s eyes shine and then burn and they’re so bright — so, so bright here in this afternoon suspended in time within the confines of Iwaizumi’s childhood walls — that Iwaizumi forgets what he had been about to say.
"I like you, Hajime. A lot. Like a lot, a lot," Oikawa says and he’s grinning now, watching with obvious enjoyment as Iwaizumi’s face combusts. "If you would’ve waited, I would’ve told you that first. Meanie."
The last word is said semi-seriously but Oikawa is grinning too wide to seem truly upset.
And Iwaizumi can’t help it then. He bursts out laughing, so giddy with relief and disbelief that he feels shaky.
"Meanie?" he gets out, still clutching onto Oikawa’s hand like he’ll fall if he lets go. "That’s what you’re going with? Meanie?"
Oikawa’s smile widens, teeth flashing. His eyes shift and he steps closer and slowly, Iwaizumi’s laughter fades, breath catching at how close they are now. They’re nearly completely in line with each other, from head to toe.
"I can think of a few other things I’d love to call you, Iwa-chan," Tooru murmurs and oh. Oh God.
Iwaizumi lets go of his hand quickly, stepping back until his knees hit the edge of his bed and he sits down on it.
"Don’t get carried away, Shittykawa," he warns, holding up a hand as Oikawa advances. His heart hasn’t stopped racing for the past ten minutes. He’s not even sure if this is real yet. "Just because I said I like you doesn’t mean you can just -"
"Just what, Ha-ji-me?" Oikawa asks innocently, drawing Iwaizumi’s name out in a way that has Iwaizumi way too hot under his shirt to be normal. He’s in between Iwaizumi’s legs before Iwaizumi can blink, kneeling down so they’re face-to-face.
Iwaizumi can’t breathe right.
"Tooru," he says but if it’s another warning, it falls flat. He can’t think right either, not with Oikawa’s confession still ringing in his ears and now his face so close that Iwaizumi can’t help but reach out without thinking and rub that little bit of sunscreen away with a thumb.
Oikawa’s skin is so soft. Warm too, under Iwaizumi’s cold hands, but if the chill bothers him, he doesn’t show it.
No, when Iwaizumi looks back up, throat tight, Oikawa is still looking only at him.
Oikawa’s eyes never leave his face. Not even when his grin fades and his gaze turns serious. Not even when he places both palms down on the mattress on either side of Iwaizumi’s thighs and leans in closer.
Not even when he asks one little question that has Iwaizumi’s heart dying inside his chest as it flails and thumps.
"Can I kiss you?" Oikawa breathes, so close that Iwaizumi can feel his breath on his lips and his eyes flutter reflexively, closing.
"Tooru," he says again, eyes flickering open again to study Oikawa’s face. So close. So close and Iwaizumi wants so much but he can’t put it into words. Oikawa’s eyes are so bright, flickering down to Iwaizumi’s mouth and then back to his gaze, lips parting ever so slightly.
They hover there, around each other, like they’re wavering, drifting, sucked in by each other’s gravity.
And finally, finally, the cicadas stop singing. It all goes silent. Time hangs suspended, right here, Iwaizumi thinks, with the sun setting in a fiery blaze outside his windows and Oikawa’s fingers raising to stroke Iwaizumi’s cheek, so slow and soft.
"Yeah," he finally answers.
And then Iwaizumi closes his eyes and leans in and he gives his everything to the boy taking up his space.
viii. epilogue
Iwaizumi could die happy right here.
He wants to stay here forever.
He wants to make these last few days of summer break stretch out into eternity and he never wants to leave.
"I bet I know what you’re thinking, Iwa-chan."
Oikawa’s voice rumbles up through Iwaizumi’s chest, his mouth moving against his skin, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and hides his grin.
Not that Oikawa can see his face right now anyway.
They’re lying on the sand, surrounded by crags of dark rock in this little cove, and Oikawa is wrapped around him like some kind of octopus, all of their limbs tangled up together. Iwaizumi shifts, wraps his arm tighter around Oikawa’s bare waist and pulls him closer and mutters, "Oh really?"
"Mmhmmm," Oikawa hums lightly, shifting against him and nuzzling his nose farther into the side of Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi writhes, ticklish. The sand is warm beneath his back, his hair drying in saltwater curls over his forehead from their swim.
"I bet," Oikawa says then, slow and low and hot against Iwaizumi’s collarbone, "that you want to fu-"
"Shittykawa," Iwaizumi interrupts quickly, ears suddenly burning. He rolls over, pushing Oikawa down into the sand, hovering over him as he straddles his boyfriend’s hips.
"Yes, Ha-ji-me?" Oikawa simpers, grinning up at him now, his hair spread around his head. There’s a damn streak of sunscreen not fully rubbed in on his chin.
"Shut up," Iwaizumi breathes… and then he does what he can do anytime he wants to now.
He threads his fingers in Oikawa’s hair and leans down and presses their lips together, warm and slow and firm.
Oikawa tastes like salt. His mouth opens up easily, pliant — his skin so soft under Iwaizumi’s searching hands.
Iwaizumi kisses Oikawa until he can barely breathe — long, slow, languid kisses that leave him burning all over, Oikawa’s enthusiastic reciprocation echoing deep down in Iwaizumi’s chest. Oikawa’s hair is like silk between his fingers. His hands on Iwaizumi’s lower back anchor him down.
When they part, Oikawa reaches up and runs a hand over Iwaizumi’s cheek, like he’s been dumbstruck by something. Like Iwaizumi is something he’s never seen before.
"What?" Iwaizumi asks, voice rougher than he’d intended. When Tooru looks at him like that, he can’t help it.
"Are you gonna miss me?" Oikawa asks without hesitation, fingers running down Iwaizumi’s neck, brushing over his chest.
Iwaizumi knows what he’s talking about. They leave for school again soon. The days are starting to grow shorter and the setting of the sun always leaves Iwaizumi cold.
But he’s warm right now. He’s warm right here and Oikawa is his phantom limb, come back home.
They’ll have more summers.
"Of course," Iwaizumi answers, honest and straightforward.
And when Oikawa smiles, Iwaizumi nearly has to look away for fear of being blinded.