Chapter Text
The sun is out today and the warmth it blazes across the campus of Aobajohsai High is brilliant. Oikawa doesn’t know this because he never leaves school early when he can get away with it, and the only light knows are the ones glaring into his eyes as he executes his perfect jump serve.
Correction, he notes, his brow curling in a frown as the ball lands. The arc is too high. He’s off.
“Oi.”
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his temple with the side of his finger. Having not moved from the place he has landed after his jump, he now takes three steps left. Iwaizumi has tossed the ball back with a flick of his wrist and it bounces over the net before jumping into Oikawa’s fingers. He pulls back until he is a couple of arm lengths away from the serving line and then tosses the ball up into the air.
Because Iwaizumi is Iwaizumi, is reliable, is his best friend, knows him inside and out, Oikawa’s trust is absolute. As the ball reaches its apex, comes falling back down, Oikawa sees Iwaizumi through his peripheral, already standing at ready. His palm comes down. The ball shoots forwards.
Because Iwaizumi is Iwaizumi, he manages to get there and bumps it, the speed of Oikawa’s serve notwithstanding his reaction time nor his skill over control.
They just know each other too well.
“Baka, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines, his voice wobbling as he jogs up to meet the ball in volley. “That was my best serve! Why couldn’t you just not get it.”
“Liar.” Iwaizumi scowls, eyebrows, eyes and lips. “I don’t understand why that shorty keeps calling you Grand King.”
“Ah, chibi-chan? Is Iwa-chan perhaps jealous he’s not as adored?”
For that, Iwaizumi spikes as hard as he can.
Oikawa shuffles so it only hits him in the shoulder but he yelps, and keels onto his side, a big whiny boat capsizing, all the same, “Gah, you killed me!”
“When your serve is off, it means you’re done for the day, dumbass.”
Usually, these extra practices are longer than this, but they always end like this, with a quick rally before Iwaizumi decides they’re finished, so Oikawa accepts Iwaizumi’s words, but doesn’t like having his weaknesses called out. Or rather, doesn’t like having them in the first place. So he groans and rolls from his side onto his stomach. The cool floor against his cheek is nice.
Footsteps get louder the closer they are until Oikawa feels a foot planted on his ass, hears, “Get up, or I’ll make you.”
“You’re abusive, Iwa-chan.” He kicks his foot out to make Iwaizumi move, then sits up.
“That makes you a masochist.” Iwaizumi puts his hand out.
Oikawa takes it, smiling. “Only for my Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi scrunches his face up instead of slapping Oikawa as he’d predicted, and this is also something Oikawa is okay with; really, anything that makes Iwaizumi squirm is great.
In the change room, Oikawa pulls his practice jersey over his head, sighing when cool air meets his sweaty self.
A white roll of tape is thrust towards him. He blinks.
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and reaches for Oikawa’s hand.
Oikawa lets him, practically watches fascinated with Iwaizumi’s concentrated expression as he arranges the other’s right hand the way he wants, fingers out of the way. His grip is assured but gentle, particularly when he presses his thumb just slightly above where his pulse beats. Here, Iwaizumi looks up at him through narrowed eyes to spot any signs of discomfort. Oikawa wrinkles his nose because this is unnecessary, but Iwaizumi just unrolls the start of the tape and begins winding it up the other’s wrist, finishing neatly at his thumb’s first knuckle.
“…thanks.” Oikawa murmurs, gently flexing his wrist to test the taping.
Iwaizumi glances at him and though he fires, “Put your shirt on, Shittykawa, you’ve got nothing any girls wanna see.” Oikawa sees right through his banter and into his concern.
“Ah, but you didn’t say anything about boys,” Oikawa singsongs through the hole for his head before pulling the shirt down to fit snug around his torso. “Could Iwa-chan be inter—ow, ow! HEY I ALREADY SAID OW!”
Because this is just how they talk, just how they let each other know what they’re thinking.
“I’m going to put the equipment away,” says Iwaizumi at the door, his backpack slung over one shoulder, the straps of his gym bag in his hand.
“I’ll help-“
“Net only.”
“Tch, it’s not that bad.”
“Don’t make me-“
“Iwa-chan.” His voice softens. “I know you care, but I promise you. It’s not that bad. I played for it up until you noticed and it was fine.” It is a couple of days later Oikawa thinks about it again and figures out Iwaizumi must have known in the beginning and just not said anything because he knew Oikawa would deny it and just play on.
Iwaizumi sighs, and pushes the door an inch wider.
Oikawa grabs his own stuff, nudges past Iwaizumi to put it down again so, then goes to take off the foam cover of his pole. While Oikawa has his fingers on the mesh of the net, he carefully says, “Iwa-chan—”
“Don’t hurt yourself again.” From his end, Iwaizumi looks over, serious.
Oikawa pauses. He wants to say, I can’t promise you that, because you know I’ll do a lot for volleyball.
“You know how I feel about you—about you overexerting yourself.”
He hesitates, trying to grasp the words about not caring anymore, or at least not caring enough. “…I’ll try, ‘kay?” He says.
Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches but if Oikawa pretends, then apparently, so will he. “Let’s go home.”
We’ll leave this for another time.
Oikawa shrugs, because this is the best he’ll get and they begin walking. Their conversation flies to lighter, less-dense air, migrates to classes and other clubs to new music and movies, and their feet keep moving forward until they are at the intersection where they part to go to their own streets.
“Oikawa—”
“Iwa-chan—”
They both look at each other, feet both slowing.
Oikawa says, “I’ll try.”
After a moment, Iwaizumi nods. “Good.”
“See you tomorrow.” Oikawa offers him a smile as he retreats. “Byeeee, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi takes longer to turn away. Oikawa’s extraordinarily dumb sometimes. But that’s okay, Iwaizumi doesn’t mind looking after the other. Iwaizumi is his pillar. And Oikawa…Tooru is his…something, he amends, halfway caught between hope and stupidity.
But that’s how most things are when it involves Oikawa. So that’s how Iwazumi knows he’ll be able to handle it.