Work Text:
She's cute. Not beautiful: not the sort of girl whose looks alone would make him stop and make, naturally, a coy smile play upon his lips. Perhaps she'd even be pretty under the right light and angle, but here, sitting next to him, leaned in much closer than one would when asking a question, she is, at the very least, cute.
“Oh, so that's how you solve it,” she says, voice low, her eyes half-lidded as she looks up at him. She gives him the sort of smile he'd normally have offered her, instead.
Oikawa quirks the corners of his lips upward. “It's not really difficult,” he says in an attempt to be modest, but it's very true. He's fully aware of why she's asked to come over for 'homework help,' and despite that, conceded her visit. He's been bored, lately. Trying not to think too much of certain things. Might as well give her what she wants. Maybe he'll even enjoy it if he closes his eyes and-
“You're so smart,” she breathes, eyes sparkling with admiration and something else entirely. Lust? No, that's too mature for a high-schooler. Desire, Oikawa decides. She wants him badly, from the way she stoops so low as to feign ignorance of basic arithmetic, to her words, to her obvious body language. How long has she liked me? he wonders. Before today, he'd never even been aware she existed. Now, he slowly considers bringing an end to these foolish attempts at flirting and just getting it over with. She is cute.
He's worn that smile so many times he hardly knows when it's there. It comes so easily now, has been since junior high. Only when Iwaizumi points out how sickening his fake smile is does Oikawa realize that it's there at all. It wavers the slightest as he thinks this, but the girl is so lovestruck she doesn't notice.
“And you're sweet,” he purrs, closing the distance between them further. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, noting how her cheeks have become dusty with pink. He tries not to roll his eyes. He takes her hand gently and stands. “How about we take a break from homework?” he suggests. She nods wordlessly, smiling a bit, and allows herself to be led by Oikawa to the living room.
Thank god my parents aren't home, he thinks to himself. If they were, he'd have had to take her to his bedroom instead, which he really didn't want to do. She wasn't that special.
Her hand is cool and soft in his, but it doesn't feel right. He doesn’t particularly want to hold it. Not her hand, anyway. He sits down first and barely has the chance to pat the spot next to him before she's on him, kissing him hungrily. It takes him by surprise, but he quickly allows himself to fall into old habits. He cradles the back of her head, pushing her lips closer to his. She's not bad at it, huh. He doesn't kiss her anywhere near as fervently as she does, lets her do the work. Behind his closed eyes, he dares to think of someone else, pictures them being the one whose mouth is hotly against his; biting, sucking at his lower lip; tongue against his; left hand cupping his cheek, right hand wandering much further down and squeezing and then-
“Haji-” he gasps as his eyes flit open, the name he'd held back spilling out, and he bites it quickly back once he realizes it's come out, but it's too late. She stops, pulls apart, eyes him incredulously and with mild disgust.
“Did you almost call me the wrong name?”
“No,” he lies, but he doesn't bring himself to tug her back when she hastily stands, walks back to the dining room to gather her things. He watches her helplessly, his heart beating so fast it feels like it's about to fall out of his chest. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. What does he do? Does he continue to lie? Does he let her leave and allow her to tell her friends about this, to spread things? “Come back. I'm sorry,” he lies again, and it doesn’t feel like he's just spoken those words.
From where she stands, she gives him another look, but this time, it's – of pity? Oikawa bristles.
“Don't look at me like th-”
“Do you even know my name?” she asks quietly.
Shit. He races through the alphabet in his mind, hoping one letter stands out and leads him to a probable answer. Had she ever even introduced himself to him? He doesn’t recall-
“Never mind,” she mutters at his lack of response. She walks toward the front door, stops, gives him one last glance.
“I won't tell anyone,” she promises.
He feigns indifference. “Tell who what? That we made out? Because you're not the only girl I've done that with.”
That damn pitiable look is back and he wants to scream. “You know what I meant.” She turns the doorknob, opens the door. It's nice out. “See you, Oikawa-kun.” The door closes.
A few seconds tick by. Oikawa sits there, the initial stun fading away into realization and fear and anxiety and everything he'd been able to keep locked away, and now it's out. She knows. He sinks into the sofa, throat dry, something hot prickling at his eyes. Or does she? She could have just said that to mess with me. If she does, she promised she wouldn't tell. But what if that was a lie? He takes a ragged breath in, trying to calm his frantic thoughts growing exceedingly paranoid. Without thinking about it, his arm reaches over the sofa's arm to the phone on the table beside it, and his fingers dial out of their own that number ingrained in his head.
He draws his knees to his chest, biting his lip. The burning, sharp pain in his eyes can't handle the pressure of being held back and tears slowly trickle down his face. They're wet and it still burns. The line rings eerily for a bit, and he's regretting doing this, hoping it's never picked up, screaming at himself inside his head for dialing, for messing around with the girl to begin with-
“This is rare. You usually text. What's up?”
His breath catches in his throat, and all the words he'd wanted to say disappear.
“Oikawa? Hello? You there?”
And the tears are streaming down fast now, and a sputtering, blubbering noise comes out his throat. He sobs pathetically into the phone and calls his name again. “Hajime.”
There's a pause from his end. “I'm on my way,” he says, more serious than Oikawa has ever heard him, and he hangs up.
He's still bawling, and if he were in a more right state of mind, he'd sneer at his pitiable state. But he can't; all he can do is purge himself of all the emotions he'd buried deep. Iwaizumi lives a few houses down, and seeing how Oikawa had cried to him, he'd be here even sooner than usual. He wipes at his eyes, willing the tears away. He doesn't want to be seen like this, he realizes. Not by Iwaizumi. Not yet. But it's too late. He swallows the sobs back, makes himself start hiccuping by accident. Deep breaths, he thinks, taking in as much air as he can through his nose, letting it all out through his mouth. He gets up and heads to the restroom to clear out his nose. He sees his reflection and almost laughs at his pink, watery eyes and red cheeks and nose. There's no way he can make himself look normal-
The furious knock at the door startles him, tears his eyes from the mirror. He steps out and walks toward the door, his heart a pounding drum. The metal of the doorknob is cool against his skin, and he turns it and for a brief moment sees again how beautiful it is out: the blueness of the sky, the warmth of the summer air, before his vision falls on him.
“Hi, Iwa-chan,” he finds himself saying, his mouth muscles pulling themselves into that familiar way.
Iwaizumi frowns deeply. “Don't smile like that,” he says gruffly, walking in as Oikawa steps aside. “Not when you were clearly just really upset.” Oikawa closes the door meekly, avoiding Iwaizumi's stern glare.
“Oikawa, look at me.”
He doesn't.
“Oikawa, I'm not gonna yell at you or hit you. Just turn around and look at me.”
He cranes his head the slightest to the side, side-glances Iwaizumi.
“Can we go into the living room?” Oikawa asks, making his way there before Iwaizumi answers. Iwaizumi follows.
Oikawa waits for Iwaizumi to sit first, and then he lays beside him, leaning back against him. “Thanks for coming, Iwa-chan,” he tells the air.
“You were crying,” Iwaizumi says.
Oikawa fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “No I wasn't.”
Iwaizumi scoffs. “Oikawa, you can lie to all the girls you want, but you can’t lie to me. I've known you long enough to know when you're full of shit. Which, since it's you, is pretty often, but this is something else entirely.” He pauses. Sighs. “I would like to know what happened, but if you're gonna dance around the issue, I won't bug you.”
“I think,” Oikawa begins, hesitantly, “that for now, I'd like you to just sit there, Iwa-chan, and let me lean back on you like this.”
“So now I'm just a glorified pillow.”
A laugh bubbles out of Oikawa. “If you say so.” He leans back more, feeling the tautness of Iwaizumi's muscles. “Relax,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “You're so stiff that it's uncomfortable.”
“You're a piece of work,” Iwaizumi grumbles, but he does as Oikawa tells him anyway.
They sit in silence. Oikawa is comfortable despite the slightly increasing beats of his heart; Iwaizumi lets his eyes aimlessly roam around the room, looking at and thinking about anything that wasn't Oikawa or whatever had happened.
Oikawa is the first to speak. “Hey, Iwa-chan?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you think it was?”
Iwaizumi considers the situation. “You were really upset,” he says. “The first thing I can think of that would affect you that much is volleyball. But it's off season, so it's not that.” He twists his mouth to the side. “So it's probably got to do with girl troubles.”
Oikawa's blood turns to ice. “It-” he starts, abruptly stops.
Iwaizumi glances down at him, an eyebrow raised in question. “It what?”
His eyes are boring holes into him. Oikawa casts his eyes down and tries to summon every last bit of courage he has, but it's so difficult to when he's about to brave himself to the person it applies to.
“We're friends, right? No matter what?” he asks instead.
He looks up, confused, when Iwaizumi briefly ruffles his hair. “You're an idiot,” Iwaizumi mutters, something soft in his eyes.
“It's not a girl,” Oikawa suddenly says, right to those eyes. He's not going to look away, he tells himself. He won't.
“A relative, then?” Iwaizumi guesses, brow furrowed.
Oikawa shakes his head. “No. It's- It's not a girl,” he croaks.
Confusion still muddles in Iwaizumi's face before clearing away. His eyes widen in understanding. “Oh,” is all he says.
Oikawa laughs nervously. “Don't get me wrong, I still like girls. Just. Just this person is different.”
“Oh,” Iwaizumi says again.
Oikawa sits up briskly, his hand about to reach for Iwaizumi's, but he realizes what he's about to do and withdraws it, hoping Iwaizumi didn't catch that. “Well, to be truthful, there's other guys I think are good-looking, so it's not like he's the one exception,” he says quickly, his words stumbling out. “But I don't like them, nor all the other girls I've dated, like this one person.” Iwaizumi is still quiet, dreadfully so, and Oikawa thinks he hears something rip open in his chest. “Please say something,” he pleads, feeling tears at the back of his eyes again. “Please- please don't hate me.”
Iwaizumi flicks him in the forehead. “You're an idiot,” he repeats, sternly this time, “why would I hate you for that?”
Oikawa blinks. “Because- you're- I thought-?”
“You thought wrong, stupid.” He crosses his arms. “I'm a bit offended you would think I'd just stop talking to you because I'm a guy and you like guys. We're friends, have been for friends a long time. And even if we weren't, it's still dumb to hate someone for that.” He gives him a tiny smile.
Relief and elation wash over Oikawa with such force he feels lightheaded. His hand shoots up to his head. He's alright with it. That was the first step. Would he still be comfortable knowing it was him? Oikawa dreaded to know, now, not wanting to ruin the jubilation of knowing his friend was still by his side. He couldn't risk ruining that.
“Was that all you were upset about?” Iwaizumi continues. Oikawa purses his lips.
“Yes,” he lies, oh so easily. He smiles and it almost feels like the corners reach his eyes. “Sorry for making you worry, Iwa-chan.”
He can tell he doesn't believe him; it flashes briefly through his eyes, a hint of doubt, but he doesn't press it further. He nods and ruffles Oikawa's head again, making him whine in protest, and it feels like any other day with Iwaizumi.
Maybe one day, he'll tell him. Maybe he'll even reciprocate it, or consider dating him. All Oikawa knows for certain is that however long it takes, he'll still love him, as sure as breathing.