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Anonymous said: I love her the way I've seen the tide come in; quietly but all at once.
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Oikawa watches the petals fall.
Everything is white--he looks around and it's white and blue everywhere, easy and comforting on his eyes. He feels a little stuffy in his own suit, but the church is actually huge and refreshing. The columns extend so high up, the dome made up of stained glass. The sunlight filters through them, and the huge windows let in a steady whisper of the wind. He wills himself to stand still and continue watching the bridesmaids file in. Everyone looks so enthusiastic and happy, their aura suffocating him and making his stomach churn.
Everyone held their breaths when the heavy doors finally opened, making everything seems brighter. All eyes are glued on the person standing at the entrance, and Oikawa can feel his lips forming a thin, straight line.
She's pretty, alright, wearing ivory and silk, carrying the wedding gown naturally and flawlessly, hands wrapped around the elegant bouquet. From under her veil, he can see her brown hair curled up, beautiful and simple, framing her face. The march is long and painful and Oikawa hates it, hates how she smiles, hates how he could feel the sour and bitter taste in his mouth, hates how he sees Iwaizumi smile from the corner of his eyes.
Iwaizumi, who is dashing and clean and in every way perfect, in his white suit and blue tie, smile burning in Oikawa's head, imprinting itself in his memories, making him feel both better and worse.
By the time Iwaizumi walks away from his side to meet the bride halfway and take her to the altar, Oikawa wants to cry.
| --- | --- |
His father never gave his mother a ring.
They talked about it once, Iwaizumi groggy and sleepy and the stars shining above as they lay on Iwaizumi's rooftop. Cans of soda and snack wrappers littered around them, and it's chilly out; He could still remember the distant streetlights, the way their legs tangled with each other and the gentle rise and fall of Iwaizumi's chest as he breathe. The July breeze touched his cheeks and arms and legs, caused a shudder to run through him and made him curl up against Iwaizumi.
They cuddled, he remembered, and Iwaizumi must've been very tired then, because that only happens rarely, or else he would've been kicked off. The wing spiker was already yawning, eyes fluttering close and then open again, the stars and the faint streetlights reflecting on his eyes and highlighting his face.
He looked so perfect, Oikawa could cry.
"I'll give you a ring," Iwaizumi muttered against his hair, eyes closing. "and it'll be sapphire because blue looks really good on you."
Oikawa buried his face deeper on Iwaizumi's chest, laughing though muffled, saying something that sounded like "That sounds like a proposal, Iwa-chan," but none of that mattered because Iwaizumi already fell asleep anyway, and Oikawa was kind of thankful for that.
Crap, he thought, hands fisting Iwaizumi's shirt as he tried to hit his flustered grin. I'm so happy I could die.
( "I love you," Iwaizumi says, after dragging them back to his room, rousing from his sleep. "though you should've woken me up. We could've gotten a cold."
He yawned, and Oikawa wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi's neck.
"I love you too," He said, as they settled down.)
Iwaizumi possesses that thing where when he looks at Oikawa, he looks at him as if he's his world. It's in these moments, body pressed warmly against each other over the bed sheets, skin over Oikawa's fingers warm and raw and real, comforting and familiar. Calloused hands same as his touches his own skin, leaving trails of warmth as it moved. Warm breaths, the curve of Iwaizumi's lips, and his presence--Oikawa felt it all, felt it all burn into his very being, completely and eternal, every moment etched again and again in his mind. He's already been imprinted all over Oikawa, pads of his thumbs gently brushing against his cheekbones, eyes in gentle wonder and adoration and Oikawa felt so loved, so so loved that it scared him.
Because Oikawa is selfish and possessive and he wants all of it, all of it and nothing less, and he loves Iwaizumi too, and he had always been spoiled rotten since day one because he's pretty and his grades and good and he's great at volleyball. But he doesn't know how to love--doesn't know if he's good enough for Iwaizumi, doesn't know how to be. It's making his being burst, and he had never been the kind to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this is Iwaizumi, this is Iwa-chan and he's afraid that the love he can offer will never be something that can compare to what Iwaizumi gives him, and he hates it, hates the insecurity and the feeling of falling short, because Iwaizumi deserves the best and only the best, nothing less.
Because Iwaizumi is such a beautiful thing that Oikawa wonders, sometimes, at six in the morning with the sunlight falling through the curtains illuminating the room, Iwaizumi's face in front of his. He wonders, tracing Iwaizumi's jaws, his eyebrows, his eyelids, softly, touching his eyelashes and leaning his forehead against the others.
He wonders why Iwaizumi stays.
| --- | --- |
"What are you taking about?"
It started to rain hard, but they didn't move. Oikawa felt all of him shake, his vision unsteady, but he struggled to focus them on Iwaizumi, looking dead on. Iwaizume took a deep breath before exhaling, and Oikawa was burning and both of them knew.
"My parents wanted me to go there," was what Iwaizumi said, voice shaky and unclear over the hard rain, but Oikawa can still hear and understand it, loud and clear and he doesn't want to. His insides twisted and flipped and he felt sick. "I want to, too, actually. And I got a scholarship--"
"But Daishodai also offered you one, along with me!" Oikawa cried out, stepping forward, gripping Iwaizumi's shoulders tight. The rain, combines with the annoying tears in his eyes make it sting, his view deteriorating and blurry and he's so desperate that it disgusts him, but this is about them and he can't keep still. His heart is a raging storm, fingertips tingling and everything else painful.
Because he's going to Daishodai and Iwaizumi is going to Tokyo University and he's scared.
Iwaizumi shook his head, and Oikawa's grip became weak, his arms dropping down to his sides. Iwaizumi enveloped him into a warm hug, Oikawa's head resting on his shoulder, the rain pelting them hard. The distinct rumble of the thunder was heard and the wind brought upon smells like the sea. Oikawa closed his eyes and saw blue.
"We'll make it," was what Iwaizumi said, voice firm and determined and promising, like when they were kids and he's trying to pacify Oikawa. It's been years, and it still make him feel better no matter the circumstances.
Because Iwaizumi is made of eternal and ephemeral all out once and that's more than enough.
"We'll make it."
They didn't.
Hamartia came for Oikawa at third year in college when six hour trips twice a month and short phone calls ending in swift "love you"s became too much.
He still loved Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi was so great and resilient, as always, but Oikawa is Oikawa and he's tired and he's impatient and when he did, Iwaizumi didn't say anything.
He didn't say anything but "I'm sorry that you're not happy." and left it at that. It's not working, for Oikawa, and no matter the situation he just didn't feel like the relationship was doing them any better, being six hours worth a distance wedging itself between them. Oikawa hates being alone, most of the time, and he really pushed himself well beyond his limits because Iwaizumi sacrificed a lot for him, and he just can't afford to lose him. But too much is too much and he's just too tired of missing him and being lonely and being alone.
Sure, they'll still be best friends, but it's still different from what they were, and it always will be, he figured, but he's fine with it, so long as Iwaizumi is beside him. He even held in the hope that maybe someday, after college is all said and done, they'll find their way back to each other.
He couldn't sleep for nights.
He closes his eyes and see blue.
| --- | --- |
They didn't change.
They still act the same. At reunions, they still sit next to each other and they still laugh and argue and for those times Oikawa could still pretend that they're still together; that they're still in their freshman year, watching the city lights turn on and light up as the sky darkens, Iwaizumi saying, Oikawa, do you think this is a good place to ask someone out?
But of course, they're not and they're just that overly-attached pair of childhood friends, as if they're a package, always together and still stuck to each other like a glue even after the different colleges and the break up. But sometimes, Oikawa wondered if Iwaizumi can see the way his hands twitch to hold, the way Oikawa lean a little to much, the way his touch lingers a little too long. He wants him back, but he can't do that, because Oikawa won't be that mean. He won't be that person, he won't say anything, specially after he clench his fist around Iwaizumi's heart, grip tight. He won't say anything because Iwaizumi needs and deserves someone better, someone who will love him properly, someone who will not take up too much of his time and heart and mind and hurt him in the end.
But when push comes to shove and if you ask Oikawa if he really does want Iwaizumi to find someone else, you'll draw a black stare.
Because he still yearn and desire and want, all over, everything swishing in him like a wave, washing over him like a typhoon. He had imprinted himself on Iwaizumi, on his face and on his chest and everything else, sticks and stones in his lungs and Oikawa's name on his hands, his fingerprints burning all over Iwaizumi and each and every patch of skin that makes him, and Iwaizumi had done the same, the shape of his lips and the mark of his grip overtaking Oikawa, imprinting and marking and reminding. Iwaizumi is a typhoon; a storm, big and great and familiar, almost never-ending, picking up and hitting harder, unexpected and expected all at the same time.
But every storm ends, leaving and vanishing, taking everything away, leaving you ruined and deserted.
They loved and kissed and stayed, but when Oikawa heard "Iwaizumi" and "proposing" and "marriage" all at the same time, without even any warning, it hit him. Hard. Like he was punched clean and straight, because it's heavy and stuffy and it's making him dizzy, so he took a huge swig of his drink, and Iwaizumi turned to him.
He laughed, hard, tears falling down his face.
It hurts.
"I'll be your best man, of course."
| --- | --- |
A memory--standing upon a cliff overlooking their place, blue petunias growing around them, the city lights unblinking and the dark sky unapologetic. It was cold and they're leaning on the railings, and he hears, Oikawa, do you think this is a good place to ask someone out?
Yes, is the answer, corner of his eyes crinkling and his lips forming a smile. Why, do you want to ask me out?
It was July then, and Iwaizumi kissed Oikawa and he wanted to kiss him in every season, swell of every orchestra, make love to him in every bed in that hotel, to give him every reason to stay, but he didn't think that he needed that, then. Iwaizumi and leaving never crossed his mind, because it's ridiculous, because if Iwaizumi wanted out, he would've left him in the span of seven years that they've gone through, left him while he's whining about the girlfriends that never worked, left him during the night of volleyball games that they lost, where Oikawa won't speak, won't even touch him, won't even look at him.
He remembered thinking, Ah, Iwa-chan is kissing me, and it made him so fucking glad, and it's ridiculous how he always find Iwaizumi so luminous, so beautiful, eyes twinkling and eyelids precious and the way his mouth move into a smile and the way he pats down Oikawa's hair when they watch a movie--everything he does is just so endearing and mesmerizing and beautiful, just like the rest of him. He's a national treasure, and Oikawa is the museum that holds him in, that keeps him so selfishly, and Iwaizumi lets him.
Because Iwaizumi made Oikawa depend on him, somehow, in some way, rough but loving, hands calloused but comforting.
And now it's October, years and years after, and he sees the sapphire on her ring finger and the sapphire on his and Oikawa swallowed, remembering and forgetting and missing, all at the same time, Iwaizumi's smiles and touches burning, heating up, and deep within him he wants it to stop, wants a re-do, wants an another chance, please, even for one last time.
Iwaizumi carried her to the exterior of the church, laughing and smiling and everyone cheered.
He picked up a petunia and crushed it, fingers digging deep on his palm.
| --- | --- |
The reception is bland and painful and it's blue, it's fucking blue everywhere, and his mouth tightens painfully when he smiled in his picture together with Iwaizumi and his new wife. His chest thuds dully, beating loud in his head and throat and down to his toes, his fingertips tingling, I love you, I love you, I love you so.
Iwaizumi didn't say anything, only offering him a smile. He looks like he's about to say anything, but the photographers whisked him away before he could.
As it stretches out, he went out to the veranda, and ripped the blue cloth that is his tie. Took out a Wild Seven and puffed a smoke.
"Why are you so bitter?"
Hanamaki's voice isn't something that surprised him. He looked at the man, then back inside. Iwaizumi's dancing with her, throwing his head back to laugh. He rarely see Iwaizumi laugh like that, so openly. It's the smile that's burnt in his mind as if it's still the year where he visited Oikawa's college and stayed the night, cooking and watching movies with him, holding him close. Possessiveness and jealousy flared up, but the glint of the sapphire ring made everything stop, and he looked away, fingers taking the cigarette off his mouth and lips and lungs blowing out the smoke. Sticks and stones still occupy his ribcage, his heart thudding painfully, and his hands almost shake.
"Time changes things, shit happens and I'm not bitter," is what Oikawa said, cooly and calmly and he breathes out. Hanamaki didn't say anything. The music from the inside reached his ears, The Beatles singing how much they want to hold someone's hands, and the stars shines and the October breeze flew by and he's reminded of a promise of a ring.
"I'm not bitter," Oikawa said, again, and the only difference is that his voice is shaky and erratic and his hands shook and he's crying, he knows, how pathetic is that? The best man crying at his best friend's wedding reception while sitting on the veranda, smoking a Wild Seven cigarette, blood in his veins rushing and his head heavy, as if there's a whole ocean in it. "I'm just sorry."
He replied cooly before, but he's not cool--he's on fire. He wishes a lot of things, wants a lot of things, hoped for more, and it's all crashing down on him. He wasted a lot, and now he's reaping the fruit of the mistakes that he planted, and he feels like a greek mythology hero that he read back at second year college. The wind blew again, caressing Oikawa's cheeks and making the tears on it feel colder, as if apologizing.
No one said anything, and the music from indoor and the crowd's chatter and Iwaizumi's laugh sounds so distant.
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Answer: I hope she loves you like a quiet storm. I hope she makes you feel thunder in your toes.
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