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Iwaizumi’s seen Oikawa cry hundreds of times over the years.
From scraped knees to broken toys as a child, to lost volleyball matches and break-ups as a teenager, Iwaizumi has been there. He’d witness Oikawa’s face scrunch up unpleasantly, just before his eyes would swell with tears. Oikawa was an ugly crier, always sobbing loud enough to wake the dead and leaking enough snot to warrant an entire box of tissues.
Iwaizumi would tell him to stop being so noisy, wipe away what tears and snot Oikawa would allow before swatting him away, and just sit beside him until the sobs eventually slowed into pitiful sniffles. Even if it took hours, when Oikawa calmed down enough to steady his breathing and finally look over to Iwaizumi, it was always worth it. Oikawa’s rare, bashful smile would always be worth it.
But right now, Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do.
He’s standing beside the sand box where he and Oikawa first met as kids, wearing only plaid sleeping pants and an inside-out university sweater because his idiot best friend sent him a dozen texts asking him to meet him at the neighborhood park straight away, despite it being almost two in the morning. After years of experience with Oikawa’s sudden late-night adventures, Iwaizumi expected something along the lines of a trip to the 24/7 conbini to satisfy his friend’s recent craving for fried chicken and strawberry mochi. What he definitely hadn’t expected was a confession.
Oikawa’s only a few feet away, in his favorite pair of alien pajamas and a black jacket, a vulnerability in his eyes that Iwaizumi hasn’t seen in years; not since he’d injured his knee. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, a sign of his nerves.
“I’m in love with you,” Oikawa repeats, voice trembling.
“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi manages, and that’s all that comes out. He knows what he wants to say, he just doesn’t know how to say it. This moment feels too big. He wasn’t prepared for this at all.
Oikawa visibly swallows after a few moments of nothing more than silence, his long lashes fluttering closed as his lips part to inhale a deep lungful of autumn air. He opens his eyes and smiles, but it’s so completely wrong that Iwaizumi’s stomach drops. The usual tell of oncoming tears was always the scrunching of his nose, but tonight Oikawa’s eyes just gleam brighter and brighter under the moonlight, until the tears slip down his cheeks and drip from his jaw. There’s no sobbing, no mess of snot, no ugly expression.
This is a pain that Iwaizumi’s never seen in him before, and it’s all his fault.
Panic rises in him and he opens his mouth to say something, to fix this, but Oikawa cuts him off.
“It’s okay, silly Iwa-chan,” he continues to smile, sounding anything but okay. “No need to look so disgusted, it was just a joke. As if Oikawa-san would want a brute like you for his boyfriend.”
Iwaizumi stiffens. The lie is so painfully absurd he wants to reach out and smack the idiot upside the head, and then pull him close and never let go. He steps forward, hoping that whatever expression he was wearing that made Oikawa think he was disgusted is gone. His stomach drops again when Oikawa steps back, keeping his distance.
I’m fucking up. I’m fucking this all up, Iwaizumi thinks and grits his teeth. Just say something!
“Too bad, Shittykawa, because I want to be your stupid boyfriend!”
Iwaizumi regrets it instantly, his face and neck heating up in embarrassment.
Oikawa’s mouth falls open in surprise.
“Let me… let me try that again,” Iwaizumi covers his face with one hand to hide his deepening flush. “I thought you called me out here to do something stupid, like you always do on our last night of a break. I didn’t expect you to confess.”
He’s met with silence and he’s too nervous to pull his hand away.
“Before you left for university, you told me that you were going to spend the next four years training for a spot on the national team. You said that you couldn’t spare the time for anything else, not when your dream was the closest it’d ever been.”
“That didn’t include you,” Oikawa’s voice sounds so small. “Iwa-chan has always been the exception.”
Iwaizumi lowers his hand, his gaze falling onto Oikawa’s crying face. It’s the one he recognizes, scrunched up and covered in snot, so familiar that Iwaizumi’s nerves melt into a warmth that settles in his chest. He loves this man so much, even with his stupid bedhead and his lame space pajamas.
“I didn’t respond to you right away because I didn’t know how to. It sounds dumb, but I thought I’d be the one confessing once you graduated and had a spot on the national team… I thought I would have the time to plan it out, make it this big thing that would make you cry and want to brag to Matsukawa and Hanamaki,” Iwaizumi reaches out to take Oikawa’s trembling hand in his own. “I’m sorry I hurt you, that wasn’t my intention.”
Oikawa’s sobbing now, the kind that will absolutely wake up everyone within a one-mile radius, so Iwaizumi laughs while pulling him close. He presses his fingers into soft, brown curls so Oikawa will take the hint and cry into his shoulder. He’s immediately wrapped up in long arms, dragged down to the ground under Oikawa’s weight until he’s on his knees. It’s an awkward position, but Iwaizumi doesn’t mind. He runs his palm over Oikawa’s hair, his neck, his shoulders.
“I-Iwa-chan is so mean,” Oikawa wails against Iwaizumi’s shoulder.
Iwaizumi continues petting him, trying to comfort him in a way he’s allowed to now.
“I know.”
Oikawa shifts back like he’s going to sit up, but not before using Iwaizumi’s sleeve to wipe off his face. If he weren’t so in love right now, Iwaizumi definitely would’ve shoved him to the ground for that.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says softly, sniffling once to clear his nose. His hands hold onto the front of Iwaizumi’s inside-out sweater when he pulls back, as if afraid he’ll slip away. “Hajime.”
Iwaizumi jerks, eyes going wide. He hasn’t heard Oikawa call him that since grade school.
“Y-yeah,” he responds, like Oikawa’s a teacher calling attendance. It earns him a huff of laughter.
“Hajime, I love you,” Oikawa looks at him like he looks at his favorite constellations, like he looks at the scoreboard after a crushing victory. It’s overwhelming, but in an incredibly good way. “I don’t want to wait until graduation to be with you, I don’t want to wait until I’m on the national team. I’ve waited my entire life for you, please don’t make me wait any longer.”
Iwaizumi’s heart speeds up. His own hands move to cup Oikawa’s face, his thumbs brushing across the tinge of pink high on his cheek bones. He feels like an idiot for having thought this should wait. They’d been waiting for each other for a long time already, hadn’t they?
“I love you, too,” Iwaizumi confesses into the small space between them. “Tooru, can I be your stupid boyfriend?”
Oikawa laughs abruptly, his eyes crinkling in the corners. A stray tear slips down his cheek, but Iwaizumi wipes it away before he finds the courage to lean in. It’s just a gentle press of lips, more of a promise than an actual kiss, but it’s so warm that he finds it hard to pull away. Reluctantly, he puts space between them, but only enough to see his boyfriend’s face.
Oikawa’s eyes are shining like he might cry again, but his expression is soft and open. Noticing Iwaizumi’s intent gaze, his lips stretch into a small, bashful smile.
Ah. There it is, Iwaizumi grins, his fingers gripping onto the soft curls at the nape of Oikawa’s neck and tugging him close again.
When their lips meet the second time, it’s just as warm.