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-three years after high school graduation-
They parked Iwaizumi’s car in the usual spot. When they’d arrived, Oikawa had worried the aging tires and hiccupping engine wouldn’t make it through the thick weeds or over the inevitable rocks and other sharp objects concealed within them. Iwaizumi had maintained faith in his beloved piece-of-crap, coaxing it gently through the brush until they reached the spot where years of running, jumping feet and digging, playing hands had fought the foliage there and won, leaving bare earth behind.
As children they’d snuck past fences and private property signs, giddy with conspiracy and exploration, searching for somewhere to play pretend. They stumbled upon the field sometime in early June when the spring flowers hadn’t quite relinquished their hold on the earth to the summer weeds. A lone tree stood guard over the field and all its contents, keeping watch over the tall, swaying grass and rusting piles of junk scattered across the field. The pair helped each other up the tallest of the piles, doing little to consciously avoid broken glass or sharp edges but managing, as children often do, to escape the worst of scrapes and scratches. They surveyed the land from the top of the mound, admiring their discovery and silently agreeing to claim it as their own.
From then on the field served as playground and hideout, haunt and sanctuary. Adults couldn’t seem to find it. Perhaps, as Iwaizumi suggested, the previous owner had died a mysterious death and, unable to relay the location of his secret hideaway, had left the world without revealing its location to anyone. Or perhaps, as they both secretly suspected, they had stumbled into some other world where only the two of them existed, free to do as they please and enjoy each other’s company with total freedom. Whatever the case, no one bothered them or shooed them away and so, overtime, the rights of ownership seemed, to them at least, to transfer from whoever had left their beloved playground to rot to the kids who had arrived to save it. And Oikawa and Iwaizumi had done just that.
They’d worked for years to sort all the litter lying around, placing them in carefully organized piles based on their importance or usefulness. They’d pulled up weeds with their small, eager hands, carefully removing flowers from their original places in the ground and transferring them to a small patch of clear earth which they called a garden. The cleanup moved slowly as old projects were discarded for shinier ones and, overtime, school and other responsibilities occupied more of their time. The field began to reclaim its wildness as they frequented it less and less often. Soon the volleyball court became their second home and their old oasis became an unfrequented reminder of childhood and the partnership they’d formed while in its grasp.
Now, so many years later, the field welcomed them back as though no time had passed at all. They took off their socks and shoes, digging their feet into the cool dirt and letting the warm wind wash over their homesick skin. Together, the earth and air washed all remnants of America and Argentina off their skin, bathing them in the brightness of homecoming. When the novelty of dirt and wind wore off they spread a blanket across the hood of Iwaizumi’s car and sat atop it.
“Ah ha!” Oikawa shouted, slapping his leg. He held up his hand for Iwaizumi to examine. “I got another mosquito.”
Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose and pushed the hand away. “Poor bastard.”
“It’s not polite to speak about the dead that way, Iwa-chan.”
“Sorry. Lucky bastard.”
Oikawa rolled his eyes at Iwaizumi’s grin. He leaned sideways to wipe the remnants of his victim on Iwaizumi’s pants, shrieking as Iwaizumi licked his own hand and attempted to wipe it on Oikawa’s face in retaliation. They scuffled for a few moments, overriding the natural peace of the field with squeals of protest and bouts of heavy laughter. Afterwards, they lapsed into easy silence. Iwaizumi leaned against the windshield, eyes following the lazy movement of the clouds above, just visible against the night sky. Oikawa continued his fight against mosquitos, spritzing the air with bug spray every few minutes and waiting with eager patience for the buzz of tiny wings to enter their general vicinity. He followed these buzzes with anxious determination, scowling when they escaped his death blows and whooping with victory when they did not.
Iwaizumi’s attention drifted from the night sky to Oikawa’s face. “Are you trying to wipe out the entire population, or what?”
“I’m trying to keep us safe.”
“Well stop trying. You’re driving me crazy.”
Oikawa complied with a loud sigh, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his chin against them. He followed Iwaizumi’s gaze, which had returned to its previous resting place, and tried his best to occupy his mind with thoughts of the stars. They shone prettily enough, but he saw similar skies in Argentina. He turned his head to watch what he could only see at home; the unruly grass swayed in the warm, careful wind, dotted with rusting bits of junk and other signs that human life had invaded such a sanctuary. Their tree’s silhouette served as the picture’s backdrop. Its form and shape was familiar, even in darkness. The landscape would have been ordinary if it had not been painted with the golden glow of childhood and memory. Literal pieces of gold dotted the scene, popping in and out of sight like paper lanterns bobbing in and out of shadow. They seemed to pull Oikawa towards them, tugging at his heart until sitting still no longer seemed possible. He slid off the car, rolling up his sleeves as he made his way towards the nearest junk pile and began sorting through it.
Iwaizumi turned to watch him. “What are you doing?”
“Looking.”
“I can see that,” he stretched before following Oikawa’s lead and making his way towards the heap. He watched some more, smiling at the look of impatient longing on Oikawa’s face. “Look out for snakes.”
“I’ll be alright.” Rusty bits of metal and dented cans clattered against the ground as Oikawa threw them to the side. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow when Oikawa, grinning, held up a glass jar caked with dirt. “Got it.”
“Got what, exactly?”
Oikawa turned the bottle over and dumped out the dirt, hitting it a few times for good measure. He used the corner of his shirt to wipe it clean. “Do you remember the last time we caught fireflies?”
Iwaizumi grinned. “It’s been years.”
“Far too long, don’t you think?”
“Ages,” Iwaizumi agreed.
They set off in different directions, each scanning the night sky for small flashes of light. Oikawa caught one first; he ushered Iwaizumi over with a strained, excited whisper, cupping his hands gently so his treasure couldn’t fly away. They admired it for a few moments, watching as the bug stumbled through its new enclosure and tried to worm its way through Oikawa’s fingers. Iwaizumi held the bottle as Oikawa coaxed it inside; they watched a while longer as it flew about its tiny cage, giving off bits of light as it went.
“Back to business,” Iwaizumi announced, setting the jar on the blanket they’d spread over the car. They caught more and more, each time calling out to the other for a meeting where the newcomer could be inspected and admired. Time seemed to move in reverse as they trekked through the grassland, searching for bugs and admiring whatever forgotten treasures they stumbled upon. To Oikawa, it felt like they had left their current selves in the car, or perhaps back at the airport. At home in the summer air, they shed their identities as people with weight in the real world and became lone explorers of their own little paradise. The appearance of that feeling both pressed on their hearts and made them weightless, reminding them both of the magic they’d created in the field during their youth and the bond they carried between them because of it.
They sat against the tree when they were done. Oikawa held the jar with tender thoughtfulness, as though it contained all the memories he and Iwaizumi shared between them. About a dozen fireflies danced within, creating soft flashes of warm light.
“We have to let them go,” Iwaizumi prompted. His voice was soft, as though he saw the truth of the jar as well. “They’ll die otherwise.”
“I feel like I could stare at them forever.”
“There’ll always be more fireflies. Brighter than these ones, I bet.”
Oikawa raised an eyebrow. He unscrewed the cap but kept it in place. “Brighter than these, huh? Do you promise to help me catch them?”
“Obviously.”
Oikawa took a deep breath before lifting the lid. Together they watched the fireflies flicker away, back into the secret hideaway.