Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi was stuck, perhaps perpetually, on level fifteen of Candy Crush.

Once, as a child, he’d dedicated an entire afternoon to climbing an unclimbable tree in his backyard. He’d grown quite a bit since then and a lot had changed, but the addicting taste of chasing a difficult victory bubbled in his stomach now just as it had under that tall tree so many years ago. The stakes were higher than they probably seemed from the outside; Iwaizumi’s honor waited at the finish line and his pride danced around the colorful screen, following his finger as it swiped left and right, up and down.

He’d had an audience that afternoon by the tree and he had the same one now. Oikawa leaned against Iwaizumi’s side, head resting on his shoulder. He seemed to understand how much rode on Iwaizumi’s performance; he oohed and aahed over each move, offering words of encouragement and advice which Iwaizumi would rather have done without.

Though Iwaizumi didn’t realize it in any way that he could express with words, a bubble of sorts had formed around the pair, as it often did when they were together. Passerbys skirted around it without consciously deciding to do so, as if they too understood on some unspeakable level that Oikawa and Iwaizumi, or more accurately, OikawaandIwaizumi, lived slightly apart from everyone else. Outside the borders of the bubble, the airport waiting area produced airport noises. Hidden speakers made booming announcements, feet clicked and clacked towards unknown destinations, babies voiced their dislike for the whole business of airports, and adults coughed and sniffed as they waited for time to pass and flights to arrive. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had claimed a corner of the airport waiting area, opting to relax picnic-style on the floor instead of in two of the many empty chairs nearby.

Iwaizumi made one final swipe before slumping against the wall in despair. You failed! flashed across his phone in bright colors.

“Ah well,” Oikawa sighed, giving Iwaizumi two pats on the shoulder. He slunk down too, crossing his legs and resting folded hands on his lap. “I’m pretty sure only old people are good at that game anyway.”

Iwaizumi glared. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, no. Just an observation. I can try again though if consolation is what you’re looking for.”

“Go for it.”

“Gimme a minute,” Oikawa looked up at the ceiling as though his thoughts were stuck to the plaster. “Alright. I’m pretty sure old people are terrible at Candy Crush.”

“I think you’re missing the point.”

“On the contrary, I’ve found the point. See, I’ve always suspected my Iwa-chan was secretly a grumpy old man in disguise,” he sighed dismissively, as though the thought was almost too disheartening to address. “I just wish you would have told me beforehand. Your tickets would have been so much cheaper.”

“I think sitting here has made you stupider than usual.” Iwaizumi elbowed his setter, and, ignoring Oikawa’s protests at being treated so unfairly, moved to put his phone in his pocket. He hoped the turn of his shoulder was enough to hide his blush at being called “my Iwa-chan,” or that, at the very least, Oikawa had lost at least fifty percent of his perceptive abilities after being trapped in an airport with no stimulation for so long.

Iwaizumi had always loved airports. They were big, loud, and full of hope and potential: the kind of place that, as a kid, you’d long to sprint through at full speed without consequences.

Oikawa had always hated them. Iwaizumi could see that hatred now that neither of them were distracted. It bled from the way Oikawa scanned the crowd of unfamiliar faces around them, the way his rigid shoulders and stone-statue-posture screamed I am untouchable. It was obviously convincing, as anyone searching for spaces to camp out on the floor scurried elsewhere when their eyes reached Oikawa’s proud, rigid form. The fear and hatred made Iwaizumi want to grab Oikawa’s hand, but for the moment he wasn’t sure if the untouchable part applied to best friends or not.

He checked his watch. They had an hour or so before their flight would be ready to board. Despite his aversion to the place, Oikawa had insisted on arriving unnaturally early, and Iwaizumi had complied with minimal complaint.

Oikawa mirrored Iwaizumi and glanced at his own watch. “Do you think we’ll be late?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Only if it takes us an hour to walk ten meters.”

Oikawa huffed. Iwaizumi took out his phone again.

For the next fifteen minutes, their bubble was uncharacteristically quiet. Iwaizumi resisted the urge to perform a victory dance after reaching level sixteen. An incoming text momentarily stopped him from lining up five purple gummies.

From: you know who it is

          iwa-chan~~

Iwaizumi swiped the notification away and watched with satisfaction as the five gummies disappeared. Level seventeen.

From: you know who it is

     i can see ur phone from here :3 congrats on leveling up, old man iwa-chan

Iwaizumi flipped Oikawa off without taking his eyes from his screen, missing the strained smile he received in return. There was more silence. Level eighteen, then one more. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. He reached level thirty before receiving another text.

From: you know who it is

             you know, there’s an 86% chance we’ll both die if the plane crashes

That got his attention. He turned to look at Oikawa, who sat scrolling through his phone, expression casual and bored, as though he’d run out of things to like on Instagram and was most definitely not worrying about dying in a plane crash.

Iwaizumi had prepared for this moment. Oikawa’s anxiety was a vigilant companion; it never took a day off and spent most of its time searching for something new to latch onto which it could then suck the rationality and safety out of. In the past, it had made the setter afraid of coughing fits, books with an odd number of pages, eating out in public places, opened drawers, and rooms with too many people in them. Comparatively, flying was an easy thing to demonize. To ward off any excess fear, Iwaizumi had scoured over research and data on plane safety, committing them to memory in case they were needed. He’d tried to put himself in Oikawa’s shoes, tried to image how anxiety would twist the safety of air travel into something horrible. He had imagined dramatic explosions, smoke pouring out of engines and catching flame. He had armed himself with information contradicting these imaginings, just in case Oikawa needed it. He opened his mouth to say something about how their chances of dying were one in seven million when his phone, practically forgotten in his hands, dinged again.

From: you know who it is

       maybe we should go home. lol

Iwaizumi put his phone away. He scooted away from the wall until they sat close together, knees touching. He poked the setter’s leg. “Oikawa.”

Oikawa continued staring down at his phone.

Iwaizumi sighed. “Tell me the stats for getting into your school. For getting into the volleyball program there.”

Oikawa shrugged dismissively, like someone who hates bragging but can’t tell the truth without unwittingly doing so. The movement made Iwaizumi want to headbutt him.

“Only three percent of the applicants get in, remember? Three percent.”

“I know that.”

“Then tell me, why should we go home when our chances of dying are dozens of decimal points below that percentage?”

Oikawa looked up and his eyes were wide with questions he probably didn’t want answered.

Aren’t you scared, too? Yes, Iwaizumi wanted to respond, but not of the same things you are.

What if they just send me back? What’s the point?

Iwaizumi’s own eyes were impenetrable and knowing. He stared back, hoping he managed to get his own silent message across. You are amazing. You deserve this chance. 

A few long seconds passed before Oikawa broke their staring contest, eyes jumping over stranger’s faces, presumably to see if anyone had noticed his sudden break in character. “I suppose I can endure the devastatingly long flight. Even though it will be practically unbearable sitting next to a brute like yourself.”

“Good.” Iwaizumi cleared his throat and moved back to his original spot. He looked Oikawa over, relaxing at the way his posture was no longer screaming as much as it was talking. The setter waved to a baby sitting with its mother a few feet away and earned tiny smiles from both parties in return, mother and child hopelessly charmed by his easy smile and fluid movements.

Iwaizumi was charmed, too, and had always been. He was amazed by Oikawa’s ability to quickly recover from anything, to go from scrambling to find purchase in reality to storming forward with quick, confident steps. For the second time that day Iwaizumi felt the urge to take his hand.

He stopped himself, running his hand through his hair to chase the feeling away. He’d sworn to himself, and to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, that he would not come back to Japan without confessing someway, somehow. A crowded airport didn’t seem like the proper place and right before a fifteen-hour flight didn’t seem like the right time.

He didn’t expect the feelings to be reciprocated. They’d been best friends for so long that it almost felt impossible to make the trek from platonic intimacy to the romantic kinds without falling off the edge somewhere in-between. Besides, Oikawa had received so many confessions from so many people, each much better than Iwaizumi in every respect. And he had rejected each one with a sad, polite smile and a few empathetic words of kindness. It’s the moments after that Iwaizumi feared the most, the switch from being someone Oikawa didn’t have to handle with intentional delicacy to someone on the receiving end of pity and a false smile. The gap the truth might create between them, the spacing out of OikawaandIwaizumi, made him want to run home and crawl between the sheets of his bed and never come out again. But, Iwaizumi Hajime hated cowards and liars more than most anything and he had felt like both for far too long. In a way, he imagined spilling his feelings would work like a sort of redemption. He could reclaim his dignity, live without fear, and push Oikawa Tooru away forever. He hoped to minimize the force and longevity of the last part with distance and time; perhaps, with thousands of miles between them, Iwaizumi could move on or Oikawa could learn to live and forget and things would return to normal. Maybe. Hopefully. Whatever the outcome, Iwaizumi would not let Oikawa go without telling him everything. As long as he didn’t have to sit next to his rejector for fifteen miserable hours, everything would be fine. Probably.

Minutes ticked by in comfortable silence and Iwaizumi reached level thirty-one. Oikawa stood, stretched, and announced his decision to mark the momentous occasion with a trip to the bathroom.

Iwaizumi slid a red jellybean to the right. “I’ll watch our stuff.”

“No, no,” Oikawa hummed, pulling Iwaizumi’s phone from his hands and putting it in the pocket of his jeans. “You have to come with me, Iwa-chan. It’s boring doing it alone.”

“Do you think you could sound more perverted if you tried?”

Oikawa stuck out his tongue. “So immature,” he held out a hand to pull Iwaizumi up and dragged him over to the woman with the baby. “Excuse me, do you mind watching our stuff for a moment?”

The woman assured them she could and the baby babbled pleasantly in agreement.

For reasons only his heart could explain, Iwaizumi allowed himself to be pulled across the airport into the bathroom. He only half listened to Oikawa’s chatter as they went, hearing bits and pieces about the memes Hanamaki kept sending him, and doesn’t that lady right there look ridiculous in those clown shoes? Iwaizumi focused most of his attention on the firm warmth of Oikawa’s hand in his own, the way stranger’s eyes glanced over them and flashed with assumptions Iwaizumi could only wish were true. And then, too suddenly for Iwaizumi to keep up with, Oikawa stopped moving.

Iwaizumi collided into him with a grunt. He moved to get a good look at Oikawa’s face, scold and insult primed on the tip of his tongue, just to balk at the painful grimace he found there. He followed Oikawa’s shell-shocked gaze to see Ushijima Wakatoshi standing in front of one of the urinals, doing what one does in a bathroom. His gaze was firmly settled downwards and their entranced hadn’t seemed to break his concentration. Iwaizumi blinked a few times to prove his eyes were really seeing what they said they were before turning to try to share a silent conversation with Oikawa, to ask what the hell? and set up a game plan.

Should they confront him, tease the shit out of him (no pun intended)? Should they walk out and go about their day, knowing that, at any moment, they could run into the second most repulsive person on the planet? Should they pull down his pants and leave him stranded, alone in the bright white airport bathroom? But Oikawa was staring at Ushijima and seemed too busy having a silent conversation with himself to worry about Iwaizumi.

The next few seconds moved like solidified grease making its way into the trash: very slowly, with moments of gag inducing repulsion and general disgust. Finally, Ushijima zipped up his pants. Oikawa tensed, squeezing Iwaizumi’s wrist. He was trying to communicate something, surely, but Iwaizumi wasn’t given enough time to decipher the message before Oikawa flew into action, turning around sharply. Iwaizumi stumbled over his feet, shoes squeaking as Oikawa practically pulled him out of the door. Oikawa flipped the light switch just as they hit the exit and the bathroom flooded with black.

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi hissed as the door closed behind him, leaving Ushijima trapped in the dark.

Oikawa continued to pull him forward, heading in the direction of their belongings. His voice was hoarse with nerves and conspiracy. “What the fuck, Iwa-chan?”

There had existed an unspoken truth between them that the airport represented a doorway to another universe. When they’d bought their plane tickets and printed boarding passes, they’d solidified the plan to leave their old world behind in favor of something new and unknown. When they’d stepped foot in the airport, they’d left the past waiting at the doorway. And when they finally boarded the plane, the world they’d shared together for so long would disappear like leaves scattering in the wind. Despite the existence of this truth, a piece of their past seemed to have crossed the threshold with them. And it was not a piece either of them would have chosen to pack in their carry-ons.

They arrived back at their luggage in record time. Oikawa sat up their suitcases, forming a barrier between them and the rest of the airport. He squatted behind it, only the top of his head visible as he scanned the waiting area. Iwaizumi joined him just as Ushijima walked out of the bathroom.

“He’s hideous,” Oikawa whispered. Iwaizumi nodded in agreement. They watched with horror as Ushijima made his way towards them, closer and closer to the bubble they’d created.

“Holy shit,” Oikawa wheezed. The shocking boyish-ness of the sound pulled all the dramatic tension from the air. Oikawa’s eyes shone with delight and repulsion. “Iwa-chan, oh my god. Look, look! He’s wearing crocs.”

Iwaizumi looked and saw that it was so. The shoes, bright purple, looked out of place in the stainless-steel backdrop of the airport.

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi breathed. Oikawa couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stop wheezing, and Iwaizumi felt compelled to cover the setter’s mouth with his hands as Ushijima sat in a seat only feet away from their hiding spot. Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa and Oikawa, trapped in place behind Iwaizumi’s hands, was forced to stare back.

“What do we do?” Iwaizumi whispered. Oikawa shrugged. “He’s right there.”

Oikawa made some muffled attempts at forming words behind Iwaizumi’s hand before Iwaizumi set him free. “We could go get some plastic knives from the cafeteria. There are plenty of places to hide a body in an airport. Probably.”

“You’re a really shitty guy, you know that right?,” Iwaizumi chastised, voice slipping from a whisper back to it’s normal volume. Oikawa, returning the favor from earlier, used both hands to cover Iwaizumi’s mouth with a loud shush! Iwaizumi licked them in retaliation. Oikawa screeched as he pulled his hands back to furiously wipe them on his pants.

The arrival of a third party popped the bubble. Ushijima’s form towered over them. “Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa shared a look. Yikes.

“Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa replied, voice cool and detached. Teenage, boyish, silly Oikawa had waved sayonara and disappeared in half a second, leaving confident, collected, not-a-genius Oikawa in his place. He did not dignify Ushijima’s arrival by getting up, but instead fell back on his hands and looked up, like a beachgoer relaxing in the sand and staring with distaste at the hot sky above. He waited in silence, inviting Ushijima to continue.

Ushijima looked between the pair for a moment before clearing his throat. “I would refrain from using the restroom. The lights do not work.”

“Or maybe you just really suck at going to the bathroom,” Oikawa sneered, voice laced with so much poison it almost seemed as though he was wielding a dagger instead of a flimsy, pitiful excuse of an insult.

Ushijima stared. “I don’t think that is the case.”

For another long, uncomfortable eternity, the three shared the same air in dumb silence. To Iwaizumi, it seemed like Oikawa was drawing Ushijima into a silent dueling match and was waiting for his opponent to make the next move. It also seemed like Ushijima had no clue he was a participant in any kind of match, nor that there was a need to host one in the first place. When enough time had passed for Iwaizumi’s legs to start cramping, Ushijima nodded a sudden goodbye and left.

The pair sat in stunned quiet for a moment before Iwaizumi looked Oikawa over and rolled his eyes. “Real smooth, captain.”

Oikawa sucked in a breath of fast, disapproving air. “I pity the person,” he started, standing up and offering Iwaizumi his hand. His posture screamed I am a weapon. Do not touch. “who has to sit next to that on a plane.”

Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa’s hand without question. “And you thought you had it rough sitting next to me.”

Oikawa smiled.

Chapter Text

For Oikawa, it was almost a completely terrible thing to run into Ushijima Wakatoshi in a place where Ushijima Wakatoshis should not have existed. 

In most ways, it was completely terrible. On or just outside a volleyball court, spontaneous meetings with a fierce rival could inspire and motivate, painting the interaction with a sort of ironic charm that made looking back on the moment at least somewhat bearable. In fact, Oikawa relied on these types of encounters to justify almost everything he did. After all, what is the point of staying late at the gym six nights of every week or hopping on a plane to seek training in another country without being able to look forward to the thrill of crushing some annoying talent under your heel? 

In the middle of an airport waiting area with no upcoming tournament or match in sight, an unfortunate, stomach-churning meeting was just an unfortunate, stomach-churning meeting. It did, however, make Oikawa forget about the restless fear wreaking havoc on his normally cool demeanor. Before the hapless reunion, a squall of pressurized fear and vague, animalistic alarm had settled at the top of Oikawa’s throat. It sent thunderstorms of the same make up into the back of his head and down into the center of his chest. Drizzles made their way from those points to the tips of his fingers and toes. All in all, the storm system reduced Oikawa to a bundle of aimless nerves and a defunct set of fight or flight instincts. Ironically, the shock of seeing Ushijima’s ugly mug had dispersed the worst of the downpour. This fact alone made the encounter almost completely terrible instead of absolutely horrendous. 

While Oikawa’s internal forecast had most certainly shifted course, storms and bad weather had by no means been replaced with sunny skies and gentle breezes. Though the meeting had shocked his system to its senses, it had also torn fresh scabs off of his wounded pride and damaged expectations. 

In the real word, far from Oikawa’s inner atmosphere, Iwaizumi wrestled with their backpacks, trying to make a place for them in the already overpopulated overhead compartment above their seats.  The rest of the passengers did much of the same, filling the plane with a buzz of productive noises as everyone settled in. 

“You could, you know, help me.” Iwaizumi grunted, his voice resigned in a way that suggested he expected no help but felt obliged to request it anyway. 

Oikawa looked up from his seat in time to see the ace smile triumphantly as the door closed on their things with a satisfying clunk. He pulled his knees to his chest to allow Iwaizumi to slip past and settle into his own seat. Oikawa had triple-checked their bookings to make sure he was guaranteed a place as far away from the window and the endless sky just outside of it as it got. That left Iwaizumi the middle seat and made some random sucker the jelly in a window-Seijou alumni sandwich. 

“Cool, huh?” Iwaizumi asked, nodding towards the window, eyebrows raised in a way that showed he was really asking are you okay?

“I can hardly hold in my enthusiasm,” Oikawa answered, voice dry in a way that said I am quietly seething with rage and I would rather smell Kindaichi’s dirty socks than be sitting here . He stuck his wrist in front of Iwaizumi’s nose. “Quick, Iwa-chan, check my pulse. Am I too excited?”

“How do you always manage to make everything sound disgusting?” Iwaizumi huffed, swatting Oikawa’s arm away. Iwaizumi’s words, and the way he relaxed in his seat to watch the bustling runway outside the window, acted as a bookend to the conversation. His posture continued speaking silently, saying either that sounds like a personal problem, asshole or you’ll get over it . Either way, he seemed fairly convinced that Oikawa wasn’t going to make a mad dash off the plane anytime soon. The easy, confident way in which Iwaizumi could read him excited the anger in Oikawa’s stomach, irrationally wounding his already disheveled pride even more. The sensible part of his brain likened the feeling to the image of a toddler reaching for the vanilla extract despite parental protest only to be blown away both by its heavy bitterness and the knowledge that someone who isn’t themself knows more about reality than they do. The angry part of his brain, which made up the majority, scowled at the sensible part and metaphorically threw the image in the trash. He took another side-glance at Iwaizumi and decided to translate his postures’ message into I really want to look out this window instead. 

With Iwaizumi focused on his affair with the window and no other outlet to use as a distraction, irritation turned somersaults in his mind. Why, of all people, did they have to run into the only person who could single-handedly remind Oikawa of every single one of his failures as a teammate, as a captain, as a person? The blow to his ego might not have been as harsh if he’d had some sort of impressive speech prepared or a volleyball at hand to set into Ushijima’s awful face. Instead, what had he said? Something about going to the bathroom? Stupid Ushiwaka, with his stupid face and stupid shoes and stupid bladder and stupi— the sudden dinging of Oikawa’s phone interrupted his train of thought. 

He pulled it out of his pocket and prepared to frown disapprovingly at whatever notifications he found flashing there. He smirked fondly instead. 

From Yahaba:

Could you, realistically, use dirt to wash a car? I’m trying to win an argument 

From makki <3:

 who are u arguing with 

From Yahaba:

Watari

From makki <3:

oh 

From makki <3: 

whatever watari said is the correct answer 

From watachi!!: 

>:3

From makki <3:

ew.

From makki <3: 

i take it back. yahaba’s right 

Oikawa watched the messages roll in, eyes suddenly greedy for home and all the riches contained there. They flashed all the brighter now that takeoff loomed nearer and nearer. 

He nudged Iwaizumi. “Should I tell the group chat about our little run-in with Shiratorizawa’s pride and joy?” 

“Go for it. Tell Mattsun he still owes me ten bucks since Kindaichi cried at our send off party. He can Venmo it.” 

Oikawa grinned and started typing. Some of his anger drained as he wrote, as if knowing he was still connected to his team in some way made annoyance seem less constructive than it had when he’d stewed in it alone. 

From Oikawa: 

guess who we ran into 

From makki <3: 

ur mom

From mattsun: 

Tsk tsk. Low hanging fruit, Makki

From makki <3: 

aw shit. ur right

From makki <3: 

*iwaizumi’s mom

From mattsun: 

Nice

From watachi!!: 

Nice

From kunimi:

 nice

From: makki <3:

nice 

From Oikawa: 

guess!!!! i’m running out of time

From Kyoutani:

 aren’t you supposed to be on a plane

From mattsun: 

It’s a sad day when Kyoutani remembers something about Oikawa that you forgot

From makki <3: 

i remembered 

From makki <3: 

does this mean i get to take over as head of the fanclub 

From mattsun: 

I don’t think you could handle the responsibility 

From makki <3:

:(

From Kyoutani: 

i wouldn't have remembered if it had been about him staying in japn instead of leaving 

From watachi!!: 

 Japn

From Yahaba: 

Who was it, Oikawa-san?

From Kyoutani:

 shut up 

From Oikawa: 

thank you yahaba!!!!!!!! it was ushkul;

Iwaizumi elbowed him in the side, sharp and quick, before he could finish delivering the terrible news. Oikawa’s fingers slid over the keyboard and pressed send without his permission before losing their grip on the phone entirely. It fell between their seats and stuck there. 

“Ow ,” Oikawa complained. He flashed a scowl in Iwaizumi’s direction before leaning down to retrieve the phone, hands seeking blindly between the cushions for their prize. “What was that for?” 

“Oikawa .”

“Gimme a second, geez.”

The good work the group chat had done on Oikawa’s mood all but disappeared. He paid no heed to the strained tint to Iwaizumi’s voice, making the hands that suddenly appeared on both sides of his face all the more surprising. They roughly turned his attention towards the aisle. 

Oikawa’s throat made a strangled noise, like a small animal trapped in a snare, without his brain’s permission. Ushijima Wakatoshi was making his way towards them, hideous strong arms wrapped around a hideous green duffel bag as he, presumably, searched for his hideous seat. 

Oikawa watched in dumb silence as Ushijima passed them. His breath hitched as his chest made a connection his brain wasn’t quite ready to put into words. At the sound, Iwaizumi’s hands fell back onto his lap. Oikawa turned. His eyes locked with Iwaizumi’s; the wide shock and raw pity Oikawa found there suggested that Iwaizumi had made the same connection but come to terms with it more quickly. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi is going to the same place I am. 

“Excuse me,” a hideous voice snatched the breath right out of Oikawa’s lungs. He spent half a second working to reclaim it, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He turned. “I think this is my— oh.” 

Oikawa despised that oh , a sound of flat surprise that only confirmed who the voice belonged to. It also implied that the owner of the awful noise had not worked to fabricate such a disgusting situation, meaning fate held a personal, violent grudge against Oikawa for some unknown, unwarranted reason. As the oh suggested, Ushijima stood in the aisle in front of their seats. He glanced down at his ticket as though he couldn’t believe it had led him to the right place. 

Ushijima continued. “I did not realize you would be on this flight.”

Oikawa felt his mouth fill with something poisonous and distasteful. Iwaizumi interjected with something blunt instead. “I’m here too, you know.” 

Ushijima blinked, as though Iwaizumi had just solidified into a person worth taking note of. He nodded his acknowledgment. “Iwaizumi.” 

Silence encased the three of them as Oikawa struggled with the venom that so desperately wanted to strike out at the easy target in front of it. He stumbled, not out of any moral hesitation, but because there was simply so much to be said that it seemed impossible to start. 

Ushijima broke the silence first. “Oh,” he said again. Oikawa’s jaw clenched painfully at the sound, teeth scraping against teeth like nails on a chalkboard.“Are you going to watch the acceptance ceremony in New York?”

Oikawa felt his eye twitch. “I got accepted, actually.”

“Oh,” he repeated. That little sound, so full of preconceived notions and decided opinions, set Oikawa’s heart on fire and made it hard to keep his fist where it lay, clenched against his side. Iwaizumi moved so his shoulder rested lightly against Oikawa’s, gently pressing him to the seat. The movement cleared some of the angry haze that made Oikawa feel like he was simultaneously seeing everything and nothing; he caught a spark in Ushijima’s eyes that might have meant something interesting if Oikawa had been able to conjure the empathy to dissect its meaning. “I’m glad to see you made a wise decision.”

Wise decision?  

Oikawa caught the reference to their past conversation long before it flew over his head. The fact that Ushijima was most definitely speaking sincerely only made his words pierce deeper into Oikawa’s skin. He scowled. 

“Excuse me?” a stewardess interjected. “Please take your seat, sir.” 

“My apologies,” Ushijima replied, moving closer to their seats to make more room in the tiny aisle as he placed his duffel-bag in the overhead compartment. Oikawa shrunk into Iwaizumi as Ushijima’s broad chest invaded his personal space. He shrunk even more as Ushijima slid past them to take his place by the window and did not unshrink even as Ushijima settled in his seat. 

There had been a time in Oikawa’s youth when he had been afraid of most everything. He’d shrunken a lot during that time, made himself smaller to minimize the chances of being seen or getting hurt. He shrank now, not out of fear, but out of disgust, as if Ushijima was oozing oil or tar or some other terrible, poisonous thing. Nowadays, Oikawa was not a fan of shrinking. He forced himself to lean forward, straight into the blast zone of whatever Ushijima was radiating. 

“So,” he started. Now that he’d begun speaking everything he’d ever wanted to say to Shiratorizawa’s ace fought for purchase on his tongue. His pulse surged. Iwaizumi gave his foot a kick which Oikawa swiftly returned. His voice felt unnaturally cool in his mouth compared to the heat in his chest. “You’ll be training in New York too, hm?”

“Obviously.” 

“Hm. That’s funny. Well,” he sighed. “I suppose they had to get their charity work in somewhere. For the tax deductions, you know.” 

Ushijima blinked. “No, I don’t.” 

Oikawa leaned across Iwaizumi’s lap to give Ushijima’s knee a quick, patronizing pat. There was no satisfaction to be had in the straightforward, unbothered way Ushijima followed their conversation nor in the confused, open manner with which he looked down at the spot where Oikawa had touched him. Oikawa liked his prey to understand that they were being eaten and Ushijima didn’t seem to realize that he had been caught in the first place. Nevertheless, he continued. 

“That’s alright. I’m sure they’ll find something for you to do. Water boy, maybe? Janitor? What do you think, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi studied Oikawa’s face for a moment before replying. “I think New York is short on ball boys, actually.”

Oikawa flashed his ace a bright, toothy smile. Iwaizumi frowned like he’d taken a bite out of something spoiled. “Ah, I think you’re right. You’d make a wonderful ball boy, Ushiwaka-chan.” 

Ushijima blinked twice. “I’m going to be playing volleyball.” 

“We’ll see,” Oikawa hummed. “We’ll see. Say, Ushiwaka-chan?  Please take this the wrong way, but, isn’t there some other place you would rather sit? Perhaps with someone who doesn’t know you?”

“This is my seat.”

“What an astute observation. But let’s entertain the thought,  just for a second, that you could switch seats with whoever you’re traveling with?” 

“I’m not traveling with anyone.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Nobody?” 

Ushijima turned to look at Iwaizumi, eyes full of the same genuine transparency they’d held after Oikawa had patted his knee. “My father was supposed to come with me. He had to cancel at the last minute.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Oikawa rushed his words to cut off Iwaizumi who had opened his mouth to say something. “Daddy issues are the worst .” 

Iwaizumi slammed his foot down on top of Oikawa’s hard enough that the people in the seats across the aisle looked up from their magazines. Oikawa grimaced both at the pain and at the harsh gleam in Iwaizumi’s eyes. It said that’s enough, Oikawa Tooru. They held each other’s gaze for a few long moments, each trying to win a silent argument. Oikawa looked away first, not because he’d lost, but because his throbbing foot desperately needed nursing. He slouched in his seat, angling away from his two seat partners, and pressed on the top of his sneaker to search for broken bones. 

He heard Iwaizumi cough. “It’s uh, good to see you again, Ushijima.” 

Oikawa scowled at that. 

He continued to scowl until an hour or so after take-off. The plane had quieted down, with half its occupants asleep and the others occupying themselves with books or some other silent task. Oikawa had shifted sometime during that hour so that his back was pressed against the aisle. He watched Ushijima’s sleeping face, the soft, vulnerable way the boy leaned against the wall beside him. Oikawa didn’t have the energy to find it particularly disgusting; his anger had lost almost all of its sharpness, leaving behind a dull ache and a pounding head. 

“Iwa-chan,” he whispered. 

“Hm?” Iwaizumi murmured, attention focused on the book in his hands. His anger seemed to have dissolved too, though a sliver of annoyance shone through the sound. 

“Would you accompany me to the restroom?” 

“Aren’t you a little tired of the last thing you bumped into during one of your little bathroom excursions?” 

Oikawa laughed, the sound cold and fatigued. “As if we could find anything worse than Ushijima if we tried.” 

“Hm,” Iwaizumi murmured again, unamused. He flipped through a few pages in his book before sighing and standing. “Let’s get this over with. If we run into that freaky red-headed dude in there I’m throwing you out the window.” 

The plane bathroom had not been built to house two young men. Oikawa, as the caller of the meeting, took the worst spot and settled on the edge of the toilet. Iwaizumi leaned against the sink, arms crossed. They sat in stuffy silence for a few moments. 

“I’d like to throw Ushiwaka out the window,” Oikawa mumbled finally. 

Iwaizumi sighed. “I know this is hard on you. I wouldn’t want to train with him any more than you do. But you’ve gotta quit it with all the passive-aggressive shit. You should like a villain from some crappy anime.” 

“You say that like he doesn’t deserve it.” 

“Give him a break, Oikawa. He’s going to this thing by himself. It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Oh, so you’re on his side now?”

“Don’t go picking a fight with me just because you’re butt-hurt that things aren’t going the way you planned them. You know whose side I’m on.” 

Oikawa looked away. The swirly designs in the bathroom wall seemed to frown at him. 

“Look,” Iwaizumi started. “I’m not saying you have to, like, be nice to him or anything. Just be civil. He’s gonna be your teammate, for fuck’s sake.” 

Oikawa slumped and ran a hand through his hair. “I know. God.” He looked down at his shoes, posture silently saying I thought this was my chance to start over.

Iwaizumi pulled him up and into a hug before Oikawa had time to silently say anything else. The hug said this is still your chance. You’re going to do amazing things.

Oikawa leaned into the embrace. Iwaizumi still smelled of home. He thought of everything they’d accomplished there, of the friends and teammates they were leaving behind. He shuddered. “I’ll probably have to set for him.” 

“I know,” Iwaiumi pulled back to ruffle Oikawa’s hair. “Just don’t make it easy for him, alright?” 

Oikawa smirked. “Obviously.” 

Oikawa drank in the fond look in Iwaizumi’s eyes. He felt whole again. 

“Let’s go back. I don’t want people thinking we’ve been taking simultaneous shits this whole time.” 

Oikawa left the bathroom with a much better outlook on the day than when he’d entered. Then he saw Ushijima’s outline, still visible over the seats even though he still slouched sleepily against the wall, and had to fight against a wave of nausea that churned in his stomach. He shuddered. 

I’m going to have to set for that man. I’m going to have to make him the best player he can be. 

What a terrible thought.