Work Text:
(i)
In hindsight, the first mistake Iwaizumi makes isn’t really his fault.
Money does not buy you happiness, but it can buy you shelves of Utsui Takashi’s books and plates of agedashi tofu. It is not difficult for Iwaizumi to decide that he will take whatever cent he can save, so opting for twin sharing rooms was a smart choice no matter how he saw it.
Save costs? Check.
Save resources with the sharing? Check.
Save time by splitting the chores? Check.
This is a game where he has strategised and scrutinised every aspect with care and detail with no help whatsoever from one useless Oikawa Tooru, a game where he sets out to win.
So he strides into the shared room with cheaper rent and saved costs that fit his skinny wallet like a glove, and he says hello for the first time to his new roommate.
Now, Iwaizumi Hajime is not a stranger to beauty, after all, he managed to grow up with Oikawa Tooru and come out unscathed. Yet, his brain still short circuits, then sets itself on fire as he stares into the sea green eyes of this stranger that stands in the hallway. There was no way anyone could have prepared him for this, he realises.
There is a * thud * and Iwaizumi winces, noting how he’d just dropped his duffel bag on the floor. Terrific first impression , he grits his teeth.
“Are you okay?” the stranger’s brows furrow. “Do you need help with those bags?”
Ah, so now he not only thinks I’m clumsy, but also very weak, he thinks. This is absolutely fine.
This is not fine.
“I’m Iwaizumi,” he grabs the bag that dropped in one hand, then stretches out the other. “Iwaizumi Hajime. Nice to meet you.”
“Akaashi Keiji,” comes the reply and oh, what a nice name that is- stop, stop . Akaashi gives Iwaizumi’s hand a firm shake and warmth surges over him.
“Can I help you?” he offers once more, and Iwaizumi feels his knees give way.
The thing with pretty faces is, when they coexist with a personality like Oikawa Tooru’s, it is easy to forget the weight it carries. In other words, with a face like Akaashi Keiji’s and sincerity that brims in his every word, Iwaizumi could feel a smile that came out of nowhere tugging at his lips, then fear.
“No need, but thanks for offering. I’ll be alright,” Iwaizumi flashes what he hopes is a nonchalant, dazzling smile, but internally, his thoughts begin to riot.
This is a mistake, fuck. There are going to be costs and resources and time saved, for sure, but I can already see what he’s going to do to me. Someone as pretty as this must have half the block swooning over him, I came to study, not to fall in love and get my heart broken. I need to stay away-
It is on Iwaizumi’s fifth trip of lugging everything in does he realizes he is in fact not alright, but he vaguely recalls reassuring himself that there is a high chance of getting help from a roommate if it gets too bad, right? Hah.
Everything about his roommate screams danger to Iwaizumi. The unpacked boxes are stacked neatly atop each other, evidently carefully placed in a way that will not hinder or cause trouble Iwaizumi. There are books among the pile, Iwaizumi sees, and all of them happen to be books he had read and loved. And most terrifyingly, placed atop of Akaashi’s belongings, was a volleyball, the words “MIKASA” shining at him in all of its black print glory.
Iwaizumi slumps to the floor, staring into the vacant space that is now the place he will call home for many semesters to come. He groans, the realisation of the situation he was in finally sinking in. If he’s not careful, he’s going to succumb to the pair of sea green eyes very soon, along with the stacks of literary works and that one Mikasa volleyball now two meters away from him, behind a concrete wall and the barriers Iwaizumi put up in his heart.
(ii)
Does Iwaizumi try his best to keep his head sane and logical, and devote himself to a university life of academic study and sport clubs and friendship and everything that did not involve falling head over heels with Akaashi Keiji? Yes.
Did he fail epicly? Also yes.
He is here now, sprawled on his bed with a textbook before him. Absentmindedly, he fidgets with the highlighter. Accompanying this scene, is an audible string of mutters that had little to no correlation to whatever was written on the textbook.
I do not care where he went today, I do not care who he saw today, I do not care if he comes back, I do not care about where he goes if he doesn’t, I do not care-
He hears the door creak open and before he knows it, he’s out of his bed and hurling himself into the hallway.
“Where have you-” he starts, but his brain lags for a solid 10 seconds the moment he sees someone’s arm draped over Akaashi’s shoulders. “-been,” he finishes lamely, before continuing to stare.
“I was watching a movie with Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says in his usual calm manner. Yet, Iwaizumi finds his eyes gleaming a shade brighter. “We got lunch for all three of us,” Akaashi hands a plastic bag to Iwaizumi. “Here.”
“Thanks,” he manages to choke out, throat dry. “I’ll uh,” he gestures to his room, “Go study, catch you later.”
“Sure thing,” Akaashi chirps, and Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow. Akaashi is never this lighthearted around him. The feeling of losing a battle he didn’t even know he was in douses the rest of his will to hang around the general vicinity of these two people. He exits the room, once again finding himself staring at the books and papers scattered around the room.
The bento in his hands is still warm, but the laughter outside his room shoves the last of his appetite into oblivion. Iwaizumi scowls, then dials a number he has memorised over the years.
"Gym court, 2pm."
"Sheesh Iwa-chan," comes the reply, and it's not hard to tell the owner of the voice is smirking. "Give a man an early notice, will ya?"
"Are you coming or not because if you aren't-"
"See ya, Iwa-chan~" The line goes dead.
*
The ball goes into the air, Iwaizumi spikes it in one clean movement. He can see the figurative question marks that dance around his friend’s head, but when Iwaizumi doesn’t answer his questions for the fifth time in 47 minutes, even Oikawa Tooru knows to give up prying an answer out of him.
They hit the two hour mark, and Oikawa breaks. “That’s it,” he declares, pointing a finger at Iwaizumi. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Shittykawa, toss,” Iwaizumi scowls.
“I’ve been doing that for hours? Do you have some kind of emergency match at university or is this a stress response to things you don’t want to deal with?” Oikawa does not back down.
“Send me a toss, damn it, since when are you so interested in my personal life anyway?”
“Ohohoho?” Oikawa pounces on his words, “Is this something you wanna talk about? Are you facing a-” he gives Iwaizumi a dramatic gasp, “-love problem?”
Iwaizumi hates him. He shoots him a dirty look, then takes the ball from Oikawa and settles for serves instead. They fly over the net one by one. Oikawa does not look impressed by this display of action, but he defeatedly trudges to the other side of the net, sending his balls back.
When they hit the three hour mark, Iwaizumi announces, “Alright, thanks. I’ve thought this through.”
“Thought what through?” Oikawa looks bewildered.
“Goodbye,” Iwaizumi singsongs, evidently in a much better mood. “Thanks for coming.”
“What? No no no no, don’t think I’m letting you off the hook,” he stretches his arms out, blocking the rest of Iwaizumi’s path.
Iwaizumi did not come here to bombard Oikawa with his relationship problems. He came here to hit balls before his irrational feelings for his roommate roamed wild. But all it took was one look at the murder intent in Oikawa’s eyes, and he knew he wasn’t leaving until he spilled every drop of the tea.
“I think I fell for my roommate. Hard.”
“You WHAT?”
They hit the four hour mark in the gym when Iwaizumi wants to throttle Oikawa for his continuous laughter at his very tragic story, and when Oikawa decides that he has harassed Iwaizumi with enough questions and mockery for one day.
“Oh Iwa-chan, why don’t you just confess?”
“Because I-”
“Please don’t say you’re here at university to path your way to a good life and don’t want to get distracted by some pretty boy,” Oikawa chortles.
“Shittykawa. I am going to strangle you.”
“I think he likes you, though.”
“What the fuck were you even listening to a word I sa-”
“He makes you extra lunch and dinner.”
“We’re roommates?”
“He remembers specific things about you like how you hate the rain and you think olive green is the worst colour in the world to ever exist.”
“We’re roommates? It comes up in conversation?” Iwaizumi does not understand what his friend is trying to get at.
Oikawa looks like he wants to laugh and cry at the same time as he continues, “He buys you flowers? You say he’s a serious person but you say he laughs a lot around you? He lets you pick the movies every time and you guys practically cuddle on the couch?”
“Isn’t that what every normal nice person would do? We live in the same house? Also, our couch is tiny? Feet touch is not fucking cuddling?” Iwaizumi bristles. “He brought Bokuto Koutarou over today, Fukurodani Ace Bokuto, MSBY Black Jackals starter Bokuto. You should have seen how he looks at him. I’m not setting myself up for heartbreak.”
And indeed, that was all this was. Iwaizumi has a traveller’s map. He knows where the destination is, he knows how to get there, he knows what will help him get there smoothly, swiftly. He does the complete opposite. Here it is a trap he had set up for himself to trip in.
Oikawa’s eyes narrow. “Fine,” he says, but Iwaizumi knows he didn’t believe a word he had said. “Stay away from the guy if you’re so insistent,” he scoffs.
Iwaizumi gets up. “I’m trying, if you couldn’t tell.”
“Don’t think too much about it though, or it may hurt your caveman brain-”
Iwaizumi sends a ball straight to Oikawa’s head.
*
When he does return, there is no sign Bokuto was ever here, only the faint aroma of curry.
“I'm home,” he announces.
“Oh good,” comes the reply from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Iwaizumi sets his things down and swings into the kitchen. It’s not wrong to take a good look before I let go , he tells himself, for real-
“Iwaizumi-san?” Akaashi says, looking so perfect and beautiful that it conveniently tosses all of Iwaizumi’s self control and vows out the window.
“Yes?”
“Do you wanna watch a movie later? You can pick.”
No I have to study, no I’m tired from volleyball practice, no I still have ongoing projects to work on , there are so many excuses that he could throw out at will, but this is what he says instead, beaming at Akaashi.
“Hell yeah.”
(iii)
Iwaizumi prides himself in being a big strong man, who is not easily pulled down by little obstacles, but he coughs and wheezes like his lungs are going to collapse on itself, he thinks the gods must be looking down from the heavens and laughing at his hubris. Do gods laugh? He does not know, but he knows for sure he will not be laughing any time soon.
Akaashi texts him, because he refuses to let anyone in or out of the room.
Akaashi:
Are you okay?
Me:
no. pls go away.
Akaashi:
Do you need to see a doctor? Some medicine?
Me:
I am not sick, what gives u that notion
Akaashi:
Iwaizumi-san, I’m sure everyone in this four storey building can hear you coughing.
Iwaizumi wants to find a hole and crawl inside, but given the circumstance he is in right now, he fears leaving the bed will drain the rest of his life force.
Akaashi: Iwaizumi-san, we have duplicates of all keys, locking the door is useless. I have a bowl of porridge, can I come in?
There is no way to run, so Iwaizumi texts a feeble ‘yes’ back and continues to feel very sorry for himself.
Akaashi emerges a mere seconds after Iwaizumi’s message, bowl in hand. Setting the bowl on Iwaizumi’s nightstand, he asks, “Do you have a fever?”
“No,” Iwaizumi wheezes, but he shuts up when Akaashi presses a hand to his forehead.
“Liar,” Akaashi murmured.
He grumbles. “I’m gonna eat porridge and sleep, I’ll be fine. Don’t you have anything better to do than sit here and watch a sick twenty year old sleep away?”
“What if you need something?”
“I’ll get it myself.”
Akaashi stares at him. “No, I don’t think you can.”
He’s right. Iwaizumi hates it. He hates him.
“I can.”
“What if you pass out and no one discovers you until three days later?”
“You won’t let that happen, you’re too annoying.”
“I can read a book or something by the window, I’m not going to catch whatever disease you have from you.” Akaashi waits for a reply, but he doesn’t get one. Hesitantly, he asks, “Do you really want me to leave that badly?”
Iwaizumi is not a good liar. He is, however, excellent in making poor life choices. Being delirious from the combined effects of a fever and other equally nasty things his body was feeling at the moment contributed to that.
“No,” he says, barely a whisper. He’s not sure it’s even audible until he sees the smile that tugs at Akaashi’s lips and the glint in his beautiful, beautiful eyes.
“I figured as much.” He holds the bowl out. “Eat up, your immune system needs it.”
Iwaizumi obeys, then falls into a dreamless sleep, the kind of slumber you fall into in the presence of someone you feel safe enough around.
(I)
People make mistakes, everyone does. What matters most is not the impact of the mistake and whether your future now looks incredibly gloomy and hopeless, but what you do from that point onwards, and how you continue to grow after. It’s about moving on.
Today, Iwaizumi decides it’s time to move on.
He’s come this far, he’s been a cheapskate and settled for this very fine apartment with a even finer roommate, he’s fallen for someone way too far out of his league, then watched too many movies with him, eat countless meal with him, laughed at too many of his terrible joke attempts, let their shoulders brush too many times, spent too much time committing the exact shade of his eyes and his every little quirk into memory.
Today is the day Iwaizumi confesses, get rejected, move out, move on. Simple. He’s lived life without him, he can learn to live without. He has learned his habits over the seasons, he can unlearn them.
It’s a last mistake to end all the mistakes, how very fitting.
There is a lot of pining and agonising of how to phrase this, how to put Iwaizumi’s ocean of feelings into simple words that he can make sure is understood by Akaashi, but the poetry that comes easy to him in the nights where he stays awake thinking of Akaashi Keiji vanishes at the mere sight of the subject himself, in all his glory.
“Dinner, Iwaizumi-san?”
There is no grandiose gesture, there is simply eating dinner at the table as they have always done, reaching for the last piece of tofu, and both shying away at the same time, and feelings that finally snap, dams that crack open under pressure.
“I like you. Very much.” Iwaizumi says, resting his chopsticks on the holder. “I don’t want you to feel pressured about any of this. I’m going to move out, so nothing will change, nothing has to, so please, hear me out just for this once.”
Akaashi also sets his chopsticks down, but he stays silent, just as Iwaizumi requests. Iwaizumi takes this as encouragement to go on.
“I’ve always had a thing for you for so long but it always felt like you were this-” he gestures vaguely into space, “-untouchable thing, too good, too bright, too beautiful, too perfect. It felt like I was trying to run, but you were this ocean that swept me in further with every tide. Then time passed, and there were so many other quirks I see of you, like how you fiddle with your fingers when you’re scared, how you conduct the melody if we put anything by Tchaikovsky on. Then I just fell more and more hopelessly for you, because fuck,” he drags the heels of his palm over his face, “What else am I supposed to do with you?”
“Are you done?” Akaashi asks after the long silence that ensues.
“Yes.” A dejected reply.
“I like you too, Iwaizumi-san. Very much.”
Iwaizumi’s neck snaps up from his previously hunched over position. “What?” He stares at Akaashi in disbelief.
Akaashi chuckles. “Please don’t move out, I think it’d be pretty embarrassing for me if you just upped and left after I told you I liked you back.”
“B-but, why?”
“I didn’t know people asked why when they are told their feelings are returned.” He’s still smiling, all angelic and too wonderful to be real. None of this feels real.
“Shut up, just answer me,” Iwaizumi’s jaw is wide open.
“Which one is it?”
“Akaashi.”
“I’m honoured you feel this way about me? All the pretty and things-” At this, there is a faint blush on his neck. Ah , Iwaizumi thinks, all the teasing had almost made me give up hope of ever flustering this guy . “-but I feel the same about you too, Hajime.”
HajimeHajimehajimehajimehecalledmehajime-
“I think you’re very incredible too, the way you can laugh off anything people throw at you, the way you’re just so strong and confident about yourself all the time. I think you’re very good looking too, but I feel like if I told you that every time I thought of it then you’d pretty tire of hearing it soon.”
Iwaizumi is going to cry, but it feels like the furthest thing away from appropriate at this moment. Things are fine. He doesn’t have to move out. The person he likes very much also happens to like him back very much. There is only one last question to ask, one last mistake to make, one that will make all of his recurring mistakes that led up to this point here no longer mistakes, but a process.
Maybe it can wait. There are more pressing matters at hand.
A table with unfinished dinner separates the two of them, but Iwaizumi leans over anyway, though he doesn’t have far to go when a pair of lips meet his halfway.
Perhaps life is a series of mistakes, and we are simply the unfortunate ones who are caught up in them, but perhaps, if you shed a new light on such events, maybe you’ll find them to be anything but.