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Lethargy has been dragging at his limbs all morning but Oikawa had written it off as an aftereffect of overworking himself as usual. Then a spot of colour shades over one side of his vision while he is in the middle of class, effectively halving his field of vision. Oikawa realises with rising panic that something is wrong. He ducks low in his seat and squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to contain the low throb that had started insidiously behind his left eye. The ambient noise in the room has started to fade in and out of his hearing and Oikawa tries to anchor himself on the teacher’s voice as she explains… something.
He comes to when the end of class bell shrills. There is momentary disorientation before the sound in the room comes back to him and he registers his classmates start packing up to leave. The metallic shriek of the chairs dragging across the floor scrape directly into his head and Oikawa grits his teeth to quell the nausea that rises in him. A pained whimper escapes and he presses the heel of his hand to his head in an attempt to alleviate the pressure.
“Oi Shittykawa, what are you still staring at your book for? Come on, we have to get to practice.” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts through his fuzzy thoughts. It is laced with impatience and Oikawa knows that if he does not respond as usual soon his best friend is going to know that something is wrong.
“Oh is Iwa-chan waiting for me?” He chirps, hopping to his feet with a teasing grin on his face even though that makes everything in the room go wavy. The slight throbbing behind his left eye flares with a vengeance. His fists clench to ground himself and Oikawa misses how Iwaizumi pauses at the door to give him a strange look.
“Are you okay? You look kind of…” Iwaizumi trails off, wriggling his hand at him in a not right sign. Oikawa barely catches the gesture his hand makes at the edges of his narrowed vision.
“Handsome as usual? Princely as usual?” Oikawa teases as he walks over carefully, turning his head more than usual to see so that he does not bump into the tables around him. Winding his arms around his best friend’s neck, he flops across his back and rests his weight heavily on Iwaizumi. He closes his eyes briefly, chasing the relief as the pressure in his head eases up a little when he shuts the light out even just for a bit.
“Aghh you are heavy! Get off you fat lump!” Iwaizumi protests even as he steps forward, dragging Oikawa along a little.
“Noooo,” Oikawa whines, tightening his arms even further. “Carry me Iwa-chan!”
He can hear his remaining classmates laughing at their antics but he ignores them, swallowing hard when the stuffy, queasy feeling rises in him again.
Iwaizumi has started speaking again, nudging him in the stomach with a pointy elbow, “oi, are you sure-”
Oikawa stands properly, swallows again and says, “I just remembered that I need to meet Sensei for something! Go ahead Iwa-chan, I’ll see you at practice!” He does not wait for Iwaizumi’s response before turning away towards the nearest toilet, hoping that his friend would not follow him.
One foot in front of the other, just walk straight, don’t stumble. The world seems to have narrowed to just the corridor in front of him and that path towards where he needs to get to. Oikawa feels cold sweat breaking out across his forehead and he hastens his pace, trying his best to walk in a straight line. Someone walks into him (or did he stumble into someone? ) and he mumbles a “sorry” before soldiering on. He barely makes it into a cubicle and drops to his knees immediately to retch into the toilet, expelling all of his breakfast and gastric acid. The resultant smell makes him gag a little and he retches again, this time unproductively.
Oikawa whines miserably after, drooping to rest his head on his arm on the toilet seat. The dimness of the toilet and being able to rest his head helps somewhat even though he knows that the toilet is gross and he feels gross.
He has never had a migraine before and he briefly wonders if he’ll start having such attacks throughout his life like his mother. The thought is snuffed out almost immediately by the incessant pressure in his head before he can worry about it. A bzzt coming from his pants jolts him out of his daze and he fishes his phone out clumsily, flinching at the harsh light of the screen before squinting to see a message from Iwaizumi.
Whr r u
16:23
U better not be flirting again
16:25
Right. Practice. He wants to go home, lie down and die somewhere. But Iwaizumi will know that something is wrong if he skips practice, and come to motherhen him again. Ordinarily, Oikawa would relish the opportunity to get fussed over by his best friend. He loves Iwaizumi’s brand of aggressive affection, loves how Iwa-chan spoils him even when he suspects Oikawa to be milking it. And that’s the problem there isn’t it? He loves it too much.
Ever since the Revelation--Oikawa figures he should capitalise the event, lend it some significance considering how anticlimactic it all was. The realisation that he’s in love with his best friend had snuck up on him as he was watching Iwaizumi frown down at the twin popsicle he had just broken apart like they had betrayed him. And they had, in a way: one was significantly bigger than the other. Iwaizumi wordlessly stuck the smaller one in his mouth before offering Oikawa the larger one. The action was insignificant--everyone knows that he spoils Oikawa, despite his complaints about how spoiled Oikawa is--and normally, Oikawa himself would have taken it for granted. That day though, all Oikawa could think of was how utterly fond of the boy beside him he was. Then, the Revelation, a quiet rearrangement of the world around him.
Oh.
There were no fireworks, no flowers in the background or sparkles. The world had not stopped. They were still two boys sitting on a bench outside an ice cream parlour in their school uniform. To Oikawa, things were just not the same anymore, he was not quite the same anymore.
So ever since the Revelation, everything had felt awkward around Iwaizumi. There’s nothing quite like realising just how tactile he is with Iwaizumi in the face of his enlightenment. Things that used to be second nature started to make him feel self conscious. He started to be aware of how much he is leaning into Iwaizumi’s space; started to question whether coiling his arm around Iwaizumi’s is seen as too intimate. He is even noticing how wide and bright his smiles are around him. It’s a wonder Iwa-chan doesn’t already know.
It’s a wonder the whole world doesn’t already know, with how his feelings seem to leak out of every pore. He might as well walk around with a sign at this rate.
Oikawa often debates if he should just tell Iwaizumi. He’s never really kept anything from him before but what if-
What if?
Oikawa resents that. He’s never second guessed himself around Iwaizumi before. Iwa-chan is his rock, his pillar, the one constant. He’s not supposed to make him unsure.
So maybe he puts some distance in between them while he attempts to sort things out within himself. Or tried to - it is torturous trying to keep enough distance so that Iwaizumi doesn’t catch on to his feelings and still act normally enough that Iwaizumi doesn’t suspect that something is up.
Oikawa has little hope for keeping his charade up in the face of Iwaizumi’s concern when he finds out that Oikawa’s ill, not when he’s currently feeling as pathetic as a damp sock forgotten in an old boot. He has always craved the other’s presence when he is feeling particularly vulnerable, and Oikawa can’t trust himself not to spill his feelings everywhere. He is not ready for Iwaizumi to know. He hasn’t properly digested his feelings. He hasn’t even had the time to overthink yet!
His phone buzzes again, a notification sliding into place on the home screen with the message ‘U ok? ’ Oikawa heaves himself to his feet and walks himself to the sinks to rinse out his mouth. He feels slightly better after throwing his guts up and his vision has cleared a little. He just needs to get through practice, then he can get home and die. It’s just some pain, he’s fine, he’ll be fine. He can handle practice.
Probably.
***
He absolutely cannot handle practice.
The fluorescent lights of the gym are too bright. His brain feels like it’s being squeezed through his eyeballs and he still can’t see properly.
He had slotted himself right into receiving practice with a group that had an odd man out, avoiding Iwaizumi’s eyes even though he can feel his eyes needling into his back.
Oikawa regrets not going home when he could have. The impossibility of what he has to get through dawns on him as he positions himself in front of Yahaba in preparation for the drill. Yahaba eyes him oddly, “Oikawa-san, are-”
“Yahaba-chan, come on, let’s start! Coach will get angry with me!” Oikawa interrupts, making an exaggeratedly scared face towards where he thinks Coach is. He tries to sound upbeat even though the thudding in his head makes every thought feel like he is summoning them through molasses. Yahaba narrows his eyes at him but shrugs, serving the ball.
The ball zips a little too fast for his dulled senses towards his left side and Oikawa digs blindly at where he thinks the ball should land. He is rewarded with a satisfying thump of the ball on his arms for a return. A sharp spike of pain behind his eyes quickly punishes him for his reckless movement and he falters, barely making it in time for Yahaba’s return.
Oikawa pushes the pain aside, readying himself for the next rally. Don’t pass out, it’s just pain. You are used to pain, come on. He steels himself for the next wave of pain.
“Trashykawa! Did you forget to warm up?” Iwaizumi demands from where he is doing his own drill nearby. Both Yahaba and Oikawa freeze, Yahaba palming the ball to halt the drill. Oikawa tries to protest, his thoughts coming slow, but before he can formulate a snarky reply, Iwaizumi growls out, “Go warm up before you injure yourself again, and go get the spare training bibs from the store room while you are there, Matsukawa forgot them.”
“I did not! They are-”
“Go, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi commands, speaking over Matsukawa, who breaks off in surprise. He is surprised again when Oikawa acquiesces without further protest.
Oikawa totters into the storeroom, the blessed darkness giving his head some much needed respite. He spies the track and field team’s high jump mattress next to the volleyball team’s storage space and is immediately drawn to it. It is calling to him, entreating him to lie down, rest his head and stop the drilling in his skull, if just for a while. A few seconds can’t hurt. Besides, they will expect him to take some time finding the bibs right? Maybe he can say that they fell behind the shelf or something. Yeah, he will just lie down for a few seconds…
His legs give out the moment he climbs on the dusty mattress.
***
Something’s up , Iwaizumi frowns, watching Oikawa who had just entered the gym. Oikawa had been acting weird even when Iwaizumi went to get him after class, and he had been later to practice than he had ever been. He spots Oikawa’s barely hidden flinch as he steps in, the agonised squint of his eyes. He is walking slower than usual, his steps seemingly cautious even as he flashes an apologetic smile at their coach and calls an excuse.
Iwaizumi tracks Oikawa’s progress across the gym to Yahaba. Is he swaying?
“Iwaizumi, hey Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa clicks his fingers in front of his face before tracing Iwaizumi’s gaze across the gym to Oikawa. “What did Oikawa do now?”
“He… He didn’t. Something’s wrong with him.” Iwaizumi mutters distractedly. Across the gym, Oikawa digs at Yahaba’s serve belatedly and then shuffles on the spot like he is trying to regain his footing on slippery ground.
“He’s just a little slow?” Matsukawa questions.
Iwaizumi shakes his head, eyes still fixed on his best friend. “Ah, heck I can’t watch this anymore.”
Matsukawa raises a thick eyebrow at his outburst and Iwaizumi worries at the bleary way Oikawa’s gaze wavers before it fixes on Yahaba. He scrambles for an excuse to get Oikawa to stop , or sit down or whatever and remembers the dark and cool storeroom they had all napped in at some point.
“Trashykawa! Did you forget to warm up?”
***
“That’s not like Oikawa.” Matsukawa’s words drop like little pebbles onto the weight of Iwaizumi’s worry when Oikawa heads towards the storeroom without protest. He strides towards the storeroom after Oikawa, barely registering Matsukawa’s hurried explanation to their coach before he follows.
Iwaizumi bursts into the storeroom and spots Oikawa curled up tightly on the thick high jump mattress, one arm covering his face.
“Shit.” He huffs and hurries over, hands hovering over his friend’s form. Matsukawa reaches out to nudge Oikawa’s shoulder, then starts shaking gently when Oikawa doesn’t react.
“Oikawa?” Matsukawa calls and shakes Oikawa a little harder, finally eliciting a strangled cry of pain. Matsukawa’s hand flies off his shoulder like he’s been burnt.
Oikawa’s eyes open to little slits before squinching shut again. He balls up even tighter, pressing a hand hard to his face. He doesn’t seem to register their presence.
“Oi,” Iwaizumi says, then lowers his voice to a whisper when Oikawa winces. “Oikawa, are you alright?”
“H-hurts,” Oikawa groans, his breath stutters on a pained inhale and Iwaizumi's heart clenches at the sight.
“I- okay. Okay.” Iwaizumi turns to Matsukawa, “let Coach know that I’m bringing Oikawa home. And can you grab our things?”
“Alright.” Matsukawa nods and jogs out of the storeroom.
“Is it a migraine?” Iwaizumi asks in a low voice. Oikawa whines in answer and reaches out blindly. Iwaizumi catches his hand in his own, letting Oikawa squeeze it hard.
“Alright, we’ll get you home soon okay?”
***
Iwaizumi sighs once he’s deposited Oikawa into bed and drawn all the curtains to shut out as much light as possible. Oikawa had whimpered when they left the storeroom, a thin, reedy exhalation of pain in protest of the lights in the gym that Iwaizumi heard only because Oikawa was on his back. He then needed to be sick and Iwaizumi ended up dashing madly towards the toilets before Oikawa threw up on him.
He’s curled into bed now, with his arms held tightly against his head like they are his last bastion of defense. Helplessness besieges Iwaizumi and he leaves the room to call Oikawa’s mother. He knows that she gets migraines. He needs to find out if there’s anything he can do.
Ten minutes later, he is entering the room with medication and a glass of water. Oikawa had rolled over to face away from the window with the duvet pulled over his head. Iwaizumi sits gingerly on the bed and peels the duvet down, “come on, I called your mum, she said that she will come home soon, but I should give you pain meds.”
There is no response from the other boy. Over the course of their journey home, Oikawa had progressively become nonverbal and settled for laying with his head on Iwaizumi’s lap in the back seat of the taxi, a hand held to his face as he tried to ride out the onslaught of pain. Iwaizumi had alternated between worrying and egging the taxi on faster in his mind.
“Just try? They should help.” Iwaizumi coaxes, he figures that Oikawa probably doubts that they would stay down due to the nausea. A disgruntled pout twists Oikawa’s face in response and Iwaizumi suppresses a chuckle, he cannot kick someone when they were that down. He maneuvers Oikawa slowly so that he can sit up, then offers him the pills and water.
“Now try to sleep.”
Oikawa sighs as he is maneuvered back into position. He turns slightly towards Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi understands, rubbing a hand comfortingly along his shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He soothes. Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa is more clingy when he is feeling bad and latches onto any source of comfort (read: Iwaizumi) when he can. He doesn’t mind, anything that he can do to make Oikawa feel better is worth it in his books.
Stretching to grab his phone from the bedside table, Iwaizumi shifts to sit against the headboard, settling himself in for the long haul. Oikawa shuffles back until his back is a line of heat against Iwaizumi’s leg. Iwaizumi reaches out to card his hand through brown locks, smiling slightly when Oikawa leans into his hand a little. He has always loved people playing with his hair.
Iwaizumi sits and watches Oikawa for a while. An ache tugs at his sternum as he watches his best friend relax and then tense periodically as the pain in his head assaults him. He continues patting Oikawa, combing his floppy hair out of his eyes. He wishes he can do more to help.
***
“I think...the meds are working.” Oikawa mumbles at length. The skull splitting pressure in his head has reduced to a dull throbbing and he slowly relaxes. His jaw is sore and he feels the strain in his muscles from him holding himself so rigidly. He doesn’t even know how much time has passed amidst his desperate pleas of please let it stop but Iwaizumi is still there, staunch against his back.
“Good.” Iwaizumi hums softly. He makes no move to leave.
Oikawa turns over laboriously and catches the hand Iwaizumi has in his hair. He threads their fingers together before leaning forward to press his forehead to the back of Iwaizumi’s hand, sighing at the coolness of it. He feels protected somehow, less cracked open, as if just the presence of the boy he loves is enough to shore up the walls keeping the despair and frustration at bay.
Exhaustion edges in in place of the pain and Oikawa wants to sink into the reprieve it offers but--
“Thanks for staying Iwa-chan-”
“What are you talking about. Of course I will.”
--he needs Iwa-chan to know--
“-I love you.”
Sick Oikawa has the inhibitions and sense of timing of a five year old it seems. He feels Iwaizumi’s fingers tighten around his own but he doesn’t care for Iwaizumi’s response. It is pertinent that Iwaizumi knows, is all. Oikawa can’t remember why he did not say it earlier but he honestly can’t care less now.
He succumbs to the pull of blessed sleep and Iwaizumi’s hoarse whisper of “I know. You idiot, I already knew”, goes unheard.
***
Oikawa wakes to a quiet house. He cracks his eyes open cautiously, blinking in wonder when the meagre light in his room doesn’t spike any pain in his head. In fact, most of the pain is gone and he only feels a bone deep exhaustion, like he’s just gone five sets against Shiratorizawa and lost narrowly again.
Dimly, he remembers the pain coming back a while after he had passed out the first time, ousting him mercilessly from sleep. There was an attempt at soothing him: “you are okay, you’ll get through this”, but his head is filled with a weight that keeps expanding and expanding and he can’t bring himself to believe the voice. He recalls the nausea and throwing up again, and then his mother is there with more pills and an ice pack. He must have passed out after.
He vaguely wonders what time it is before he is dragged back into sleep again.
***
When Oikawa wakes up a second time, it is to the sound of his front door opening and foot steps clomping up the stairs towards his room before his door swings open slowly. Iwaizumi peeks in tentatively and Oikawa huffs a greeting.
“Iwa-chan.”
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Better, I think.” Oikawa says and then realises that the pain is gone completely. He is still tired, and now that he thinks about it, ravenous. “Hungry.”
Iwaizumi grins, “I brought food, I’ll go heat it up, come down when you are ready.” With that he leaves, clattering down the stairs boisterously and Oikawa thinks fondly of when they were younger and his dad would complain about them sounding like a herd of elephants destroying his stairs when they ran down in their haste to get out and play volleyball.
Silly Iwa-chan, behaving like a kid despite being such an old man.
Affection wells up warm in his chest before the memory of his confession smacks him like a cold, dead fish in the face. The room flashes out cold and Oikawa raises his hands to his face again, this time to hide it in embarrassment and horror.
He doesn’t even know how Iwaizumi reacted. Did he even hear it?
Oikawa drags himself out of bed and into the shower where he rewards himself for surviving his harrowing experience with a long, hot shower and fresh clothes. His mind is working a mile a minute, oscillating between bringing the topic up and not. Maybe Iwaizumi didn’t even hear him, maybe he wrote it off as the muttering of a delirious man. But what if he heard? Oikawa figured that he can, perhaps, say it again. After all, he’s already said it once right? It can’t be that difficult.
He leaves his hair damp and unstyled--it’s only Iwa-chan after all, he’s seen him in sloppier states--and makes his way resolutely towards the kitchen. The resolution lasts until he sees the food arrayed on the table and his stomach growls with want. Oikawa grabs a pair of chopsticks and slides into his seat opposite Iwaizumi, says a quick ‘itadakimasu’ and digs in unceremoniously.
They eat in silence for a while, occasionally tussling for the same piece of meat with their chopsticks, before Iwaizumi says apropos of nothing, “you’ve been out for more than 24 hours.”
“Aww did Iwa-chan miss me?” Oikawa replies around a mouthful of rice, the banter coming to him effortlessly even as a part of him reacts in visceral horror at how long he spent in that nightmarish state.
“Yes.” Iwaizumi stops eating and looks right at Oikawa. “I did.”
Oikawa stops too, feeling the tension between them rise. He tries to follow Iwaizumi’s statement with a tease but finds himself lost for words. A curl of anxiety starts winding around his heart, his lungs, and he is suddenly very aware of how disheveled he looks; his hair is flopped messily across his forehead and he only has his threadbare T-shirt and old volleyball shorts on. In contrast, Iwaizumi looks very put together.
And very much like he’s getting ready for an important match. His face is set in determination, green eyes boring into Oikawa’s own.
No, no, no. He’s not ready!
“Do you remember what you said?” Iwaizumi must’ve picked up on Oikawa’s anxiety because he breaks off eye contact and sits back in his chair before looking at Oikawa again in a wordless prompt.
Oikawa fumbles for the resolution he built up in the bathroom, finds it lacking, and manages a weak, “what? I can’t-can’t remember.” He tries to pick up a chunk of rice, squeezes it too hard with his chopsticks and watches with mounting hysteria when it crumbles like his aforementioned resolution.
But Iwaizumi, brave, take-the-bull-by-the-horns Iwa-chan, is dauntless and only huffs in that way he does when he’s done with Oikawa’s shit but is ready to give in anyway, “You said-”
Oikawa suddenly realises that Iwaizumi is nervous too, his ears are tinted pink.
“-you said that you love me.”
“I did? What did you say?” Oikawa inhales sharply and babbles, “I mean, yeah, I do, like. You know. Like-”
“And I said that I know.”
“Huh?” The shriek flies past Oikawa’s lips before he can catch it. ‘I know’?! Confessing wasn’t easy and he can’t believe that Iwaizumi would be callous enough to dismiss it like that. What does that even mean?! Abrasive indignance scrubs the tongue tying anxiety away and Oikawa finds himself snapping, “what sort of response is that?!”
Iwaizumi is not looking at him anymore, his gaze stays stubbornly on something at the far end of the dining table, “I meant what I said.” His jaw works like he wants to say something else.
Oikawa is struck suddenly by the absurd image of him telling his fangirls cheerily “I know!” when they confess to him. “I know! Of course you love me!” Throw in a wink there. He would get slapped for sure. He can’t even imagine having the audacity to say that to anyone confessing sincerely to him.
“What does that even mean!” Oikawa hollers instead of reaching across to smack Iwaizumi like he deserves. He’s standing up now.
Iwaizumi shrugs, “I mean-I…” He trails off. He is still looking away.
“That’s a cop out!” Oikawa accuses, giving in to the impulse and rounding the table to shove at Iwaizumi’s shoulder.
“Oh yeah? A cop out like how you pretended that you can’t remember saying anything?” Iwaizumi shoots back, getting up from his seat to glare at Oikawa.
“Iwa-chan is so rude!” Oikawa howls, feeling attacked despite it being a hundred percent true. He reaches to push Iwaizumi again only for Iwaizumi to capture his wrist. “No wonder no girl ever confessed to you!” He tries to smack Iwaizumi with his other hand and Iwaizumi stops it with an iron grip around his wrist too.
“Didn’t need a girl to confess to me, did I,” Iwaizumi says, lacing his fingers through Oikawa’s. Affront and embarrassment war in Oikawa to form a horrible slurry and Oikawa feels tears threatening to spill.
“Oikawa, listen.” Oikawa tries to tug his hands back but Iwaizumi holds fast. “Tooru. I didn’t need a girl to confess to me because-because, your confession is already enough.”
Oikawa stills and Iwaizumi looks down at their conjoined hands. “Yours is enough because I-I feel the same way. I love you too.”
He swings their hands once, still not meeting Oikawa’s eyes, “I said that I know because I’ve always known it for myself, and I think I realised that you felt the same too? I was just waiting for you to realise…”
Iwaizumi finally looks up into Oikawa’s face and hesitates. Tears are spilling down Oikawa’s ruddy cheeks and he lifts both their hands to rub across his own face. Iwaizumi thinks ‘ ah, he’s such an ugly crier’ before the overwhelming need to stop Oikawa’s tears take over and he wipes the tears away with his thumbs. He cradles the back of Oikawa’s head and pulls him down to his shoulder.
“Shh…” Iwaizumi hushes as his other hand winds around Oikawa’s back to rub up and down soothingly, “what are you even crying for dumbass?”
“I don’t-don’t know!” Oikawa snuffles wetly, “‘m happy!”
“Are you? That’s a strange way of expressing that.” Iwaizumi teases, a chuckle bubbling from him. Oikawa starts giggling and finds that he can’t stop so they stand there for a while, arms tight around each other, laughing in relief, reveling in the sense of rightness, of coming home.
***
“Your mother said that your migraine is likely triggered by exhaustion, you know.” Iwaizumi says later when they are together on Oikawa’s bed. Oikawa is lying between his legs, his head pillowed on Iwaizumi’s chest as Iwaizumi sits propped up against the headboard.
“Oops?” Oikawa smiles appeasingly at Iwaizumi, hoping that he will drop the subject. Oikawa does not want to talk about how he had effectively inflicted the worst pain he’s ever felt on himself, not so soon anyway.
Iwaizumi frowns down at him. “You have to be careful not to overwork yourself anymore.”
“I don’t overwork myself!” Oikawa says stubbornly even though he knows that he absolutely overdoes it, would definitely work himself to death if Iwaizumi doesn’t pull him back-
“You do! You do it all the time!” Iwaizumi snaps suddenly and Oikawa freezes, hearing the wretchedness of his voice. He turns large eyes onto Iwaizumi when he continues, “I can’t-I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do to stop the pain. Oikawa, I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”
“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa intertwines their fingers and rubs his thumb across the back of Iwaizumi’s hand. He relents. “I promise that I’ll try to avoid doing it again.”
Iwaizumi is quiet and only squeezes his hand in response. Oikawa grins cheekily at him, “besides, Iwa-chan will watch out for me!”
Iwaizumi groans, “You are so spoiled. Why are you so spoiled.”
Oikawa giggles in the manner of a well-loved three year old in response.
(He rues the day when Iwaizumi realises that he is spoiled because Iwaizumi spoils him, and he is not, in fact, fundamentally, a spoiled brat. Mostly.)
“Dumbass.” Affection is tangible in every syllable and Oikawa luxuriates in it.
“Your dumbass.” Is returned equally lovingly.
“Well, shit.”