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~8~
The first time Oikawa proposes, they’re eight years old and all dressed up for his sister’s wedding. It happens during the reception, when the guests are dancing and mingling and celebrating the newlyweds with joyful tears and laughter. He and Iwa-chan are watching, Hajime with boredom in his gaze, Tooru with shining eyes and longing. He is happy for his sister, of course he is, she looks so radiant he almost can’t bear to look at her, but he has always been a brat and loves the limelight for himself. He wants to have a similar amount of attention lavished on him by adoring friends and family.
He’s not catty enough to throw a fit on his sister’s wedding day, even at eight years old, but it doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about his own wedding someday. “I’m gonna have the biggest chocolate cake ever at my wedding,” he announces around a mouthful of marble cake with buttercream frosting. It’s not bad, but he would prefer chocolate.
“If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it.” Hajime reaches across the table with his fork to prove his point but Tooru pulls his plate out of reach at the last second.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want it!” he shrieks, shoveling another bite in his mouth that is far too big and makes his cheeks puff out. “Ish just, shoclet would ‘e ‘etter.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dummy,” Hajime scowls at him.
He swallows, chasing the sugar down with the glass of water in front of him before taking a more reasonably-sized bite. He scrutinizes the reception hall, the decorations, the music, as he chews more slowly. His sister had gone for a spring themed party, all pastel pinks and yellows covering every surface. They were nice, but if it were him… “I’d go blue,” he says.
“What are you talking about?” Hajime grumbles as he finishes the last bite of his cake.
“For the décor. Come on Iwa-chan, keep up.” Hajime rolls his eyes. “Blue and…yellow. Like a volleyball.”
“That’s dumb,” Hajime snorts. “Are you gonna get married on a volleyball court, too?”
Tooru taps his chin, seriously considering it. He doesn’t think you can get married on a volleyball court, but that would be the coolest thing ever. “Well I suppose I would want to marry someone who loved volleyball as much as me, so a court would make sense.” His mouth drops open to a little “o” as a thought occurs to him and he turns to Hajime with sparkling eyes. “We should do that!”
Hajime’s brows pull together in a fierce scowl. “Do what?”
“Get married on a volleyball court! Marry me, Iwa-chan!” he cries.
Hajime’s face turns several shades of crimson as he looks between Tooru and the newlyweds. He makes a face when Nee-san kisses her new husband and shakes his head. “Ew, no,” he says. Tooru’s face falls and his lip starts to quiver the way it always does when Iwa-chan rejects his ideas. “We can’t anyway,” he hurries to add, in an attempt to forestall any of Tooru’s tears. “Boys can’t marry boys.” He shrugs like that should be the end of it. What can you do?
Tooru still pouts, but he doesn’t wail like he was thinking about doing two seconds ago. They’d had that conversation before with their parents when Nee-san’s marriage was announced and he had cheerily declared he wanted to be Iwa-chan’s wife. “Well I still think that’s dumb.”
Hajime folds his arms across his chest and nods agreement. They watch the revelers dance for a while, and Tooru tries not to sulk. Iwa-chan is right, but he doesn’t have to like it. His best friend’s voice pulls him back to their table, words spoken in an encouraging tone that he only uses when Tooru is truly upset about something. “Maybe someday, though.”
Tooru snaps his head to look at him, round face glowering at the ceiling in the dim lights. His ears are still dark, and he’s avoiding looking at Tooru directly, and Tooru knows it bothers him too. He relaxes with the silent solidarity in that averted gaze and grins, toothy and wide. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”
~14~
The walk home from practice that night is subdued. He knows he owes Iwa-chan a great debt, but he isn’t ready to bring it up just yet. His head still stings from where Iwa’s slammed into him, but he can’t deny the violent tactic worked to knock some sense into him. He steals a glance to the right.
His best friend walks at his side, always at his side even when he’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve it, arms folded behind his head as he scowls straight ahead. The difference in their heights is miniscule, but Oikawa thinks he might finally have the advantage. Not that he would ever look down on Iwa-chan. The other boy would always be bigger in Oikawa’s mind. The better person. Tonight had proved that, if nothing else.
“If you got something you want to say, spit it out.” Iwa-chan doesn’t look at him, but he makes his displeasure known.
Oikawa focuses on the path home once more. “It was nothing.” He’s still not ready to discuss it. Might never be ready.
They do homework at Oikawa’s after hastily eating the dinner his mother had left warming for them. Iwa-chan gets him some ibuprofen for his headache before they settle in, silent apology for his brutal pep talk. He keeps thinking over the words as they work, wondering when Iwa-chan got so wise. Six who are stronger, huh?
Tobio was going to be strong one day. He already had a natural ability that could compete with Oikawa’s despite the two year age gap between them. That was why coach subbed him in without hesitation in today’s practice match. The lump on his head stung, pulling him away from that line of thinking. Iwaiazumi had been right. He needed to cool his head. Tobio was just a first year, after all. He still had a lot to learn, and Oikawa should be a better senpai.
His hand trembles with the memory of what he’d almost done. “Am I a bad person?” he asks quietly, eyes focused on his worksheet but not really seeing.
“No, you’re just an idiot,” is Iwa-chan’s uninhibited reply. He snaps his head up to look at his best friend, to protest, but Iwa-chan is looking at him with a softness he hasn’t seen in years. “Tooru, you’re a great setter. You work harder than anyone I know.” His chest tightens at the use of his given name. They sometimes slipped back to their childhood habits when they shared a quiet moment alone, but it was rare for Hajime to be so earnest with it. He frowns, a wrinkle forming in the crease of his brow as his eyes crinkle with concern. “But you don’t have to do it all alone. You don’t have to put it all on your shoulders and carry it until it breaks you like today. Share some of that weight, would ya? How many years have we been friends now? I’m right here. I’m always going to be right here. So just, talk to me when you’re getting stressed out. Ok?”
Oikawa feels tears burning at his eyes and makes himself look away. Hajime always says he’s an ugly crier, and he doesn’t want to be made fun of so soon after that heart-warming speech. He rubs his nose with the sleeve of his track jacket and forces a laugh. “Since when is Iwa-chan so nice to me?” he deflects instead.
“I’m nice to you when you deserve it,” he says. “And I mean it. We’re a team, ok? We work this stuff out together.”
The line seems familiar. It’s innocent enough to be a metaphor from the sport they love, but he has a more vivid memory tied to the words. Pastels and buttercream frosting. His sister’s wedding vows. She had played volleyball, too.
Oikawa straightens up and grins at him. “Iwa-chan, if you want to be on my team forever, you should just marry me.”
Iwaizumi snorts. “Who would want you for a wife?”
“Rude!” he cries over Iwa-chan’s giggles.
Still, the tension had melted off his shoulders with Iwaizumi’s words. As he returns to his homework, he repeats them over in his mind. He isn’t alone. They are a team. And they are stronger together.
He hopes they will always be together.
~16~
Oikawa sprains his ankle in a dumb accident over winter break. If he had known trying to play volleyball in the snow would lead to his being benched with injury for the first couple weeks back to school, he wouldn’t have suggested it. He tries to take it in stride, he really does, milking the injury for attention from his fangirls and getting more sweets and snacks than he knows what to do with. If he can’t go to practice, he may as well practice his charms. But while being doted on by his fangirls is nice for a little while, really, he just wants the attention of one person.
“Iwa-chan, let me toss to you!” He spins a volleyball on the tip of his finger while he sits on his bed grinning at his best friend. He came over after practice like he always does, under the pretext of doing homework, but Oikawa knows he just wants to bully him into sitting still. He loves and hates him for it.
Iwa-chan scowls back at him. “You are supposed to be resting.”
“C’mon,” he whines. “I don’t have to move my legs to toss!”
“Uh-huh.” Iwa-chan folds his arms across his chest. “And how long will you refrain from chasing after a ball that rolls off, finding another patch of ice to slip on and bust your other ankle? Or your elbow?”
Oikawa pouts. Ice is stupid. “I’ll be good! I’m almost healed already, I swear!”
“When have you ever been good?” Iwa-chan scoffs.
“Rude!”
Iwa-chan frowns at him and swats at his wrapped ankle. He isn’t as rough as he might have been if he were confident it was uninjured, but Oikawa does wince at the light contact. “That’s what I thought. The doctor said two weeks. You can stand two weeks of being on the sidelines.”
Oikawa rubs at his tender ankle, lip still jutting out at the indignity of it all. “I’m gonna forget how by then,” he sulks, knowing he’s being petulant but not caring in the least.
“Don’t be so dramatic. Here,” he motions for Oikawa to make room for him on the bed, taking the injured ankle into his lap. “You probably wrapped it too tight and that’s why it hurts.”
Oikawa wants to protest that it hurts because Iwa-chan is a brute who abuses him, but he can’t bring himself to say the words when gentle hands start to unwind the binding and rub the slightly swollen joint with uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are tough, the callouses he’s formed from the years they’ve played volleyball rough against his skin. Oikawa watches with fascination as Iwa-chan studies it, tracing the puffy flesh and carefully prodding, apologizing when it makes Oikawa flinch. He takes the bandage and delicately winds it around his ankle and foot, tight enough for support but not so tight it pinches and aches like before.
“Better?” he asks, watching Oikawa warily as he tests his balance.
It feels great. “You should be a doctor, Iwa-chan!” He revels in the flush of color to his best friend’s cheeks. “Maybe then you can clear me to play sooner!”
“Nope,” Iwa-chan sighs. “Not gonna happen. I would make you sit out longer,” he adds with a mean streak in his eyes.
“We’ll work on your bedside manner,” Oikawa waves him off. His stomach grumbles and they both descend to giggles.
“Auntie’s working late tonight, right? I’ll go make us some sandwiches.” He points at the bed. “You stay there and don’t even think about trying to put too much weight on that foot.”
He plops back on his bed with a teasing grin. “My, my. Treating my wounds and making me dinner? I should marry you. You’d make a great wife.”
“I will break your other ankle,” Iwa-chan growls before he storms out of the bedroom.
Oikawa lays back on his bed, spreading his arms to either side of him as he grins up at the ceiling. He feels warm and giddy and he doesn’t know why, but Iwa-chan returns with sandwiches and chips and his ears are still a little pink and Oikawa thinks that maybe playing volleyball in the snow wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had.
~18~
The day before Oikawa’s flight is scheduled to leave for South America, he and Iwaizumi spend one last afternoon together. They don’t know when they’ll be reunited, but they make promises to stay in touch no matter what. Iwaizumi threatens bodily harm if Oikawa overworks himself. Oikawa promises he will be good, but if that’s what it takes to get Iwaizumi to come visit him, he might slip up. They both know the next few years are going to be lonely and hard, that there won’t be time or money for international trips to visit one another, but it’s still nice to dream about it.
They get ice cream at their favorite corner store and head to the park to enjoy the late spring weather on the swing set they’ve always claimed since they were kids. They challenge each other to see who can get higher and Oikawa, with his long legs propelling him, easily wins. When they were smaller, they used to launch themselves off at the top of their arc, to see how far they could jump. They don’t want to risk injury so close to their respective departures, so they settle to a leisurely frequency while they reminisce about anything and everything.
At some point they fall into a comfortable silence. Oikawa listens and catalogues every sound he can hear. He wants to be able to recall them later when he inevitably finds himself missing home. The creaking chains of the swings. The leaves rustling in the warm breeze. Children laughing at the other end of the park. Birds chirping under the playset. Iwaizumi’s steady breathing. A plane somewhere overhead.
Tomorrow, he boards a plane and leaves all of this behind. Leaves his friends, his family, leaves Iwa-chan behind. Is he really ready for that?
“Are you nervous?” Iwaizumi, always attune to any change in his mood, breaks the silence.
He is, but not about uprooting his life and moving halfway across the world to chase his dreams. He’s terrified about not having his best friend, his pillar, at his back for the first time in his life. He’s struck with the dawning realization that he doesn’t know how to live without Iwaizumi at his side. He’s always been there, pushing Oikawa to be better, making him stronger and picking him up when he falls. No one else has had such an influence on his life, has been with him at every step, seen the worst parts of him and kept supporting him anyway. He’s scared of losing that. He’s scared of losing Iwaizumi.
But it doesn’t feel like the right time to say any of that either, so he shakes his head. “Are you?”
“Kinda,” he admits. If he suspects Oikawa’s inner turmoil, he doesn’t make any indication of it. “But knowing I’m not the only one leaving home makes it a little less scary. I’m not doing anything so crazy as you, after all.” He swings to the side enough to elbow Oikawa with a cheeky grin.
“No, nothing crazy at all,” Oikawa chirps back, swinging out of his reach again. “Just studying abroad to become a physio. No big deal.”
“Says mister hotshot professional volleyball player.”
Oikawa actually feels his face flush. “I’m not a pro yet,” he mutters, forcing his gaze to track fluffy clouds across the sky. In a few days he’ll be under a different sky. Away from everyone he knows and loves. Away from Iwaizumi. Away from the boy he thinks he’s coming to realize he might love more than anyone in the world.
“Hey,” Iwaizumi slows in his swinging to match Oikawa’s frequency. “You’re gonna be great.”
Oikawa turns to look at Iwaizumi, and the fire in his best friend’s eyes ignites under his skin and spreads to his chest, warming his whole body in a way the sun never has. How had he never realized before now? Just when they’re on the cusp of something grand, something new, and they won’t be together to share in the experiences they’re embarking on? He supposes it’s that same anticipation of new beginnings that puts things in perspective, casting the past in a new light. He’s going to be great, but Iwaizumi is, too.
His face feels much too warm and his throat much too dry. Desperate for something to distract himself, to keep the confession from spilling off his tongue when it’s already way too late for them, he falls back on his favorite taunt. “Better marry me while you still have the chance, then,” he grins, flipping his hair with the back of his hand. “Before I get good and someone else steals me away.”
He catalogues the ensuing eye roll to his memory, too. “Ok. You can go away now. When’s your flight leave again?”
The moment passes with their laughter.
That night, he packs his confession with his luggage and bears it with him to Argentina. Maybe someday, when they’ve both found their greatness, when they can be together again, maybe then he’ll unpack it and finally tell Iwa-chan the truth.
~22~
Oikawa visits Iwaizumi at UCI during spring break of his senior year. He isn’t sure what to expect, because they haven’t actually seen each other in person since they left Japan for their respective pursuits. They still text almost daily, and video chat at least once a week, so it’s not like he hasn’t gotten to watch Iwaizumi grow older. He’s still privy to the details of Iwa-chan’s life, knows which classes were his favorite, which classes nearly gave him a mental breakdown, which teammates he likes best, which classmates have confessed.
It’s not like he’s catalogued the name of every person who has ever expressed an interest in his best friend, but he does count it strange that Iwaizumi hadn’t seemed to date anyone throughout college. Never anything more than casual hookups, anyway. He called him out on it about a year ago. Asked him why he never went on a second date with any of them.
Instead of an answer, he got a question. “Why haven’t you dated anyone since high school?”
“I only have eyes for volleyball, Iwa-chan,” he said flippantly. “I thought you would know this by now.” He couldn’t admit the truth, not even from a safe distance an ocean away. Iwaizumi had only hummed, his face scowling and skeptical in the grainy video. Oikawa forgot to press him for an answer and they changed the topic to something safer than their respective lack of love lives.
So, he still knows everything about Iwa-chan’s life, and has seen him regularly in terrible selfies and video calls, and has been able to keep him close to his heart as if there hasn’t been four years and ten thousand kilometers between them. As if he’d never left his side. Iwa-chan is still Iwa-chan, and he shouldn’t be nervous about seeing him again, but he can’t stop the flutter of his heart as he scans the crowd outside the terminal. He had texted him when he landed, and Iwa-chan had said he was waiting, but his heart is pounding and his eyes are bleary from the long flight and he almost misses the thick arm waving above the milling people, the familiar spikey hair poking out over the heads of the mass between them.
If this were a movie, the crowd would part, a cheesy pop song would play on the soundtrack, and he would run into his best friend’s arms and probably cry and confess right there. He almost does anyway. Iwa-chan is bigger than he remembers. Not taller, but thicker, broader, and a lot browner in person than on his laptop or phone screen. He already knew he needed to teach him how to take proper selfies after that ridiculous thing he sent sophomore year with Ushiwaka of all people, but now he feels that need in earnest because holy shit.
He swallows.
He is not going to survive this week.
He takes purposeful strides across the terminal, his heart getting lighter with every step closer to Iwa-chan, until he’s within arm’s reach and he can touch him if he just extends his hand. A pop ballad floats out of a nearby store and he feels his face getting wet but he blames the tears on his exhaustion. He’s had a long flight and his best friend, his pillar, is here in front of him, in the flesh, and he’s missed him so much.
“Oi, oi, don’t start cryin’ you big baby,” he teases. “I haven’t even insulted you yet.”
Oikawa chokes off a sob, playing it off as a laugh. “C’mon Iwa-chan, is that any way to greet a guest? And your best friend, of all people?”
Iwa-chan grins, wide and mischievous. “Who says you’re still my best friend, huh? Maybe I replaced you in the last four years.”
“Nice try, but there’s no one who can replace me.” It doesn’t come out as petulant as it would have if he wasn’t so elated to see Iwaizumi, to be close enough to feel him, to smell him. He smells like home.
Iwa-chan’s smile turns soft, and he opens his arms and Oikawa steps into them without hesitation. “Nah, there isn’t,” he murmurs into Oikawa’s temple as he wraps his arms around him, holding him tight. “It’ll always be you.”
Oikawa clings just as desperately, burying his face in Iwaizumi’s shoulder to keep himself from crying more. He sighs with overwhelming relief. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this safe. Iwaizumi’s hands rub circles in his back as he fists his hands in Iwa-chan’s cotton polo. “I’ve really missed you,” he breathes, barely a whisper, nearly a confession.
Iwaizumi doesn’t tease him. He pulls back so he can press their foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate for Oikawa’s heart to bear. “Me too,” he answers. They stay like that for a moment, until Oikawa gets his traitorous eyes to stop watering. Iwaizumi squeezes his arms. “C’mon. Let’s go home. You need a nap.”
They go collect his luggage from baggage claim. They take a bus back to campus. Iwaizumi points out landmarks on the ride, tells him about the places he wants to take him this week, the things he wants to show him. He listens, warmth pooling in his chest at the comfort of hearing Japanese spoken so close, crisp and clear instead of tinny through a speaker. He spends the ride with some part of his body touching Iwa-chan; leaning into his arm, pressing their thighs together when someone sits on either side of them, dropping his head to his shoulder as he gets sleepy. Iwaizumi doesn’t protest, and he even presses back once or twice. They had always been so physical back in high school. It was comforting to know that hadn’t changed.
He spends the first afternoon catching up on sleep in Iwaizumi’s bed. He assured Iwa-chan that the couch was perfectly fine and he was tired enough he would sleep anywhere, but Iwa-chan insisted that he would get more restful sleep in his room. It was a testament to his exhaustion that he didn’t even protest as Iwaizumi dragged him to the bed and made him lie down in it. Surrounded by the smell of Iwaizumi on his pillow, the blankets, the room, he falls asleep almost immediately.
They spend the days wandering around the city. Iwaizumi takes him around campus on the first day, pointing out the various buildings he’d spent the years in and his favorite places to study. He takes him to local cafes and parks and the pier and the beach. There are so many things to see and do and they have so little time to do it.
They make time to play volleyball, of course. Some of Iwa-chan’s teammates stayed in town for the break as well, and they have enough for a small pick-up game of three on three towards the end of the week. He worried it would take a few tosses to get in sync with Iwaizumi again but from the first pass it was as if they’d still been playing together these last four years. They rotate every game so everyone gets a chance to play with the rising world-class setter, and they complain whenever the pair are together because they can’t be beat, but Iwaizumi takes particular pleasure in staring him down from the other side of the net. The old promise rings in his ears at that defiant look. The next time we meet, I’ll beat you. Oikawa doesn’t hold anything back during those games.
That night they go out on the town with Iwaizumi’s friends. He doesn’t drink during the season, but he has no restrictions when he’s on vacation during the off season, and he doesn’t say no to a round of shots with Iwa-chan’s teammates before they hit the dance floor at the first club of the night.
Despite all of the things that had not changed in their years apart, Iwa-chan on the dance floor is a revelation. He had never been one for the limelight, never cared for parties or dancing back in high school. Oikawa had always known Iwa-chan was flexible, knew his body could move in ways that would theoretically translate on a dance floor, but he had never been witness to it before. As his eyes are drawn to the swing of Iwaizumi’s hips, he vaguely recalls a semester where a friend convinced Iwa-chan to take a dance class with her. Something to help him relax after the previous brutal semester. When Oikawa’s brain starts working again, he’ll try to remember her name and send her a gift basket. Iwa-chan does a full body roll that ends with his hands on Oikawa’s neck, and he decides he’s going to send her two.
Never one to back down from a challenge of course, he puts on his own demonstration. He’s picked up a thing or two in South America, and he does love the limelight so he is shameless with his movements. Iwaizumi responds to his steps as fluidly as he responds to his sets on a court. Between the alcohol and the dancing and Iwaizumi never more than an arm’s length away from him, he feels warm and light and invincible.
The night winds down and they lose Iwa-chan’s friends somewhere between the second and third club, giggling and stumbling along the beach instead. The air off the water is cool, but he doesn’t mind. The smell of the salt and the warm hand in his remind him of another night, another beach, another country. Another boy who reminded him why he loves the sport he plays, who wasn’t afraid to chase his dreams and take what he wanted.
He turns to look at Iwaizumi in the soft, silvery moonlight glimmering on the water. He stares like he’s done many times over this past week, etching every line of his face to his memory. The strong jaw, the almond shape of his hazel eyes, the gentle slope of his nose, the soft curve of his lips. In the faint light, every feature is shadowed in stark relief. He thinks of the way they danced tonight, the solidness of Iwaizumi’s body against his, the firmness of his hands on his neck, his chest, his hips. He wonders if he can be bold enough, brave enough, to chase this dream too.
“Iwa-chan,” he says. He wonders if Iwaizumi can feel his pulse racing in the heat of his hands.
Iwaizumi looks at him, a soft smile adorning his lips that has been there since Oikawa landed on Monday. His heart clamors against his ribcage. “What, Shittykawa?” he asks teasingly.
“Why haven’t you dated anyone since high school?” It’s not the question he means to ask, and from the startled look on Iwa-chan’s face, it’s not the one he was expecting either.
Iwaizumi considers him in the quiet, his dark gaze calculating in a way Oikawa has rarely seen off a volleyball court or outside of studying his homework. “There isn’t anyone here I want to date,” he says carefully.
Oikawa feels something like hope well up in his chest. “But there is someone?”
“Nope, nuh-uh,” Iwaizumi shakes his head, “you’re not gonna make me say it. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”
Oikawa doesn’t look away. He swallows his pride and chases the one dream he’d let go for years. “Iwa-chan,” he starts, but Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow. Do this right, it says. He almost laughs, because even though he’s almost certain his feelings are returned, being forced to say them out loud is still terrifying. “Hajime. You’re my best friend in the entire world.” Iwaizumi nods. He knows this. Tell him how you feel already, dipshit. “I don’t want that anymore. I want to be more than your best friend. I lied when I said I only had eyes for volleyball. It was just a convenient excuse.”
Iwaizumi laughs. “I know.”
“So tell me you love me too so I can stop rambling and kiss you already,” he cries.
Iwa-chan rolls his eyes, all fondness in his fake exasperation, and slips his hand out of Oikawa’s to grasp his cheeks. “Of course I love you, dumbass.” He pulls Oikawa’s face the last few centimeters down to him and finally, finally, he’s kissing him, Hajime is kissing him, and it’s better than anything he’s ever dreamed (and he has dreamed a lot these last four years) and he can kiss him back and it’s not a dream. They pull apart and Hajime strokes his cheeks with his thumb—when did he start crying? “It’ll always be you,” he echoes softly.
Oikawa covers Iwaizumi’s hands with his own, leaning into the touch and smiling and crying and everything about the whole confession is so them it hurts, from Iwa-chan’s blunt insult to his own snotty tears. He wishes he had another week to get used to this before he has to leave. They go back to Hajime’s apartment and make the most of the hours they have left anyway.
When Hajime brings him back to the airport, Oikawa doesn’t want to go. He knows he has to. He’s still a professional athlete with obligations, after all, but they’ve only been boyfriends for a little over a day and he feels like a lovesick teenager again. He tries to lighten the mood with a joke.
“You know, Iwa-chan, now you have to marry me.”
Hajime knows he’s just worried about the distance again, but they’ve accidentally made it work for years. They’ll make it work better now that they’ve actually confessed. He startles Oikawa by kissing him in the middle of the airport, in full view of anyone and everyone walking by.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says. Strong. Assured.
Hajime waves goodbye as Oikawa heads towards security. It’s not like the last time. They may be separating for now, but this time, they’ll still be together.
They’ll always be together.
~27~
Hajime comes to Argentina for his 27th birthday, despite Oikawa’s concerns that they wouldn’t have enough time to spend together with the Olympics looming just a month and a half away. He would have flown to Japan himself, otherwise, but Iwaizumi was adamant that he wasn’t going to miss a birthday with Oikawa.
It’s one of the many ways they have made their relationship work since that confession in California. They spend birthdays together, no matter where they are. At least one holiday a year, too, usually one where neither have tournaments to attend. They haven’t spent New Year’s together in years, and Christmas is usually out, but they’ve made Valentine’s work once or twice. Plus, they try to take a vacation or two together during the off season.
His other reasoning is that Oikawa is going to be in Japan on his own birthday anyway, and even though they’ll be opponents on the court during his time in his birth nation, they will still get together to celebrate with everyone. Oikawa doesn’t really need anyone else, but he appreciates the sentiment.
Iwaizumi arrives late on the 9th and spends the first twelve hours of his visit catching up on sleep. Oikawa wishes he could stay and sleep in with him—it’s been months since he last had Hajime in his arms—but training must come first, even on this most precious of days. Iwaizumi had insisted. “It’s not like I’m going to be much company until I wake up anyway. I won’t even notice you’re gone,” he teased. “We can catch up when you get back.”
Oikawa knows sense when he hears it. Iwaizumi has always been the more mature of them, always known the right things to say. That doesn’t mean he has to like it. He pouts while his boyfriend collapses on his bed, smirking tiredly up at him because he also knows how much Oikawa would just prefer to crawl under the covers with him and spend the day there regardless of his professional obligations. He obliges though, after Iwaizumi pulls him down for a searing kiss that leaves him breathless and wanting more with a whispered promise of “there’s more where that came from if you do well at practice today.”
So Oikawa goes, leaving a snoring Iwaizumi in his bed, and he has the best practice of his life. His teammates comment on his vivaciousness, teasing him to save some for the Olympics. Sebastian remembers the date though and tells him not to let Iwa-chan be too rough with him. He doesn’t flush at the implication as much as he did when he was younger and their relationship was still fresh and new. When they were still uncertain about coming out to their respective teams. The only teasing they got was from their friends back home.
“About damn time,” Matsukawa had said.
“I had money on a graduation confession,” Hanamaki whined.
“Thanks for waiting though,” Watari grinned. “I made ¥5000 when you didn’t.”
Their teammates had been fully supportive, of course. America and Argentina were far more accepting than Japan, after all. Iwaizumi’s teammates were even slightly more possessive of him than Oikawa expected of anyone but himself. They were suspicious of the pro player and warned him not to break their ace’s heart. It became quickly apparent that he had no intention of doing so.
“We should treat him tonight,” Martín suggests, bringing him back to the present. “I like that man. He’s a lot of fun.”
Oikawa rubs sweat off his face with a towel. “As fun as that sounds, our nutritionist would have a fit if we do that so close to the Olympics.” He also doesn’t particularly feel like sharing Iwaizumi when their time together is going to be so brief. He’ll have to fly back to Japan on Friday.
Nicolay throws an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder. “No one said we have to break our diets or drink. He’s probably in the same boat, no?” He grins. “It might not be the party he deserves, but we can still dance the night away.”
“One night out won’t ruin all our hard work,” Sebastian reminds.
He hums in consideration. “I’ll ask him when I get home. It’s his birthday, after all. I’ll go with whatever he wants to do.”
Nico ruffles his hair. “Such a doting wife you would make,” he teases.
Oikawa shrugs him off with a light-hearted chuckle. It’s certainly not like he’s forgotten his many attempts to convince Iwaizumi to marry him over the years. Once, it had seemed like a faraway fantasy. Now, though, the world had changed. It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility anymore. He could marry Iwaizumi someday, if Iwaizumi wanted to.
Still, he also can’t forget all the times his proposals were rejected or brushed off as a joke.
“I’m home!” he calls into his apartment after practice.
His chest floods with warmth at the answering voice down the hall. “Welcome back!” He thinks he could get used to that.
He drops his bag at the door and slips out of his shoes, heading towards the bathroom where Iwaizumi is fresh out of the shower. His hair is still damp and it drips down the sharp planes of his bare shoulders. Oikawa’s eyes rove over the familiar muscles and follow the water tracks down to the elastic band of his grey sweatpants. Thoughts of going out for the evening are the last thing on his mind.
Iwaizumi’s knowing smirk reflects back at him from the mirror, his mouth foamy with toothpaste before he rinses and spits. “How was practice?” he asks, breaking Oikawa from thoughts of dragging Iwaizumi back to his bed so he could mark up those beautiful shoulders and stake his claim all over him.
The setter straightens his back and preens. “I was on my A-game today. Even coach was impressed.” He steps into the tiny space between them, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, relishing the light shiver he feels when his fingers ghost over the skin and his breath washes over the shell of his ear. “And I believe you promised me a reward for that.”
“I did.” Iwaizumi’s hands cover his own at his hips and he leans his head back against Oikawa’s chest with a contented hum. “But how do I have proof that you did as you were told?”
Oikawa frowns at him in the mirror. “I suppose I could get Seb or Martín to vouch for me.”
Iwaizumi chuckles as he twists himself around in Oikawa’s hold, his own strong arms sliding up Oikawa’s chest to wrap around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. “No need,” he says when he pulls away. “Martín already texted me saying you were all taking me out on the town tonight.”
Oikawa bites the inside of his cheek. That traitor. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at that, but he shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says. “They do—we do—want to take you out dancing. We can’t drink, obviously, not this close to the games, but we still want to celebrate you and show you a good time.”
“This was Seb’s idea, wasn’t it?” Iwaizumi grins.
“He had a part in it, yes.”
“What do you want to do?”
Oikawa feels a pang of affection so deep he forgets how to breathe for a moment. Iwaizumi, who flew 18 thousand kilometers to spend his birthday with him, is asking what he wants to do. Oikawa loves him so much he could burst. He cups Iwaizumi’s face in his hands and kisses him softly. “It’s your birthday, Hajime. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Iwaizumi pulls his lip between his teeth as he scrutinizes Oikawa’s face for the answer he thinks he wants to hear. “You’re off tomorrow, right?” He nods. Their time together was going to be short, so he had made sure to have at least one full day to spend with his boyfriend. Iwaizumi grins. “Then I want to go out tonight and not leave this apartment at all tomorrow.” Oikawa thinks this is the greatest idea he’s ever heard, and he kisses him again. Iwaizumi scrunches his nose when they pull apart again. “You should shower first, though. You reek.”
Oikawa laughs, hugging him tighter despite his protests. “Of course,” he says. “But on one condition.” Iwaizumi stops struggling as Oikawa leans forward to whisper in his ear. “Join me.” Iwaizumi doesn’t even hesitate to help him strip out of his practice gear. They have to make the most of their time, after all.
They meet up with his teammates a couple hours later, hands tightly wound and faces glowing with contentment. Iwaizumi had insisted on wearing one of Oikawa’s jerseys out. “It’s my birthday, Shittykawa, I’ll wear what I want!” He really couldn’t argue, and inwardly he revels at seeing his name on Iwaizumi’s back. He refrains from making the old joke, though.
They spend the night at their usual spot, drinking virgin cocktails and dancing until their legs feel like jelly. Nico and Martín challenge Iwaizumi to several dance-offs. He wins every one. Oikawa cannot take his eyes off him the whole night. By the end of the night everyone is drunk without having had a single drop of alcohol, joyful smiles plastered on flushed faces and tired bodies stumbling home. Seb cries that they were going to be dead at practice and should just all go back to Oikawa’s and take the following day off together.
Oikawa wants to snap at him. He knows it’s just a joke, but he has plans for that day that do not involve much clothing and even though his teammates have seen everything of him before, he is not into sharing the remainder of his time with his boyfriend with them. Blessedly, Nico wraps an arm around Seb and leads him away, Martín trailing after them with a wave and wishing Oikawa and Hajime a good night. Iwaizumi squeezes his hand with a teasing grin, and the tension immediately washes off of him.
It takes them a while to make it back to his apartment. They stop several times to kiss in alcoves and alleyways, unable or unwilling to keep their lips off one another for longer than a few minutes. When they finally stumble through his door, Oikawa wastes little time in getting them out of their clothes. He hesitates on the jersey, though, and Iwaizumi catches his gaze in the moment he pauses.
His breath hitches in his throat as Iwaizumi cups a hand on his jaw, his smile surprisingly soft given the heat that was just in his eyes not moments before. “You know,” he says, soft and tender, “I think I could get used to having your name on my back.”
Oikawa swallows his heart. “What?” He couldn’t have heard that right. He’s been fantasizing all night about saying it himself. He must be hallucinating the same words falling from Hajime’s lips.
Hajime steps back, raising a finger to hold him in place as he goes to his bag to retrieve something in a pocket Oikawa hadn’t noticed before. When he returns, he takes Oikawa’s hands in his, and kisses his fingers. “I was gonna wait,” he says, “until after the games.” He holds Oikawa’s gaze as he closes his hands around something small and cold. “After tonight though, I realized I’ve made you wait long enough.”
Oikawa looks down at his hand, a thin, silver chain dangling from his fingers. He opens them, and his heart stops again at the sight of the diamond-studded silver band threaded onto the chain. A ring. His vision blurs as he lifts his head back up to gape at his boyfriend. His pillar. The love of his life. “Hajime?” Is this really happening? Are you saying you want to marry me? This is an engagement ring, right? He can’t find his voice to ask these questions, but Hajime reads them in the way his name hovers in the air between them.
“I know it might be a bit selfish of me to ask for this, but all I want for my birthday is for you to say ‘yes.’” He squeezes Oikawa’s arms as he stares into his eyes, the same gentle look he’s had for him since they were kids. “Tooru. Marry me.”
Oikawa coughs out a sob, tears flowing freely down his face. For a fleeting second, Hajime looks terrified. He’s always told Oikawa he’s an ugly crier, but he can’t help it. He’s waited so long, has loved Hajime so long, his heart is so full. “Yes,” his voice cracks, and relief washes over Hajime’s face. “Yes, yes! A thousand, a million times yes. Oh my god, Hajime. I love you so much.”
Hajime laughs, breathy and relieved, as he clasps the chain around Tooru’s neck. He fumbles with it a bit, his nerves betraying his otherwise calm demeanor. It’s ridiculous. They’re both in their boxers, Hajime in his jersey, his promise resting on Tooru’s heart. Oikawa kisses him and it’s snotty and wet and perfect, because it’s Hajime and Hajime is his and wants to be his forever and he’s going to get to marry his best friend, his soulmate, the only person he has ever loved. He never has to say goodbye again. When they break apart to breathe again, they stand in silence for a moment, foreheads pressed together as they share their tears and laughter.
Hajime breaks it with a joke. “Still wanna get married on a volleyball court?” he teases.
Tooru clings to him tightly. “I don’t care where or how as long as it’s with you.” He kisses the blush on Hajime’s cheeks until he’s kissing him in earnest again and they’re tumbling back onto the bed.
Finally, they’ve found their someday.