Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Pack your bags, we’re going to Hokkaido.”

Was the only thing Matsukawa declared before Oikawa found himself strung along for a spontaneous trip to the snow-blanketed land of Japan’s northernmost prefecture.

He adores Matsukawa really—the taller, dark-haired co-worker has become one of Oikawa’s few close friends in the large accounting firm they work at after they were both assigned to the same company and uncovered an accounting scandal—but sometimes he’d appreciate a heads-up.

But nope. All Matsukawa did was drop that line on him and offer some vague explanation about how he won a pair of tickets for a one-week stay at the breath-taking Niseko Village, where winter magic comes alive on the mountains of powder snow—flight and accommodation already paid for.

He’s not sure what to feel about this trip. There’s a ton of work waiting for him back in Tokyo though Matsukawa will tell him in that deadpan voice of his that the company they’re assigned to has a financial year ending in March. He will add that Oikawa’s been working himself to the bone for the whole year and a little break is long overdue and well-deserved—which he did.

And then he carried on to say that it’s freaking December, a lull period where everyone’s taking some time off to spend the holidays with their families and friends and the free tickets are a perfect opportunity for him to get a life that doesn’t involve hunching over his laptop like a shrimp or burying himself in stacks of paperwork filled with balance sheets and bank reconciliations.

Matsukawa put forth some compelling points (most of them targeting the dismal lack of hobbies, love and sex in Oikawa’s life) and Oikawa couldn’t find an opening to retort or decline. In fact, he didn’t have any say in the matter at all.

So here he is, in the Niseko Gondola Station, already dressed in his bright cyan snowboarding attire because someone insisted that they have to try snowboarding as he waits for Matsukawa to search for a pair of boots that fit him. He’s not sure why he’s having trouble finding one – they did their full attire fittings yesterday when they first arrived. Did Matsukawa’s feet grow overnight or something.

Oikawa’s fiddling with the pockets of his ski jacket and pants trying to determine exactly how many there are (he already found six) when Matsukawa finally joins him at the bench, dropping his selected pair of boots onto the ground with a heavy thud.

“This should be it,” he mumbles as he tries them on.

Oikawa hums in response, opting for some people-watching as he lets his eyes wander from a family of four trying out different ski jacket sizes to a young couple choosing their skis at a corner of the rental counters. The centre is teeming with local tourists and foreigners, vivid colours flitting about the floor, and Oikawa’s beginning to ease into the liveliness that the winter holidays is supposed to bring.

He might even be excited for their snowboarding lesson later.

The sound of a child’s laughter as he dashes away from his mother clutching a pair of kids’ gloves is interrupted by the large glass doors sliding open, a gust of wind sweeping glistening snow into the centre with a whoosh.

Oikawa’s gaze inadvertently follows and along with the vanishing snow he sets his eyes on a man in striking red ski attire, striding towards the reception counter as he pulls off his beanie in one swift motion, ruffling his short, dark hair so that stray droplets of water fly from the tips of his hair to catch in the light.

His eyes are sharp, a little unfriendly but in a smouldering way, and oh, the cut of his jaw keeps Oikawa’s mouth half-opened and soon, his round maple eyes are fixed on his confident gait, steps heavy but sure with the weight of the boots as he approaches the lady at the counter.

Even underneath all the layers, Oikawa knows for certain that whoever this man is, he’s blessed with a body that could rival that of Greek gods’ and it’s unexpected, but Oikawa will admit that he is undoubtedly, 100% smitten.

“Who is that?” he asks in a fascinated whisper, surveying the man from head to toe before feasting his eyes on his handsome side profile.

Beside him, Matsukawa looks up and follows his line of sight to notice the person Oikawa’s staring at. He takes one look at the dark-haired male, rugged and tanned, and another at his starry-eyed friend and arches a brow in vague interest.

“Someone out of your league,” he quips, straightening his back once he’s tightened the wire of his boots and fishing for his gloves.

Ignoring Matsukawa’s jab, Oikawa declares, still ogling, “He’s hot.”

The taller man scoffs, more at Oikawa appearing like a dreamy fool than the notion itself (because to be honest, he doesn’t doubt it), and exaggerates, “He’s wearing like five layers, how would you know?”

“I mean he’s…” Oikawa trails off, vision filled with his new eye candy as he notes the sudden crease in his eyebrows before settling on lips that move around words he cannot hear. “Really good-looking. Do you think he’s an instructor?”

“Pretty sure he is,” Matsukawa answers and wonders how far gone his friend is if he doesn’t realize that the guy is donning the exact crimson attire that every instructor is wearing.

“Do you think he’s our instructor?” Oikawa amends, sounding decidedly more interested than when he first arrived.

Matsukawa spots an opportunity to mess with Oikawa and doesn’t let it go to waste. The corner of his mouth curling into a slight smirk, he offers, already standing, “I could find out.”

“What the hell no!” Oikawa exclaims in a hushed voice, yanking Matsukawa by the elbow with a little too much strength and forcing him to sit back down. “Are you trying to blow my chances?”

He would have protested against the unnecessary display of violence if he isn’t so surprised over Oikawa’s apparent seriousness about hooking up with winter wonderman over there.

“You’re serious?”

“I don’t want to look uncool, he might be our instructor,” Oikawa speculates as he releases Matsukawa’s arm. First impressions make all the difference. And maybe his trusty co-worker is right. Maybe all he needs this holiday is to let loose and have a bit of fun, and if that fun comes in the form of a winter fling, he’s not complaining. Oikawa glances back to the attractive stranger and suddenly their eyes meet.

His eyes are piercing, deep viridian against the tan of his skin. It makes Oikawa’s heart stutter a beat.

“Oh shit, he’s looking here,” he panics, shifting hastily to face Matsukawa. “Pretend to talk.”

“We are talking,” Matsukawa drawls but doesn’t say anything after that.

A blanket of silence ensues as they both stare at each other without saying a word. To onlookers, they must probably look odd, just two guys trading an intense glare and a placid gaze in a wordless exchange.

“I hate you Mattsun,” Oikawa eventually says pointedly.

“Sure. If you’re done objectifying him, shall we go?” Matsukawa suggests mildly, picking up his amber-streaked snowboard and getting ready to leave, Oikawa following with a roll of his eyes.

“Why did I agree to come here?”

“Shouldn’t you thank me instead?”

Meanwhile, as Oikawa’s undressing icy hot instructor with his eyes, Iwaizumi Hajime, seasoned snowboarder and instructor at Niseko Village during the holidays, lifts his chin at Tanaka Saeko in greeting when she waves him over to the counter.

“Iwaizumi, you’re finally in. I tried calling you a few times,” the older employee calls out to him, a hint of urgency in her voice.

“Sorry, I haven’t checked my phone,” Iwaizumi apologizes, scuffing his boots and watching clumps of snow fall onto the carpet as he leans an elbow against the surface and glances back up at Saeko. “What’s up?”

“Daichi’s supposed to take the class at 1:30pm but he got into a little accident and sprained his ankle so we’re wondering if you can cover his class?” Saeko tells him as she regards him hopefully.

“Shit, is he okay?” Iwaizumi asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Daichi’s one of his fellow snowboard instructors who acts like an actual, functioning adult in this resort. He even considers him a good friend and looks forward to exchanging tips on which mountains offer the best powder for backcountry snowboarding. To get injured now is an absolute shame, especially when they’re so busy this month.

“Yeah, he tripped over some equipment that were left lying around,” Saeko explains with a frown. “That’s why Suga wants posters put up to remind people to put away their stuff properly.”

Iwaizumi grimaces. An absolute shame indeed.

“I’ll make sure my students do that,” Iwaizumi promises, making a mental note to be a tad sterner about it later. “And yeah, I’ll cover his class. 1:30pm right?”

He pockets his beanie and checks his watch. That’s in fifteen minutes. There’s probably only enough time to take care of a few administrative tasks before he needs to head out to the beginners’ area. If he recalls correctly, Daichi, like him, is assigned to teach the basic classes this time.

“Yup! Sorry it’s a little sudden. I know you already had a morning class, but we don’t have other available instructors. We’re so packed this season!” Saeko says sheepishly.

It’s true; the centre is bustling with holiday-goers, there are queues at the rental counters and the atmosphere at the resort seems to be livelier. It means they’re all snowed under the extra work and have less free time to ride the slopes but Iwaizumi doesn’t mind. He likes teaching and seeing the bright smiles on his students’ faces when they can finally ride a slope without falling or execute a turn flawlessly. Needless to say, winter is his favourite season.

“Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi waves it off.

“Thanks Iwaizumi! Knew I could count on you,” Saeko says, grinning at him appreciatively. Then, she leans forward, bracelets clinking against the countertop and grin turning cheeky as she adds, “By the way, don’t be obvious but that guy on your three o’clock has been staring at you for a while now.”

As an immediate (and heedless) response, Iwaizumi turns towards his right, gaze falling on a man with chestnut-coloured hair and the most beguiling glint in hazel eyes.

Pine green meets sweet caramel for a brief second before the stranger glimpses away nervously.

He’s cute, Iwaizumi thinks in that fleeting moment.

“That was pretty obvious but okay,” Saeko interrupts his thoughts, cocking her head in a show of respect for his blatant disregard for inconspicuousness.

“Hm.”

“Looking for love this holiday?” she waggles her eyebrows at him. “Might be your chance.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, pushing himself off the counter to prepare for the next class. He doesn’t think much of it though a tiny smirk works his way to his mouth when he answers, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Fifteen minutes later at the beginners’ area, Oikawa is tugging on Matsukawa’s sleeve not so furtively because he can’t help the disbelief and excitement bubbling up in his chest when it’s green-eyed eye candy standing before their class and introducing himself as their instructor for today.

His name is Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa recites in his mind, and he mentions something about their original instructor getting injured but the brunette doesn’t catch it. His voice is low and a little gravelly, like he never really recovered from a cold.

Oikawa thinks it’s sexy.

“Mattsun! He really is our instructor!” he whispers eagerly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, a largely futile effort given his cyan jacket and the jerking movement one of Matsukawa’s arm makes.

“Yes I can see that. Lucky you,” Matsukawa says flatly without sparing Oikawa a sideways glance. The only reason he’s uninterested even though it’s a universal fact that their instructor is attractive is because he’s head over heels in love with Hanamaki Takahiro, his long-time boyfriend and recording engineer who’s currently on a job in Osaka.

A silly smile hangs on the edge of Oikawa’s lips as he wonders, “Do you think I can get his number?”

It would be remiss if he doesn’t right? To be presented with such a beautiful coincidence is a rarity, and Oikawa may have been out of the dating game for a while, but surely his god-given good looks and flirting skills (hopefully still passable) will come through.

“Do you think you can pay attention so you don’t embarrass yourself?” Matsukawa shoots back casually.

Oikawa’s mouth twists into a pout and he decides to leave his goody two-shoes of a friend alone to finally listen to what their instructor is saying.

But the moment his gaze slides to the front, for the second time in less than an hour, Oikawa accidentally makes eye contact with—oh, he can now put a name to that handsome face—Iwaizumi Hajime.

It’s that same intense look Oikawa first saw, slightly curious and very much unreadable. It’s not really a warning, there’s no threat in his stare, more like he’s sizing Oikawa up but for what, he’s clueless. He feels his cheeks burn, having been caught whispering away when the teacher is talking and the mortification forces him to avert his eyes. He hopes this doesn’t negatively impact his chances of saving a new number into his phone by the end of the lesson.

But as Oikawa discovers, there’s barely any chance to have one-on-one time with Iwaizumi, let alone strike a conversation long enough to determine if their interactions can take place off the snow. He’s definitely too ambitious; they’re well into their first exercise of skating and gliding and he has a grand total of zero exchanges with Iwaizumi.

Just as Oikawa’s forlornly watching Iwaizumi tend to a freckled student in the distance, Matsukawa comes gliding in from his peripheral vision to stop right in front of him, effectively blocking his view with a nonchalant expression.

“So much for getting his number huh. You haven’t said a single word to him at all,” Matsukawa taunts good-naturedly. He’s caught his friend sneaking hopeful glances at their instructor and shuffling awkwardly over to him with one foot strapped into the binding only for him to be called by another student, and it’s becoming rather amusing.

“Oh shush,” Oikawa says sulkily.

In his defence, the class is big and everyone here is so…enthusiastic that Iwaizumi is constantly checking someone’s form or dishing out tips to another or pulling a fallen student off the snow. It doesn’t help that Matsukawa was conveniently in the vicinity while Oikawa was some metres away practising his gliding and was offered a few suggestions on keeping up a proper posture.

By the time Oikawa looked over to his friend, Iwaizumi was already leaving to approach another student and all Oikawa received was Matsukawa’s shit-eating grin.

Wrong place, wrong time it seems.

“Looks like the Oikawa Tooru needs a wingman,” Matsukawa teases. Even people with model-level attractiveness and a charming personality need a little help sometimes. Perhaps the world is fair.

And well, that’s what friends are for.

“No I don’t—”

“Hey, Iwaizumi-san! Check out my gliding,” Matsukawa cuts him off to holler for Iwaizumi’s attention.

When he turns to face them, Oikawa scrambles to react but Matsukawa starts to skate, his back foot pushing off the snow before stepping up onto the snowboard against the binding to glide smoothly for a couple of metres. Iwaizumi watches him execute the technique and when Matsukawa’s snowboard slides to a stop, he’s met with a nod of approval.

“That’s good. Keep it up.”

Smiling innocuously, Matsukawa adds, lifting his chin towards Oikawa’s direction, “Can you help out my friend? He’s having some trouble balancing.”

“Yeah sure,” Iwaizumi says, walking towards Oikawa whose eyes have grown wide despite attempting to keep a neutral expression because he is not ready. “Show me what you got.”

“Okay…” he manages, but not before throwing Matsukawa an ‘I’m going to kill you’ look, head tilted at his co-worker menacingly with a dangerous glint in his eyes. The wavy-haired accountant knows that if Oikawa humiliates himself here, he’s never going to hear the end of it, but that’s a risk he’s willing to take.

Luckily for him (and Oikawa too if they’re counting), the amateur actually pulls off the skate-and-glide without making any awkward movements or worse, face-planting. Oikawa breathes a sigh of relief and looks back up to wrinkle his nose at Matsukawa in satisfaction.

“That’s not bad,” he hears Iwaizumi say as he comes up from behind. Oikawa twists around, as much as having one foot strapped onto the bindings will allow but Iwaizumi saves him the trouble when he stops in front of him to say, “You don’t want to push too far out when you skate though. What’s your name?”

This time, he holds Oikawa’s gaze with insouciance, simply an instructor doing his part for his student, and ignores the undertone of interest that exists like a veil of falling snow.

“Oikawa. Tooru,” he answers in punctuated breaths and immediately cringes internally, wishing he could have said that with less nervous energy.

“Oikawa. Okay, when you skate, take small steps. It’ll make it easier to bring your foot up against the back binding when you start gliding,” Iwaizumi tells him, tapping his boot against the plastic as he explains. If he notices Oikawa being self-conscious around him, as if he wasn’t caught staring at him on two separate occasions, he hides it well. Coolly, he continues, “And remember, keep your knees bent, back straight and look where you’re going to maintain balance. Try it.”

He does, and tries not to dwell on how appealing Iwaizumi’s face is despite the dark grey beanie covering his forehead and the high collar of the jacket hiding his neck. Oikawa’s second attempt takes him further than where he started from and he’s beginning to think that snowboarding’s not as difficult as it looks. Rather complacent for a rookie. They haven’t even hit the slopes yet.

“Yeah, that’s good. Keep at it,” Iwaizumi says, approaching him again.

“Thank you,” Oikawa responds, a deceptively modest smile gracing his features.

It would have been ideal if they could take their conversation further, maybe chat about something besides snowboarding, but Iwaizumi decides to leave them to it to check on the other students’ progress. So Oikawa can only stare at his retreating figure hoping that another chance will present itself and when it does, he’ll be ready.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Matsukawa remarks when he joins Oikawa, one foot dragging his snowboard along. “Now he has your name. Good start.”

“Give me a little warning next time,” Oikawa says blandly.

“Nah.”

The class moves on to learning side slips next. For this, they head to the gentle slopes where an instructor with ash-coloured hair and a beauty mark is demonstrating how to walk uphill with skis on. Iwaizumi nods his head in a ‘hello’ before taking his own class through the side slips, his stance effortlessly poised as he points the toe edge of his snowboard perpendicular to the slope and gradually slides down the hill a few inches at a time, the edge of his snowboard biting into the snow to control his speed.

He makes it look easy, but Oikawa realizes that when you’re no longer on flat ground, it feels a dozen times more daunting when both your feet are strapped onto a snowboard with a base that practically acts like lubricant against the sheet of snow. Oikawa’s fairly certain his toes have never curled so much before. Every time he lowers his toes and tilts the snowboard downwards, picking up speed, he raises them in the next instant to brake, causing his trip down the slope to be far from graceful and noticeably bumpy.

In his hesitation, he’s fallen a few times but at least he’s in the same boat as everyone in that respect. Oikawa’s even caught Matsukawa wind milling his arms once in a bid to catch his balance.

But snickering at Matsukawa aside, he concentrates on making it down without falling, eyes trained on his feet as if the supervision will force them to cooperate. He’s doing well so far, movement still erratic but he’s able to cover more distance when he lowers his toes. The trademark tongue-peek makes an appearance, a common sight whenever he’s poring over financial statements but now a result of trying to get toe side slipping right with more focus than he expected to have.

And because that single-minded purpose makes him lose sight of his surroundings, the sound of a familiar, gruff voice comes a little too unexpectedly.

“Look up. Don’t—”

Oikawa yelps in surprise, head jolting up and body tensing, which would have been the onset of a mortifying fall if Iwaizumi hadn’t stuck a boot out in front of his snowboard and steadied him with a shoulder grip in time.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the culprit apologizes, pulling his hand away but keeping his foot secured against the toe edge of the snowboard so that Oikawa stays rooted to the spot.

Oikawa wills his heartbeat to settle, too startled to ascertain if it’s because of the mini scare or the fact that Iwaizumi is close and talking to him alone.

“It’s okay,” Oikawa says, slightly breathless. He tries to keep his voice even. “I was too focused hoping I wouldn’t fall.”

“Yeah, you keep looking down at your snowboard. Look up,” Iwaizumi points out. Frankly, Oikawa is not too bad; he catches on fast and has good coordination, just too conscious of the fact that both feet are planted onto the board, which is understandable for any beginner. It’s not a tough obstacle to overcome, and Iwaizumi adds, “Just keep the rules in mind – toes down, you speed up. Toes up, you slow down. Ready to try again?”

Not really, Oikawa says in his head but nods anyway, not wanting to look like he’s unconfident. He doesn’t have to do it perfectly, he just needs to not fall.

At his confirmation, Iwaizumi releases his foot from the edge of the snowboard and steps away, watching Oikawa lower his toes and let his snowboard slide down the hill for a couple of feet at a time before raising them to dig the board into the snow. Iwaizumi surveys his stance – knees bent, back straight, eyes in front – and nods his approval as he follows him down. Oikawa repeats the motion until he slows to a stop at the foot of the hill and Iwaizumi can see him visibly relax.

When he faces him with a gleam in his cinnamon-coloured eyes, Iwaizumi takes a beat before he says, “Good. You’re a quick learner. Is this your first time snowboarding?”

Outwardly, Oikawa maintains a calm demeanour but his mind is reeling from the realization that Iwaizumi is actually making small talk.

“Yes. In fact, I don’t see a lot of snow. And I don’t really travel out. I’m from the city, Tokyo,” he offers and promptly worries that maybe he’s coming across as too eager or maybe he’s oversharing? Recovering, Oikawa decides to turn his focus to Iwaizumi, “What about you? How long have you been teaching?”

“This is my fourth year teaching and I mostly take the beginner classes, but I’ve been snowboarding since I was a kid.”

“That’s so cool. Are you a citizen of Hokkaido?”

Are you a citizen of Hokkaido??? Oikawa cringes. What is he, from the Meiji era?

“No, I’m from Sendai. Miyagi,” Iwaizumi answers, giving no indication that he found Oikawa’s speech odd. Between the two of us though, he found it strangely winsome. “I only teach here during the winter holidays. It’s kind of like an arrangement the resort has with my company. I work in a travel agency.”

It elicits a chuckle from Oikawa and Iwaizumi mouth dips into a small frown.

“What’s funny?”

Oikawa waves his hand airily, “You don’t strike me as someone with a desk job.”

“Yeah? What do I strike you as then?” he asks, curious but also a challenge.

“I don’t know, a pro snowboarder or something?” the brunette responds without much thought. From the first time he laid his eyes on him, he held the impression that seasoned sportsman here, with his cool exterior and ruggedness, is a denizen of the snow-capped mountains and could dedicate his life to the sport. A reach for a first sight, but nothing very profound was going through his mind that time.

Iwaizumi raises a brow questioningly at that, “Do you think every instructor goes pro?”

And Oikawa blushes, realizing that he sounds ignorant for making such an assumption.

“No, you just seem like someone who’s won a lot of medals flying across snowy plains and doing flips and tricks,” he replies, and thinks he’s being flattering. But it doesn’t get him the reaction he expects.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have a corporate job and only teach snowboarding during the winter holidays,” Iwaizumi says and before Oikawa can clarify, he adds with an impish lilt, “And you? What do you work as?”

“I’m an accountant,” Oikawa responds without missing a beat. It’s hard work and crazy hours but he likes his job and the satisfaction of closing an audit after slogging your guts out with people who grate on your nerves and people who you can call your comrades.

“I see.”

But Oikawa also knows the kind of stereotypes surrounding such salarymen.

“You think I’m a nerd,” he posits, shoulders deflating comically.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it!” Oikawa argues and feels a need to defend his honour, not as necessary as he thinks it is. “I’ll have you know that I’m not a typical accountant.”

“Really? What kind of accountant are you?” Iwaizumi plays along.

“The kind who can produce reports with a 1% margin of error,” he says proudly, because it’s undoubtedly one of his strong suits (Irihata even commended him on it recently), neglecting to recognize that he’s just proven a point.

Someone on fuchsia skis zips past them in their periphery, losing control and face-planting into the snow but it steals neither of their attention. After a pause, during which Iwaizumi’s brow arches even further and Oikawa registers the sheer foolishness of his statement and screams internally, the former simply smirks in amusement.

“You must be very passionate about accounting,” Iwaizumi remarks, turning away to gather the rest of the students for the next part of the class. “Keep practising. We’ll be learning how to turn next.”

The moment he’s got his back towards him, Oikawa buries his face into his gloved hands, appalled at the dreadful attempt to flirt. If there’s a wall of shame for the most lamentable flirting attempts, Oikawa’s would be up there. At this rate, he can bid farewell to having another private conversation with the instructor, let alone getting his number.

In a timely fashion, Matsukawa comes up next to him, one foot unstrapped from the bindings and the other pulling the snowboard with him again. Having listened in to their exchange, he offers his friend an unimpressed look.

“The kind who can produce reports with a 1% margin of error? You’re rusty. I’m embarrassed for you.”

Oikawa lifts his head, not appreciating the obvious.

“Shut up Mattsun.”

Their first snowboarding class ends with no more fuss but a few aches. All the twisting and tension in their bodies will surely leave them a little sore tomorrow and Oikawa has no qualms about making it known as they remove their gear back in the Gondola Station (or at least Matsukawa is).

“I’m bushed! And my legs are hurting. It feels like they’re going to bruise,” Oikawa complains, leaning against the heels of his palms as he kicks his heavy feet out and stretches his tired legs. Beside him, Matsukawa loosens the leash of the boot and grunts as he yanks it off.

Oikawa makes no move to remove his, opting to dawdle on the cushioned seat until some energy returns to his muscles. He rolls his head back, squinting when the glare of the ceiling lights hits his face.

“Need a hand?” Oikawa hears someone say and jolts to attention when he recognizes the voice. Iwaizumi’s face fills his vision when he lifts his head abruptly, cheeks colouring for being caught in a careless moment.

“No it’s okay…” he says hurriedly, pulling his hands and feet to himself and sitting upright but Iwaizumi is already kneeling down in front of him to work his boot open and all Oikawa can manage is a feeble, “Ah—thanks…”

He can almost feel Matsukawa smirking beside him.

From his kneeling position, Iwaizumi pops the dial, loosens the wire and pulls on the tongue of the boot which eases the tightness around Oikawa’s foot. He can only observe quietly in part-awkwardness and part-wonderment as Iwaizumi’s fingers move with practised ease. With one hand pressed against the back of Oikawa’s leg and the other cupped around the heel of the boot, he tugs it free and leaves it aside.

“It’s normal for your calves to bruise—” he explains, glancing up at Oikawa when he taps against the muscle and adds, “Here right?—since you’ve been leaning on the highbacks quite a lot but they should be gone in a couple of days.”

As he works on the other boot, he says to the both of them, “You guys did well today. How did you find the class?”

“It was great. Definitely deserving of the five stars on Google,” Matsukawa comments, slanting a lackadaisical gaze towards his friend. “Oikawa thinks you have too many students though.”

Predictably, Oikawa hastens to clarify with a pointed look in his direction, “Mattsun’s just messing around. He tends to run his mouth when he’s hungry.” He wiggles his toes when they’re finally released from the confines of the boot. “I enjoyed the class. Snowboarding’s more fun than I expected.”

He smiles a charming one at Iwaizumi who replies, “Good to hear. If you’re interested, you can rent the equipment and practise on the slopes anytime.”

“By ourselves?” Oikawa asks, perking up. Now where’s the fun in two rookies trying not to face-plant into the snow?

Iwaizumi throws him a quizzical stare. “Yeah? You want like a cheering squad?”

Matsukawa saves him the trouble of answering but not from further embarrassment, “He’s the kind who learns better with a teacher. He needs a little bit of hand-holding.”

“I think you need an early dinner,” Oikawa retorts, a warning edge to his tone but it has no effect whatsoever on the wavy-haired man.

Today’s class has certainly brought him a couple of interesting students, Iwaizumi thinks as he watches their banter and is reminded that this Oikawa Tooru guy is pretty cute. He’s not blind—he can tell he’s interested and Iwaizumi himself might be as well.

“We’ve only learned the basics. I’m sure you can handle that,” he says, standing to his feet and giving in to the urge to tease him one last time before they part ways. “Mr. Accountant.”

The blush it sets on Oikawa’s face is delightful and Iwaizumi finds himself thinking that he wouldn’t mind it if his next words come true, “See you guys around. Remember to put away the equipment properly.”

“Will do,” Matsukawa drawls as Iwaizumi walks away.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Oikawa sulks, stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket as Matsukawa pushes his luggage into the storage bay of the charter bus that’s taking him back to Sapporo.

His soon-to-be former travel companion swings out from underneath the compartment door to face Oikawa apologetically.

“Sorry, but I wanna make sure ‘Hiro’s okay.”

Neither of them could have expected that Matsukawa would receive a call last evening from his boyfriend telling him not to freak out but he’s been hospitalized for getting a minor injury at the recording studio. Something about the diva of the band flying into a rage and shoving at Hanamaki until he tripped and fell, the back of his head catching the edge of a studio monitor.

He claimed he was fine, but Matsukawa didn’t want to take any chances, especially when it was a head injury, so he booked the earliest bus to Sapporo and the next flight out of Hokkaido.

“I know,” Oikawa says glumly. “Tell Makki I said hi, and let me know how he’s doing.”

Hanamaki Takahiro is his friend too. Ever since Matsukawa introduced them, the three of them hit it off and regularly meet up for meals at their favourite restaurant, Blue Castle. Oikawa never feels like a third wheel with them (okay maybe he does sometimes) and they’re tight enough that he will shamelessly demand to be the best man at their wedding. He knows how much Matsukawa loves him, so he understands why he would want to be by his side.

“Yeah,” the younger man promises and tries to convince Oikawa that spending some alone time at the resort is not as bad as it seems. “Hey, there’s a ton of stuff to do here so at least try to have some fun okay? And no working.”

“I will try,” Oikawa acquiesces, enunciating the last word.

Matsukawa offers him a small grin, “Also, keep me posted on how it goes with your dear instructor.”

“Don’t expect anything,” Oikawa rolls his eyes. Given the disappointing outcome of their interactions yesterday, he’s not keeping his hopes up. “I don’t even know if I’ll see him again.”

“Not with that attitude. If you ask me, I think he’s interested so…never say never,” Matsukawa shrugs.

“Your optimism is inspiring,” Oikawa says dryly, herding him towards the front of the bus.

Matsukawa doesn’t hop onto the bus yet, deciding to leave his friend with some parting words, “And if you get laid, you’re buying me a meal.”

He set the groundwork so he believes he should be given some credit if Oikawa actually pulls through. Sadly, the quip is not very welcomed by the fellow accountant, who exhales sharply through his nose and flushes pink.

“Just go!”

By the time evening dyes the resort in midnight blue, warm glows of light peppered against the snow-covered roofs and streets, Oikawa has already visited the onsen, the spa, the fitness centre and took an idle stroll around the resort’s premises. Against his previous words, he checked his inbox once and answered a few emails but closed it when it seems his capable colleague, Yahaba, has got everything under control.

He doesn’t think he can survive another four days all by himself here. Supposing he signs up for snowshoeing or snowmobiling or the like, he’d probably only try them out once (those activities are expensive) and since they don’t take up much time, he’ll be bored again soon enough.

The passing thought of signing up for another snowboarding class crosses his mind but he files it for later, intent on searching for a good dinner place for now.

His choices are not extensive. The plaza, where all the shopping and dining options are concentrated in, is surprisingly sparse. There are a handful of gift shops and several restaurants offering typical Japanese dishes. For a popular resort like Niseko, Oikawa expected the plaza to be…fuller. He hadn’t done any research before coming here so he’s not sure if there are more alternatives outside of the resort but he’s not exactly in the mood to go exploring, so he’ll have to settle for this.

Oikawa folds the lapel of his black winter jacket over the other and trudges along, passing by the beginners’ area that’s empty given that the slopes have closed for the day, save a couple of instructors making their usual rounds.

The idea about continuing his snowboarding lessons returns the same way his attention is stolen—unexpectedly and accompanied by jet black hair and olive-coloured eyes. The person he almost walked right by is Iwaizumi, seemingly on his way back to the station.

“Hey.”

It’s not a voice he expected to hear so soon. Then again, the holiday season is when the magic happens right? You’ll never know what you’d find around the corner, or in this case, at the beginners’ slopes.

“Oh—hi.”

He is still dressed in his instructor’s attire with his Burton snowboard clutched in one hand. Oikawa’s not too fond of how his stomach flutters at the sight of him because Iwaizumi Hajime is just an instructor—albeit a terribly attractive one—and Oikawa might be a tad smitten—only scarcely, a little, maybe a lot.

“Where are you headed?” Iwaizumi asks, oblivious to the effect he has on the other man.

“The plaza,” Oikawa answers, suddenly self-conscious over his apparent lack of companionship.

“For dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says, keeping his tone chirpy. If he pretends it doesn’t bother him that much, then it won’t. “Any recommendations? I’ve tried the sukiyaki already though.”

Iwaizumi briefly considers the question and replies, “The tempura restaurant is not too bad but pricey. Where’s your friend?”

That’s the very thing Oikawa was hoping he wouldn’t ask. How lame would it be to be caught heading out to dinner alone when literally everyone here is spending their holidays with their family or friends or loved ones? Ah whatever, it’s not like he could have predicted this and like he said, as long as he feigns nonchalance, there’s nothing to be sheepish about.

“Mattsun had an emergency so he had to leave. His partner got into a mini accident at work. Talk about bad timing huh,” Oikawa jokes.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, oddly pensive. There’s a moment of silence between them that stretches a little too long for Oikawa’s comfort. He’s about to plaster on a smile and say that he should get going so that he can save himself from this awkwardness but Iwaizumi beats him to it with a suggestion that floors him. “Do you want to grab dinner together? I was about to head out too.”

Now it’s Oikawa who’s responsible for the ensuing silence as he wraps his mind around the reality that Iwaizumi has asked him out to dinner? He must have been really good all year for Santa to reward him with such a present.

But leaving out the dramatics, he accepts the invitation with as much composure as he can muster, although he can’t hide the surprise that settles on his features. “I would…love to.”

Iwaizumi gives him a half-smile, hoisting his snowboard to grip it more securely. Oikawa momentarily registers the large Godzilla sticker, with the words ‘skreeonk!!!’, decorating its base.

“Okay, which hotel are you staying at?”

“Hilton,” Oikawa replies and wonders how that is pertinent information.

“Great, let me change out of this and I’ll meet you at the lobby in…half an hour?”

Oikawa blinks, head tiled to the side, “Wait, we’re not eating here?”

And Iwaizumi laughs, a light chuckle that barely puts crinkles in the corners of his eyes and feels like the first flurry of snowflakes. Oikawa is not embarrassed, but his cheeks tinge pink anyway.

“No, there are better options that aren’t so much of a tourist trap,” he explains. He might be an employee here, but that’s the truth, and he’s not about to settle when he knows where to find superior (and cheaper) delicacies outside this resort. “I’ll take you out to town.”

The statement repeats itself like a broken record in his mind and Oikawa forces himself to act natural.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at the lobby then.”

Promptly after the chance encounter, Oikawa dashes up to his hotel room to check his appearance, fix his hair and bring some mints with him. He doesn’t want to jump into conclusions, but he’s experienced one surprise after another since yesterday, who knows what he’ll end up with by the end of the night?

Iwaizumi meets Oikawa at the hotel lobby right on time and Oikawa will admit that his eyes have truly been blessed when he takes in the sight of a casually-dressed Iwaizumi. The brunette believes that he has a decent fashion sense, with his black down jacket over a blue fleece button-down and dark jeans, the ensemble completed with a matching scarf and a pair of Aldo winter boots.

But Iwaizumi, when he’s not covered up in his instructor’s attire, is a real looker. His army green jacket rustles slightly when he strolls over to Oikawa, and he’s dressed in a dark grey sweater with a strip of white shirt peeking out from underneath its hem. His jeans are fitting, bottom hems rolled up to rest above his hiking boots. There’s not much skin, but still so much to see. Oikawa bemoans at the unfairness of it.

“We can take the bus,” Iwaizumi says and Oikawa lets him lead the way.

The bus takes them to Yamada in Kutchan district and Iwaizumi introduces him to the best authentic Hokkaido ramen stall in the city, or so he claims. Oikawa doesn’t refute it, since the rich umami flavour that spreads across his tongue is proof of it. They talk and eat, and Oikawa discovers that conversing with Iwaizumi is…refreshing, like a hint of citrus on a muted day.

Soon enough, he’s listening to a riveting account of how Iwaizumi flew off the edge of a cliff and plummeted a height equivalent to fifteen storeys when he went backcountry snowboarding in Tokachi—and then popped out of the snow completely unscathed.

“You’re telling me,” Oikawa says, his chopsticks lifted mid-air as he raises sceptical eyes at the person before him, “—that you accidentally snowboarded off a fifty-metre cliff and survived without any injuries?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you accidentally snowboard off a cliff???” Oikawa demands, watching Iwaizumi chew as if near-death experiences are a common occurrence.

“I miscalculated. Couldn’t tell the elevation was that high,” he answers after swallowing. “It was a good thing I had enough speed to clear the rocks and landed on snow. Actually, it’s a miracle I’m alive.”

As he thinks back to it, he remembers going ‘oh fuck’ and his heart lurching when he realizes that he practically slid off a steep cliff instead of a small hill. His mind went blank after that, and during the plunge all he saw was white. The snow had been deep and soft enough for it to feel as if he landed on a gigantic marshmallow and when he sat up without having broken or twisted anything, he had to find his breath to answer Ushijima, his former competitor and usual companion on his backcountry trips.

The whole thing had been captured on his GoPro and reviewing the clip after returning to camp brought to his attention how utterly life-threatening it was. Regardless, he couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that surged through his veins the same way it does every time he traverses the mountains or pulls off a 900 spin in the air.

Oikawa shakes his head in bewilderment, “Extreme sportsmen like you…always chasing after the thrill.”

“Don’t see what’s so bad about that,” Iwaizumi counters. The thrill—ephemeral but addictive—saves him and steels him.

But Oikawa, who does not encounter such hair-raising and potentially fatal experiences in his life, believes otherwise. He dips his chopsticks into his broth and remarks candidly, “I’d like to keep my limbs intact and maybe live to be eighty or so.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and fires back, “As if the stress from your job won’t suck the life out of you. And even if it doesn’t, it’ll probably give you hair loss by the time you’re thirty-five.”

The salaryman makes an affronted squawk, “Rude! I’m young and my scalp is perfectly healthy.”

Helping himself to one of the butter clams that they ordered as a side, Iwaizumi snorts and wonders simply out of curiosity, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

It draws out a raised brow from the instructor.

“Same,” he says, somewhat intrigued that they’re of the same age. Keeping eye contact, Iwaizumi goes on to ask, eyes brightening with interest, “So? What kind of dramatic stories do you encounter in your life, Mr. Accountant?”

Nothing as exhilarating as Iwaizumi’s, that’s certain. In fact, the most exciting thing he came across last month was discovering that the vending machine two storeys down sold his favourite brand of canned coffee.

“Oh you know…the usual office politics, backstabbing and the occasional extra-marital affair,” Oikawa says with a wave of his hand. He’s not about to disclose how boring and in need of a little spice his life is. He is however, going to tell Iwaizumi to cut it out with that embarrassing nickname. “And stop calling me ‘Mr. Accountant’!”

“Why? That is what you are,” he states, obviously finding this entertaining.

Oikawa huffs but comes up with an idea to turn things in his favour in no time. His voice changes into a cheeky one as he slants a roguish gaze at Iwaizumi, “Then I think it’s only fair that you get a nickname too,” and starts thinking of a few but they’re rather inappropriate for an impromptu dinner so he settles on a quick one—an adorable shortening of his name—“Iwa-chan.”

“No.”

A sharp glare goes with the curt warning but Oikawa doesn’t let the blatant disapproval deter him.

“I think it has a nice ring to it,” he surmises with a smile, dipping a piece of fried gyoza into the soya sauce. For good measure, he repeats, “Iwa-chan.”

“It’s—childish,” Iwaizumi chokes out and makes a pinched face. It’s not as childish as it is endearing, because it sounds like something people who are close would say. They’re not there yet, although maybe if they were to inch their way there, he wouldn’t be abhorrent to the idea. He should probably stop this train of thought before it derails.

This is merely a harmless dinner between two acquaintances who might not see each other after tonight. He invited Oikawa out to his (favourite) ramen place and (readily) declined his friends’ offer to enjoy some BBQ at Ukai’s simply because he felt bad that Oikawa had to spend the evening alone and since they already said hi, it’d be pretty rude to leave him by himself. Right? Right.

“I beg to differ,” Oikawa returns, switching the topic to secure his victory. “So Iwa-chan, you have an office job too. Don’t you experience the excitement only a corporate life can offer?”

Acknowledging that it’s a dead-end for him, Iwaizumi hopes that the nickname won’t stick and responds, “Not really. We’re a close-knitted bunch at my workplace. None of that politics bullshit.”

“Lucky you,” Oikawa comments flippantly, hiding a tinge of envy. “You work in Sendai right? Have you ever been to Tokyo?”

“Once.”

“What did you think?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flit up for a second before he says, completely serious, “Not enough snow.”

Oikawa’s glad he isn’t in the middle of chewing because it’d be humiliating if bits of ramen were to fly out of his mouth when he releases a short laugh at Iwaizumi’s straight-faced reply. He can’t afford another moment of shame when he’s finally doing so well.

“Not enough snow??? Sounds like something Iwa-chan would say,” he nods in understanding, eyebrows scrunched together in amusement. He expected something basic, like it’s too crowded or there are so many things to do there or the city life is not for me, but trust Iwaizumi, who’s in love with the familiar camber under his feet and all the peace and ecstasy it offers, to make it about the snow. “Why do you like it so much? Snowboarding.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to answer, imagining it would be as easy as breathing, but closes it again. It is undeniably as natural as taking breaths, but people do not usually describe why it is so. In any case, he tries.

“I don’t know, I started when I was young and it was just fun,” he shrugs, remembering the perfectly executed front 180 that got him hooked onto the sport and no longer being afraid of the fall. “I wanted to keep getting better. I took part in competitions and met a lot of amazing snowboarders, which made me love the sport more. And even though I chose not to go pro, I wanted to be close to it, so I decided to teach. It turned out to be more fulfilling than I thought. I mean, I’ve been doing it for four years.”

“And you’re a good teacher,” Oikawa blurts, and grows sheepish immediately after. That was eager, but it wasn’t flattery. Leaning back, he adds, “I really think so.”

There is sincerity in his russet eyes, round and bright, a summer soul for a winter warmth. Iwaizumi’s chest thrums with quiet appreciation.

“Thanks.”

Oikawa darts his eyes back to his bowl of ramen, lest they give anything more away and asks casually, “How long does it take for someone to start snowboarding by themselves confidently?”

“It depends. Some people need step-by-step lessons but for others, once they nail down the basics, they can figure out the rest.”

“Really?” Oikawa lifts his gaze, unconvinced.

“No kidding. That’s how I learned,” Iwaizumi affirms.

“But that’s you. I’m not sure if I can get the hang of it so quickly.”

The instructor’s next line is both a sales tactic and a challenge, one more so than the other.

“Then I guess you’ll have to take more classes to find out.”

When their ramen have been all slurped up, side dishes polished off and houjicha warm in their bellies, Iwaizumi offers to pay for the meal (does this make it a date?). He sends Oikawa back to the resort, shoulders bumping during the bus ride and strolling with little space between them in the -5°C weather. Oikawa meets Iwaizumi’s teasing with quips of his own and Iwaizumi takes pleasure in learning the range of expressions he can put on Oikawa’s face.

It is not until they part at the hotel lobby and Oikawa has returned to his room, smiling himself silly like a teenager in love, when he realizes that he has cleanly forgotten to ask Iwaizumi for his number.

“Hello!” Oikawa greets cheerily, flashing a saccharine smile at the young man with a crew cut who’s manning the reception counter on this crisp morning. He looks up from his logbook, offering an amiable smile, and Oikawa peers at his name tag and puts his charm to good use, “Watari-san, right? I would like to sign up for the three-day beginner classes please.”

Admittedly, there will be a repeat of what he’s learned but Oikawa’s willing to go through the lesson again if it means accomplishing his goal. Besides, the revision could be useful. He’s a bit anxious about his chances of success though, given how last-minute his request is.

“That’s great, let me check for an available slot,” Watari says, flipping through the logbook and running the tip of his ballpoint pen down the page.

Oikawa peeks at the names written between the lines, does not see the one he’s interested in and shifts his weight to his other foot. He tries not to be suspicious but there isn’t really any other way to look at this when he asks, “Um, can you put me in Iwaizumi’s class?”

“Iwaizumi-san?” Watari gives him a curious look but thankfully says, “Sure, hang on.”

“Thank you!”

The dark-haired instructor is a close senior of Watari’s, with one of the most favourable reviews at the snow school, so it’s not surprising that he would be requested for. But this stranger is…not exactly the sneakiest in concealing his interest towards him. Watari vaguely wonders if Iwaizumi is aware and comes across a line in the schedule that makes him a bearer of good news.

“You’re in luck, someone cancelled yesterday so we have a free slot,” he informs Oikawa pleasantly. “Starts in a while actually, at 10:30am.”

The smile on the brunette’s face grows wider, as if Watari just made his day.

“Perfect!” Oikawa exclaims, ready to whip out his credit card. Snowboarding lessons are awfully expensive and he can’t stave off the twinge of agony when Watari processes the payment but it doesn’t compare to the bubble of mirth that rises with the prospect of meeting Iwa-chan again.

Later, it is near impossible to bite back the grin when he appears in Iwaizumi’s class in his cyan ski jacket, black pants and the same snowboard with splashes of ultramarine, and sees Iwaizumi ambling over to him. He’s early (some would say too eager), as is Iwaizumi, who had been taking attendance and rounding up the students before he caught sight of the familiar face. There is an air of insouciance to him, matched by Oikawa, who meets him halfway.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon,” Iwaizumi starts in lieu of a hello, slotting the student list into one of his pants pockets. If he was being perfectly honest, he was pleasantly surprised to see Oikawa’s name in the list, but he keeps that to himself.

Oikawa digs the tail of his board into the snow and with perfectly feigned ignorance, says, “I know right? I thought it’d be fun to go for more classes since I’m going to be here for a few more days. Didn’t expect you to be my instructor again. What are the odds huh?”

“Right,” Iwaizumi says, eyes narrowing the slightest bit. He should probably not disclose to Oikawa that Watari has relayed to him how this morning, someone with brown hair and brown eyes had requested to be in his class specifically. He’s in a good mood today, so he’ll spare him the mortification. The teasing though, doesn’t stop, “Well, since you’ve been through this class, I’m sure you can handle most of it yourself.”

Iwaizumi turns to leave, like seriously walks away, ignoring Oikawa’s indignant “hey—!” since he has a hunch that there will be plenty of chances for them to interact again.

The chance presents itself towards the end of the class, much to Oikawa’s chagrin. He would have created opportunities for them to chat but the students here are more fervent and snatch away Iwaizumi’s time and attention, leaving him to either steal disappointed glances at him or practise with Suzumeda and Shirofuku, two friends on a holiday together and his newest acquaintances.

They are given a demonstration of how to do a J-turn and Oikawa winces when Shirofuku falls backwards into the snow, the fault of too much chatter in her snowboard as she zips down the slope without bending her knees enough. Suzumeda rushes to her aid, the both of them laughing as she hauls her friend off her bum.

Oikawa prepares himself to try, scooting his snowboard closer to the edge of the slope. He lost his balance more often than not in the last class, only pulling off an adequate J-turn a couple of times, so he’s certain he will fall. It’s just a matter of how badly.

“You doing okay?” Iwaizumi’s voice comes from his side and Oikawa’s eyes widen for a fraction before he composes his expression into a mildly petulant one.

“Oh, you finally realized I’m also a student of this class?” is his passive-aggressive jab that’s all bark and no bite.

Instead of feeling guilty, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and fires back, “You’re doing fine.”

“Hm? Were you watching me?” the amateur asks innocently, his tone honey-sweet and gaze coy. It puts a prickling heat on Iwaizumi’s cheeks because it’s true, but Iwaizumi will claim that it’s his job to keep an eye on his students’ progress.

“Stop talking so much and show me if you still remember how to turn.”

That stuns Oikawa into asking, “Right now?” He hasn’t even had a go yet.

“You want me to round back to you?” Iwaizumi questions and gives him a one-shoulder shrug. “Can’t guarantee if I will though.”

Oikawa toys with the idea that perhaps Iwaizumi is strict with him only. He doesn’t see him applying the same brutal teaching methods to the other students. He’s still on the fence about whether this is the kind of special treatment he wants. Whatever it is, he has no intention of backing out of the challenge.

“Okay, fine. I’ll show you that I haven’t forgotten,” he announces but it’s easy to tell that it’s false bravado, for the next moment Oikawa looks over at the foot of the slope that is suddenly too far and too steep down, hesitation written across his features.

“Don’t be scared,” Iwaizumi cuts through his second thoughts, and Oikawa doesn’t figure out if the gentle assurance runs deeper than that of the words spoken as a teacher. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Now surely that—means more than he lets on.

Iwaizumi turns away to head down the hill carefully, missing the barely hidden wonderment in Oikawa’s eyes. He positions himself at the base and makes a beckoning motion for Oikawa to proceed. Oikawa shakes away the traces of uncertainty in his arms and rolls his shoulders, nudging himself forward until the nose of his snowboard points downwards.

He’s gliding down before he knows it, the smooth base of the snowboard giving him speed when it meets the snow at the slightest tilt. Oikawa tries to remember what he’s been taught—point your arm in the direction you’re turning and twist the snowboard at the curve of the J—but it’s hard to keep them in mind during the descent that happens swiftly, the white in his vision wiping his thoughts cleanly. All he knows to do is to follow his body on instinct, and it’s telling him that he should be turning right about now.

Oikawa twists his board but he must have done something wrong, since he’s tipping forward, and there’s no way he can keep himself upright when gravity pulls him down but it doesn’t manage to bring him to his knees. Iwaizumi is to be thanked for that, his lightning reflexes kicking in the second he notices the odd angle of Oikawa’s body.

Quick feet bring him right up to Oikawa in an instant, one arm reaching out in front of Oikawa which he grabs a tight hold of. It braces him, but it also forces their bodies close, Oikawa’s shoulder pressed up against Iwaizumi’s chest. In a fluster, the rookie snaps startled eyes towards Iwaizumi, who meets him with quiet surprise. It unknowingly sets off a spark in the shared space between them, liminal and transient and oh so small.

Iwaizumi’s gaze drops to Oikawa’s half-parted lips before he blinks away rapidly. Likewise, Oikawa clears his throat and uses Iwaizumi’s arm to steady himself, fixing his jacket in a nervous gesture.

“That was okay,” Iwaizumi fills the silence, pretending that moment was not charged with as much tension as it evidently was. Oikawa managed to turn at least, he only needed a hand in staying on his feet. Iwaizumi can still feel the lingering weight of Oikawa on his arm and wishing it is fuller is not something he can deny. Putting more distance between them, and some professionalism while he’s at it, the instructor adds, “You were leaning too far out, so be mindful about keeping your back straight, knees bent and hips centred over your board.”

“Ah, okay,” Oikawa nods, though the words vanish from his cluttered mind the moment they are said.

“You just need more practice,” Iwaizumi finishes and steps away, intending to check on his other students before he gets caught for focusing too much on one disarmingly enticing one. “Call me if you need anything.”

Oikawa’s next words leave his mouth before he can even think it, “How can I call you if I don’t have your number?”

Iwaizumi blinks, wondering if he’s misheard, but Oikawa’s voice rang clear, a little louder in his impulsiveness. It might have been unintentional, but certainly not regretted. After all, Oikawa’s not sure when the next opportunity will come so all the better if he seizes it now.

Unfortunately, Iwaizumi regards him with a flat stare and points out, “We’re in class right now.”

Unfazed, Oikawa offers, “I can hang back after the lesson?”

He signed up for extra classes for a purpose which has very little to do with actual snowboarding so he’s not about to let this hinder him. Besides, he can tell that Iwaizumi is close to giving in, judging from the subtle upturned curve of his lips and the flash of amusement in his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he says with an air of finality, facing his back towards Oikawa before he can catch his widening smile.

It’s not a definite success, but it’s not a complete failure either. Oikawa believes he still has a shot. It fills him with enough anticipation that lasts till the end of the lesson. Perhaps it’s also what gives him the confidence to perform the other techniques with more assurance than he expected to have.

Towards the session’s close, he’s been throwing side glances at Iwaizumi, hoping for an opportunity to revisit their conversation. But as they’re heading back to the Gondola Station to return their equipment, someone in a similar attire with spiked-up black and silver hair bounds over to him and starts an animated exchange that continues until they’re indoors.

Oikawa dawdles with returning his equipment to the rental counters and moves like a sloth so that by the time he’s putting away the boots onto the shelf, Iwaizumi has been released from his high-spirited peer and is approaching Oikawa, much to his delight.

“You’re not bad,” he tells him and Oikawa muses on whether Iwa-chan has a penchant for starting his conversations without proper greetings or it’s just with him. “You have good coordination.”

He’s not complaining about receiving compliments right off the bat though. Oikawa cants his hip at Iwaizumi, smug, “Praise from Iwa-chan? I’m honoured.”

The instructor snorts, “If I knew it’d inflate your ego, I would’ve kept it to myself.”

“Stingy,” Oikawa jokes, looking away for a second before catching Iwaizumi’s eyes again with a softer note, “But…it was fun, as usual. I’m looking forward to the next class.”

“Tomorrow is when things start to get interesting. We’ll be learning how to steer the snowboard and control our speed with turns,” Iwaizumi shares. He prefers the multi-day classes because he gets to cover the trickier and by extension, more exciting, techniques and watch how his students improve, even if it’s slightly. Oikawa is pretty athletic it seems and he imagines that the brunette can graduate from being a newbie sooner than most. Because Iwaizumi wants to know it for a fact, he carries on, “And if you’re up to it, I could take you to the harder trails. After the class I mean.”

Oikawa’s not the only one who sees an opportunity and wants to take it.

“That’s—” he lets out, fumbling over his thoughts which are akin to scrambled eggs. Reminding himself to play it cool, Oikawa settles for a simple and straightforward, “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

Shoulders relaxing visibly, Iwaizumi says, “Great. They’re not dangerous, if that’s what you’re worried about. They’re manageable, just more of a challenge than the beginner slopes.”

“I’m not worried,” Oikawa smiles easily. He doesn’t want to push it but he can’t help flirting with Iwa-chan when Lady Luck is apparently on his side. Slanting a teasing gaze at Iwaizumi, he wonders, “Do you always take your students to the harder runs?”

He fails to consider that two can play this game. And between the both of them, Lady Luck has been favouring the one who subjects himself to daredevil experiences on a regular basis and is still in one piece.

“Only the insufferably cute ones,” Iwaizumi returns without missing a beat and watches triumphantly the blush that dusts Oikawa’s cheeks, his mouth opening in surprise before he presses his lips together, sheepish. Continuing with what he came for, he holds out a small can of Shiroi Koibito chocolate drink to Oikawa and offers, “Here. For your hard work today.”

“Thanks…” Oikawa mumbles, accepting it automatically.

He stands there rooted to the spot for a solid moment as Iwaizumi leaves for the staffroom with a wave, his mission to obtain his number forgotten once again. That man is terribly distracting.

But as it turns out, when Oikawa looks down at the canned drink in his hands and turns it, curious as to why a part of it feels different from the aluminium, he notices a post-it stuck on its surface, with a string of ten digits scrawled across the bright yellow paper.

Later in the evening, after a short but lovely dinner where he learns about Iwaizumi’s (breathtakingly cinematic) feature in one of GoPro’s commercials, Oikawa’s in his comfy clothes in his hotel room.

He would have liked if they had more time, but Iwaizumi said something about being on ski patrol which triggered a conversation on how “you can ski too???” until he really had to leave for his shift. Regardless, it lifts his mood that lasts as Oikawa texts Matsukawa and Hanamaki in their group chat, checking in on the latter’s condition and omitting to mention his progress with the snowboard instructor at first.

our favourite third wheel

Makki:
yeah, I’m doing okay
test results say I’m fine
anyway, i hope you’re having fun there
or I’ll feel really bad
don’t make me feel bad

You:
good
that you’re ok I mean
and don’t worry makki
i'm having a perfect time here ;)

Mattsun:
oh? I sense an update
something happened with the instructor?

You:
as a matter of fact, yes

Makki:
issei filled me in, so what’s the update?

You:
we may have had dinner tgt
and I may have gotten his number
and signed up for more classes

Mattsun:
wait, you paid another 9000yen to see him again?

You:
it could be more…

Makki:
damn, I wanna see this guy

Mattsun:
if only he knew how much you’re spending on him

Makki:
dedicated or desperate?

Mattsun:
both

You:
i was going to get you two some souvenirs but maybe I changed my mind

Makki:
ohhh can you get us some of that hokkaido-only potato farm?

Mattsun:
and sapporo nogakko thanks

You:
i just said I changed my mind

Makki:
but……potato farm……
for an injured man

You:
………
fine

Mattsun:
and sapporo nogakko thanks

You:
OKAY.

Makki:
you really are our favourite third wheel :’)

You:
haha fuck you

Makki:
is that an offer for a threesome?
land yourself the instructor and we can make it a foursome ;)

Mattsun:
oh no do we have to change our group chat name

You:
GOODNIGHT

The trail that Iwaizumi takes Oikawa to is still a green run, with a slightly steeper gradient than the slopes they used for class. They revisit some of the techniques before Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a special head-start by teaching him how to make C-turns, though he also lets the rookie glide aimlessly around to help him grow more accustomed to the feel of being strapped to the snowboard.

In a demonstration of how a pro executes flawless turns, Iwaizumi pulls off a series of tight turns down the slope, picking up speed as he descends, and twists his board sharply so that the edge of the board sprays a cloud of powder snow just before he stops right in front of Oikawa.

The whoosh is followed by quickly settling snow, returning to the mountain and some of it fading against the light. Oikawa’s eyes are trained on Iwaizumi as he cleans his snow-covered goggles in a single swipe and removes it to snap it against his helmet. When their eyes meet, Oikawa has to pretend Iwaizumi’s stellar manoeuvring didn’t make him suck in a breath.

“You know there’s no point showing off to a rookie right?” he says instead, withholding the praise that Iwaizumi probably expects.

“I wasn’t showing off,” he claims.

“Sure,” Oikawa humours him. “It’s only because I don’t know any better that I think it was cool.”

His admittance, accidental or not, makes Iwaizumi quip with the barest smirk, “Then mission accomplished.”

Oikawa only lets the silence remain for a short moment before he reads between the lines and regards his companion with a questioning gaze to ask flirtatiously, “Are you trying to impress me Iwa-chan?”

“I did say I wasn’t showing off,” Iwaizumi flirts back. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he unstraps one foot from the bindings and adds, “Come on, try the C-turns again. You almost got it.”

He makes his way up the slope, leaving Oikawa to recover from being cleverly returned with a suggestive comment. If this keeps up, he is sure the unresolved tension will end him before a fall will.

But being the outstanding student he is, Oikawa puts in his best effort to try out the exercises despite the inconsistent results. Sometimes he pulls it off, not perfectly but acceptable, but most of the times he doesn’t manage to follow through the entire routine. Iwaizumi is encouraging nonetheless, always pointing out his mistakes constructively and giving him tips. It makes Oikawa want to try harder.

He does, but the next time he attempts a C-turn unassisted, he isn’t prepared for the speed that picks up and finds himself pressing onto the tail of the snowboard. It angles the nose of the board upwards and away from the slope, dashing his chances of completing the turn as he falls bum-first into the snow.

Oikawa winces at the impact which fortunately does not hurt too badly and rights himself to brush the snow off his pants with a disgruntled pout.

“You’re leaning too much on your back foot,” Iwaizumi says when he slides down from behind and digs his board to stop in front of Oikawa, who looks up to see an outstretched hand offered to him and takes it. Iwaizumi’s grip is firm as he pulls Oikawa up to his feet and helps him stay in place. “Keep your weight on your front foot to help you steer the board.”

“I think I got scared,” he admits, holding onto Iwaizumi’s wrists for support. “It felt like I was going too fast.”

The instructor makes a sound in understanding and assures him, “When your board points downwards, the increase in speed can seem intimidating. But keep your weight on the leading foot. It might feel like you’re overly forward, but chances are you’re centred. You wanna try again?”

Oikawa nods, determined not to finish anything on a failed endeavour.

Throughout the rest of the time, Oikawa spares no effort in mastering the turn and it proves useful when Iwaizumi attempts the turns with him, giving him instructions at the side or from the front so he knows exactly when to do what without having to intervene physically.

And as a result of his efforts, eventually Oikawa executes a C-turn with the perfect stance and without wobbling, and not only does he succeed with one turn, he manages to link it with another, changing edges across the fall line, and pulls off an S-turn. Iwaizumi observes him carefully throughout the motion, feeling proud when Oikawa rides the slope with commendable grace.

The sentiment is shared on Oikawa’s face, filled with happy surprise as he celebrates his success.

“I did it! Iwa-chan, I did it! Did you see!”

In front of him, Iwaizumi smiles in amusement, “Yeah, I did. That was good.”

For some reason, his encouraging smile spurs him on and Oikawa entertains the adventurous thought to push his luck. He rides on the high and tries to connect the end of his course with yet another turn, pushing himself to force his board onto its toe-side. But his misplaced confidence is not rewarded and before he makes any semblance of a turn, his snowboard catches an edge instead—the way it lodges into the snow enough to send him tripping forward.

This time, gravity takes him down to his knees and into an armful of Iwaizumi, who expectedly reacts with lightning speed to catch Oikawa and cushion his fall. But with both feet strapped in and no way to steady them, the impact topples Iwaizumi over as well.

He digs an arm into the snow, the other one already wrapped around Oikawa’s middle and his first thought when he opens his eyes is how quickly dark azure has crept into the sky but the reappearance of round maple-coloured eyes robs that thought in the next instant.

“Sorry…” comes Oikawa’s startled exhale and whether he is reeling from the fall or the meagre space between their faces nobody knows.

“No…it’s okay,” Iwaizumi says, his voice above a whisper because anything louder than that feels like it would steal something from this moment. It could be the cord of tension taut between their gazes or the comfortable weight of Oikawa’s body on his, but whatever it is, it keeps them there, neither making a move to pull away.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker to Oikawa’s lips for a split second and if he just lifts his head a little, maybe he can meet them. He wants to know how they feel, not hindered by cold puffs of air between them but pressed against his. It is becoming more of a challenge not to give in to the allure of Oikawa and the muscles in his neck twitch but a shred of rationality holds him back. Despite it, he lets an abrupt invitation spill from his mouth and he blames the proximity for that.

“Do you…want to go out for dinner?” he asks tentatively, realizing belatedly how weird it is to ask someone out on a date when they’re both in the snow, snowboards probably tangled in some peculiar way.

Luckily for him, Oikawa answers breathlessly, “Yes.”

“Okay. Good,” he says with the tiniest smile and in the pause that follows, Iwaizumi can hear his heart thudding. He is suddenly aware of their closeness in a public space and clears his throat to suggest awkwardly, “Um, you wanna…?”

It breaks Oikawa out of his daze and he says in embarrassment while scrambling up, “Oh—yeah. Sorry.”

They take a while to disentangle themselves, with Oikawa fumbling around to unstick their snowboards and scrabbling to his feet before he realizes that this would have been much easier if he unstrapped his boots from the bindings.

“Maybe we should head back?” Iwaizumi suggests once they’re standing with a respectable amount of distance between them. “We can meet at the hotel lobby at five.”

“That’s perfect,” Oikawa agrees, wondering what the hell his heart is thrashing around in his ribcage for.

If they sit closer on the chair lift on their way back, enough to share warmth, they don’t say anything about it.

Dinner rolls by without much fanfare but Iwaizumi and Oikawa are wholly content with each other’s company. Tonight, Iwaizumi lets Oikawa have a taste of ishikari-nabe, a miso-based hot pot with fresh salmon and it is enjoyed with easy conversations (that hide an undertone of flirtatiousness although they are both doing a very bad job at it) and some good-humoured bickering.

Towards the end of their meal, the waitress comes over to their table to introduce the store’s promotion in a chipper voice – indulge in their yubari melon ice-cream that comes with a cute keychain souvenir of their choice. Iwaizumi glances at Oikawa who tilts his head agreeably and selects a familiar-looking keychain to go with the ice-cream.

When dessert is served, Iwaizumi hands the souvenir to Oikawa, whose mouth makes a surprised ‘o’ at being presented with a silver snowboard keychain, complete with a pair of boots and a single white snowflake. Iwaizumi simply says, “To commemorate your first snowboarding experience,” with a half-smile before sinking his spoon into the ice-cream.

They window-shop around town for a bit, soaking in the holiday mood brought about by the winter illumination along the streets, Christmas decorations greeting people in the stores and of course, the flurry of snowfall that dusts the top of their heads in ephemeral white.

Oikawa buys himself a new scarf, a navy blue one that he believes will match with most outfits. Iwaizumi doesn’t get anything, but he offers his candid opinions before Oikawa can even consider a tacky colour and snorts when he boasts about being able to tie a scarf in five different ways. Oikawa only decides to buy that scarf because he catches Iwaizumi staring at him after he wraps it snugly round his neck to get a feel of the fabric and meets with a telling blush when he playfully asks, “Like what you see?”

It’s easy to tease him, which means it’s also easy to be tugged into a simmering exasperation with having to deal with almosts and not-yets. The suffering persists until they call it a day and return to the resort but they don’t want to call it a day.

Yet, even at the hotel lobby—even against a pining that’s nearing unbearable, neither of them take the step that will lead to something more.

“So uhh,” Iwaizumi starts awkwardly. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, of course,” Oikawa answers, hands coming up to adjust his new scarf unnecessarily. “I had fun. Thanks for showing me around town again.”

What’s up with the sudden show of gratitude? And where had their previous confidence disappeared to? Perhaps they’re waiting for the other person to make a move. Or perhaps they both want something so badly they forget that sometimes, the way to it is plain and simple.

“Don’t mention it,” the snowboarder says and waits for Oikawa to respond with something he can follow up with—anything.

Tell him he needs help with finishing some snacks he brought from Tokyo.

Ask him if the brand of pain relief patches he bought for his bruises is the right one.

Just straight-up invite him to his room.

But Oikawa, who is equally uncertain (and also foolishly waiting), lets the silence linger. He wishes he remembers how to subtly convey your intentions to someone you’re helplessly attracted to. Matsukawa was right. He really is rusty.

It gets stilted ruthlessly fast and in that moment of desperation to ease the suffocation, Iwaizumi blurts, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Oh,” Oikawa mutters, a little taken aback at the unexpected conclusion. There was a window of opportunity, but he supposes he’s missed it. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi repeats, trying to pinpoint if it’s disappointment or something else in Oikawa’s eyes. He doesn’t quite find an answer. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Iwa-chan.”

They part at the lobby with a half-hearted wave and Oikawa takes the elevator to his room on the third floor, grateful that his back is turned towards Iwaizumi so he doesn’t catch the abject regret written across his face. It’s something he will have trouble shaking off the entire night and the full realization of a forfeited chance hits him when he’s enclosed within the four walls of his lonely hotel room.

Did they honestly just say ‘goodnight’ to each other after going through an evening (hell, he might even say days) of obvious attraction?

Did he seriously let their almost-kiss this afternoon culminate into spending the night alone?

What was he even waiting for? He should have made up some excuse for Iwaizumi to come up to his room. Oikawa buries his face in his hands and groans. He’s supposed to be good at this.

He’s supposed to be having fun on this damn trip and fine, he may be touch-starved and a tad deprived but this is supposed to be his winter fling—Iwaizumi is interested (surely?), he is interested (undeniably), so what’s not moving?

His feet apparently. All he needs to do is go out there and try again. Maybe it’s not too late and he can still catch him in the lobby or right outside the hotel.

Determined not to dawdle over this any longer or subject himself to a night of regret, Oikawa squares his shoulders and tells himself that he will seize the opportunity if he manages to run into Iwaizumi downstairs. What excuse will he give if he does see him? Don’t know, he’ll think of something along the way.

Pursing his lips, Oikawa swivels on his feet and swings the door open and he’s meant to move, but it’s difficult to do when he sees Iwaizumi standing on the other side of the door, stunned and finger hovering over the doorbell.

“Iwa-chan???” he exclaims, eyebrows raised so high up his forehead.

“Um, hi,” the surprise guest says, sheepish but also baffled. It’s evident from the bemusement in his voice when he asks, “I was thinking—it’s not too late, so maybe we could get some drinks?”

Nobody says anything for a hot minute but this time, the silence is not uncomfortable, only charged with a tension that’s about to snap. Oikawa blinks at Iwaizumi in astonishment and processes his invitation for drinks. Right…why did he not think of that before?

His mind supplies him with one thought—

Fuck drinks.

—before he yanks Iwaizumi into his room, pushes him against the door and kisses him hard, heart leaping when Iwaizumi’s hand reaches for his jaw.

There is nothing romantic about the kiss. It’s just lips and tongue and so very carnal. Oikawa releases all his pent-up desire in his urgent kisses and the clumsy way he shrugs off his coat and kicks off his shoes. Iwaizumi copies him and it’s after much impatience that they stumble to the bed, falling into each other in a tangle of eager limbs.

From the intensity that builds in rough kisses and hurried touches, it’s no question that Iwaizumi wants this as much as Oikawa does. What a laughably contrasting sight to their prior awkwardness.

Oikawa’s hands are in Iwaizumi’s hair as he kisses him, one of them sliding down to curve over his jaw, the line of which moving underneath his touch as he opens his mouth against Oikawa’s. And Oikawa lets him slip his tongue in, lets him fit a palm over his nape for purchase. Fingers itching for more to feel, Oikawa glides them over Iwaizumi’s shoulders and down his sweater and decides there is too much fabric between them.

But as he reaches for the hem of his sweater, Iwaizumi breaks the kiss with an audible smack to look down at Oikawa curiously and ask breathlessly, “Wait. Wait, where were you about to go just now?”

Oikawa licks his lips and offers Iwaizumi, who is straddled over him, with an impish smile, “To ask you out for drinks of course.”

The scoff he lets out is immediate and Iwaizumi fires back, “You’ve should have asked me sooner.”

“You should’ve asked me sooner,” Oikawa retorts, pompous now that he can afford to be. Seems silly that they were walking on eggshells around each other minutes ago. “But we’re here now, so…”

“So now you decide to be smooth,” Iwaizumi finishes for him, keeping his voice level but a tiny smirk plays on the corner of his mouth.

Oikawa shrugs flippantly, “We all have our moments.”

Preferring something else to talking, he tugs on Iwaizumi’s sweater so that he can reach over and pull it off. But Iwaizumi helps him out by straightening to his full height, grabs the bottom of his sweater, along with his undershirt, and lifts them off his body. He discards them on a random spot on the bed, and despite the chill from the room, feels heat flooding his bare skin.

“Fuck.”

Oikawa was clearly not wrong when he assumed from the onset that Iwaizumi is hot.

Because right before him is a man who evidently works out regularly to be blessed with perhaps the most attractive body Oikawa has ever laid his eyes on, lines of muscle giving him dangerous definition, with a firm chest and toned abs sitting between the V of his hips that dips teasingly into the band of his jeans.

His ogling doesn’t go unnoticed by Iwaizumi, who grins wickedly.

“Like what you see?”

For a brief moment, Oikawa thinks that this winter fling may very well be the best he’ll ever have before he surges up to meet Iwaizumi’s lips in another hungry kiss, losing himself to a night of lust, sex and finallys.

Naturally, it’s Iwaizumi who wakes up first the next morning. Despite the eventful night he had, it doesn’t slip his mind that he’s got a class to teach, which the brunette next to him in the sheets happens to be a student of. He borrows Oikawa’s bathroom while the sun hasn’t risen and unintentionally stirs the other man awake as he gets dressed.

The sheets rustle when Oikawa extends an arm towards an empty side of the bed and he murmurs sleepily, “Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi can’t help but think how cute he is and finds the curve of his back exposed by the sheets too tantalizing to ignore. He walks over to the bed, cards his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, tousled with sleep, and tells him, “I need to go back and get ready for class,” to which he hums appreciatively and replies, “Mm. I’ll see you later then?”

His languid yet hopeful tone, as well as the adorably sleepy expression he wears, compels Iwaizumi to stay but he simply drops a kiss to Oikawa’s temple before leaving.

They do meet later, at the last day of the beginner class, but since Iwaizumi is a professional, it’s not until after that Oikawa gets to have Iwaizumi to himself. Today, the snowboard instructor exercises his staff privileges to take Oikawa snowmobiling.

He rides first, speeding through the expanse of pristine white snow with Oikawa’s arms wrapped around his middle that occasionally squeezes more tightly when he deliberately holds onto the accelerator. Oikawa has a try too of course, and contrary to his initial disapproval towards chasing the thrill, he seems to thoroughly enjoy the rush of exhilaration of racing through the snow at 100km/h, with only a helmet and the reassuring presence of Iwaizumi as his only protective gear.

Somewhere through the course, they park the snowmobile at a pit-stop, just two of them and an old black snowmobile surrounded by white and bordered by rows of coniferous trees with clumps of snow balancing on their needle-like leaves. The sun hangs warmly in the sky and Iwaizumi’s hands are growing cold without his gloves, but he seeks the idle touch of Oikawa’s fingers between his as he leans against the side of the snowmobile, Oikawa standing close to him.

“Can we meet tonight?” he asks quietly, turning their hands around so he can fit the flesh of his palm against Iwaizumi’s. He’s not quite sure what it is between them but he knows that he’s attracted to him—likes him even—and this isn’t supposed to be anything serious so he doesn’t dwell on it and simply savours their time together.

“Ah…I’m on patrol tonight,” Iwaizumi recalls.

“Again?” Oikawa says, eyebrows drawing together in disappointment.

“Yeah,” he begins and usually he’s fine with being on patrol but this winter has specially brought one attractive Oikawa Tooru to him and Oikawa’s not the only one who wants to meet. Iwaizumi too, finds himself craving for his company. “We can still meet. Could be late though.”

“I don’t mind.”

It’s not like he has anything better to do anyway.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi smiles. “I’ll text you.”

Oikawa beams back at him, already looking forward to tonight, and then unlinks their fingers to unbuckle his helmet and take it off. He does the same for Iwaizumi, removing it and placing the helmet on the snowmobile next to his. In a cheeky gesture, he reaches up and ruffles his hair to unflatten it, hands lingering in the spikiness before they slip over the base of his skull and over his shoulders to settle there. Iwaizumi doesn’t protest but throws him a questioning gaze.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the view,” he teases, glancing into the distance for a split second just for show. Locking eyes with Iwaizumi again, Oikawa adds, “We don’t get this kind of view in Tokyo.”

Iwaizumi bites back a smile to return, “I’m sure Tokyo’s got its own views too,” and makes sure he holds Oikawa’s gaze when he says that, circling an arm around his waist to bring him closer for good measure.

“You should come visit then,” he suggests, voice low.

“You’ll bring me around?” Iwaizumi asks, tilting his head upwards when Oikawa steps further into his space.

“Of course. Unless you got some other student to do the honours?”

Their foreheads are almost touching, breaths cold against each other’s.

“No,” Iwaizumi claims with a smirk and a devious glint in viridian eyes. “Not in Tokyo at least. Maybe a couple in Hyogo. One or two in Kyushu.”

“Cute,” Oikawa remarks and seals their lips in a kiss.

“Hey Iwa, didn’t think you’d be here yet,” Miya Atsumu’s accented voice greets him when he enters the briefing room in the patrol headquarters later in the afternoon.

“What do you mean, I always come at this time,” Iwaizumi answers with a furrowed brow, walking over to the logbook to clock himself in for the shift. He waves shortly at the other two riders rostered with him, Morisuke Yaku and Ojiro Aran.

Atsumu, a skiing instructor at the resort who currently holds the record for the fastest run down the Misoshiru black trail, cocks his head and says suggestively, “Thought ya might be late.”

Iwaizumi walks right into that one when he asks, “Why would I be late?”

He’s always punctual, especially for patrol duty.

“I dunno,” the blonde replies, leaning back in his seat with a knowing smile. “Maybe you were having some extra lessons with one of your students?”

News travels fast, Iwaizumi thinks straight away and he’s certain he’s in for a round of teasing since it is out of the ordinary for him to be so occupied with a resort guest.

“That’s why you’ve been running off on your own and skipping out on us?” Yaku, another skier and Iwaizumi’s usual drinking buddy, jokes as he checks that he’s packed a few metres of extra rope into his backpack.

“Someone has a favourite student it seems,” Aran, the only other snowboarder here, chimes in from the side and Iwaizumi wonders how often he’s actually been away for his co-workers to show this much interest in the mysterious person he’s spending so much time with. He feels a bit embarrassed now, to realize that he’s given too many of their get-togethers a miss because he’s kinda very smitten with Oikawa.

They don’t let him get a word in when Atsumu adds inquisitively but it sounds like he already knows the answer, “Yeah, didn’t he take extra classes?”

“And specifically requested for you?” Yaku quips, wiggling his eyebrows at Iwaizumi.

The instructor shrugs coolly, “We just hit it off pretty well I guess.”

But Atsumu has a hunch it’s an understatement and grins cheekily, “Someone got lucky eh?”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi retorts, avoiding his eyes with a little heat in his cheeks. If he recalls the night they spent together, he was indeed very lucky.

“Hey, no judgement,” Atsumu lilts and Yaku sniggers. “It’s not every season we get to fool around with a pretty stranger.”

There is some truth in the skier’s words but the notion sits oddly in Iwaizumi’s mind. Stranger? Is Oikawa just a stranger to him? He’d like to think that they’re acquaintances at least, with a few perks on the side, not simply someone he fucks around with for the season. Oikawa is attractive and maybe that’s why he was drawn to him in the first place, but he’s also smart and easy to be with and he tries his best, which Iwaizumi finds endearing.

A part of him hopes they get can to know each other more but the fact that Oikawa will soon return to Tokyo after his trip makes him feel strangely crestfallen.

Before he can return Atsumu’s remark with something nonchalant, the door to the briefing room flies open to reveal Saeko, slightly out of breath and a flash of urgency in her eyes.

“Sorry to interrupt boys, but we got a situation,” she announces, catching all their attention. “Some rookies ventured off to the Superstition black run and we got news that one of them is injured and another one is missing but shouldn’t be too far out. Suga’s on-site but he needs help. So Miya, Ojiro, you’re on medic duty. Iwaizumi, Yaku, you’re with the search team.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before whipping out her phone to update Sugawara and leaving, expecting them to follow.

“Our shift has barely begun and we’ve already got our hands full,” Yaku tells Iwaizumi with a grimace as he slings his backpack over his shoulders.

Iwaizumi sighs in resignation, zips up his jacket to show off the white cross clearly and heads out, Atsumu and Aran closely behind.

“Time to get to work.”

In front of them, Saeko looks over her shoulder to shout, “Oh and bring the toboggans!”

“Yes ma’am!”

Well into the evening, Oikawa has not yet heard from Iwaizumi and he’s beginning to doubt if they can meet tonight at all. He’s killed time with surfing through the TV channels in his room and replying a few work emails and the more he checks his phone but receives no new messages from Iwaizumi, the more disheartened he is. Deciding that a walk would do him some good, Oikawa throws on a cardigan and heads downstairs to the convenience store for some snacks and drinks.

Something is amiss the moment he steps out of the elevator in the lobby as Oikawa notices several guests making their way towards the hotel entrance with looks of interest and concern. Puzzled, Oikawa forgoes the snack trip and follows their direction, which leads him to where a group of people have gathered to peer at something on the other side of the glass entrance.

Oikawa’s eyes go round with surprise when the blue and red lights of an ambulance flash before him. He weaves into the small crowd, pulling his cardigan more snugly around his frame, and watches the commotion unfold.

There are a few people bustling about the opened rear doors of the ambulance, giving out instructions and rolling a gurney up into the vehicle. From inside the hotel, Oikawa can’t make out what they’re saying but he doesn’t miss the sight of someone strapped onto the gurney and disappearing through the doors.

“What’s going on?” he asks the person on his right, intrigued.

The guy glances up at him before answering, “A few guys veered off onto the advanced trails and someone got hurt I think. The rescue team went up to get them.”

It triggers Oikawa’s memory where Iwaizumi mentioned that he’s on patrol today and wonders if he’s somehow involved in the affairs outside. The possibility unsettles him, even though it shouldn’t, because this is Iwaizumi’s job and he’s more than likely good at it.

Oikawa cranes his neck to survey the scene more closely but it’s dark and he only notices a handful of guys sporting red and black jackets with a white cross printed across the back. Someone points to the left and another person hurries that way. A girl is so shaken she’s crying and a blond lady wraps an arm around her shoulders in consolation. They have a medical centre in the resort but whatever this is, it’s grave enough to warrant a visit to the city hospital.

One of the patrollers breaks away from the group and is making his way into the hotel, presumably to address the curious onlookers.

“Alright folks, nothing to see here,” the black man with a buzz cut says in Japanese and then in English but Oikawa’s not paying him a lot of attention, too busy studying the people outside to get a glimpse of a familiar face. “Please go back to whatever you were doing. Our guys have everything under control.”

He proceeds to disperse the crowd at the same time Oikawa spots a head of spiky hair and an unmistakable side profile belonging to someone who’s ushering a group of youths into the ambulance. Oikawa doesn’t think twice before his feet take him out of the throng of people, through the entrance and towards the man in his sights.

“Iwa-chan!” he calls out urgently, ignoring the blast of cold wind against his thinly covered body.

Iwaizumi whirls around at the sound of that voice, startled to see Oikawa rushing up to him, worry colouring his features.

“Hey,” he manages through the shock, facing him fully and frowning when he realizes that Oikawa only has a cardigan on. “Go back inside, you’re not even wearing a jacket.”

“Are you okay?” Oikawa asks fretfully, more concerned about Iwaizumi than the cold biting into his skin. “I heard about what happened.”

“I’m fine,” Iwaizumi assures, stepping closer to shield him from the chill. “You’ll freeze Oikawa.”

Instead of heeding his warning, the brunette presses on, having discovered a nasty gash in the sleeve of Iwaizumi’s jacket, messy and large enough to reveal his sweater underneath.

“Is that a tear?” he asks in alarm, brown eyes lifting to meet Iwaizumi’s markedly calm ones. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats gently, gloved hands coming up to hold Oikawa’s elbows and squeezing them in a reassuring gesture. There’s literally no reason for him to be this distressed – Iwaizumi’s skills have always ensured the guests’ and his own safety, and he’s done this enough times to be completely level-headed about the whole procedure. Still, Oikawa’s worry doesn’t go unappreciated and Iwaizumi is overcome with a rush of affection for him.

All of a sudden, he wants to be with him.

“Wait for me inside,” he tells him, gaze fond. “I’ll find you when I’m done okay?”

Allayed by Iwaizumi’s promise, Oikawa traps his bottom lip between his teeth and nods sheepishly.

Less than an hour later, Iwaizumi shows up at Oikawa’s hotel room, changed out of his uniform and dressed casually. Oikawa serves him some chamomile tea he brought from Tokyo and once Iwaizumi is comfortably propped against his pillows and the covers are pulled up to wrap his legs in warmth, Oikawa sits across him on the bed and listens to his dramatic account of what had transpired up the mountain hours ago.

Apparently, a few beginners were skiing through one of the green slopes which has a section that runs adjacent to the advanced trail and while the courses are demarcated clearly, for some reason they ended up deviating from the safe zone.

The expert trails proved to be too much of a challenge for a bunch of amateurs and one of them, a blonde with an undercut and piercings, lost control of his snowboard, the speed of his fall causing him to fracture a leg. Another one had careened off-course and went missing, but the search team found him among the trees not too far away, his lodged skis in the snow rendering him helpless but otherwise relatively unharmed.

Iwaizumi had caught a broken branch during the retrieval, the sharp end of it digging into his jacket sleeve and opening a hole through the fabric. He’s not as good a skier as he is a snowboarder, so there were a few heart-stopping moments but nothing he can’t handle. The operation went smoothly and while the group of friends will have their holiday cut short, they’re going to be fine.

“Thank you for your hard work,” Oikawa says with a genuine smile when Iwaizumi finishes the story and the tea. He rests his chin in his palm and adds insouciantly, “I was wondering what I could do for you, but it doesn’t seem like you need anything.”

Iwaizumi puts away the cup on the nightstand and regards Oikawa with interest, “Thanks for the sentiment, but who says I don’t need anything?”

After the unexpected run-in with him at the hotel entrance, Iwaizumi had been looking forward to the end of the debrief (where they decided to install clearer borders between the courses and conduct a clean-up of the trees off-trail) so that he can seek out the addictive presence of Oikawa.

“Oh? What can I do for you then?” Oikawa asks innocently, sitting up.

“Let me stay the night?”

A teasing hint flashes across cinnamon-coloured eyes, “Was already planning on doing that.”

Matching his smirk, Iwaizumi pushes the covers off his outstretched legs and tells Oikawa, “Come here.”

The other man puts away the pillow he had been hugging and gets up to his knees, shuffling across to straddle Iwaizumi, fitting himself comfortably on top of his lap. His hands instinctively settles on the curve of Iwaizumi’s chest and Iwaizumi rests his palms on Oikawa’s hips. He squeezes the muscle there and Oikawa hums, pleased.

It is warm where they touch, through their clothes or not, and Iwaizumi relishes the weight of Oikawa on his lap, his hips bracketed by his thighs. Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi growing interested and it fills him with satisfaction.

Dipping his head, his brushes his nose against Iwaizumi’s, keeping their lips centimetres apart. He doesn’t move in yet and neither does Iwaizumi, as if they’re enticed by the closeness but not the touch, not yet.

Iwaizumi slides his hands away from Oikawa’s hips and over his ass, before coming around to glide warm palms across the length of his thighs and kneading his flesh gently. It makes Oikawa release a stuttered breath against Iwaizumi’s lips, a shiver running up his spine that coils tension in his shoulders. It loosens when he presses their mouths together, like a wave of satisfaction that comes with finding what you’re promised.

They open their mouths for tongues to meet, warm and wet and quietly urgent. Iwaizumi keeps his hands busy with slipping them up Oikawa’s thighs again and into his shirt, fingers grazing across his stomach. It tickles, Oikawa’s breath hitches, and Iwaizumi swallows the sound he makes.

When they run out of breath, they break apart but stay close, lips shining and foreheads almost touching. Iwaizumi looks up at Oikawa with mirth and Oikawa’s eyes seem like they’re smiling in giddy delight.

“When’s your last day here?” Iwaizumi has to whisper as he rubs small circles over his waist.

“Tomorrow actually,” Oikawa answers just as softly and saying it out loud now introduces a creeping sense of melancholy. “My flight back is in the following morning.”

“That’s…fast.”

It’s evident from his subdued tone that he’s equally disappointed to learn of this news. He likes Oikawa—enough to be weirdly conflicted about how short-lived their relationship is—Oikawa is no longer simply Mr. Accountant, or his favourite student, or a brown-eyed beauty he will forget when winter melts away.

What would it take to extend time with Oikawa Tooru?

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” the brunette remarks, deceptively blithe.

He never expected to encounter someone like Iwa-chan on a trip he hadn’t even wanted to go on. And sure, he fell for his looks at first, but Oikawa’s beginning to think he might be falling for him now.

What would it take to make the seconds stop with Iwaizumi Hajime?

Under Oikawa’s pensive gaze, Iwaizumi leaves the complex matters to the side for tonight and returns them to a familiar dance.

“I’m glad you found your stay at the resort enjoyable,” he quips, parroting a line widely said over the concierge.

Oikawa snickers, leans in and utters against their lightly brushing lips, “I definitely did,” before his eyes slip shut and he slots their mouths together.

On Oikawa’s last day, Iwaizumi works around his schedule to spend as much time as he can with him. They hit the slopes one final time before Oikawa completely forgets the feel of having a snowboard beneath his feet when he returns to Tokyo, they visit the onsen for a relaxing soak and Iwaizumi treats Oikawa to grilled mutton at Ukai’s jingisukan restaurant.

At lunch, he makes the suggestion of cooking for Oikawa’s last meal in Niseko and invites him to his apartment. After being thoroughly impressed that Iwa-chan can cook too, to which he clarifies that it won’t be anything fancy, Oikawa readily accepts and says he’ll bring the wine (he buys a bottle of Malbec wine at the plaza later when Iwaizumi heads off for his afternoon class).

He texts Oikawa the address and it turns out to be a residential area reserved for staff who are on a short-term employment with the resort, like Iwaizumi. Oikawa shows up in a slim-fit chambray shirt and chinos under his usual black down jacket and Iwaizumi, dressed in an off-white crew neck sweatshirt and pants, tells him he’s halfway through cooking as he lets him in.

It’s a pretty neat place, modern and minimalistic with dark wood flooring and simple furniture. Iwaizumi finishes preparing the pork donburi with some help from Oikawa (though the latter gets distracted by the way Iwaizumi works in the kitchen – confident and focused) and they share it over a glass of wine with the lights set low.

There’s a small alcove by the window in the living room and with Iwaizumi’s apartment on the fourteenth floor, it offers an unobstructed view of the snow-capped mountains below the night sky, where a handful of stars are speckled across an indigo canvas. Oikawa plants himself in one corner and surrounds himself with an abundance of seat cushions while Iwaizumi fixes him another glass of wine.

As he looks up at the sky now, a vast expanse blanketing his insignificant form and a stroke of the gods’ brush that stretches from the snowy mountains here to the chilly streets back in Tokyo, it sets him in a reflective mood.

“Is it always so…unhurried here?” Oikawa wonders aloud, elbow propped on top of the window sill. “Makes me wonder why I’m chasing audit deadlines.”

Iwaizumi chuckles from the side and asks, “Having an existential crisis?” as he hands Oikawa his refilled glass of wine. He makes himself comfortable on the other side of the alcove, drawing his legs in and setting his own glass on the sill. He glances out the window at a sky more familiar to him and adds, “Being close to the mountains does that to you.”

“No, not exactly,” Oikawa replies with a good-natured smile. “It just puts things into perspective you know? Out here, it’s so peaceful and the pace actually lets you catch your breath. But in Tokyo, it’s back to the hectic lifestyle and late-night coffees.”

He brings the glass to his lips and pointedly takes a sip of his wine, all the while keeping their eyes locked. The mention of Tokyo compels Iwaizumi to think about Oikawa’s imminent return and he supposes now is the time to be honest, lest the chance slips by again.

“Hey, Oikawa,” he calls, capturing his curious attention. He’s normally not this sentimental, especially towards transient matters such as this, but Oikawa has a special kind of effect on him—not tethered to the charm of this winter. “You’re going back tomorrow and to be honest, I don’t know if we’ll meet again. But I’m glad I met you here.”

He wishes they could meet in spring too, and the seasons after that, but he forces himself not to hope.

“I’m glad I met you too Iwa-chan,” Oikawa admits, gleefully entranced by the tinge of shyness on Iwaizumi’s face. It could be the velvety wine or the watchful mountains or his unfeigned heart that makes him say, “I’m not gonna lie, you first caught my eye when you stepped into the Gondola Station that day, and after that, I think I just kept falling.”

When Iwaizumi strode through the doors and tore off his beanie to run a hand through his hair, that was the first fall. Oikawa fell a lot of times after that, literally and not, and it surprised him how easy it had been.

“Yeah, you did,” Iwaizumi jokes.

Oikawa snorts and kicks a foot at his knee playfully.

“You often take your favourite students out on dates and bring them back to your apartment and flirt with them?” he banters.

“Like I said, only the insufferably cute ones,” Iwaizumi retorts cleverly.

He will miss this, Oikawa thinks. These easy conversations with no pretence and the way he finds himself enjoying Iwaizumi’s company without trying at all. While he’s grateful to have met him in Hokkaido, he’s fairly certain there won’t be another Iwa-chan in Tokyo, and understanding this puts a bittersweet tone in his words, “If you ever visit Tokyo, tell me.”

“And if you ever come to Sendai or here again, tell me too.”

“We have each other’s numbers. You can text me anytime, I won’t miss a text from Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says eagerly, believing that this is the only way they can still keep in touch. Perhaps if they let it, their relationship won’t be limited to the days of winter. “I’ll text you a lot too.”

“Sure, but if you get annoying I’ll block you,” Iwaizumi responds airily.

“No you won’t,” Oikawa grins, knowing better.

That night, when Oikawa shuffles over to Iwaizumi’s corner in the alcove, the both of them tipsy from several glasses of wine, they kiss beneath the starlit skies before Iwaizumi leads them to his room and makes sure that Oikawa’s final night in Hokkaido is one worth remembering.

The resort parking lot is packed with charter buses and rented cars when Oikawa rolls up his luggage to his designated ride in the morning. There are many guests leaving, but Oikawa doubts that anyone is leaving with the same kind of reluctance he holds. He waited till the very last minute to arrive at the parking lot, stretching every second he had left with Iwaizumi, who decided to send him off.

Once his luggage is stashed into the storage bay, Oikawa faces Iwaizumi and exhales heavily through his nose.

“Thanks for sending me off Iwa-chan,” he says gratefully and offers him a rueful smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Iwaizumi answers, fingers clenching and unclenching in the pockets of his jacket. “Let me know when you’ve arrived safely in Tokyo?”

“Okay,” Oikawa murmurs, chest heavy with the knowledge that this good thing is coming to an end.

“And don’t worry about not getting the souvenirs for your friends here,” Iwaizumi carries on. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the driver hopping onto the bus. It’s almost time to leave. “You can easily buy them in New Chitose Airport.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll do that,” Oikawa replies with an embarrassed laugh. He had been so preoccupied with Iwaizumi that he forgot about the snacks Matsukawa and Hanamaki requested for.

The small pause that follows is not awkward, because they both know they’re just trying to stay in each other’s presence for as long as they can. Eventually, it’s Iwaizumi who breaks the silence with a definite, “Well, I guess this is it.”

“I guess so,” Oikawa confirms forlornly and meets pine green eyes to say, “Thanks for giving me an unforgettable winter Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “Dummy. I can say the same thing to you.”

It draws out a silly smile from Oikawa and scatters a faint pinkness on his cheeks.

“Then…” he trails off, hesitant but left with no choice. “Bye Iwa-chan.”

“Bye,” Iwaizumi says back and because he does not want this to be too sad of a memory, offers Oikawa a little smile, “Tooru.”

The blush on his face darkens and Iwaizumi decides then and there that this winter could not present him with a beauty that could match Oikawa’s. With a final smile of his own, Oikawa ducks his head and turns, making his way to the front of the bus, a thrum in his chest.

He lifts a foot onto the first step, hand on the railing, and halts. Something’s missing, he tells himself. Something he wants to feel for the last time, and sear into his mind.

Hopping off the bus, Oikawa strides back to Iwaizumi, who seems perplexed by his sudden change of mind, stops right in front of him and reaches up to cup his face with the gentlest hands, thumbs atop his cold, cold cheeks, and kiss him on the mouth.

Iwaizumi’s lips are parted in surprise but he let his eyes fall shut as Oikawa presses lightly, not moving against his lips but memorizing the shape and feel of them—soft and cold but growing warmer, kissing him back. They stay like this for a second or two, and though it feels longer than that, it’s still not long enough.

When they part, Iwaizumi releases a shaky breath, lips moist with the chapstick that Oikawa wears.

“For the road,” he whispers his explanation, as if their final kiss goodbye could be a lucky charm for his trip back home. Oikawa’s fingers slip away from the line of Iwaizumi’s jaw and he turns away before he can say anything, boarding the bus for real this time.

He takes a window seat at the back of the bus, giving Iwaizumi a tiny wave as the doors close noisily and the bus starts to roll away. In the parking lot, Iwaizumi waves back and holds his gaze until he no longer can, his face tingling from Oikawa’s lingering touch.

Along the drive to Sapporo, filled with pure white snowfields that should captivate him but leave him wistful instead, Oikawa has sighed more times than he can count. Iwaizumi’s handsome face will now only exist in his mind and in his dreams. Oikawa sighs once more.

What kind of miracle would he need to meet him again?

His favourite instructor.

His Iwa-chan.

His winter fling.

“Mattsun, you don’t get it!” Oikawa complains to his co-worker when they step out of the elevator of the forty-storey skyscraper their audit firm is located in.

The fellow accountant nods mildly as they stream along with other white-collar workers on their way for lunch and as Oikawa updates him on his development with the snowboard instructor who’s been a regular conversation topic despite having met the guy once.

They’ve been keeping in touch through texts and social media for a little over two months now and it appears that Oikawa’s interest in Iwaizumi did not wane since he came back from Hokkaido. He found an outlet for his ramblings through Matsukawa, who is practically privy to what Iwaizumi is up to without even following him on social media.

On this fine March afternoon, Matsukawa is listening patiently to his friend lament about the stark contrast in his and Iwaizumi’s lives.

“I’m here, shackled to the demands of corporate labour while Iwa-chan is out there having the time of his life,” he bemoans.

Apparently, while the snowboarder is back to his full-time job in Sendai, he only recently updated his Instagram with clips of his snowboarding trip (and when asked, revealed to Oikawa that he edits his own snowboarding videos, how neat is that?). Oikawa finds the need to share it with Matsukawa and continues on his rant, “I was on his Instagram profile the other day—”

“Stalking his Instagram profile,” Matsukawa corrects.

“Looking through his Instagram profile,” Oikawa amends pointedly, “and he posted some videos of his backcountry snowboarding trip with his friends some time ago and it looked so amazing. So now he’s back in Sendai, and I saw his post about some drinking party he attended with his co-workers and I find out he can actually dance???”

Matsukawa arches a brow at Oikawa’s visible frustration. He knows he can get a little discouraged when it comes to his long-distance pseudo-relationship with Iwaizumi, but he seems too worked up today, like there’s something else bothering him.

“Okay, what’s your point?” he probes and Oikawa sighs sharply.

“I don’t know. He’s always going on these exciting trips and doing crazy stuff with his friends and meeting new people…” he lists off, absentmindedly tapping his employee card against the turnstile to head out into the lobby. It is with resignation as he adds, “I don’t think he has a lot of time for me anymore.”

And getting all gloomy about it is so frustrating, because it’s not like Iwaizumi has to text him back since they’re not together, Oikawa thinks irritably. But the worst part is that he can’t shake off his feelings, persistent and hanging onto his days, not when winter is slowly fading into spring, not even when Oikawa tells himself that they’d probably need some kind of divine intervention to be anything more.

“He’s still talking to you right?” Matsukawa points out.

“Yeah, but recently he’s been taking a while to reply. Do you think he’s getting tired of me?” Oikawa wonders at the ground. He pretends to be flippant about it, but it’s a wild thought that seeds mercilessly in his mind. “I mean, it was just a fling after all, and maybe he met—”

“Wait, you said he lives in Sendai right?” Matsukawa cuts him off and it happens so abruptly that Oikawa looks up.

“Yeah?”

He’s not sure which is more baffling—the question itself or the fact that Matsukawa is staring at something in the distance.

“So why do I see him standing over there?”

“What do y—” Oikawa starts with a frown, turning to follow his friend’s line of sight but he doesn’t—can’t finish his sentence when a lone figure, all too familiar and missed, stands at the front of the lobby, tapping at his phone. “Iwa-chan???”

The unexpected visitor snaps his head towards the sound of that nickname, eyes widening in surprise? relief? when he sees Oikawa rushing up to him, disbelief plain on his features.

“Hey. Oikawa,” he greets as he pockets his phone, amused that the accountant’s mouth is hanging open but no words are uttered. While he lets Oikawa recover from the shock, Iwaizumi turns his attention to the taller man at his side, sieving through his memory to guess, “And…Matsukawa right?”

“Yeap,” he confirms. From the cool smile he wears, it’s not obvious that he finds this unfolding of events incredibly interesting. “I’m impressed you remember.”

Before Iwaizumi can respond, Oikawa manages to force out a question, incredulity lacing his voice, “Iwa-chan, what are you doing in Tokyo?”

Oikawa stares at every feature on Iwaizumi’s face like he still can’t wrap his mind around the reality that Iwaizumi Hajime, the man who gave him the most unforgettable winter holiday and the person he is still head over heels for, is right in front of him.

“I uhh…” Iwaizumi begins awkwardly, a bit nervous now that he’s actually met Oikawa again. This was planned of course, but he didn’t expect to run into him at the lobby from the get-go. But since he’s thrown into these circumstances, he’ll just have to play it by ear. “I was transferred to the Tokyo branch,” he explains and noticing the astonishment on Oikawa’s face, he feels more at ease in comparison. “I moved here a few days ago and I’m still settling in. Tokyo’s as busy as you say it is.”

“Y-You moved here?!” Oikawa exclaims. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…wanted to surprise you I guess?” Iwaizumi says tentatively.

Indeed, there was supposed to be a surprise text, a breathless reunion and if the stars aligned, an impromptu lunch that would hopefully re-ignite some underlying feelings. All this while, Iwaizumi couldn’t get Oikawa out of his mind. He looked forward to his texts, always so animated and endearing, and especially loved it when he sent him pictures of his days (and better yet, himself).

A part of him was afraid that the novelty of hooking up with someone you met on vacation would wear off and Oikawa would soon find someone new, with his maddening attractiveness and all, but as they kept in touch, it seemed like he was as invested in this as Iwaizumi was.

When he received the news of his transfer, enacted by fate as if, he knew he had to look Oikawa up and surprising him was a given. Witnessing how thrilled he is now, Iwaizumi’s glad he did.

“Well, consider me incredibly surprised,” Oikawa says, toning down but still wearing a bright smile. They regard each other with quiet elation, pine green eyes meeting sweet caramel, until Oikawa realizes that they’re not alone. Clearing his throat, he suggests happily, “We should have lunch together! Mattsun and I were just about to head to Blue Castle.”

“You know,” the other accountant chimes in. “I’m sure you guys have a lot to catch up on, so why don’t you two go ahead? I was thinking of getting take-out anyway, I have to rush that thing for Mizoguchi.”

Immediately, Iwaizumi jumps in to say hastily, “No, you don’t—”

“It’s cool,” Matsukawa assures, his lazy grin turning sly. “I really do have to get that done. And also because I don’t want to be caught in the sexual tension between you two. So enjoy your date.”

He leaves with an airy wave, letting them have their private time to which Iwaizumi feels bad but Oikawa is thankful for. Watching him go, Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, since he practically chased Matsukawa away, and asks, “Sorry, is this weird? I should have called, or texted earlier at least.”

Oikawa shakes his head, “No—no, it’s not weird,” he tells him sincerely, fondly. He knew he needed a miracle for them to meet again. He can’t believe he got it. “I’m really happy to see you again Iwa-chan.”

“Me too,” Iwaizumi answers and offers him a half-smile. “So, about the lunch, I was thinking we could pick up from where we left off?”

The floret of euphoria that blooms in Oikawa’s chest is indescribable.

“I’d like that.”

Eight months later

Iwaizumi does a final check of his gear, making sure he’s packed everything he needs for his next stint at the resort as some TV programme plays in the living room of his boyfriend’s apartment. Or their apartment? It might as well be, given that he’s basically moved in to Oikawa’s place a couple months after they started dating. If his own furniture is collecting dust in the largely uninhabited and modest flat that his company sourced for him, well…that’s his business.

They’re setting off in a few days’ time for Hokkaido and Iwaizumi’s grateful that Oikawa managed to take two weeks off from work and because he’s such a stellar accountant and employee (his words, not Iwaizumi’s), also obtained his boss’ approval to work remotely for another two weeks. It’s an entire month immersed in the festive spirit of winter with his boyfriend—filled with snow-blanketed slopes and warm hearths—which is a pretty good deal, but it’s not as if he’ll admit that to Oikawa.

As he checks each zip of his Dakine snowboard bag, Oikawa asks over the sound of the programme, “Iwa-chan, are you teaching the beginner classes this year too?” and tugs up the sleeve of his oversized wool cardigan to pop a piece of peeled mikan into his mouth. Iwaizumi, more attuned to the chill than he is, is merely in a long-sleeved cotton shirt and sweatpants.

“Yeah,” he confirms, rearranging some of his gear to see if he can free up a bit more space.

Oikawa hums thoughtfully, attention now fixed on Iwaizumi instead of the TV programme playing before him, some show about different ways to cook an ingredient. Tonight, it’s tofu. He rests an elbow on the kotatsu offering his legs some much-welcomed warmth, pinning Iwaizumi’s back with a kittenish gaze and asks, “Do I get to join your classes for free?”

Without even a glance back, Iwaizumi answers, “No, you’ll disrupt my class.”

“Aww Iwa-chan, you think I’ll be a distraction?” Oikawa quips and flashes him a trademark smile when he finally looks back to regard him dryly.

“You’ll be dressed in five layers, how distracting can you be?” the snowboarder retorts, zipping up his snowboard bag once he ascertains that he’s packed everything.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty distracted the last time,” comes Oikawa’s cheeky reply, eyes following Iwaizumi as he gets up to settle beside him under the kotatsu, slotting their bodies close. If his memory serves him right, Iwaizumi got himself a favourite student, flirted shamelessly with said student and then proceeded to fall helplessly in love with him.

Iwaizumi snorts and jerks his head back in surprise when Oikawa takes another slice of mikan and pushes it between his lips without warning. He complies though, and opens his mouth to take the fruit, chewing and swallowing quickly to assert, “You are still not allowed to join my class.”

Oikawa lets out a huff, not exactly miffed and quite the opposite in fact. He licks the sticky sweetness off his thumb, tongue peeking out as he stares back at his lover in amusement. Iwaizumi watches intently, then reaches out a hand to catch Oikawa’s wrist and close his lips over his fingers. He swirls his tongue over the tips, over and in between his digits, tasting the citrusy flavour that lingers on Oikawa’s skin, his eyes never leaving his.

When he releases his fingers with a light pop, he adds, “You can come for private lessons though.”

“With special perks included?” Oikawa presses, a teasing gleam in russet eyes and fingers tingling from Iwaizumi’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he says and far from being sated, he sneaks an arm under Oikawa’s thick cardigan to circle his waist, leaning too far in to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss that topples the both of them over.

Laughing, Oikawa grabs onto Iwaizumi as he cushions their fall with his free hand, their legs tangling awkwardly beneath the kotatsu but neither of them mind when Iwaizumi is peppering playful kisses across his cheeks and on the side of his lips and Oikawa says breathlessly between the laughter and the kisses, “I love the holidays.”