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It is not a surprise, really, that for his farewell party Oikawa chooses the most obnoxious decor, a too-loud pop playlist, both fairy and led lights and the most awful jello shots Iwaizumi’s ever tasted. The first floor of the house is crammed with people; teammates from the volleyball club, some of Oikawa’s friends, and every single girl he’s ever flirted with, ever. So he’s pissed, brooding on the couch next to Mattsun with a beer in his hands, glaring holes inside Oikawa’s head on the other side of the room, chatting his life away with a smile Iwaizumi knows too best—perfect prince charming, nothing but but a pretty facade. His best friend is leaving for Argentina and Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to feel. How to register the prospect of losing his best friend.
So he’s decidedly not worrying about that. Why would he? It’s not like Oikawa’s leaving in four days. Or that Iwaizumi’s been feeling a certain something in his chest. A throbbing ache, the racing of his pulse. He sighs. A headache is already forming on his temples. And maybe Iwaizumi does feel a little guilty—that he’s not enjoying this piss-poor semblance of a farewell party, but.
He just can’t .
“Cheer up, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa says, bumping his shoulder. Some of his beer drips down the can and into his jeans. “It’s not that bad,” He laughs, singsong and cheery. Is he actually having fun?
“Exactly. It’s terrible.” He counters. Oikawa has an arm around a petite girl’s shoulders—surely delicate like a flower and unlike any way Oikawa’s ever held him —giggling to one of his dumb jokes. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes and turns away. And if a little something called jealousy slips slowly and sour down his throat, Iwaizumi blames it all on the alcohol. “I thought this was going to be just us. The third years, some beers and whatever dumb alien documentary of his choosing.”
Yeah, just them . Laughing and making memories they’d one day call “the good old days”. To look up Oikawa’s chocolate-brown eyes a little closer and burn the exact shade into his brain.
“Oh you hate his alien documentaries,” Mattsun quips, breaking Iwaizumi out of his trance. He raises a knowing eyebrow and huffs in laughter. “You never would’ve let him do that.”
Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, gaze fixed on the opposite wall. He sighs, taking a sip from his beer. “Well, yeah, but. He’s leaving. I guess I’d—make a tiny exception. Pretend to like his downright hideous taste in movies.”
“Aww,” Hanamaki says, plopping down next to Matssun, holding a napkin full of dino nuggets and leaning in to kiss his cheek. The gesture makes something squeeze inside Iwaizumi. Dino nuggets were his favorite as a child, and he can’t deny that it feels nice that Oikawa remembered it, after all these years. “Is our dear Iwa-chan getting sentimental? Sorry, couldn’t help but eavesdrop.” And he winks.
Iwaizumi feels his cheeks heating up and dust pink, and he doesn’t say anything in return, gulping the last of his beer in one go with a wince. Sentimental . Somewhere in the corner of his eye, Mattsun and Hanamaki slip into casual conversation, but Iwaizumi’s eyes keep travelling to Oikawa’s figure, now serving himself what’s probably his fourth beer of the night. Not that he’s been counting, of course. He leaves his empty can on the little table in front of him, and weaves his way in between the mass of people—strangers and friends alike—and out into the backyard. He catches Oikawa staring at him, a smile forming on his lips as he opens his mouth to call his name, arm reaching out.
However, before he can catch up in the midst of mingling bodies, Iwaizumi quickens his steps and weaves his way outside. He doesn’t look back to see Oikawa’s wide-eyed, “deer-in-the-headlights” pained and confused expression. Doesn’t turn back when it hits him that this is the first time he’s ever turned his back on his best friend.
The rush of cool breeze on his face has him breathing better in a matter of seconds. The tightness in his chest doesn’t go away, though, and he just keeps walking forward with his eyes set on everything and nothing at the same time. A red cup crunches under his foot, bringing Iwaizumi to a halt. He releases a breath and closes his eyes for a second, the murmur of conversation around him dissolving into a buzz of voices.
“What on earth am I doing,” He whispers to himself, an unspoken question, fists clenched at his sides. He knows he’s being stupid and resentful out of pettiness, and potentially hurting Oikawa in the process. He remembers near forgotten memories of promises made in forests on summer nights catching beetles— together, forever . The bitter realization of forever and goodbye somehow becoming synonyms makes something prick at the corners of his eyes. Goodbye wasn’t supposed to come so soon.
Iwaizumi keeps walking until he reaches the edge of the pool, crouching down to dip his fingertips into the cold water. A shake of his head is not enough to clear his mind, but— soon . He’ll just wait until everyone's gone back to their houses and—then what?
“Hey” A tap on his shoulder, and Iwaizumi turns around to find none other than Kuroo , rooster head and crooked smirk, holding out his hand to help him up.
“Hey! I see you made it.” He says, hands brushing against his jeans to dry the water droplets. Something about Kuroo’s aura turns out to be pretty comforting, even though he’s never considered him much of a friend.
“Of course I made it,” Kuroo states matter-of-factly, arms crossed over his chest. “Oikawa would just not stop talking about his farewell party. He sent sixty nine—Iwaizumi, do not make that face, yes it was sixty nine messages pouting about this, so yeah,” He shakes his head, but there’s the tiniest smile crossing his features. “No way I wasn’t coming. He’s a good friend.”
“Uh huh,” The brunette mutters, unsure of what else to say. He didn’t know Oikawa’s and Kuroo’s friendship ran that deep, having known him for less than a year and all. Captain bonding, he guesses, breath catching and hoping the other boy doesn’t notice.
“I know he likes being a social butterfly, but I thought this was going to be more of a… little get together, y’know? And then I get here and it’s so packed, and maybe? It’s like he’s overcompensating, or running away from something. I think,” Raven eyes, an eyebrow raised, the corners of his mouth hitched up like he knows something. Kuroo’s particularly keen, it seems. A little too disturbing for Iwaizumi’s sake. “Anyways. Maybe he’s just, as usual, full of surprises.”
They stand side to side in silence for a while. Kurro rummages through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and with the first drag he releases a puff of white smoke out into the chilly night. His mood seems to shift into something somber and quiet, and Iwaizumi feels a sense of connection. Like they’re both mourning something, and Iwaizumi can only wonder if this sort of— heartbreak runs as deep through Kuroo’s veins.
Kuroo’s eyes fix on a distant point in the near-black sky, but every once in a while he sneaks a piercing glance towards Iwaizumi, and he gets the creeping sense that he can read right through him. That he’s able to stare into his soul and dig, dig, dig into whatever it is that’s crushing Iwaizumi’s heart. That dumb , nameless thing following him since when ? Middle school? Gods—he sighs. Kuroo is not at all the rascal, prank-loving man Oikawa loves to rant about.
“You smoke?” He offers him the half-consumed cigarette, eyes a piercing shade full of ancient knowledge.
“Not really.” But he takes a drag anyways. The smoke and nicotine burning down his lungs blends in with the whirlwind of emotions—the gaping hole in his chest—, and for a second it feels peaceful. A much needed absence of pain. He gives Kuroo back his cigarette with a nod of thanks. The night gets colder, but his heart keeps burning.
Silence stretches between them as Kuroo finishes a second cigarette. He considers going back to brood on the sofa, but Kuroo’s voice cuts through the thick, seemingly everlasting night.
“I uh, tried to convince him to go to Tokyo. Y’know, stay in Japan,” Kuroo laughs, but his voice is sad and his eyes crinkle with defeat. “He was obviously being recruited for the top schools, top teams. I said, “dude, you could room with me, it’d be so dope”. Maybe that scared him away?” He rolls his eyes, and some semblance of cockiness returns to his features. “I don’t know. I guess he’s always had big plans.”
“That’s Oikawa for you,” Iwaizumi croaks. The sudden threat of tears has him facing away from the boy. “Always shooting for the stars, or—beyond. Wherever that takes him,” He scratches the back of his head, allowing a sheepish smile to quirk his lips. “That final loss against Karasuno really lit a fire on him. To top it all, Ushijima came up with such an asshole comment, so. And I—I am proud of him, of what he’s about to accomplish. I want to be happy for him the way Mattsun and Hanamaki are. I want to. But I can’t, you know, because…” He’s leaving me , is what he doesn’t say; gulps the words and the knot in his throat back into his gut.
“You’re quite fond of him,” Is all Kuroo deigns to answer, but somehow, underneath, lies a word that’s sure to encompass something greater. Something more… akin to the monster eating Iwaizumi alive. “And he’s quite fond of you too. Oikawa, that is. Talks about you nonstop like a freaking nerd, and when I’m not available he goes to Daichi or Sugawara, so, uh…”
The trailing off is nowhere near accidental, and Kuroo makes sure Iwaizumi notices the purposefulness of his actions; one cocky eyebrow raised to ensure his point comes across. And Iwaizumi is having none of it—none of that existential crisis for him, thank you very much. He’s already feeling too much. Kuroo, however, is very clearly expecting an answer.
“Um, yeah, of course,” He stammers, unable to hide that damn pink rushing to his cheeks, ears, neck. “Of course I’m fond of him. He’s my best friend, and we’ve been friends since forever. We do almost everything together. I watch his stupid movies and I watch his. I listen to him complain about Kageyama like he’s not one of his best creations. I, uh. I’ve known him my whole fucking life and…”
“And?”
“And he’s going away. He’s leaving .”
Not quite the words he was about to blurt out, but it does ease some of the pressure on his chest. He rubs circles on his temples, and of all things Kuroo could’ve done—he bursts out laughing.
“So what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in there with him?” He asks in between his theatricals of wiping fake tears from his eyes, and something in Iwaizumi damn nears breaks. “I saw him looking at you before, and—”
“What is your deal? I—It’s none of your business,” He snaps back, cutting him off and expecting Kuroo to back away. Instead he gets a sigh of defeat and a smile full of pity, and Iwaizumi is simply done. “I need a beer. It was uh, nice catching up.”
And then he’s walking away without another word, back into the mess of bodies and conversation inside the house, fearing—and maybe deep down hoping —that Oikawa could be right by entrance waiting for him. He’s not and maybe that’s a relief; Iwaizumi isn’t sure. The time for certainties has definitely vanished, leaving only the bleeding wound. And he knows where it was that Kuroo was leading him; uncharted territories. Unexplored feelings.
Unexplored? Oh, no. Iwaizumi knows exactly what he’s feeling—he just doesn’t want to name it. He knows why his heart flutters at the sight of Oikawa’s dimples when he shows one of his true smiles, why his breath catches when his eyes land on Oikawa’s perfect form midair in the middle of a serve. Iwaizumi is very well aware of those feelings, but denial simply feels a little better than facing them head on.
Hanamaki and Mattsun are not on the couch, much to Iwaizumi’s dismay. He wants to plop down with his arms crossed and stare at the wall for the rest of the party, but he can’t do that next to the two random strangers making out on the couch. The music shifts from early 2000’s j-pop to a sudden onslaught of Britney Spears songs with only a couple of words Iwaizumi can recognize from English lessons back at school. It sends the circle of people dancing around the living room—they’ve moved the little coffee table back into the wall—to a frenzy of fast paced dancing and really bad singing. In the crowd he spots Hanamaki shaking his hips against Matsukawa’s ass and yeah, maybe he’s also a little jealous that they’re having so much fun while Iwaizumi is just drowning in a soup of his unresolved feelings for Oikawa, but seeing them so happy? He’s not about to drag them into his misery.
So into the kitchen it is, dragging his feet and avoiding the slush of beer from his very drunk classmates. Oikawa is nowhere in sight. Iwaizumi grabs some doritos and goes to one of the blue coolers and pulls out a beer dripping water droplets down the can and into his jeans. He watches the condensation drip down for a second, lost in thought until a tap on his shoulder snaps him back to reality. Unwilling but ready to kick Kuroo’s ass if necessary, he turns around with a scowl in his face only to find—oh. The petite brunette Oikawa was… Touchy with. Flirty, perhaps.
Her eyes are big and a pretty shade of moss green, lined with mascara and a soft but glittery eyeliner. Preppy and really pretty like a fairy dancing in a forest. Sure it was just a mistake, Iwaizumi walks around her, but her tiny and soft fingers knock again on his back, and he turns around eyebrows raised with the unspoken question, too tired and too— lost to deal with her. She bites her lips.
“Iwaizumi-san…?” Of course her voice is like caramel, and it only helps to fuel Iwaizumi’s frustration. It’s not fair to that girl. It’s not, but the anger and the pain are there and—
“Yes?”
“Um, Oikawa-kun is looking for you and…” She cranes her head, eyes travelling somewhere behind Iwaizumi and yeah. He can tell where this is going. “Oh! Uh, there he is!”
“Iwa-chan!” Comes Oikawa’s voice, and if he didn’t know him he’d think the singsong in his voice was warm and inviting, but of course he was not lost to the venom dripping down and slithering all the way to his feet to go up and coil around his neck. “Thanks for finding him for me, Mika-chan! You can go now.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. With a half muttered apology she scrambles away from them, leaving Iwaizumi alone with his best friend. His forever something else he’s never been able, or willing, to put into words. Maybe this is a sign telling him he can’t run away any longer, but the jolt of electricity against his skin as Oikawa grabs his wrist comes sudden and a little painful, but he doesn’t pull back.
The hand around Iwaizumi’s wrist grips tight, leaving no room for some emergency wriggling away from the very awkward scenario to come. Not like Iwaizumi’s going to run away, of course. Even if his survival instincts are telling him otherwise. If the tension in Oikawa’s back says something, it’s probably about how angry he is at him. He keeps his head down as hot, salty tears threaten to run down his cheeks as Oikawa drags him across the hallway and inside his room without looking back—stupid, glow-in-the-dark stars he helped set up and alien plushies room—and closes the door behind him, softly, his free hand fisted at his side, and only then does Iwaizumi realize that Oikawa is trembling .
Oikawa is not angry. He’s hurt .
And Iwaizumi is such an idiot.
“Can—” Iwaizumi starts, and finds that his voice is but a choke. He turns away, unable to face his goddamn best friend. “Can you let go of me now?”
Oikawa hesitates, clutching tighter before letting go, both hands now limp at his sides and head hanging down. It all feels so, so wrong—Oikawa should be looking up , the way he always is; chasing his wild dreams and making them come true. They should be laughing together, all crinkly eyes, gushing until dawn about the future. Once upon a time, maybe. Before the wild uncertainty of feelings forming and dancing and tickling Iwaizumi became a reality hitting him like a ton of bricks.
A whimper. Slow breaths turning ragged. Iwaizumi snaps his gaze to find Oikawa clutching his sides and picking at his skin, but his eyes are fiery pools of lava burning down on Iwaizumi until the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, sending a shiver down his spine.
“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” Oikawa murmurs, but the quiet in his voice is not enough to mask the pain in the eyes that Iwaizumi notices are wet with tears. “More like all week, but who’s counting?” And as his tone rises and his nails dig red welts into his skin, something rises in Iwaizumi, too. Something sticky and picking at his throat, screaming to get out. “I just wanted to have a fun night with my friends, joke around, drink a little and? You’re not there . At all. Gods, even sidestepping to get away from me like—like I’m a disease or something,” He presses on, surprisingly composed despite the anger seeping into his words. Iwaizumi stands frozen, barely blinking, mouth a tight line. “Did… Did I do something? Is it me? Because—I keep thinking, and trying to find a reason for you to be so… so cold . So, just. Spit it out, Iwaizumi. I can handle it.”
Iwaizumi . He feels his lungs collapsing, or maybe that’s just his heart accelerating and pumping blood into his brain. Why am I so dizzy? He stumbles backwards, silent, unable to speak.
“Oh, so you’re gonna give me the silent treatment?” Oikawa snarls, and Iwaizumi is certain the whole house can hear them through the walls. For every step Oikawa takes forward Iwaizumi takes one back. “So mature of you, huh. I’m going away in a few days to the other side of the planet and I feel like I’m losing my best friend. So please… Iwa-chan,” His voice croaks and breaks and that is definitely the sound of Iwaizumi’s heart breaking, too. “Tell me what I did wrong so I can apologize. Make it better.”
Iwaizumi closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm his nerves, but oh well. Here it comes .
“This is not about you!” He snaps, an accusing index pointed towards Oikawa’s chest. Cheeks burning and a single tear streaming down his skin, Iwaizumi takes a step forward; uncertain and bleeding inside but finally ready to face his best friend. “It’s not, okay? This is about me, and it is so fucking messy and tricky and— hard . And then the Argentina thing came up! I thought I had more time to—”
“I don’t understand, you haven’t—done anything wrong?” Oikawa asks, anger turning to bewilderment; the chocolate of his eyes softening ever so slightly. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m in love with you!” He finally confesses, and if his cheeks were pink before they’re now a shade of scarlet all the way down his neck and into his chest, blood pumping and betraying his feelings. “Not like best friends in love. Well, yes . But it’s more than that. I love you and I don’t want you to just be my gods damned best friend!” The words spill out before he can process them, and with each and everyone of them Oikawa’s breath catches, hands going up to cover his gaping mouth. “So yeah. Deeply complicated because you’re fucking leaving . And I just— really don’t want to deal with this.”
Careful not to touch, not to come into physical contact with Oikawa, Iwaizumi makes his way towards the door. Just as his hand reaches for the knob he feels another one wrapping around his wrist, only this time it is but a brush of calluses against his skin instead of a tight hold. A brush so soft he almost can’t stand it. To want to let go and to stay forever tied to him.
“Please,” He whispers without turning around to face Oikawa. “I don’t want your pity.”
“Pity?”
Hands pulling him away from the door to whirl him around, and suddenly Iwaizumi is mere centimeters away from Oikawa’s face. He’s so close he can count the freckles from all those days playing out in the sun. So close he can touch —
Then Oikawa is kissing him, and it is not soft and flowery but ravenous and fast and hot. Lips pressing against his desperately, but when Oikawa’s hands come to cup Iwaizumi’s cheeks he finally melts into his embrace, returning the kiss with the same hunger, allowing himself to be pressed against the door as his hands lock around the small of Oikawa’s back. There’s tongues and teeth nipping at his bottom lip and two beers is barely anything, but the blood rushing and the heat and Oikawa’s skin flush against his is just too much, too overwhelming, and he doesn’t want it to stop . There’s barely a second of catching his breath before he’s kissing Oikawa again between smiles and sighs of relief, clutching tight at his shirt to bring him even closer. There are sounds leaving his mouth he never imagined could be possible—raw and harsh—but then Oikawa is moaning, too, leaning down to kiss his neck, and. Wow . It all feels too good and unreal, but the pieces are finally clicking.
They pull apart panting and gasping for air. Iwaizumi finds himself brushing his fingers against soft auburn locks while Oikawa buries his head in the crook of Iwaizumi’s shoulder and smiles, peppering the skin with butterfly kisses before speaking.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might feel the same way, you idiot?”
“ What ?” Iwaizumi manages to croak out.
“For a very long time, too.” A kiss to the corner of his mouth, one to his left cheek, and another one to his forehead. “You dolt. Thickhead.”
“But—what about all those girls?” He blurts. So many girls confessing their love and handing out chocolates and good luck charms. Oikawa’s blatant flirting . “Mika-chan. You… I’m sure you dated her.”
“Well, yeah.” Oikawa rubs a hand on the back of his neck. His lips are a pretty shade of cherry pink, bitten and swollen and a reminder of fireworks and sparks and everything suddenly working out in Iwaizumi’s life. He leans forward, waiting for him to go on. “So… when I said she dumped me because of volleyball… I kind of wasn’t telling the truth.”
Iwaizumi raises a questioning eyebrow, trying to catch Oikawa’s gaze as he tries to avoid his best friend’s curious eyes. Jesus . He still couldn’t believe it. He brings the tips of his fingers to graze over his own swollen lips, the memory of the kiss still so close and yet fading away all too fast. Still reeling, Iwaizumi realizes he’s yearning for another kiss. For it to never stop.
“So she didn’t like me not spending time with her because of practice and matches and all, but…” He sighs. “One day she just sat me down giggling and called me all sorts of names and finally said I cannot believe you don’t know you’re in love with Iwaizumi-san . I was so baffled and offended . But it made sense, that you’re the only person I truly and honestly want to be making out and going on dates with. And I didn’t know how to tell you, because I was afraid you’d just. Go. Reject me, or whatever.”
“I think we’re both idiots.”
“Hmm.”
Oikawa lays down on the bed and pats a spot next to him for Iwaizumi to lay down, and he obligues. The barest brush of skin—arms touching, pinkies intertwined—is enough to make him shiver, but he stays. Stays and revels at the feeling of being right where he now knows he belongs. The glow in the dark stars in the ceiling make up a series of Oikawa’s favorite constellations, perfectly matching different planet plushies scattered throughout the room. Always a little kid inside, Oikawa. A smile creeps up Iwaizumi’s lips, a sort of humming in his skin keeping him awake. He doesn’t want to miss anything; the rise of Oikawa’s chest with every breath, the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. And somewhere in the expanse of his features, something close to sadness. A different kind of pain.
Iwaizumi sits up, trying to make sense of this… Mess. More like a miracle; wishes granted by shooting stars. There’s still enough time for this to be an elaborate prank, even if the all too real throbbing in his lips is yet to leave his system. Oikawa stares at him, head craned like a confused puppy.
“You’re not… Kidding, are you?” He asks, but it comes out all wrong. He knows his best friend would never lie to him, and yet. Could this be a consolation prize? Why me, of all people? “I thought… You were flirting with Mika-chan. I thought this was just some dumb plan to…”
“Iwa-chan, I’m gonna stop you right there. I am very gay,” Oikawa laughs, and the notes in his voice are a harmony of the most perfect sounds Iwaizumi’s ever heard. He wants it all for himself. “Didn’t know it at the time. Mika-chan and I, well. We really bonded after the breakup, helped me come to terms with this and all. And uh… Turns out she’s really into girls.”
“What? No way.”
“Yep,” Oikawa says, eyes fixed in the glowing stars, and suddenly he feels too close and too far away at the same time. Iwaizumi’s tired of the distance between them. Tired and dreading the end of this beautiful closeness. “It was always you, Hajime. From the very beginning. I could never, ever imagine myself loving anyone else.”
Iwaizumi buries his head in his hands, trying to hide the reddening cheeks and the tears blurring his eyesight. Hajime . Surely Oikawa could hear the thumping of his heart nearly coming out of his throat. From the very beginning . When had it started for Iwaizumi? A long, long time ago . Nights and days and sleepovers; shared secrets and shared dreams. Oikawa sits by his side, pressing his forehead against his arm, drawing soothing circles on his skin. He whispers words of love and awe and adoration until Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and finds himself able to look him in the eyes, skin flushed and hot and cheeks wet with tears.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Iwaizumi wheezes, and before he can keep spiraling Oikawa is already there to hold him and kiss him through the pain. He’s always been the collected one, not Iwaizumi. He’s always been the one to keep his cool and act charming through the toughest times. One of the many things he admires—no, loves about him. Loves and hates because if there’s anything he wants is to see the full spectrum of his dumbass best friend’s emotions. To witness the chaos and the storms and his bleeding heart.
“Why didn’t you?” Oikawa retorts, arms crossed and a pointed stare in his direction. “Look. I didn’t… want to hurt what we have. Had , I guess. I wanted things to stay the way they were. My best friend in the entire universe, and that’s it. Then the Argentina thing came up and… I hoped it would eventually go away. You and I would always be friends and nothing else. And then you started to avoid me like a middle schooler. I could’ve had a different approach or whatever, but that was really shitty of you.”
“I know,” He mumbles. Nowhere in his “sudden-realization-of-feelings-for-my-best-friend” agenda was it written to end up hurting Oikawa. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “And I’m so, so sorry, Oikawa. I just couldn’t face you when all I wanted to say was I love you, please don’t leave me ,” He releases a breath, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt close to his heart. “And that is very shitty of me. Because you’re—going out there to accomplish great things and I’ve always known our paths were different but… I needed more time. I thought I had more time. That maybe if you were in Tokyo playing for Japan I’d still find excuses to go see you until it just, I don’t know. Clicked between us like one of Mattsun’s stupid romcoms.”
The next time Oikawa kisses him, it’s a delicate caress—hands planted firmly on his shoulders to bring him closer. His presence is strong and solid against him, helping wash away the dread until there’s only the feel of skin on skin, lips tracing lines and memorizing patterns. He’d been so stupid to wait this long to kiss him, to hold Oikawa tight and close like this. They stay like that for a while, limbs tangled and hands exploring, pressing, embracing every part of each other. Then Oikawa pulls away, sheepish and glowing and red all over. To simply love him falls short. The thing in his heart is deeper, greater.
“My Iwa-chan is such a romantic,” Oikawa jokes, lightly bumping his shoulder. “I’m not leaving you. Not really, I think. I was already planning on pestering you every day, every hour. You know I thrive on attention—especially yours. And it is super scary. I don’t know what’s awaiting me in Argentina, only that it feels right . But you? You feel better . I’ve known, and loved you since before volleyball, even if I wasn’t aware of it.”
“Wait,” Iwaizumi butts in, alarmed. Oikawa immediately squeezes his hand in reassurance, leaning closer. “I’m not asking you to stay. I would never stop you from chasing your dreams—”
“I know,” He reassures, voice soft and soothing and low. “It’s time you accept you’re also my dream. Somehow. Stop looking at me like that!” Oikawa pouts. “ Yes , I’m a romantic too, now let me finish. Argentina is full of uncertainties that I’m willing to uncover. But if there’s something I’m totally sure about—is you . You’re the one thing I want as equally as I want volleyball, if not a little more,” To Iwaizumi’s bewildered face, he continues, “ Stop . You know it’s true. And I’m not staying here. I’m gonna go be great and conquer the world. You’re gonna stay here and do your thing and be great, too,” Eyes made out of fire and hot coals; certain and wide open and Iwaizumi knows that his heart bleeds for this man. Bleeds and loves, a wanting so sure his bones seem to settle—the pain vanishes. “But I want to be a little selfish because I’m not gonna stop loving you, whatever distance separates us and I guess what I’m trying to say is—I want to make it work, long distance. I want and I’m going to make it because I don’t fail, ever. But… Do you want to?”
He doesn’t have to think about it because the answer sits on his belly and his heart as sure as his adoration for dinosaurs and volleyball. The silence stretches and Oikawa seems to panic, losing the beautiful light in his eyes before Iwaizume leans in and places a soft, loving kiss on his cheek. His hand goes to Oikawa’s cheek to hold him steady.
“I do,” He says. “It’s going to be tough, but. You— we deserve it.”
Oikawa sighs, relief seeping into his features, burrowing closer to Iwaizumi’s palm. “Well now that it’s settled!” He announces, wiggling his eyebrows. Mischief and something darker glints in his eyes and Iwaizumi’s blood boils. “I think we’ve waited a long time. We can work it all out in the morning because now I want to lay you down on this bed and kiss you and do all sort of filthy things.”
Without waiting for an answer—not like Iwaizumi could ever say no, not in a moment like this—Oikawa throws him back to the mattress and straddles him, legs warm and tightly pressed against his and when he leans down to kiss him it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, tasted . Oikawa kisses him to make up for all the time they lost being idiots; revels and worships every inch of his skin. And when minutes slip into hours of laughing and moaning and feeling without any restraints, Iwaizumi realizes he won’t ever bleed anymore because he’s home and in love and young and stupid. And they have forever to fall in love over again.
Five in the morning rolls in. The house is mostly empty, except for Matsukawa and Hanamaki hanging out in the living room playing monopoly and trying to sober up with glasses of water and cold dino nuggets. Mattsun plays a get out of jail free card and Hanamaki purchases an expensive lot; it’s all quiet and peaceful and nice for a farewell party that’s missing the one that’s leaving Japan.
Pretty suspicious if you ask Matsukawa, but oh well.
Kindaichi rounds the corner with a lost puppy face, holding a box with neatly folded but very hideous gift wrap and stands before the third years, fiddling with the little object in his hands. Hanamaki raises a questioning eyebrow without really looking, humming to himself and planning his next move.
“Um, have you seen Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks. “Kunimi and I got him a little parting gift and I wanted to give it to him before leaving…”
“He’s uh. Unavailable.” Is Hanamaki’s ominous answer. And there is definitely a smirk on his lips.
“Ah,” A beat of silence. “Maybe Iwaizumi-san?”
“Nope. He’s unavailable, too,” Matsukawa coughs, sharing a knowing glance with his partner.
Then comes a thump against a wall; one that evidently came from a room down the hallway. It’s followed by laughter and something that sounds like a hiss and—
“ Oh ,” Kindaichi is mortified, beet red and stuttering. It’s kind of adorable. “Good for them?”
“Yeah,” Hanamaki concludes, searching for his wallet to pass Hanamaki two neatly folded bills. “Fucking finally .”