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Iwaizumi hears a scream from the direction of their bedroom and pauses in the middle of what he’s doing, which is cooking dinner. Knowing Oikawa, he could very well be having a meltdown over something completely ridiculous. In fact, that’s the most likely option. Iwaizumi’s husband - of five years and counting, he thinks to himself with a smile - is dramatic like that.
Still, he can’t take the chance that something serious has gone wrong this time. Iwaizumi flicks off the stove, setting his ladle aside and wiping his hands on his apron before making his way to the man he begrudgingly calls the love of his life.
Oikawa isn’t anywhere to be found in the bedroom, so Iwaizumi tries the bathroom. “Tooru?” he asks, knocking on the closed door.
“Don’t come in, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa practically screeches, causing Iwaizumi to take a step back in surprise.
He frowns and tries the door, but it’s locked. So he knocks again, more impatiently this time. “Tooru, what’s wrong? Let me in,” he calls.
“Go away!”
Iwaizumi groans. “Come on, baby, open the door. Please?”
There’s a brief pause, and Iwaizumi can all but feel Oikawa’s resolve weaken. “Tooru, love? Please, for me?”
Holding his breath, Iwaizumi hears a small sigh from the other side of the door and grins. It’s undeniable that Iwaizumi Hajime is completely and utterly whipped for his husband, but it’s a lesser known fact that Oikawa Tooru is equally incapable of refusing him when he asks nicely for something. Sure enough, Iwaizumi hears the scrape of the lock as it clicks open, and then Oikawa is standing in front of him with slumped shoulders, a miserable pout on his pretty face.
“Aw, c’mere,” Iwaizumi says, pulling Oikawa into his arms. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Oikawa sniffles into his shoulder, hands fisting in the back of his sweatshirt. He mumbles something too low for Iwaizumi to hear.
Iwaizumi frowns. “What was that?”
“I said I found a white hair,” Oikawa snaps.
Silence. Then, Iwaizumi can’t help it - he starts to laugh.
With an affronted gasp, Oikawa pulls away just far enough to glare at him. “Don’t laugh at me, Iwa-chan! I’m only twenty-six, and at this rate I’ll be completely gray by thirty!”
“You asshole,” Iwaizumi says through bursts of laughter. “You scared me, I thought you were seriously hurt.”
“This is serious!”
Iwaizumi gives Oikawa’s hair a cursory inspection. “I don’t see anything, Tooru, you’re fine. You look great, in fact.”
“There was a white hair,” Oikawa insists. “You can’t see it because I pulled it out and threw it away.”
Sighing, realizing that Oikawa won’t let this go so easily, Iwaizumi hugs him again and kisses the top of his head. Oikawa’s hair has always been a source of pride for him, with good reason, and he’s spent a small fortune on product for it. Iwaizumi loves it, too. It’s soft and bouncy, and he loves combing his fingers through it and feeling it against his skin first thing in the morning and pulling it when they -
Not the time, Iwaizumi reminds himself. “This isn’t just about the hair, is it?” he asks. He knows Oikawa well enough by now to understand that much. “What’s really bothering you?”
He waits until Oikawa relaxes into his touch, rubs his back comfortingly as he works up the nerve to speak. Finally, in a tiny voice, Oikawa says, “Hajime, will you still love me when I get old and gross?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Iwaizumi is in disbelief. He hadn’t thought there was any room for doubt in his love for Oikawa, but he’s happy to provide reassurance all the same. “Of course I will.”
Oikawa sniffles. “You’re not going to get bored of me and meet some hot young twink and run off with him?”
Iwaizumi blinks. “How fucking shallow do you think I am?”
“That wasn’t an answer!”
“Okay, okay!” Iwaizumi knows better than to laugh, so he tamps down the incredulous chuckle that threatens to bubble past his lips. “I promise, I’ll love you even when every hair on your head is white. I’ll love you if you go bald or lose your teeth or decide to wear nothing but your godawful alien pajamas for the rest of your life.”
“My mom got me those pajamas,” Oikawa protests.
“The point is -“ Iwaizumi cups Oikawa’s face in both hands, tilting it up until they’re eye-to-eye. “- there is nothing you could do or change that would prevent me from fucking adoring you, so stop worrying already and let me finish making dinner.”
“Are you sure you’re not just saying that?” Oikawa asks, but his eyes are wide with wonder and his face is flushed slightly pink.
“I’m sure, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says.
“Hmm. Ok.” Something in Oikawa’s tone tells him they haven’t had the last of this conversation, but thankfully he lets it drop for now. “I’m hungry, let’s eat.”
Iwaizumi whaps him lightly on the shoulder. “Dumbass, I’d be done with dinner by now if I didn’t have to stop cooking to deal with your quarter-life crisis.”
“You’re so mean to me,” Oikawa says, complete with a haughty sniff, and just like that, balance is restored between them.
The next day, Iwaizumi comes home from work to find Oikawa sitting on the couch, watching a reality TV show. That’s fairly normal, but the thing that stops him dead in his tracks is -
“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, watching as Oikawa jumps at the sound of his name and turns around. “What did you do to your hair?”
Oikawa stares at him in an unconvincing show of innocence. “What do you mean, Iwa-chan?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes.
His hair is no longer the pristine light brown it was this morning; instead, several strands of it are colored a dark silver. The light catches on them when he turns his head this way and that, dazzling,y shiny, and coupled with his black tortoiseshell glasses, he looks -
He looks incredible. Iwaizumi barely registers kicking off his shoes, unbuttoning his athletic trainer polo, or making his way around the couch to sit beside Oikawa. His eyes never leave Oikawa’s face, framed by those silver curls, and the man in question is starting to look bewildered at the close scrutiny. “Iwa-chan?” he asks.
“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi breathes. “Oh my god, Tooru. Can you get old faster?”
“What?” Oikawa hisses.
“You look -“ Iwaizumi doesn’t even have words. “Oh my god.”
A rosy blush blooms on Oikawa’s cheeks. “I - what - are you serious, Iwa-chan?”
“Deadly,” Iwaizumi says. “Can I - ?” He reaches out and smooths the hair back from Oikawa’s face, sinking his fingers into it as he goes.
Oikawa lets out a happy sigh, which turns into a smirk not two seconds later. “My, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know you would be the type to have a thing for older men.”
It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to turn red. “I’m not - I don’t have a thing for older men,” Iwaizumi says. “I have a thing for older you. I’m very into the idea of growing old with you and falling more and more in love with you with every year that passes.”
That catches Oikawa off-guard, and his lips part in shock. “Oh,” he says.
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. “What were you - was this some sort of test?”
Oikawa squirms, eyes flickering suspiciously to the ground. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t lying to avoid hurting my feelings,” he admits softly. Then he meets Iwaizumi’s eyes again. “But you - really? No matter what?”
“No matter what,” Iwaizumi confirms. He grabs Oikawa’s hand and laces their fingers together.
“Oh,” Oikawa says again. Then he adds, “Thank god. Can I go wash this stuff out of my hair now? It feels disgusting.”
Iwaizumi laughs. He hopes his husband never changes. “Of course, dumbass. Come on, I’ll help you.”
He stands and starts to pull them to the bathroom, but Oikawa stays seated. “Wait,” he says. “Or…”
“Or?” Iwaizumi asks, raising an eyebrow.
Oikawa’s eyes glint with mischief. “Or you can take advantage of how I look right now and bend me over the couch,” he says.
Iwaizumi chokes on his spit.
“God, fuck you,” he says once he’s recovered from his coughing fit. “That’s it, baby, you’re asking for it.”
“Maybe I am,” Oikawa teases, and then he doesn’t say anything else because Iwaizumi is too busy kissing the words out of his mouth.