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Iwaizumi tried to justify the shifting in his stomach with the eggs he'd eaten that morning. There was no way the fluttering was excitement at the prospect of seeing his boyfriend after the first semester of college so busy they barely had time to call in the evenings.
Oikawa's parents had saved up and managed to get a hold of a one-bedroom loft in some building not too far from his school.
Iwaizumi rolled his eyes – leave it to Oikawa to manage to move into his own place the first year of college with no issue.
Admittedly, the place was small and wasn't crazy expensive but still, Iwaizumi was jealous if only because his dorm roommate was more obnoxious than he was sure he could handle, so noisy, barging in late, bringing in girls and not bothering to let Iwaizumi know or at the very least hang a damn tie on the doorknob. The amount of naked women he'd seen since he started college was more than enough to assure him of his sexuality, if nothing else.
Iwaizumi followed Oikawa's detailed instructions to the building and took the elevator to the top, taking advantage of the mirror inside it to mess with his hair a little even though he didn't care what it looked like, and straightened his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles even though it didn't matter.
When he no longer felt like he might throw up staring at the door in front of him, Iwaizumi rang the doorbell.
“It's open!” Came a muffled shout from inside.
Iwaizumi opened the door with a shake of his head, calling out once inside, “You really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked. What if I was some sort of criminal?”
“I doubt assaulters ring the doorbell before they enter.”
“Still! Anyone could’ve just waltzed in.” Iwaizumi complained, toeing off his shoes and hanging his jacket by the door.
Turning where he stood, he studied the place.
As soon as you stepped through the door, to the left of it, was a door frame with no door leading into a narrow kitchen with just enough room for a fridge, stove and some cupboards. There was another door further in and to the right Iwaizumi assumed was to Oikawa’s bedroom, the largest center room being the living room.
One whole side of the slanted ceiling was covered with windows, making the light trickle in beautifully through the fake vines hanging from it.
There was a couch beneath, covered in various shapes and sizes of fluffy white blankets and baby blue cushions. The coffee table was made of light wood, a vase of flowers on top of it as well as the newest editions of some sports magazines Iwaizumi could never be bothered to read, even when Oikawa pestered him about it.
There was another smaller couch facing the right wall where a medium sized TV hung, a long low shelf beneath it with a few tiny succulents, books, and various Oikawa trinkets scattered atop.
To the left of the TV area was a square glass dining table, yet another vase with flowers on top of it, and two white chairs opposing each other.
It was pretty and so very Oikawa. Iwaizumi could’ve picked this place out from a dozen others if he was challenged to guess which one belonged to Oikawa.
The door to his right opened and a fuzzy blanket cocoon wearing his boyfriend’s face shuffled out, some hair sticking out from the blanket and curling across his forehead, eyes a little glassy and nose flushed an irritated red.
“Something dreadful has happened.” The pile of fluff croaked, voice hoarse.
“What?” Iwaizumi looked him over with a smile, something exasperated but so warm blossoming in his chest, brimming with fondness.
“I got sick!” Oikawa exclaimed, coughing right after. “And now all my plans are ruined. There were so many things I wanted us to do.”
He pouted and that, combined with the glazed eyes and rosy face, effectively made Iwaizumi’s brain buffer.
“So damn cute.” He muttered without really meaning to.
“Don’t lie to me, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa whined, hiding half his face behind the blanket. “I’m swollen and red and ugly, overflowing with germs and snot!”
“Ew.”
“Exactly!”
“How’d you even manage to get sick? You were fine yesterday when I called.”
Oikawa frowned, shuffling further into the room and depositing himself ungracefully on the couch. “I went out right after our call to pick some stuff up for today.”
“It was raining yesterday evening.” Iwaizumi recalled and then, eyes widening, he growled, “Oikawa, did you go out into the rain?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you bring an umbrella?”
Oikawa shrunk into his blanket burrito. “I forgot. It wasn’t raining yet when I went out so I thought I wouldn’t need it.”
“But the weather report-”
“Like anyone other than you watches those, grandpa.” Oikawa interrupted, still pouting. “And I was going out for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, for you! I was gonna make us dinner, and I bought all these scented candles to light, I even managed to find a DVD of that spy movie you love so much. And I was looking for your gift when it started raining.”
“Gift?”
“I’m too weak and frail to go get it.” Oikawa sighed, hanging his head over the arm of the couch, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “It’s in my dresser, top drawer.”
Iwaizumi went into the bedroom, pausing briefly to admire it. There was a circular window above the wood-framed bed and another one to the left, with flowy curtains that floated dreamily on the breeze.
More plastic vines graced the wall behind the bed, hanging down next to rows of fairy lights.
The dresser was on the left wall from the bed, next to the bathroom door.
Iwaizumi dug through the top drawer until he found the matte black gift bag. He picked it up and rushed out, trying not to think too much about how cozy it would be to cuddle Oikawa in that bed, the fairy lights glimmering above them, the sounds of the city trickling in through the small window that would be opened to let in the fresh night air.
Back in the living room, Oikawa was laying back against the arm of the couch, eyes closed, the pretty curve of his neck slightly damp with sweat. Iwaizumi had to suppress the sudden urge to lick it.
“I’m back.”
Oikawa’s eyes slowly fluttered open and as he got closer and sat down next to him, Iwaizumi noticed how unwell he really looked.
His face was pale all over, his nose and cheeks flushed too red to be a natural blush, and there was a thin sheen of sweat across every inch of his skin Iwaizumi could see, his eyes glassy and a bit unfocused, face twitching with constant sniffles.
“That storm really knocked you out, huh?” He said, careful to keep his voice even and low because Oikawa’s headache was evident in the way he wrapped his head in the blanket and shied away from the light streaming in.
He nodded, sitting up only to topple in the other direction, sprawling on his stomach, head nestled in Iwaizumi’s lap, one leg hanging off the couch and the other leaning against its arm.
Iwaizumi moved the blanket down and carded his hand through Oikawa’s damp hair, lifting it off his heated neck, the other humming gratefully at the sensation. They stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable and the closeness welcome after months of only looking at each other through a screen.
Then, Oikawa twisted to lay on his back, keeping his head on Iwaizumi’s lap, and looked up at him with an expectant grin. “Open your gift.”
Iwaizumi grabbed the bag that lay forgotten next to him on the couch and untied the little bow that was keeping it closed.
Inside were two velvet boxes.
Oikawa explained. “The white one is for me, the black one is for you. But you open both of them.”
Iwaizumi felt all the giddiness of a child on Christmas morning as he fumbled to pull the boxes out of the bag. He opened the white one first.
It was a silver chain bracelet with a single charm hanging off of it – a mountain with three peeks, made of the same silver metal as the chain, the snowy peaks of it made from a shimmery, clear jewel.
He opened the black box.
Another bracelet, made with the same chain, only the charm on this one was a little silver alien head, eyes made of shiny black stones, mouth carved to look like it’s smirking.
“So we have something of each other’s when we’re apart again.” Oikawa explained, taking the bracelet with the mountain charm and, after some struggling, clipping it around his wrist.
He then reached for Iwaizumi’s hand and, with gentle feverish fingers, put the bracelet with the alien charm on his wrist.
Iwaizumi hadn’t spoken.
When he looked up, Oikawa realized why.
There was a dampness in Iwaizumi’s eyes, a wet streak shining down his left cheek, and his mouth was clamped shut as if he was afraid of what might come out if he opened them. Nonetheless he was smiling, soft and vulnerable, his eternal frown gone, replaced by a tender expression only Oikawa had the honor of ever witnessing.
He reached up to wipe Iwaizumi’s cheek and smiled broadly. “Did I leave you speechless?”
“A little bit.” Iwaizumi mumbled, taking hold of the hand still caressing his cheek. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Mm, but now we have a whole ten days to spend together, no interruptions.” Oikawa felt himself smiling wider at the thought. Someone might say ten days wasn’t that much time, but after months of barely seeing each other in person save for the odd weekend of rushed fumbling with the buttons on each other’s clothes he was ready for a week and three days of spending time together with no rush, slowly. Thoroughly. And with no Iwaizumi’s roommate stumbling into the dorm when they were already half-naked on top of each other, some girl guiding him to the other bed by the neckline of his shirt, both of them proclaiming that they didn’t mind sharing the room.
He wanted the quiet comfort of his loft and the knowledge they had endless days to spend with just the two of them.
His thoughts, which had begun to make his brain a little fuzzy with domestic images, were abruptly and rudely interrupted by a coughing fit. He leaned forward, one hand clutching his chest, the other covering his mouth. His throat burned with every cough, lungs aching with lack of air.
It took a few seconds for it to die down before he could inhale again, the sound of it raspy.
Iwaizumi was rubbing his back, warm palm firm against the likely sweaty fabric of his pajamas, the heat of his skin no doubt radiating through.
“You okay?”
Oikawa nodded, taking a few more deep breaths until his lungs stopped aching and the burn in his throat eased enough to ignore again. “I’m fine.”
“C’mere.” Iwaizumi beckoned, gently maneuvering him to lay back against the blue pillows, back pressed against the back of the couch, front tucked safely into Iwaizumi’s chest. Iwaizumi’s arms came to wrap around him and pull him closer, holding him tight and secure.
He swung the blanket over them and pressed a kiss to Oikawa’s burning forehead.
“No!” Oikawa whine weakly in protest. “I’m too comfy. I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“Yeah that’s kind of the point.” Iwaizumi replied, picking lint off of Oikawa’s shoulder with endearing focus.
“But you just got here.”
“And I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Oikawa smiled. “I like the way that sounds.”
He could feel Iwaizumi smiling into his hair. “Yeah, me too. Now rest.”
“Kay, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa mumbled, already lulled half to sleep. Iwaizumi felt like his chest might burst with adoration at how adorable he was, words slurring together a bit, nuzzling into his chest with a yawn.
He ran his hand through Oikawa’s hair, swiped his thumb across his cheekbone, then traced a line down his neck and shoulder, curling his arm around Oikawa’s middle and opening his palm against his back, right between his shoulder blades.
With Oikawa asleep, he took the time to look at him. They’d been dating for a little over a year, but there was still a sense of wonder, the romance of it all still slightly new, like the way his palms tingled and his stomach squirmed when Oikawa flirted with him, the steady constant warmth that came with being loved and knowing it, the idea that he could just lean up and kiss the sinfully beautiful mouth he’d been staring at for most of his teenage years, the fact that he was allowed to touch the soft blemished skin, that he could now whisper all the thoughts he’d spent years being ashamed of.
While being in love with Oikawa was a feeling Iwaizumi was well acquainted with, Oikawa being in love with him was a phenomenon that took him by surprise most days. Oikawa being in love with anyone, really, was something Iwaizumi had at one point believed he’d never witness.
Because having Oikawa love him was unlike anything he could’ve imagined. An unmasked Oikawa was a gentle one, sensitive, soft around the edges and a little blurred, painted in watercolor sepia. His motions were soft and measured, clumsy only when he intended them to be. The way he spoke when he wasn’t speaking into a microphone with the harsh light of a camera flash distorting his features, was soft as well, clear and eloquent, loud if he was excited, hushed and shaky when he was upset, even and warm when he was relaxed, when he was happy.
And when Oikawa loved, he loved in a way that thrilled from head to toe. He offered moments of humorous sentimentality, overly exaggerated declarations of infatuation and over the top gestures to prove it, but to balance it out, he would slide his hand down Iwaizumi’s arm and clutch his palm when they were walking down a crowded street, sometimes when Iwaizumi was content to sit and stare tuning Oikawa out as he spoke, Oikawa would tug at his sleeve, pester him, poke at him, until he either laughed or shouted. And if he shouted, Oikawa would soothe, he’d press his lips to his forehead until the frown fell away, would kiss away the tears if they happened to fall.
Oikawa loved intently, meticulously, carefully, he loved like he’d never do anything else – every shift in expression, every hidden little thing meant for Iwaizumi’s body to signal, subtly, what he stubbornly refused to say, Oikawa noticed it all. He paid attention but not in a way that was creepy or made Iwaizumi feel suffocated. Oikawa paid attention like Iwaizumi was something worth paying attention to, like he was intricate and precious, meant to be understood and cared for.
While Iwaizumi had always thought himself quite simple, Oikawa loved him like he was the key to the universe and he was the only one who could ever hope to understand him.
Oikawa loved aggressively, intensely, he loved like he was burning with it and would be content to let the flames spread and set the world alight, like the universe imploding with the strength of his adoration was the only acceptable way for it to end. If anything would ever dare try to bring about the end of time, it would be his love.
Oikawa loved like he’d never stop and the only possible reason for his love to end would be the implosion of time and space, and maybe even then, there would be particle of dust, floating somewhere in space towards the infinite darkness of a black hole, and there would be an atom orbiting around it, and the atom and the particle would love each other even while hurtling towards their inevitable demise.
Iwaizumi sometimes caught himself shying away from the fire in Oikawa’s eyes, afraid it might forget who it’s burning for and wildly swallow him too. But it never did. It never did because Oikawa’s flames only served to keep Iwaizumi warm, never to harm him, and the warmth bled through ever touch, every kiss, every collision of their gazes when Iwaizumi’s chest would constrict and he could feel those same flames burning bright inside him too.
Oikawa loved, not in return for the love given, but because, as he’d told Iwaizumi in the darkness of some night with no stars or moonlight, he couldn’t remember how long ago, only that he’d been crying and his body was aching, that he loved him because there was nothing else he could do, that his love was a force of nature, something preordained, something meant to be Iwaizumi’s and only Iwaizumi’s.
When Oikawa woke up, the headache had stopped and he no longer felt like the fever was burning him from the inside out. His throat was still a little scratchy and his nose congested, but he felt less like a corpse than he had before.
Iwaizumi wasn’t holding him anymore and when he pried his eyes opened, he noticed the moon shining through the glass panels above him.
Bones still heavy with sleep, head slightly unsure what year it was and what his name was, he sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, stretching his legs until his right knee clicked and the stiffness faded.
He pulled his arms above his head and arched his back, yawning, before swinging his legs off the couch and tucking them into slippers.
Following the sound of cupboards opening and closing, he made his way to the kitchen. Iwaizumi was standing in the narrow space, looking adorably out of place, a pot in one hand, the other scratching the back of his neck.
He pushed the pot towards the cupboard and then pulled it back when it didn’t fit, trying a different angle. That didn’t work either so he turned it upside down and tried again. And again. And again until he was startled out of his confusion by Oikawa laughing.
“Hi.” He waved with the pot, cheeks flushing. “How long have you been standing there?”
Oikawa leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Long enough to watch you learn that size does indeed matter sometimes. But,” He added, ushering Iwaizumi aside and taking the pot, “so does precision.”
He rearranged a few of the other dishes until he could easily slide the pot in and shut the door. “Now we just hope it doesn’t all fall out when I open it again. What’re you doing?”
“I made you tea. And I’m trying to cook but it’s not really working out for me.” Iwaizumi confessed while Oikawa skipped over to the steaming mug on the counter by the stove, already feeling it soothing his aching throat.
As he sipped, he glanced around the kitchen.
There was a burnt pan in the sink with water running over it and soap bubbling over, water was boiling on the stove but there was nothing in it and in the midst of it all stood his boyfriend, face furrowed, hair ruffled, and an apron tied around him.
“I’m surprised you managed to make the tea without setting the building on fire, honestly.”
Iwaizumi glared at him, more color raising to his cheeks.
“Thank you.” Oikawa amended. “And thank whatever deity is looking over me for not letting you poison me.” He added, cackling when Iwaizumi threw a kitchen towel at his head. “You are abusing me and I’m sick!”
“Not too sick to be an asshole.”
“Oh, babe, I’m never too sick for ruffling your feathers.”
“Do not test me.” Iwaizumi said seriously, threatening him with a spatula.
Oikawa hopped up onto the counter and shut off the overflowing sink, turning off the stove “Am I really that far off? You almost just flooded the kitchen.”
Iwaizumi lowered his spatula with a defeated sigh. “When we finally move in together, you cook and I’ll do the cleaning.”
“Deal.”
“Can we just order something?”
Oikawa nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to return to a horizontal position as soon as possible.”
He downed the rest of the tea and quickly washed out the mug before tugging Iwaizumi by the hand back to the couch.
“The movie’s somewhere on that shelf.” He said, nestling back into the blankets. “It’s the James Bond one you’ve been raving about.”
“I didn’t even know this was out on DVD already.” Iwaizumi commented as he set it up.
“It’s not. I had to pull some strings.”
“Oh, like you pulled some strings on that camping trip to get us a cheap canoe and then we spent the rest of the day stuck in the middle of the lake in an inflatable boat with broken oars?”
Oikawa stuck his tongue out. “That was one time.”
Iwaizumi sat down and even the motion was skeptical. “So it wasn’t your ‘connection’ that got us those limited edition concert tickets for a ‘mystery celebrity’ and then we sat in a half-empty theatre listening to a kindergarten talent show?”
“So mean!” Oikawa swatted his shoulder. “I tried very hard to get this movie and-”
A high-pitched moan coming from the television cut him off and Oikawa turned around, mortified.
Iwaizumi’s eyes were glued to the screen, filled with the same amount of horror. “Tooru. This is porn.”
“Yep.”