Work Text:
“Aliens, if you’re out there, I could use some help right about now.”
Oikawa mutters this aloud, straining as he tries to shift the overflowing grocery bag in his arms to free up one of his hands so that he can reach into the back pocket of his jeans for his keys. He could get the job done if he put the bag down, probably, but apparently he never likes to make things easy for himself. So he settles for spewing curses against the laws of gravity and praying fervently that the beings in the celestial heavens could hear his pleas.
Oikawa believes in the supernatural.
He’s been this way since he was a wide-eyed, awe-struck kid, getting scrapes and bruises on his knees after diving into the bushes in search of rhinoceros beetles and mantises, proclaiming their eerie characteristics to be evidence of the extraterrestrial. In high school he watched the X-Files for the first time, and… well, that pretty much sealed the deal for him. He got a college degree in Astrobiology and devoted himself to an existence of searching for life within the stars.
“Aren’t you the least bit cynical?” His associate Hanamaki often asks him, eyebrows disappearing beneath his salmon hairline every time he walks into the office to find that Oikawa has pulled yet another all-nighter working on his research. “Your optimism is almost sickening.”
“They’ll reveal themselves to us sooner or later.” Oikawa would say brightly. “Better I put my faith in aliens than in your ability to give yourself a good haircut.”
In spite of all his bravado, Oikawa is a lonely man. When he’s not at the university running tests and simulations, he’s home alone on his couch, re-watching the Star Wars movies for the umpteenth time on his banged-up old DVD player. That’s not to say he’s never had a date before, though. A handsome guy like him alone for all twenty-seven years of his life?
There’s a good joke.
The issue arises when it comes to moving beyond physical desire and traversing into the scary, decidedly less-entertaining area of settling down and finding someone he wants to live the rest of his life with. Half the guys he meets run away when they discover he searches for aliens for a living, and the few guys that stick around call it quits over his indiscriminately sharp tongue, idiosyncratic ideals and horrible habit of putting his work before all else.
But—he supposes it could be worse. So what if he doesn’t have someone to come home to, to hide within the arms of when the weather gets rough, to learn of their scars and lay before them his own? He has a decent apartment, enough accolades to be paid well by the university for his research, and when all else fails he always has a life-size body pillow of Garrus Vakarian from Mass Effect 3 to whisper sweet nothings to at night.
Spending the weekend by himself all the time gets pretty boring, so he often invites some friends over for a wine-and-dine on Friday nights. Which is how he’d gotten himself into his current predicament of not being able to shift the weight of three bottles of chateau wine into his left elbow to reach for his keys.
“Uh, do you need some help?” A gruffly unfamiliar voice comes from somewhere behind the grocery bag. Oikawa yanks his neck as far right as it could go to see who it was that has spoken to him, and has the wind knocked out of him in one fell swoop.
The man standing before him is gorgeous, even in the unflattering overhead lighting of the hall. Close-cropped brown hair, sun-browned skin, and inquisitive olive-green eyes carving slashes along sharp cheekbones. The skimpy white muscle tank he wears does absolutely nothing to hide his defined, cut physique, displaying broad, sunburnt shoulders and the faint outlines of a sculpted abdomen and chest that would make a Grecian statue hang its head in shame. And finally the scent, an intoxicating mixture of salty sea sprays on a warm summer day and a musky cologne that goes right up his nose and makes his head spin.
Oikawa might be in love.
A wide, elated smile spreads across his features, almost against his will. “Well, hello.”
The man cocks an eyebrow at him, unbothered, and then returns his eyes to the bulging bag of groceries. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you put that down?” he says dryly.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He huffs out, but turns to the side so that he could look at the man without being obstructed by the bag. “Even the little things are fun when it comes with a challenge.”
“Looks more like a disaster waiting to happen.” the man counters, reaching towards the groceries and retrieving them from Oikawa before he could complain. His fingertips brush against Oikawa’s exposed forearms as he takes the bag, calloused and strong and rough like the rest of him. He’s so star-struck that he can’t even find the willpower to bite back, and as flustered as he is, his hand fumbles on its way to retrieve his keys.
The groceries seem to weigh nothing within those strong arms, but he puts the bag down by his feet responsibly anyway. Oikawa presses the keycard against the lock and opens the door a crack, but doesn’t immediately enter the apartment. He turns towards the invigorating stranger.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he says somewhat flirtatiously.
“Ah, yeah, I just moved in this morning.” The Adonis jerks a thumb toward the door of the adjacent apartment. “Next door. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.”
Oikawa twinkles at him. “Nice to meet you, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi’s cheeks turn a deliciously brilliant crimson at the affectionate nickname, and Oikawa grins at the ensuing scowl that darkens his handsome face. “Yeah, you’re not calling me that.”
“I sure am.” Oikawa hums back happily. “I’m Oikawa Tooru, by the way. I work at the university.”
“Oh, what do you do?” Iwaizumi asks with some interest. “Aside from apparently terrorizing your colleagues, I mean.”
“Look for aliens.” Oikawa responds casually. “And you?”
“This and that.” He says evasively, and Oikawa raises his eyebrows. Oh, a secretive guy, are we? “Aliens, did you say?”
“Aliens.”
“Looking for your brethren?” Iwaizumi teases, and Oikawa frowns at him.
“I’m flattered that you find me exotic enough to consider me extraterrestrial.” He pouts. “But I’ll have you know that it’s unlikely for there to be alien forms out there as anthropomorphically similar to our kind.”
Iwaizumi frowns back. “Star Wars says otherwise.”
A smile spreads across Oikawa’s face again. “You like Star Wars?”
“Who doesn’t?” Iwaizumi mirrors his grin. “Happy May the Fourth, by the way.”
My god, could this guy be any more perfect?
“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa cocks his head, and his fringe bounces to the side a side. “Want to go out on a date with me sometime?”
It was very interesting to see the flush that spread across Iwaizumi’s face, darkening the browned skin of his cheekbones and spreading all the way from the point of his nose to the tips of his ears. He blinks a couple of times, and then gives him a mysterious smile.
“I’m a bit busy these days.” He says enigmatically. “Why don’t we get to know each other first, yeah?”
Huh?
“See you later, Oikawa.”
And with that, he turns and marches down the hallway to the next apartment, unlocking and swinging open the door. Oikawa isn’t deterred in the slightest by this rejection. The cogs in his brain begin to whir and twirl, mentally running over their interaction over and over again, replaying and highlighting the hints of a mystery that Iwaizumi had revealed between the lines of his dialogue.
Browned skin, the unmistakable scent of salt, and a skittish, evasive nature.
Oikawa grins like the Cheshire cat.
“See you around, Iwa-chan!” He waves goodbye cheerfully as Iwaizumi disappears into his apartment, shaking his head exasperatedly at Oikawa’s theatrical antics. The second he disappears behind the door, Oikawa fishes out his phone from his back pocket, and drags the heavy bag of groceries into the apartment with him as he pushes open the door.
He dials Hanamaki’s number, and waits impatiently for his associate to pick up the phone.
“What do you want?”
“I’ve got great news, Makki!” He grins in exhilaration, and continues without an ounce of irony: “My new next-door neighbor is a merman!”
He hardly hears Hanamaki’s outraged and concerned stream of counterarguments, for he’s already devising a plan in his head to find proof for his hypothesis. Because after all, Oikawa believes in the supernatural, and Iwaizumi Hajime was clearly a miracle sent to him from the heavens itself.
“I’m telling you, he’s definitely not human!” Oikawa insists vigorously to an exhausted Hanamaki and a disinterested Matsukawa at the office a few weeks later. On the wall behind him is an evidence board, the middle of which hosts a notebook paper with a poorly-drawn marker doodle of Iwaizumi Hajime with a merman’s tail. Oikawa’s so-called clues are pinned in a circle around the doodle, various incoherent and barely legible scrawls that apparently all support his theory of Iwaizumi being a merman.
“And I’m telling you, you’ve finally lost your mind.” Hanamaki sighs into his coffee. “Aren’t you supposed to be marking those postgraduate assignments instead of pursuing this insanity?”
“But I’m serious! Here, look at this one.” He points to one of his clues.
Clue #1
At the sound of a car approaching the driveway, Oikawa quickly leaps up from the sofa to peer through his blinds. The muted lights of the city glimmer in the distance, but the street in front is dark save for the yellow glow of the lamplights and the headlights of an approaching car; the all-too-familiar red truck that belongs to his elusive neighbor, Iwaizumi Hajime.
He draws back from the window as Iwaizumi exits and locks the car door, and hurriedly makes his way over to the mirror by the door where he could take a brief look at his hair and face. Not that it matters, but it’s always nice to look presentable and confident – more so when speaking to a companion so handsome.
He fixes a few loose strands and takes a deep, whooshing breath in preparation for his confrontation. As Iwaizumi’s heavy footfalls fill the hallway outside, Oikawa tries his best to look nonchalant when he unlocks his own door and steps outside.
“Oh,” he says in what he thinks is an unassuming voice as the familiarly lovely salty scent envelopes him. “Iwa-chan, I didn’t expect to see you here!”
Iwaizumi doesn’t look the least bit surprised to find him there – again. After a few days of this supposed coincidental meeting, Oikawa has already discovered some crucial hints. One, Iwaizumi’s hair is always damp when he comes back from these extended daily trips. Two, there’s always some sand-like residue on his shorts. And three, he’s always exhausted. These three things have become a constant, and tonight is no different.
“You know, I’m beginning to suspect you wait by the front door to ambush me every night.” He deadpans, and then narrows his eyes. “You don’t really do that, do you?”
“Nonsense!” Oikawa brushes off airily. “A busy man like me, I always have places to be.”
“This late at night?” Iwaizumi counters with a smirk.
“Maybe I have a date,” he retorts with equal ease.
“It’s rude to keep them waiting, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure they won’t mind me stopping for a few minutes to ask my favorite neighbor how his day has been.”
“It went brilliantly,” Iwaizumi comments gruffly, with a scowl on his face that lets Oikawa know it went contrarily. “Nothing special to report. And you?”
“Oh, nothing significant. Had another meeting with the deans about the upcoming seminar.”
“The one you mentioned was about the lunar samples you’re investigating?” Iwaizumi asks with genuine interest. “How’s that going, by the way?”
“Well, I’m not allowed to reveal confidential information just yet.” Oikawa gives him a sly smile, and waggles his fingers conspiratorially. “Although, I could make a compromise for an exchange of information.”
Iwaizumi sighs. He scratches the back of his head. “You’re not the least bit stealthy about this, you know?”
Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest. “The offer still stands.”
When Iwaizumi remains silent, he presses on. “After extensive research, I’ve learnt that the lunar samples bear some evidence that there are miniscule specks of frozen water on the moon, either pre-existing or transported there via meteor collisions. Either way, it warrants a further look.”
Iwaizumi looks like he’s trying to fight back a smile. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. Alright then, I spent my day at the beach.”
Oikawa’s eyes light up immediately. Oh? This much progress already? It hasn’t even been a week yet. A few more nights like this, and Iwaizumi would open up to him about his true identity for certain. He’s about to press him about this new revelation a bit more when Iwaizumi gives him a secretive smile and unlocks his front door.
“Well, there’s your exchange,” he yawns theatrically, and slides into his apartment. “I’m burnt out, so I’m heading to bed. Have fun on your date.”
And then he locks the door, leaving Oikawa out there in the hallway alone with a billion questions raging in his head and his mouth hanging agape, a prime target for flies.
“‘Iwa-chan has driven off to an unknown destination for at least seven hours every day for the past three weeks, from which he comes back with damp hair, smelling like the ocean’. Isn’t that by itself a clear indication of what he really is?”
“The beach is a two-hour drive away, Oikawa.” Matsukawa comments glumly. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe he drives all the way there and back every single day.”
“But he does!” Oikawa says vehemently.
“Okay, so even if we go along with your ridiculous theory that your next-door neighbor is a merman,” Hanamaki rolls his eyes. “He just moved into your building, right? Why the hell would he move somewhere that’s so far away from the ocean that is his beloved homeland?”
“Low rent prices? Pre-furnished letting?” Oikawa frowns at his disbelieving friends. “Maybe he’s running away from his dolphin ex, I don’t know.”
They don’t seem the least bit convinced, so Oikawa moves onto his next clue.
Clue #2
“Oh, there you are. Are you busy?”
Oikawa grabs his garbage crate a bit tighter and yanks his head around in shock. Iwaizumi? Is speaking to him? Voluntarily? What on earth is going on?
“For you?” He flutters his eyelashes flirtatiously, although the effect is somewhat diluted by the fact that he’s holding a literal box of recyclable trash in his arms in the process. “Never.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. I made some extra food, so I was wondering if you’d eaten yet.”
Oikawa blinks slowly. An offer of home-cooked food? He’s been eating takeout for years now, owing to his inability to cook so much as a hard-boiled egg without burning the house down. Well, nobody can be perfect, right? If he could cook deliciously on top of being so ridiculously brilliant and handsome, then nobody else in the world would stand a chance.
“Not yet, no.”
Iwaizumi nods knowingly. “Thought so. Join me for dinner, then?”
In spite of himself, Oikawa flushes. But only slightly.
“That’d be awesome,” he says, sincerely this time. “I probably need to take my trash out first, though.”
“Nah, leave it.” Iwaizumi waves a hand. “I haven’t done mine either, so we can go together afterwards. We should eat while the food’s hot.”
Oh? Oikawa raises an eyebrow. Very thoughtful of him. Who’d have thought Iwaizumi Hajime was such a big softie underneath all those hulking muscles? He wheels around with his trash crate towards Iwaizumi’s apartment.
“Well, alright then.”
He leaves the crate by the front door and follows Iwaizumi into his apartment to get his first good look at his elusive neighbor’s abode.
At first glance, it’s an ordinary apartment, quite like his own. But deeper inspection reveals further personalization. Oikawa particularly likes the little octopus plushie that sits on the sofa, but the many plants that litter the countertop bring a sense of liveliness to the plain room. The fuzzy rug beneath the coffee table looks very comfortable, too. The place also emanates a sense of home, perhaps due to the inviting scent of home-cooked food in the air.
Oikawa instantly decides that he likes this place better than his own.
“That smells great.” He comments as he makes his way over to the dinner table. “What is it?”
“Steak and tofu.” Iwaizumi responds, and then makes a face when Oikawa seats himself. “Wash your hands first, you animal.”
Oikawa rolls his eyes, but gets up from the seat to head towards the sink. “Iwa-chan, are you my mom? Your stomach won’t be able to tell the difference once you eat it.”
Iwaizumi glares at him. “What kind of logic is that? If anything, your stomach is the thing that will be able to tell the difference, when you get some sort of disease from all the germs in your hands.”
“Nag, nag, nag.” Oikawa says cheerfully. “I’ve never washed my hands before a meal, and I’m clearly still alive.”
“Never?” As if Oikawa had blasphemed. “Well, that’s going to change from now on.”
Oikawa smiles at the promise in that statement, because it sounds like Iwaizumi is planning to keep him around for a while. “Yeah? We’ll see about that.”
He washes his hands dutifully anyway. After helping Iwaizumi move the pots to the table, he grabs a plate from the neatly washed pile and seats himself opposite his neighbor. Iwaizumi eyes him as he piles on a healthy serving for himself.
Oikawa claps his hands together. “Let’s eat.”
Iwaizumi choruses an assent, and immediately digs in. Oikawa takes a moment to study his meal. Tofu, steak, and a side salad of bean sprouts. Not too extraordinary at first glance, but he’s sure there’s something to be learned.
He cuts into his steak, and gasps in horror.
“Medium rare?” He frowns. “Iwa-chan, you savage.”
Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows at him through a mouthful of tofu. After swallowing it down, he retorts. “Is that such a crime?”
Oikawa frowns at him haughtily. “Everyone knows steak is best well-done.”
“That’s insane.” Iwaizumi counters. “I’ve literally never heard anyone say that.”
Oikawa studies his cut of beef with interest. Ah, of course. Mermen would prefer their meat as rare as possible. Perhaps that’s why Iwaizumi engages in such lunacy.
“Stop picking at your food and eat it properly, will you?”
Oikawa takes a bite. It’s delicious, even if it’s not how he prefers it. He takes several more bites very quickly, and then turns his attention to the tofu. Not too far out of the norm, but most people would eat mashed potatoes with their meat. Perhaps mermen of his clan object to eating carbs?
He takes a bite of it. Delicious, as expected.
“Ah, I’ve missed home cooking.” He savors the taste happily.
“Do you mean to tell me you never cook for yourself?” Iwaizumi splutters.
“Well, I rarely have the time.” Oikawa responds between quick mouthfuls. “Takeout suffices. Like I said, your stomach can’t tell the difference.”
Iwaizumi stares at him in horror. “Right, you’re joining me for dinner from now on.”
“Here we go again with you acting like my mom.”
“If you’re so much like a toddler then what other choice do I have?”
Oikawa laughs at that, and marvels at the warm feeling he gets deep in the crevices of his heart.
“Iwa-chan only eats his steak medium-rare.”
Matsukawa sighs exasperatedly. “Not this argument again.”
“Oikawa,” Hanamaki rolls his eyes. “I don’t know how to get this through your thick head. Medium-rare is not raw. Just because you like charred meat doesn’t mean the rest of us have to”—
“But mermen contemporarily prefer their meat rarer! Combined with the other clue, doesn’t this surely serve as incontrovertible evidence?”
“It serves as incontrovertible evidence of your insanity.” Hanamaki deadpans. “I don’t know what else you could hope to prove.”
“You know, I’m beginning to think you both just lack imagination.” Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest defiantly.
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Matsukawa retorts. “You clearly have more than enough to make up for the both of us.”
“Whatever, clowns.” Oikawa grumbles, and returns his attention to the evidence board. “We’re moving on.”
Clue #3
Oikawa takes a deep breath. He clutches the paper bag in his hand a big tighter and knocks twice on the door.
After a brief rustling, the door clicks open. Iwaizumi stands there in his trademark muscle tank and shorts, holding a towel, hair wet from the shower and still somehow smelling like the sea breeze. He inhales the familiar scent (home, a rebellious streak in his mind whispers intrusively) and grins widely.
“Not too busy for me?” He greets with his usual flirtatiousness.
“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi responds somewhat breathlessly, and then his eyes flicker to the paper bag in his hands. He grins. “Present for me?”
“Well, since you’re always making me eat your dinner…” He holds up the package. “I thought it only fair that you get to eat mine sometimes. Hope you like Thai food.”
Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”
Oikawa scowls at him, and he barks out a laugh. “I’m kidding.” He opens the door wider and steps away, bringing up the towel to his damp hair. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Oikawa plods after him into the apartment, trying not to look too hard at how the muscles in Iwaizumi’s arm flexes as he roughly thrashes the towel around his head. He places the bags on the kitchenette countertop and fixes Iwaizumi with a disapproving look.
“You’re going to go bald before forty if you do that.”
“Been doing this all my life.” Iwaizumi grunts, and notably amplifies the abuse to his hair. Oikawa mock-shields his face from the horror. “No sign of problems yet.”
“It’s only a matter of time at this rate.”
“Yeah?” Iwaizumi pulls the towel away and holds it out towards Oikawa with a cheeky grin. “Do it for me, then.”
He’s sure Iwaizumi didn’t for the slightest moment consider the fact that Oikawa never backs down from a challenge. Without batting an eye, he grabs the towel from him and immediately begins drying his hair properly. Iwaizumi makes a flustered noise, and then gives him a mulish scowl. Oikawa continues gently pressing the towel in his hair, trying not to feel self-conscious about their proximity and how standing this close makes the back of his neck tingle with heat.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he says matter-of-factly.
“… Thanks.” Iwaizumi amends sullenly, albeit a bit late, and then clears his throat. “So, dinner?”
Oikawa returns the towel to him, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll get the plates.”
A few minutes of embarrassed silence ensues between them as Oikawa reaches into the top cabinet for the cutlery, and Iwaizumi busies himself with preparing the food. It’s almost an automatic division of labor between them at this point, after so many days of consecutively eating meals together.
It’s still a bit awkward as they sit by the table, so Oikawa tries to lighten the mood. “Oh yes. I had that seminar today.”
Iwaizumi looks up from his food with interest. “Yeah?” He asks. “How’d that go?”
“Really well, of course.” Oikawa exclaims flippantly, because after all, how could it be otherwise? “They’re offering me a grant to look further into it.”
“No kidding?” Iwaizumi grins at him. “Congratulations!”
Oikawa smiles back, because yeah, he’s thrilled. “One small step for man, I suppose.”
“And one giant leap for mankind.” Iwaizumi finishes wryly and takes a mouthful of his food. Almost instantly, his happy expression morphs into one of confusion. And then almost as quickly into alarm.
“Is this seafood?” He asks, rising from the table.
“Shrimp fried rice…?” Oikawa explains uncertainly, standing up to go after him. He’d thought it would have been a considerate decision on his part to offer him seafood. Extensive research showed that mermen ate seafood in nearly every contemporary depiction he’d found. He hadn’t for once anticipated a reaction like this.
Iwaizumi heads quickly toward the sink to dispose of his mouthful, and Oikawa follows after him anxiously.
“You okay?” He asks worriedly as Iwaizumi washes his mouth clean with some water.
“I’m good.” He responds at last, with a smile that shows his gratitude for Oikawa’s genuine concern. “I had some bad seafood as a kid, and I guess I haven’t still grown out of my childhood aversion.”
Oikawa blinks at him in surprise. Oh. Well, who could’ve guessed that? Perhaps mermen of his clan were vegetarians of sorts, or perhaps he really was telling the truth about having some bad fish as a young child – a young merman child.
“Sorry about that.” Iwaizumi’s face is apologetic as they sit back at the table. “I feel a little bad, considering you actually went out of your way to do something nice for once.”
Oikawa rolls his eyes at the backhanded compliment. “Eat mine. It’s chicken.” He says airily, and then teasingly adds: “I mean, it’s not like we have another choice, since you have the palate of a six-year-old.”
Iwaizumi scowls in embarrassment but accepts the plate from him without complaint. “That’s rich coming from someone who can’t cook a hard-boiled egg.”
Oikawa picks up his chopsticks with a twinkle in his eye. “Then I guess we’re two-of-a-kind, after all.”
“’Iwa-chan doesn't eat any seafood.’”
Oikawa braces himself for the onslaught of rebukes, mentally forming a thousand counterarguments in his head for any possible retort his associates could have to make. But to his surprise, he gets none.
Matsukawa actually nods thoughtfully, scratching the stubble on his chin.
Hanamaki sighs in exasperation. “Stop.” He mutters to his partner. “You're only encouraging him.”
“Well, you have to admit this one is at least vaguely plausible.” Matsukawa comments reasonably, and Hanamaki frowns.
“It's equally plausible that the man may be allergic. Or that he just doesn't like the taste.”
Oikawa frowns haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. “You're just a disbeliever, Makki. You’re not prepared to even consider the thought that I might be right about this.”
“So?” Hanamaki deadpans. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Whatever.” Oikawa rolls his eyes. He starts stuffing his belongings into his satchel. “You’ll see it eventually.”
“Heading somewhere?” Matsukawa inquires.
“Got a hot date,” he says enigmatically. And with that he leaves through the door without another word to either of them.
Hanamaki shakes his head and turns back to his computer screen, mumbling something about postgraduate papers still unmarked and wasting his time every single day under his breath. Matsukawa smiles at him fondly. Hanamaki really does care about Oikawa, in spite of his questionable way of showing it.
Turning back towards his computer, Matsukawa yawns into the heel of his palm. He opens his preferred choice of social media instead of grading those postgraduate papers like they were all supposed to, and promptly begins scrolling.
After a while, his eyes stumble on something that makes him look twice. Confused, he looks again. Blinks, and checks for a third time just to be sure.
“Huh.” He says audibly, and then barks out a laugh.
“What?” Hanamaki asks from over at his desk. “You're watching that cat video again?”
“What did Oikawa say his neighbor’s name was?”
“Iwaizumi Hajime.” Hanamaki stops typing on his keyboard. “Don't tell me you're beginning to take his bogus theory seriously.”
“Iwaizumi Hajime, did you say?” He asks, just to make sure.
“Yeah?”
Matsukawa swivels around in his chair, a big grin stretching across his face from ear-to-ear. “Well, you're not going to believe this.”
Oikawa is still brooding an hour later as he sits curled up on Iwaizumi’s sofa, aimlessly watching a nature documentary by his side. Iwaizumi had initially raised a questioning eyebrow at his sullen expression but had thankfully dropped the subject when Oikawa waved it off grumpily.
“Alright.” Iwaizumi says abruptly, picking up the remote to switch the television off. “You going to sit there scowling the whole night, or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Oikawa sighs. “Just work stuff. My associates have no creativity.”
“No kidding.”
“Another one of the downfalls of being someone so great, I suppose.” Oikawa continues. “You can’t expect mere mortals to fathom the workings of your mind.”
“Your levels of shit-headed self-conceit never fails to amuse me.” Iwaizumi chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I think I’ve heard a serial killer say something like that once.”
Oikawa looks down at his alien-patterned socks inquisitively. “Say, Iwa-chan,” He says. “Do you really believe in aliens?”
Iwaizumi raises his brows. “There’s a conversational left-turn.”
When Oikawa gives him a petulant look, he thinks about it for a moment, and then shrugs.
“I have no reason to not believe in them,” he says with a boyish grin that makes his heart stagger. “Leave no stone unturned, am I right?”
Oikawa leans in a bit closer, softening his voice. “And you’re not just saying that to appease me?”
He’s acutely aware of how close they’re sitting, of Iwaizumi’s leg pressing against his own, of the light bouncing off each of Iwaizumi’s lashes as he blinks.
Iwaizumi holds his gaze steady. Oikawa doesn’t realize how close they’ve moved together until he becomes aware that their noses are almost touching.
“What,” Iwaizumi teases quietly. “Because pleasing you is so high on my list of priorities?”
Oikawa’s gut does a somersault at his tone. “You could’ve fooled me.”
Iwaizumi laughs out loud at that, and to Oikawa’s increasing marvel, doesn’t refute the statement. In fact, he doesn’t respond at all.
Instead, he leans forward to close the miniscule distance between them in a gentle, open-mouthed kiss. Oikawa inhales sharply and responds with more intensity, head angling down, hands reaching up, long fingers tangling in spiky hair. Iwaizumi huffs against his mouth and returns the favor in kind, strong hands coming up to grasp onto Oikawa’s shoulders as his tongue slips into his mouth. When Oikawa’s nails drag across his nape in retaliation, Iwaizumi emanates a breathy sigh that makes his stomach clench.
Somewhere in the back of his mind amidst the fireworks and the burning, blazing heat, a little part of him rejoices and puts it into his head that hell yes, he would like for this to go further immediately. He’s wondering how to best portray this need with his current ministrations when quite suddenly there’s a loud bang like a tire blowing out in the distance, and the room goes completely dark.
They pull apart in surprise, both out of breath, and Oikawa chuckles. “Well, there’s a mood killer if I’ve ever seen one.”
Iwaizumi snorts back into the darkness. “Tell me about it.”
“You know, we could just ignore it and carry on as we were.” Very pointedly, he manages to worm his way closer, until Iwaizumi’s arms wrap around him.
Iwaizumi’s laugh vibrates through him against his warmth. “A tempting offer.”
Oikawa presses his lips against what he hopes is Iwaizumi’s cheek. “But?”
“But maybe we should actually act like responsible adults, and make sure the main breaker isn’t tripped.”
Oikawa groans and pulls away from him. “Well, now we can’t have sex. Because you’re being my mom again, and I don’t have sex with my mom.”
“On principle,” Iwaizumi grunts, a teasing hand flittering up his spine that sends a shock through him, “Or just out of habit?”
The fire returns to his belly, and he leans closer. “Maybe I could make an exception just this once, since you’re so hot.”
Iwaizumi shoves him off with a chuckle, and rises from the couch, much to Oikawa’s chagrin. “Oh, grow up.”
He returns after checking the circuitry and lighting a couple of candles around the room, giving the place a comfortably lit glow. “Looks like the whole city is out.” He announces. Oikawa hums noncommittally as Iwaizumi sits down beside him, distracted by how lovely the silhouette of his profile looks in the dim lighting.
“Did you mean what you said before?” He asks softly. “About the aliens?”
“I did.” Iwaizumi responds without hesitation. “Your work is so cool.”
That piques his interest.
“You know,” Oikawa starts curiously. “You never actually told me what you do for a living.”
“Haven’t you found out yet?” Iwaizumi gives him an enigmatic smile. “Isn’t that why you’ve been investigating me?”
Well, busted.
He opens his mouth to offer another one of his half-assed excuses, and then abruptly stops himself.
Honestly, what the hell is he doing? Oikawa believes in the supernatural, but somewhere deep down, he knows that the supernatural is always going to be a mystery to him – an enigma. It’s easier to explain away the difficult things in life by conferring it to aliens or mermen or monsters. Convincing himself that Iwaizumi had to be part of that mystique may or may not have been a way of stepping around and avoiding something harder to admit to himself.
Which is that he likes Iwaizumi. He really likes Iwaizumi. He’s probably liked him for a long while, now. In fact, he’s probably liked him since he saw him for the very first time.
And so, Oikawa decides to be truthful.
“To be honest…” Oikawa says slowly. “I’ve been investigating you because I thought you were a merman.”
Iwaizumi looks at him in utter disbelief, and then the corners of his lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh.
“What?” Oikawa asks defensively.
“You really believe that?” Iwaizumi manages to choke out.
“It's easier than trying to psychoanalyze why I'm so irresistably attracted to you.” Oikawa grumbles.
Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows, a little flushed at his sincerity. “You could just ask me out, you know.”
“I did, and then you turned me down. As you'll recall.”
“Well, yeah. That was then, though.” Iwaizumi grins. “This is now. I've actually gotten to know you, and - insane as you are - I wouldn't mind grabbing a bite with you sometime.”
“Oh? Is that an invitation?” Oikawa leans close again, and Iwaizumi gives him another one of those electrifying kisses. The conversation is lost for a moment as Oikawa undertakes the considerably more pleasurable pastime of exploring and mapping out every corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth.
“What else would it be,” He mumbles against Oikawa’s lips afterward, “Dumbass?”
Oikawa hums back contentedly. “I look forward to our date, Iwa-chan.”
After a while of comfortable silence, he speaks again. “I have to ask, though. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“A merman?”
Iwaizumi gives him an unreadable smile. “Why don't you come with me tomorrow and find out?”
It’s as summery a day as they come, with the sun blazing white-hot against an azure midday sky and the ocean breeze scenting the air. Oikawa sits on the golden seaside, staring out at the briny blue through his shaded sunglasses and wonders for the first time in his life whether he might actually be the dumbest person alive on this earth.
A reporter stands a few ways away from him, standing in front of a camera and narrating the current happenings.
“… and here if you look behind me, you can spot one of our proud nation’s finest citizens, Iwaizumi Hajime, doing what he does best as part of his everyday training for the ISA World Longboard Surfing Championship coming up next month…”
Oikawa sighs and shakes his head.
In hindsight, it’s so obvious. The hours at the beach, the sea-breeze scent, the healthy eating, the sand on the shorts, all of it. It’s pretty embarrassing that he, a renowned astrobiologist with several honors and grants, couldn't figure something as obvious out when a middle-schooler could’ve put two and two together without much difficulty.
Ah well, what is it that they say? Love is blind?
Not that he’d ever really believed Iwaizumi was a merman – not really. But it’s still ridiculous that this was the big secret that his elusive neighbor has been hiding from him since the day they’d met.
After his thoroughly impressive routine, Iwaizumi wades up against the strong surf onto the beach towards him, sunlit and bronze and sculpted enough to make his mouth water. He flashes Oikawa that boyish grin as he approaches, teasing and relentless and full of something that makes a challenge rise within him.
“I’ll be the first to admit that I did not see this coming.” He admits glumly as Iwaizumi dries himself off with a towel. “I still don’t understand why you had to be so enigmatic about it, though. It’s like you wanted me to think you were a merman.”
Iwaizumi scratches the back of his head embarrassedly. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Once the news crews started showing up, the whole thing has been kind of overwhelming.”
“Well, I can at least see why they’re here.” Oikawa fails to fight back the grin that ends up on his face. “You’re not half bad, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi scoffs, wrapping the soaked towel around his neck. He holds out a hand to help him up. “Only you would describe internationally acclaimed as not half bad.”
“Now, now.” Oikawa accepts his hand gratefully, and entwines their fingers as he gets up from the sand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Pro surfing on an international scale is cool and sexy and all that, but not anywhere near as cool and sexy as aliens.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Hands linked, they begin to walk off towards the nearby restaurant for their first real date. “I can only dream of being as cool and sexy as Jar Jar Binks.”
“You think you’re joking.”
After a moment, Oikawa speaks again.
“So, you’re not a merman,” he continues. “But you still like your meat medium-rare?”
“For the last time, Oikawa, nobody likes their meat well-done…”
Immersed in never-ending conversation, they make their way down the beach in comfortable silence, enjoying the sound of the waves and the warmth of each other’s hands.