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Falling in love with Tooru through pictures: a guide by Hajime Iwaizumi
The smell of well aged wood and paper wafts through the quiet room, bringing along with it a golden brown hue of history. The fault lines only being a testament of the anecdotes they store in the grooves of accumulated carbon. Atop a flat and polished table, sits a rather roughed up memoir, telling of its epoch. In it are the endless reminders of what once was. There is something so hauntingly beautiful about photographs. They freeze a moment in time, which is relatively an impossible task, and capture it in all its intricacies. An array of emotions, a world full of possibilities, a variety of conditions, probabilities, a plethora of details. But they only ever have one true explanation. Endless interpretations, but one reason. Iwaizumi opens the album, knowing the explanation to each picture.
Curiosity
The first picture isn't flattering. It's a picture of the only soul capable of making him feel alive, yes, but it is not flattering. And yet somehow it ‘s oddly comforting. Soft lighting provided by the dusk rays filtered through the railings of the window hit the subject of the image from the right. Light blue curtains drawn back, loose sheets of paper littering the floor held down by an empty mug that once held coffee, long forgotten about. Oikawa Tooru sits at his old ragged desk, glaring at an open notebook with scrunched brows and a pencil in-between his teeth. He's awfully casual. In pajamas and slouching, almost like he's in the room by himself. That's what pushed Iwaizumi to click this one, the fact that Oikawa hadn't cared to act “proper” in his presence, and instead of relaxing with Iwaizumi, had chosen to work on a math problem that was out of his grade level. Even through the glossy sheet, he could see whispers of a spark in Oikawa’s eyes. There was annoyance towards himself for falling short of understanding the problem at hand rather than irritation directed at the subject itself. He spent hours that day just grasping the concept that was presented. Why? Because he was curious. Just how Iwaizumi felt. Curiosity towards the boy who made this odd set of decisions.
Attachment
The second photograph that catches Iwaizumi’s eye is one of Oikawa sleeping peacefully in his room. The same room as the previous picture- blue curtains, wooden floor, messy surroundings. Oikawa has an alien plushie that he’s hugging close to his chest and a volleyball right next to his head. With a fluffy light blue and green comforter and an equally fluffy onesie, you’d assume this was taken when he was merely a child, pre-teen at oldest. But Iwa knows, the oikawa featured in this picture was undoubtedly 16 years old. His face is relaxed and his skin is glowing, even while he’s asleep. Oikawa had always been very particular about his night time skin care routine after all, he’s not even miss it after a long game. His efforts are evidently paying off even if Iwaizumi reprimands him for putting the routine before sleep in his priority list. His content smile is like a seal for the whole picture. It's the finishing touch, the ribbon on a gift. His attachment to these seemingly trivial things brought out an endeared smile to Hajime’s face, both then and now. Something about the image radiated warmth whenever looked at. It was almost fragile, like you’d disturb the delicate layer of peace on the boy’s face if you so as to touch one of the objects that lay with him, or the picture itself.
(And if you look hard enough, you can see a hand poking through the comforter near one of the edges of the picture and having taken hold of the shirt of someone who’s presumably the photographer.)
Determination
It is dark, evidently seen by the lack of focus and sufficient lighting. There’s an orange tint over one half of the picture, probably from a nearby streetlight. With a lot of greys and blacks and browns, it looks like any other teenager’s typical nightly polaroid photo. Sometimes, it's fun to think you can feel the cold, crisp breeze of late night turning into early morning through the film. Dead leaves strewn on the floor, the paint on the street wearing off at the edges, the tar a muddy grey. The picture itself looks like it was a spur of the moment click, when something unexpected happened and the photographer just had a split second to take the picture. There was an endearing sort of blurriness to it, a soft haze spread over the entire picture like fog over a forest. Through the blurriness, a figure can be made out, seemingly on the floor reaching for a skateboard that had landed upside down a few feet in front. The messy brown hair and sheepish face were barely seen, but they were enough to tell anyone that this was in fact a picture of Oikawa, falling on his ass while learning skateboarding. Littering his usually smooth skin were band-aids and bruises, and it seemed like he wasn't stopping anytime soon. He was determined, not afraid to make mistakes. Maybe this is why falling for him brought no fear either, it was only honor.
Joy
This one had more subjects than just Oikawa, and yet it felt like he was under the spotlight. It was a picture of Seijoh's victory celebration after a particularly notorious match, and they had hoisted up Oikawa for his splendid observations while playing and much needed guidance as a captain. Iwa could almost immerse himself back into this memory just by looking at the picture. There were still mikasa balls bouncing onto the polished hardwood, the sound reverberating through the stadium that he could feel shaking his bones (perhaps that's an exaggeration on his part, but hey, these sort of moments deserve the talking up). The noise in the entire stadium, the cheers of hundreds of people who gave them a standing ovation, the ringing in his ears as his senses were taken over by the adrenaline rush. The face Tooru made, Hajime has probably memorized every little detail of it. Every angle, every curve, every blemish and every drop of sweat that rolled down his cheek. Hajime couldn’t help but be in a trance, almost hyperfixated on Tooru. His face held pure and unfiltered happiness, a gratefulness to be alive to experience this very moment parallel to the photographer's own. Hajime had to slip away and borrow his dad’s camera for this one. It was definitely worth missing out on the victory huddle in his opinion
(Of course, Tooru had reprimanded him for taking a picture of the team without himself in it. Ever the diligent Oikawa Tooru.)
Love
This one was probably taken in closest proximity to Tooru, his side profile seen at a volleyball gymnasium, watching a match. He was wearing casual clothes, an oversized indigo cardigan, with light brown pants and had his round glasses perched perfectly on his nose. His hair looked fluffier than ever, his knuckles, cheeks and the tip of his nose were tainted a faint pink thanks to the cold weather. He looked domestic and it made Hajime’s heart swell. That was not his favourite part of the photograph though. Tooru being a cute cinnamon roll was precious and all, but what really got Hajime’s blood pumping was how even though he appeared relaxed and unguarded, the attention he commanded was undeniable. His presence was fierce and the confidence was evident in the way he carried himself. That along with the fact that he was focused on watching a match of the game he loved, the game he dedicated his life to. He was incredibly apt at figuring out the intricacies in play styles and strategies than an average player. He spent years perfecting his craft after all, it would be an understatement to say there is no one that appreciates everything that goes into playing volleyball quite like him. There was immense knowledge and understanding in his glassy eyes, adoration for the sport in his smile. Tooru brought passion along with him everywhere he went. To be by his side was to match his capacity to endlessly love. Fondness was practically emanating from the picture itself.
Reciprocation
The last photograph seen was ethereal. The background almost resembles liquid sunshine , bright but not blinding. Oikawa Tooru was perfectly centered, soft clothes and an even softer expression. He looked downright angelic and Hajime doesn’t know how he does it. The positioning of the picture made it seem like Tooru was the one glowing, but Hajime would argue that Tooru always glows regardless of how he is captured. There was so much adoration in his eyes that it put any other emotion described by Hajime to shame. While holding a camera of his own pointed directly at the photographer, his undivided attention on said photographer made it seem like he was looking at the only person that mattered to him in the entire world. Like no one can replace Hajime in Tooru’s eyes.
(It was increasingly obvious that it did not just seem that way, but it was that way, is that way and always will be that way.)
Loving Tooru was not an instant thing. It was never falling face first off a cliff, rather, it was snow rolling down a hill. It starts tiny, just a spark of curiosity. A sense of comfort lulling Hajime into lowering his guard and beginning to care for the brunet. Then it rolls and collects the snow surrounding it as it grows. Gathering an unstoppable momentum, Until all these small feelings have developed into raging emotions and he falls at an alarming speed. Unaware of exactly when he crossed the line between friend and lover , being too caught up in the dance that was designed just for them. Just when he thinks he'll crash, smash into the rubble, cause a massive avalanche, Tooru stands right at the end of the hill to catch him.
Tooru caught Hajime's snow and made it into a magnificent igloo to keep both of them warm.