Chapter Text
Iwaizumi Hajime should be graduating high school this year. He should be playing volleyball and winning every game. He should be worrying about getting to class on time and keeping his grades up.
Instead, he’s sitting behind the register counter at a porno store. His chin is propped up on one hand. He’s watching the clock, trying to distract himself from the noises coming out of his boss’s office.
He’s worked here at Triple X for two years now. He hasn’t been in school since tenth grade. What a disappointment he’d been. The scholarship kid expelled because of a fight with two of the best baseball players. It hadn’t even been on school property, for god's sake.
It was for Oikawa. It was always for Oikawa, after all. Had been since Oikawa had entered his life when they were both just eight. Oikawa Tooru, rich and charming. Sweet brown eyes and a loud, stupid mouth.
Iwa was guilty, even if Oikawa didn’t know. Iwa was indebted to him.
Now as the office door opens, Iwa’s ears fill with an annoying tinkling laugh. His eyes catch fluffy brown hair.
Oikawa is squinting in the afternoon light, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He sidles up to the register. “Did ya miss me, Iwa-chan?”
Iwa forces a smile, “Always.”
Iwa’s boss, Ito, leaves his office. He’s zipping up his pants.
He walks past Oikawa and slaps him on the ass. Iwa watches as Oikawa flinches, tries to play it off.
“That was nice, Tooru-kun.” Ito is lighting a cigarette, “For old-times sake. I know you love it.”
“Of course.” Oikawa rolls his eyes, “Don’t be too happy, Ito. You know I only love one man.”
Gracefully, Oikawa ducks under the counter. Iwa startles as thin arms with bruised veins wrap around him.
Ito scoffs, “You love a new guy every week. Whoever fucks you the best.”
“No,” Oikawa shakes his head. “I only love Iwa-chan. No one fucks me better than him. Right, Iwa?”
Oikawa pinches the back of Iwa’s neck, makes him answer.
“Yeah,” Iwa mumbles stupidly, “That’s right.” It’s a stupid lie. They barely have sex anymore.
Oikawa’s usually too tired from filming and too high to cum. And Iwa… Iwa feels too guilty.
Ten minutes later, Iwa’s clocked out. The two of them are cutting through the narrow alleyway. Oikawa chatters away.
Iwa cuts him off, “Could you not fucking do that next time?”
Oikawa stops, tilts his head slightly, “Do what?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Give my boss head and then talk about me fucking you? It just..it-” Iwa trails off. It makes me feel like I’m one of them. Makes me feel guilty.
“Jesus. Don’t worry about Ito. I just wanted to shut him up.”
“I know. But I’m not like that.”
Oikawa takes Iwa’s hand, looks at him with genuine earnest, “Hajime. I know that. I love you. Can we please go home?”
Oikawa doesn’t tell Iwa that he was sucking Ito off for drugs. Ito’s been buying heroin from that bedhead boy, stashing it away for when Oikawa comes around.
Oikawa would rather get on his knees than open his wallet. When they get to their apartment, he rushes to the bathroom. Heats up the silver spoon. Ties a strip of t-shirt around his arm. Shoots up.
It used to feel really good all the time. It used to be like heaven. Now it leaves him indifferent, sort of balanced out, even and bland. It hurts too much to stop. Sometimes he pushes the limits and takes what he thinks will kill him. Then it feels good again.
Now Oikawa pushes himself up off the bathroom floor. Stumbles into the kitchen.
“Hajime,” he smirks, delighting in the way it rolls off his tongue, “Hajime, I want you to kill me.”
He’s wanted this for years now. Suicide is too easy. Too clean. He wants an ugly, messy death. He wants it to be recorded. To be immortalized on a VHS tape stored in the Triple X backroom. Traded for weed and ecstasy. He wants it to make people hard. He wants it to make people sick.
Iwa has to be the one to do it. It has to be someone who loves him. It has to be Iwa.
“Hajime,” he begs, clutching at Iwa’s legs, “Hajime please.”
Iwa pulls him up, gathers him in his arms like he weighs nothing at all. He lays Oikawa out on their bed. In the dim light, Oikawa can see there are tears in Iwa’s eyes.
“Why?” He asks, “Why do you look at me like I’m made of glass?”
Iwa says nothing. He could never do what Oikawa’s asking. He’s got so much of Oikawa’s blood on his hands already.
They’d met at an expensive prep school. Starting with elementary and going up to middle. Iwa’s father was the janitor. He went for free.
Oikawa, at eight years old, had been cautious. Iwa, the same age, had been perceptive. He lived on the rough side of town after all. He needed to be. So Iwa had seen right through Oikawa’s rich and uptight family. He’d seen the way his mother always had a drink in her hand. How Oikawa flinched whenever his father raised his voice. Oikawa had been sort of pathetic. Iwa had felt the need to protect him.
Oikawa, at nine years old, had been mean. Iwa had been silent. He watched as Oikawa insulted, stole, and lied. Nobody liked to talk back to him. It was because Iwa was always there, the strongest boy on the playground, with a permanent glare.
Iwa only interfered once. Oikawa was being especially mean to one of their classmates, a girl. She had come to school with a brand new pencil case that she was proud of. Oikawa wasted no time in picking it apart. Iwa had watched as the girl’s eyes widened and glistened. As her lower lip trembled, Iwa had spoken up.
“I like it,” he mumbled. Oikawa had turned on him, eyes flaring angrily.
“What did you say?”
Iwa cleared his throat, “I said I like it. I think it’s cute.”
Oikawa had huffed, spun on his heel, “Have fun with your new best friend, Iwaizumi .” That had been a low blow. His full family name, not a typical stupid nick-name.
Then the class had come in from recess to find their latest art projects destroyed. Only one was intact. It was Iwa’s.
Iwa knew it was Oikawa who’d done it. The teacher, of course, didn’t think so. Iwa was left to spend the rest of the day in the principal’s office wondering what had happened to make his best friend so horrible. The next day it had been like nothing happened. That really pissed Iwa off.
Oikawa had appeared at the end of the school day when Iwa and his dad were in the middle of a conversation.
“Sorry to interrupt, Iwaizumi-san,” Oikawa smiled sweetly, “But I was wondering if Hajime would come to my house today. My parents are having a small dinner party and it’s so boring without anyone my age. It’s Friday so he’s welcome to spend the night.”
“Oh,” Iwa had said, “I don’t think-”
Oikawa glared at him so harshly that he’d shut right up. “Haji-chan, I just thought you’d want a distraction from what happened yesterday.”
Damn. Iwa had convinced the principal not to tell his dad. (Not like his dad would do anything, but he’d be disappointed in Iwa, which always felt horrible.)
“Hajime,” his father looked concerned, “What happened yesterday?”
“Nothing. Just some kid acting up. I’ll go, Tooru.”
Oikawa’s family car had been waiting for them. Oikawa lived about a half-hour away from the school in a beautiful suburban mansion. It had a pool and two tennis courts. As soon as Oikawa had shown the slightest interest in volleyball, a court was added for it. Iwa and Oikawa had spent most of their time there.
When they’d shown up at the door, Oikawa’s mother was there. Perfect lipstick and hair, wine glass in hand.
“Oh! Haji-kun. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Oikawa had grabbed Iwa’s hand, pushed past her. They almost knocked her over.
“Call us when dinner’s ready,” Oikawa had yelled over his shoulder.
They had sat in Oikawa’s giant room for almost an hour without speaking. Iwa was still angry about the other day. Oikawa was in his own little world.
The silence had been broken by a knock at the door. Hatsuko, Oikawa’s older sister, pushed her way in. Seventeen. Spoiled, smart, insufferable.
“Tooru- Oh. Hi Hajime.”
Iwa had given a small smile and waved. Hatsuko had only rolled her eyes and walked over to Oikawa, snapped her fingers in front of his face.
He flinched, jolted alive. “What do you want, Hatsu?”
“Guests are going to be here soon. Sakai-san is already here. He has gifts for us.”
Oikawa sighed, jumped to his feet, made a beeline for his bathroom.
Hatsuko had set her sights on Iwa. She had spoken quietly, while the sink ran in the next room over.
“Tooru is going to cause a scene tonight. He always does. You can’t take anything he says seriously. He’s a dramatic liar. He’s mean.” She said it all very matter of fact. “Just don’t give him any reaction.”
Iwa hadn’t tried to argue, recalling the recent incident. So Oikawa was the same at home. A liar. Mean.
He had come out of the bathroom then. Brown eyes wide and damp, like maybe he was on the verge of tears. He left the room without saying anything, was already on the stairs by the time Hatsuko and Iwa caught up.
Oikawa’s parents were in the parlor, along with this ‘Sakai-san’. He turned out to be Oikawa’s dad’s business partner and a close family friend. He was tall and good-looking in a sort of nondescript, typical way. Dark hair, fit, wire-rimmed glasses.
The one thing Iwa remembered was his smile, it was crooked. A bit strange. It appeared as soon as they entered the room.
“Tooru-kun!” Sakai exclaimed, “Have you gotten taller?”
Iwa had hung back as Hatsuko pushed Oikawa forward.
‘It’s only been a week,” Oikawa had muttered.
Sakai had pulled Oikawa into a tight hug, which Oikawa didn’t return. He’d kissed Hatsuko’s cheek. He’d frowned at Iwa.
“Who’s this?”
“Oh,” Hatsuko said, “That’s Hajime. Tooru’s best friend.”
Sakai looked a bit taken aback. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Then the crooked smile returned, as he clapped his hands together, ‘Right! Gifts!”
A gold necklace with two pearl charms for Hatsuko. When Iwa had looked a little closer, it had seemed tacky, predictable. Almost like it had been an afterthought.
After fastening the necklace for Hatsuko, Sakai had turned his attention to Iwa. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but lucky for you I have an extra gift!”
“Lovely,” Oikawa’s mother had exclaimed. Oikawa himself looked different. Paler, angry.
Iwa’s gift turned out to be a glass figurine of a Japanese maple tree. It was pretty but useless. Iwa had found himself faking a smile and a bright ‘Thank you'.
Then it had been Oikawa’s turn. His first gift was a beautiful sweater. Cashmere. A pretty eggshell blue color.
“Tooru!” His mother squealed, “Oh, please put it on!”
Oikawa had rolled his eyes but complied. His other gift ended up being a volleyball. Oikawa rolled it back and forth in his hands. He’d stood up from his seat on the sofa.
“Thank you, Sakai-san.” then he’d turned to Iwa, “Want to play volleyball until the others get here?”
In the safety of the volleyball court, Oikawa had thrown the new ball up high. Watched as it soared over the fence, and disappeared into the overgrowth.
“Tooru,” Iwa had been cautious, “Are you going to get that?”
Oikawa hadn’t said anything, hadn’t turned around either. All he’d done was frantically shake his head.
“Do you want me to get it?”
Oikawa had spun around then, cried out, “Forget it, Haji! Just forget it.” He’d dropped to his knees, and begun to sob.
Iwa had run forward, knelt beside him. “What’s the matter, Tooru?”
Oikawa had collapsed into Iwa and started to beg. “Don’t leave me alone later. Don’t leave me alone around Sakai-san. Please, you have to listen to me. You have to believe me.”
Iwa had remembered Hatsuko’s whispered words. Tooru is going to cause a scene tonight. He’s a dramatic liar. Don’t give him a reaction. He remembered the incident with the art.
Iwa hadn’t had time to say anything anyway, because then they were called in for dinner. That went fine. Iwa and Oikawa sat next to each other. Stayed quiet as the grown-ups conversed.
Later everyone had moved to the parlor. Iwa stayed by Oikawa’s side, they played cards in the corner for hours. Finally, Iwa had slipped away to use the bathroom. When he got back, Oikawa was nowhere to be found.
Iwa had gone up to Oikawa’s room assuming he had gone to bed. It was dark, the bed was empty. Iwa changed into his pajamas and got in.
He had woken up later because of a sound in the hallway. Two silhouettes were illuminated in the open doorway. One small, thin. Tooru. The other. Tall, manly. Very much adult.
The man grabbed Oikawa, pulled him against his body. Iwa had held his breath as the man’s hands roamed Oikawa’s small body, groping. Then he’d bent down and pressed a long kiss on Oikawa’s mouth.
When they separated, Iwa was positive the man looked right at him. He’d shut his eyes and huddled under the covers. When he’d dared to open them, Oikawa was in the room. In the dim light, Iwa could tell he’d been crying.
Oikawa had pulled the new sweater off, shoved it into the wastebasket. He’d gotten into the bed then.
“I told you,” he sobbed quietly, “I told you not to leave me with him.”
Iwa just pretended to be asleep.
Iwa had left in the late morning. He’d gone to get the glass figurine from Oikawa’s desk.
Oikawa had stopped him. “Let me hold onto it.” he whispered, “For safekeeping.”
Iwa had understood. It wasn’t meant for him in the first place.
Eight years later, Oikawa still has it. Iwa sees it now, glinting on the dresser. His hot tears soak Oikawa’s hair. There’s no way around it. Iwa is guilty.