Chapter Text
“Good evening, everyone,” Hanamaki Takahiro greets, eyes low lidded in a classic Hanamaki Takahiro way. He scans the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces, and peeks behind his back to catch two pairs of apprehensive eyes.
“My name is Hanamaki Takahiro, or Makki, if you’re Oikawa Tooru. If you don’t know me, I’m a single man who’s a jack of all trades and always looking for adventure. Oh, and I volunteer at the pet shelter in my free time. My insta and LinkedIn are both at ‘TakahiroHanamaki’—would love to connect.”
Behind him, there’s a snort and a restraint giggle. “If you do know me,” he adds, winking at his former high school underclassmen, who seem increasingly amused as they recognize his bullshitery. “Kindly shut up.”
The crowd laughs, and Takahiro takes the chance to square his shoulders and adjust the mic in his hands. He turns midway, looking at the couple seated in front of everyone. Oikawa and Iwaizumi—or should he simply say, the Oikawa’s—look at him with mirth and expectancy. He gives them a lazy smirk, another trademark expression of his, and delights in how Tooru shudders.
“I wanna begin this little speech with a message that I’ve been wanting to tell this happy couple for a long, long time.” He faces them fully, lips pulling into a cheshire cat’s grin. “I told you so.”
Between the two, Takahiro meets Iwaizumi Hajime first.
It’s during a crucial point in his life, also known as the first day of high school. His sisters have drilled into his head the importance of first impressions and making friends on this fateful day, endless taunts of him being a loser if he fails. After years of putting up with their senseless bullying, Takahiro likes to think he’s immune to their snarky comments, even when they do tickle his nerves the slightest.
What can he say? He’s a man of few words and quite competitive, but he has a steady, cool head.
Maybe that’s why he likes Iwaizumi so much. In the best way possible, he seems to be a regular guy, if not a little too laid back. His habits show halfway through the morning, when the spiky-haired boy grumbles and loosens his maroon necktie, untucks then unbuttons a bit of his shirt, and changes into white sneakers. Takahiro eyes the discarded loafers shoved under his duffel bag, wondering why he ever bought them in the first place.
“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Takahiro comments idly, loosening his necktie in suit. Iwaizumi startles in his seat next to him, cheeks flushing slightly at being caught. The pinket grins, eyes glinting.
“Ah,” he says sheepishly. “Yeah. I’m not a fan of the uniform.”
Clearly, Takahiro muses, subconsciously thumbing the hem of his sweater vest that Iwaizumi seems to noticeably lack. “I take it you didn’t come here for that, then?”
He knows that some weirdos do pick their high school based on uniform, or something like that. Aoba Johsai arguably does have a fashionable ensemble for it, albeit a little stuffy. The colors work well together, or at least that’s what his sisters say.
“God no,” Iwaizumi snorts. “I was on the volleyball team of Kitagawa Daiichi.”
Ah, yes. He’s heard of it, the whole pipeline. Seems like a soddy scheme for the same administration to profit off of the same families with outrageous tuition fees.
He whistles instead—because even if he’s judgemental, he has tact—eyeing the keychain hanging off of the other boy’s bag. Three charms glitter in the sunlight: a volleyball, Godzilla, and a cartoon UFO. “Aoba Johsai’s team isn’t that bad, no?”
Iwaizumi hums in agreement. “Yeah, I’m trying out for the team.” Metallic green eyes flicker to him. “You play?”
Takahiro purses his lips. “I’m familiar,” he says lightly, because being mysterious was always kind of his brand.
It seems like being familiar was enough to get Iwaizumi’s face to light up. “You should totally try out with us!” He beams, so unlike the grumbly boy who was dissatisfied with his uniform.
“Us?” Takahiro echoes. Iwaizumi’s eyes widened a marginal amount, as if he hadn’t realized what he said.
“Me and Oikawa Tooru,” he explains. “He’s in class six.”
At that, Takahiro pauses. “Six?” For this Oikawa guy to be in class six, he must be smart. Not just any smart, but smart as fuck. Here Takahiro was, feeling good about himself in class five, and this kid knows someone in class six.
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says normally, like he didn’t just ignite Takahiro’s dormant yet deadly competitiveness. “Wanna have lunch with us?”
Takahiro feels a burst of giddiness at the invite. Score. “Sure,” he shrugs, because being mysterious is key and being giddy is being a loser. “Wanna go to the rooftop?”
“You see, when I first met them, Hajime was a good kid. He made good first impressions,” Takahiro sighs into the mic, almost looking wistful. He can already feel a questioning and somewhat threatening gaze hitting his back. “Tooru, unfortunately, did not.”
A squawk erupts behind him, followed by a petulant whine.
“Iwa-chan!”
Takahiro startles, nearly dropping the bento in his hands. It’s a call that’s slightly high pitched, somewhat annoying, and most definitely not a nickname suiting the boy beside him. Despite being 15, Iwaizumi had muscles, and he certainly didn’t seem like an Iwa-chan.
The pinket looks up, seeing who he assumes to be Oikawa Tooru. If his eyes were already wide from the nickname, then they became saucers upon seeing the brunet. He was pretty , with perfect locks and long lashes and long legs. Unlike the spiky haired boy beside him, Oikawa’s uniform fit him perfectly, all nice and tidy.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa drawls again, suddenly throwing himself onto the back of Iwaizumi. It’s an awkward stance with Iwaizumi’s seat on the floor and Oikawa’s long limbs, but Takahiro thinks he has other things to worry about.
Like those brown eyes narrowing at him and pink lips pouting in distaste. “Who’s this?” He huffs, curling his arms around the other boy’s neck.
Ah.
Takahiro gets it, he really does. There was absolutely no reason for Iwaizumi to outright say he was gay to a random seatmate, even if he was going to introduce his…possessive boyfriend to him. Japan is behind on the whole LGBTQIA+ thing. Sure, Iwaizumi’s an attractive boy, but he’s not really his type, so really, Oikawa has nothing to worry about—
A hand suddenly covers Oikawa’s face, shoving him off. Takahiro blinks, now facing an Oikawa sprawled out on the floor.
“Don’t be rude, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi sighs like a man who has lived hundreds of lives. “This is Hanamaki Takahiro, my classmate. I invited him to have lunch with us since he’s trying out for the volleyball team too.”
Takahiro blinks again because just when did he say that?
“Hi,” he says instead. Internally, he cringes at how lame it was.
Oikawa shoots up suddenly, face beaming like Iwaizumi’s a few hours ago. “Oh!” He says brightly, sitting next to him—a bit too close, might he add—with his cologne wafting up to Takahiro’s nose. Huh. Smells good. “Why didn’t you start with that?”
Do these kids only think about volleyball? Takahiro debates if having friends on the first day was truly worth it if it’s these weirdos.
“Actually,” he decides to interject before Iwaizumi can pummel Oikawa again. “I never said I would, just that I’m, ahem, familiar with volleyball.”
Oikawa’s face drops so fast that Takahiro almost feels bad.
“Absolutely not,” the brunet says suddenly, and Takahiro realizes he shouldn’t feel bad at all with this boy. “You’re trying out.”
It’s a final statement, like there’s no room for argument. Takahiro looks at Iwaizumi for help, but green eyes only look at him boredly while he chews an onigiri. “You should,” he unhelpfully adds after swallowing.
Takahiro almost doesn’t want to just to spite the two. It’s an innate defense mechanism from dealing with his siblings. But being petty in the faces of new friends—were they really friends? Did he even want them to be?—was not a good look.
“I’ll think about it,” he finalizes, because he doesn’t like confirming or denying. He’s gotta stick to the Hanamaki Takahiro brand.
Takahiro smiles, reminiscing Oikawa’s strong determination right off the bat. Years later, and it seems that that aspect of him never changed. He says so to the crowd, refusing to meet the brunet’s eyes lest he sees how he’s stroking his ego in real time.
“That determination did lead me to some of the best years of my life, I suppose,” he admits. “Volleyball—which is clearly all these two live and breathe—became something even I couldn’t live without, even just for three years. Because it’s one thing to watch how Tooru and Hajime push each other to be better, but it’s another thing to experience both of them pushing you to be better.”
He should’ve seen it from a mile away, if he’s being honest. Unsurprisingly, Takahiro does end up trying out for the volleyball team. Also unsurprisingly, he gets in, but that’s a given since he’s simply an all-rounder and no one can ever reject him.
Surprisingly, however, Oikawa is placed as a starting setter immediately, which was unexpected.
He supposes it’s only unexpected for him, seeing as Iwaizumi only has pride dancing in his eyes and not a single semblance of shock. Other first years who seem to have played in Junior High seem the same, albeit lacking the… fond gaze. Well, can anyone blame Takahiro for being surprised? No one told him that the emotional, whiny Oikawa Tooru was awarded best Junior High setter in the prefecture the year before.
About halfway through the year, after the Interhigh and most third years retire, Iwaizumi also gets placed as one of the starting wing spikers. Takahiro would be bitter, but he also knows that Iwaizumi is nearly just as much of a monster as Oikawa is.
“He’s going to be ace soon,” Oikawa once tells him, when they’re both on the sidelines for a water break during practice. Their eyes are trained on Iwaizumi, who leaps and spikes, a powerful sound echoing throughout the whole gym. Takahiro thinks he might be bragging about his little boyfriend first, but one look at those brown eyes shows that Oikawa merely sees his statement as fact, clear as day.
Those calculating irises suddenly fall on him, and he feels his body shiver the slightest. “And you?” Oikawa frowns, crossing his arms. “Makki, you could be a starter too. You just have to try harder.”
A vein pops in Takahiro’s temple. “Hah?”
“You’re really tall,” the brunet continues, like he wasn’t just insulting the work Takahiro’s put into a damn sport he never even planned to play. “And you’re pretty powerful. You’ve come the closest to beating Iwa-chan at arm wrestling.”
At this, Takahiro somewhat settles. He should’ve known that someone like Oikawa never outrightly gives compliments—there’s always a little catch to the things he says.
Before the pinket can say anything, Oikawa claps his hands like he’s coming to a realization. His lips pull into a smile, eyes closed in the way he does whenever he’s either doing fanservice for his little club or about to say something somewhat terrifying.
“Tell you what,” he says, suddenly wrapping an arm around Takahiro’s shoulders. “Stay behind with me today, I’ll teach you how to set.”
He sputters, trying to come up with an excuse.
“Are you talking about after hours practice?” A new voice suddenly chimes in. The two face the newcomer, a tall boy with curly hair and caterpillar eyebrows. Takahiro squints at his low lidded eyes and lazy smile, uncomfortably finding it similar to his own trademark.
“Mattsun,” Oikawa greets happily, because of course the idiot knows everyone on the team already. “Wanna join? Iwa-chan could practice a bit more against middle blockers like you.”
Of course he also knows every position that everyone plays. Of course Iwaizumi is joining them later. Takahiro considers compiling a list of things he should simply expect and accept when interacting with Oikawa Tooru.
Mattsun—Takahiro is sure it’s one of Oikawa’s silly nicknames, but he doesn’t know his name—seems to ponder a bit on the setter’s proposal. Those eyes suddenly meet his own, and he feels his cheeks warm the slightest at the attention.
“You joinin’ them?”
Takahiro sighs, looking at the expectant brunet from the corner of his eye. “I don’t think I really have a choice when it comes to this idiot.”
Oikawa cries out, throwing his arms in the air like the drama queen he is. Mattsun smirks and Takahiro does the same on reflex. “Good,” the middle blocker says simply. “I can join later, then. I just didn’t want to thirdwheel you and your Iwa-chan.”
If he thought Oikawa’s feathers couldn’t be ruffled more, he was sorely mistaken. The setter stutters, flushing a deep pink more vibrant than Takahiro’s hair. He laughs, high-fiving Mattsun.
“I like you,” he declares, deciding it was time to leave Oikawa to his own devices and his pathetic feelings. “I think we’ll be good friends.”
Later that night, Takahiro thanks all the gods around the world for Matsukawa Issei and his sheer presence. After hours of being subjected to Oikawa’s brutal coaching combined with Iwaizumi’s harsh comments, the four are on the train back home. As it turns out, Matsukawa shares the same stop as Takahiro, while the inseparable duo obviously lived beside each other. Really, he should’ve known.
The train is relatively empty, considering how late it was on a Thursday night. He sits beside Matsukawa on one end because Takahiro refuses to sit next to Iwaizumi and Oikawa and their grossness. Plus, it was somewhat entertaining to watch such grossness in real time, as if Takahiro and Matsukawa weren’t there at all.
“Disgusting,” the middle blocker mutters beside him. Takahiro agrees, watching the couple.
The two are gazing into each other’s eyes. Literally gazing. It’s stupid and disgusting and it’s straight from the shoujo animes that he’s had to watch with his sisters. The moonlight streaks through the window like a paid actor, dousing their skin in a milky silver. Takahiro feels no shame watching the two, seeing as they seemed to have forgotten his and Matsukawa’s presence all together.
Just from their prolonged eye contact, Takahiro feels like he’s watching a conversation he’s not privy to. Like there’s a whole litany of words not meant for his ears, but with emotion so strong that he can see it. At the same time, it feels like there’s nothing being said within the shared glance, as if they’re just seeing their whole lives in pools of metallic green and liquid brown.
Iwaizumi’s eyebrow quirks upwards, like he’s challenging Oikawa. The latter sighs, then closes his eyes. Now that Takahiro looks closely, he realizes the almost unnoticeable eyebags and gauntness of his cheeks. He knew that Oikawa worked hard, harder than anyone he’s ever met, but it was strange seeing this candidness of exhaustion firsthand. A hand reaches to cup the side of Oikawa’s head, gently pushing it to lay on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.
Takahiro looks away, knowing this moment was just for them.
“You see, in high school, it was never just Tooru or just Hajime, it was always both,” he says. Distantly, he sees some agreeing nods from the crowd.
“They had this weird almost telepathic connection, but I guess that’s what knowing each other from birth does to you. If Tooru was practicing late at night, we wouldn’t just leave him behind, we’d leave him and Hajime behind. If we’d go to Hajime’s house for team bonding, Tooru would always be there before and after we came and went.”
Takahiro lets himself laugh a little, eyes glazed with memories. “They were a pair package, something you could never get just one of.”
Suddenly, he abruptly stretches out his hand to gesture at the couple behind him. “Suffice to say, in my third year—third year, mind you, of being with them nearly everyday—I was pretty damn shocked to find out they weren’t even together.”
The disbelief and exasperation in his tone brings some laughs from the crowd. Takahiro straightens himself, sighing.
“It’s like they didn’t even think of it, which is kind of on-brand if you know what these fools are usually thinking about— cough, volleyball, cough. Ever since finding out, I’d tell them both that they were each other’s person, and all that mushy shit. They never believed me. “Just friends”, they’d say, but I’m sure all of us know that just friends don’t treat each other like Hajime and Tooru do.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Takahiro holds up one hand, the other reaching up to massage his temples. Beside him, Matsukawa blinks in surprise. “You guys aren’t together?”
Iwaizumi stares at them blankly, a little furrow between his brows. He genuinely looks bewildered and Takahiro considers strangling him then his own self. “What do you mean?” He asks, so genuinely confused. “Why would we be?”
“W-why would we be,” Takahiro repeats in disbelief, turning to stare at Matsukawa with a gaze that screams, are you seeing this shit. “Why would we be, he says. Iwaizumi, the question here is, why wouldn’t you be!”
The short circuiting in his brain from Iwaizumi’s sheer stupidity makes him worry about an upcoming aneurysm. Next to him, Matsukawa looks the same, face twisted in a mix of Disgust, Disappointment, and Disbelief. The big 3 Ds.
Unwillingly, his mind gives him a montage of all the times he’s witnessed Iwaizumi and Oikawa being Iwaizumi and Oikawa, because the pairing of their names is enough to illustrate whatever they have going on.
Oikawa, who dropped a pen off his table, and Iwaizumi instinctively covering the sharp edge as the brunet reached down to get it. Oikawa, whose gaudy personality and nice hair finally bit him in the ass, now faced with another school’s volleyball player challenging him to a fight that Iwaizumi intercepts, with a possessive arm around the setter’s waist. Oikawa, who exhausted himself to the point of injury, falling apart during one of their after hour practices, only to be held together by Iwaizumi’s arms. Oikawa and Iwaizumi, foreheads pressed together as the latter hushed him, massaging the bad knee as he thumbs away pained tears.
Iwaizumi, who told no one about his birthday, but Oikawa planned a surprise party anyway and compiled a video of greetings from all his friends and family, even those on the other side of the country. Iwaizumi, who had an obvious yet quiet obsession over Godzilla, and Oikawa, who gave him a homemade bento that was structured to look like the lizard himself and tickets to the premiere. Iwaizumi who bit his lip, refusing to cry in front of the team, only for Takahiro to see him in the arms of the setter behind the gym with gentle hands and sweet whispers.
Oikawa and Iwaizumi, who refused to be captains of the team if they weren’t captains together. Oikawa, who sets to Iwaizumi whenever he’s in a bind, because he will always trust his Iwa-chan when it feels like he has nothing left. Iwaizumi, who knows Oikawa better than he knows himself, and takes it upon himself to learn the basics of physical therapy to help the setter’s rehabilitation. Oikawa and Iwaizumi, the most soulmates of all fucking soulmates. Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi and Oikawa.
“We’re just friends,” Iwaizumi shrugs.
Takahiro gapes at the ace, Matsukawa facepalming next to him. Oikawa and Iwaizumi…just friends. Just friends. Just. Friends.
“You two are dumb as fuck,” Matsukawa finally says, as Takahiro has been rendered speechless by the sheer display of dumbassery.
Iwaizumi has the gall to look offended, like it wasn’t true.
Takahiro inhales. Counts, then exhales. If living with two sisters had prepared him for anything, it was to give romance talk right, goddammit.
“Iwaizumi Hajime.”
The boy in question straightens, blinking from the very much un-Hanamaki Takahiro-like serious behavior. The pinket pins the other down with a harsh gaze, hand landing on a firm shoulder.
“I’ve seen some wild shit in my life,” he begins, not really believing that he’s going to say what he’s about to say. “And you and Oikawa are the wildest shit ever. He’s your person. You’re his person. I’ve never seen a better match. I’ve literally thought you were together from the moment I met you. You might not realize it because of how long you’ve been—” he grimaces, “—friends, but friends don’t act like you two do. A lot of people don’t get the chance to ever find the right person for them, and you’ve had him all your life.”
He takes his hand away from a stiff Iwaizumi. “You should realize that before he’s not beside you anymore,” he says.
A reminder of what looms over their horizons, yet something no one, even Oikawa, wishes to speak about. That the bright, unmoving Oikawa Tooru was leaving Japan, leaving them, possibly forever.
Takahiro lets out a heavy sigh, putting his hands on his hips like a tired mom. He certainly feels like one. Beside him, the matching exhausted dad figure of Matsukawa leans onto him. “Just think about it,” he finally says.
“I guess that being together since birth makes you blinded to some things, which is why I only noticed a shift in their little dynamic when they both left Japan.”
Takahiro, quite honestly, doesn’t like remembering the day they left. Oikawa left first, and the pinket had already been reduced to a puddle of lame and pathetic tears. Months later, Iwaizumi had left as well, and suddenly Takahiro felt like he was missing a part of him he never realized was there.
“It was surprising to us all, for Tooru to leave a few days after graduation to Argentina, and for Iwaizumi to leave a few months after to study in the US. I always thought they’d be stuck by each other’s sides for the rest of their lives, but I guess that was a mistake on my part. Hajime and Tooru, above anyone else, loved proving others wrong—including each other.”
Takahiro huffs out a laugh, crossing his arms and taking a glance at the couple. Surprisingly, it’s Hajime with tears in his eyes, almost like he remembers the age-old conversation they had that one school lunch.
“That isn’t to say they didn’t struggle without the other, though,” he grins. “Contrary to the common belief, Hajime and Tooru are actually simple humans. When I visited Tooru in Argentina to comfort his lonely ass, ‘cause Lord knows he was a major loser wandering the streets not knowing a single word of Spanish, I almost felt like I was intruding rather than being comforting.”
A few laughs from the crowd, and a warbled one from behind him. Ah, looks like Tooru was crying too.
“You know, I thought you’d be a little worse-off,” Takahiro says, swirling the mate in his cup before taking a sip. He slides it across the table for the setter to try.
At his remark, Oikawa gasps, like he wasn’t used to Takahiro being Takahiro. “I am absolutely capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I’m fine!”
And, well, yeah. Oikawa is, surprisingly, fine. In their last video call, Takahiro had noticed how the setter had slightly lost weight, and how the shine in his hair had dulled quite a bit. Behind him, his apartment had been a mess, which was considerably very not Tooru-like.
It’s what pushed him to visit the setter—now almost a naturalized Argentine—and to quit his past job. He was meaning to quit sometime soon anyway, considering how they overworked him and paid him actual crumbs. All he needed was to save up for this trip, especially because worry bit at the edges of his conscience.
But it looks like he didn’t have anything to worry about at all. When he arrived, Oikawa’s closet-sized apartment seemed to be much cleaner than it was all those months ago (a given, now that he thinks about it), and the shine had returned to his hair.
Oikawa seems like he’s about to add another comeback to Takahiro’s comment, but chooses to take a massive bite from his Choripán. The brunet groans, seemingly forgetting the annoyance he once had.
“Oh,” Oikawa gets out in between bites, behaving in a brutish way he used to admonish. “Hajime would love this. I should take him here.”
Takahiro blinks. Okay, what? First of all, how did Iwaizumi get in the picture? Second of all, Hajime? Not Iwa-chan?
“Have you spoken to him recently?” Takahiro asks instead, because being subtle was key. Can’t be too obvious or you’ll scare them off.
Oikawa nods absentmindedly, finally swallowing. “Yeah,” he says, like it should be obvious. In hindsight, it really should be. “We called last night, I’ll probably call him again later.”
Interesting. “Is he visiting you any time soon?”
At that, the brunet’s face brightens. “Yup,” he smiles, wiping his fingers on a napkin. Now, Oikawa’s looked happy ever since he arrived, but Takahiro can’t help but feel that this smile was different. “He’s visiting for his winter break.”
“Not coming back to Japan, huh?”
Brown eyes sadden just the slightest. “I can’t,” he sighs. “I have to be here for two continuous years to get my citizenship. Thought I might as well get it over with.”
Takahiro suddenly remembers last winter, when he, Matsukawa, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa had video called. The three were together, as Iwaizumi had visited for his break, but Oikawa was left in Argentina. In all honesty, Takahiro didn’t like to think about it—how the brunet was clearly upset, but instead just flashed them a smile and prompted them to tell stories of reunion.
He smiles, realizing that Oikawa wouldn’t be alone this year.
“At least Iwaizumi’s with you,” he comments. Oikawa’s face softens, thumbing at a necklace that Takahiro hadn’t noticed until now. It’s a simple silver chain threaded through a ring.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, he is.”
Later that night, Takahiro makes a stop by Oikawa’s apartment for a bathroom break before his trek to his hotel. He emerges into the living space, silently closing the door behind him. Murmurs come from Oikawa’s hunched figure, where he speaks quietly to his phone. Takahiro pauses, frowning when he realizes…he doesn’t know what’s being said.
Based on what Oikawa said earlier and the voice he can just barely make out, it’s most definitely Iwaizumi. There is nothing wrong with this.
What is wrong is the noticeable lack of Japanese being exchanged between the two. There’s flashes of it here and there, mostly random suffixes and slang, but the two seem to be talking in pure Spanglish. Well, Spanglishnese, or a dreaded mix of three languages that he’s sure no one understands.
“Is that Iwaizumi?” He calls. Oikawa startles, turning to face him.
“Makki!” A happy voice replies from the phone. “How are you?”
The pinket settles beside Oikawa on the small loveseat, crowding in to show himself on camera. Iwaizumi looks tired, which should be expected as it was… 2AM in California. He would be concerned, but reminds himself that Iwaizumi is also simply a university student.
The two catch up, with Oikawa occasionally butting in and providing his own insight. Eventually, the exhaustion of traveling and jetlag catches up to Takahiro, and he barely manages to muffle a yawn.
“A’ight,” he mumbles, rubbing an eye. Oikawa smacks his hand away because his maternal instincts as a team captain never truly left him. “I’m going. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘Kawa. See ya, Iwazumi!”
As they bid their farewells, Takahiro almost misses the gentleness of the brunet’s voice. The pure, raw yearning coloring his tone.
“I wish you were here, Hajime.”
“Later, I’m sure Issei will catch you up on a similar situation when he visited Hajime in Irvine,” at this, Takahiro raises a hand to match Matsukawa’s raised glass. They smile at each other, knowing.
He turns back to the crowd, shaking his head. “I swear, whatever one is up to, you’ll find that the other is doing or behaving the exact same. Thousands of miles between the two doesn’t mean shit.”
Takahiro suddenly eyes a nearby platter of food, licking his lips. “Alas, I am quite taken by the delicious catering of Argentine and Japanese fusion food, so I’m going to cut this speech a bit short to reunite with my plate.”
Another laugh from the audience. A given, seeing as Takahiro is somewhat a comedian himself. He turns to look at Tooru and Hajime, the Oikawas, and gives a genuine smile at their teary eyes.
“I told you so. Both of you, actually, on separate occasions, and I think it’s about time I revealed what happened then.”
The club room is silent, save for the passing breeze from the outside. Takahiro continues to dust the shelves quietly, recognizing the tension in the space.
Iwaizumi clearly has a lot on his mind. Perhaps, if Takahiro is lucky, even a lot to say.
A few paces away, there’s a distant repetitive thud from the fallen balls of Oikawa’s serves. It would be peaceful, but Takahiro knows that the nearing rematch with Karasuno has the two captains on their toes. That, and the fact that Iwaizumi was awaiting college application results, and Oikawa was leaving. Oikawa Tooru is leaving.
Fuck it, Takahiro thinks. Fuck the gentle parenting.
He turns, facing Iwaizumi with a determined look on his face. It’s only been a few days since their last conversation on the topic, and ever since, Iwaizumi has seemed out of it. Takahiro is sure that he’s come to the necessary realizations now.
“Why don’t you just go for it?” He demands.
Iwaizumi slowly drops the stack of papers he was organizing. Other than this, he makes no other move. They’re enveloped in silence yet again, but Takahiro can wait.
Eventually, Iwaizumi hesitantly meets his eyes. “Oikawa…” he trails off, a twinge of utter longing curling around the vowels and consonants of the name.
Iwaizumi’s face shifts with a variety of emotions. Eventually, it settles. Takahiro almost can’t bring himself to describe it—relaxed brows, gentle caring eyes, and the softest smile gracing his lips. To Takahiro, it’s a foreign look on Iwaizumi, but not a new look at all. He’s seen it on his own parents’ face, on the expressions of those smitten couples in those gross cafes.
Whipped, for lack of a better term. Or, Takahiro muses, perhaps a better term would be utterly in love.
“Oikawa is meant for only the greatest things,” the ace finalizes. “He’s always been meant for it. The greatest things, and those alone.”
“—It’s about damn time you realized that you’re part of those great things yourself and that you always have been,” Takahiro smiles, and Tooru sniffles disgustingly from beside Hajime. “If anything, you were the first great thing that Oikawa Tooru ever had.”
“I love him,” Oikawa suddenly says, breaking the comfortable silence the two were in. They’re in a rooftop bar, looking at the skyline of Buenos Aires. Takahiro rubs his thumb against the condensation on the glass of his margarita, patiently waiting for Oikawa to continue.
“More than friends should,” the brunet admits, like it’s something to be ashamed about. Takahiro never thought love was something that deserved shame, regardless of whether it was unrequited or between two people that were “just friends”. Still, Takahiro waits.
“He’s everything to me.”
Takahiro realizes that Oikawa never mentioned a name. That’s okay, he didn’t have to. There was no one else in this world that was Oikawa Tooru’s person than Iwaizumi Hajime.
“Why don’t you tell him?” He asks quietly.
A bitter laugh erupts from the man beside him. Man, no longer boy, who just seems a little lost in a world that was too big for his own being. “I can’t,” he says exasperatedly, like Takahiro doesn’t understand.
And really, he doesn’t.
“Not with how I am now,” Oikawa adds. “Not with… how I have nothing. Makki, I’m nothing right now. I have nothing to offer him. I have a shoe box sized apartment and I live on gross instant ramen and the occasional street food treat.”
Takahiro’s heart wrenches, just the tiniest bit. He wants to protest, say that no, Tooru, you’re my captain, you’ve made me and so many other people realize that there is so much more we could be and that we should be. You do not know how many lives you’ve changed.
“I have nothing to offer him, but Hajime deserves the world,” Oikawa says quietly.
“Tooru,” Takahiro says, because even if he met Iwaizumi first, it’s Oikawa who has somehow weaseled his little way into his heart. Oikawa Tooru, his best friend, the man who he is best man for on the day he’s imagined for years.
He feels his own eyes heat up, pressuring poking behind them. Ah, that means it’s time to wrap up.
“It’s about damn time you realized that you were always Hajime’s world, and that’s all that matters.”
Takahiro takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and refusing to give into the tears because that’s lame and very not on-brand for Hanamaki Takahiro. He turns to the crowd with a wide grin, seeing some tears already shed in the eyes of the grooms’ parents, Watari, Kindaichi, Yuda, and surprisingly, even Kyoutani’s eyes look a little wet.
“As sappy as this sounds, one of the best things I’ve ever got to witness were these two idiots falling in love. Or, scratch that, them realizing they were in love. ‘Cause Hajime and Tooru have always been a little in love with each other since the beginning, and anyone who knows the both of them knows this to be true.”
He steps to the side, grabbing a glass of wine to raise to the two on stage. “So, congratulations to the happy couple!”
The crowd cheers, raising their own glasses. The grooms follow in suit, smiling despite the tears running down their cheeks. The utter losers, they are. He supposes that some things never change.
Before he takes a sip of wine, Takahiro grins. “Moving forward, I hope you both remember that I, Hanamaki Takahiro, am always right.”