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Iwaizumi has never liked Valentine’s Day.
Not that he has a particular grudge against the holiday itself. Or even the way it makes people irritatingly happy for no reason other than the fact they’re given something dumb to show affection. To show feelings that should be more than a glittery card or a stuffed animal or freshly baked goods made especially for someone.
Not that he’s ever noticed. And definitely not when it was directed at Oikawa.
Every year since they were kids, Oikawa had gotten the most valentines, gotten the gifts and chocolates and giddy stares from every girl breathing anywhere in his vicinity. And since where Oikawa was, Iwaizumi was, getting dragged around while watching his best friend flirt and bask in the attention was a given.
Still, parts of it weren’t so bad. It’s nice to remember back to when it all began, even when Oikawa had started the tradition by giving Iwaizumi valentines given to him that he didn’t particularly care for, or chocolates he didn’t want. It was in middle school when that all changed. When Oikawa started buying him valentine after valentine and leaving them in the most embarrassing places. Under his bedroom door. In his locker. Inside his textbooks so they’d slip out when he opened them in class. When Iwaizumi would find them, it was too late and other people had seen enough that he’d get more jeers and flack for shoving them out of sight than he would for having them out in the open.
High school was much the same, except Iwaizumi had reciprocated. Once.
He’d found out about a girl who’d dumped Oikawa in their third year and because he wasn’t in the mood to hear the whining and put up with the sulking, he’d bought a valentine of his own. The first since elementary school when he realized there was no point since Oikawa got more of them than the entire human race combined.
His plan had worked, had brought a smile across Oikawa’s sullen face so bright it made his chest clench, and Iwaizumi hated Valentine’s Day a little less that year.
But college rolled around and with it, a new crop of girls, all just as enthusiastic, just as giddy and star-struck with Oikawa as the rest of them.
And now it’s Valentine’s Day all over again and Iwaizumi wonders if maybe this year, something else will happen that will make him not hate it at all. Even if it’s just for the day, for that one moment when Oikawa gives him a genuine smile stripped of all the glitter and gold he shows everyone else. Unpretentious and real and something that turns Iwaizumi’s head in ways it shouldn’t.
It’s raining outside, a storm rolling in out of nowhere like it knows what day it is and has decided that contributing to Iwaizumi’s disdain for the holiday would be comical on top of everything else. But something tells him that the rain isn’t the only thing rolling in, isn’t the only thing blowing tempests and gales throughout campus like a chaotic phenomenon.
He’s not surprised when Oikawa barges into the dorm room he shares with Kageyama or when he unceremoniously flings his book bag on Iwaizumi’s bed, sighing in that over-dramatic way that makes Iwaizumi simultaneously want to stuff the grin he tries to hide into some black hole somewhere and throw something at Oikawa’s stupid face to shut him up.
Making himself comfortable on Kageyama’s bed, Oikawa peeks at Iwaizumi from behind the pillow he’s taken to squishing against his face. “Only you would be studying on Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have any parties to go to, girls’ hearts to break? Wait, don’t tell me. You asked some poor sap and she turned you down.”
“If you wanted a kick in the face, you could’ve just waited until tomorrow when I saw you in class, idiot.”
“So mean! I just wondered why you’d choose to be alone when I have it on good authority that there are girls who would love to go out with you.”
“Some of your rejects, no doubt. Sorry, not interested,” Iwaizumi says absently, highlighting a portion of the text in his book to remember for later. “Actually, not sorry either. Why’re you looking for Kageyama anyway? You don’t even like the guy.”
“I know. But there’s something I wanted to ask him and I can’t talk to you about this stuff.”
“Dumbass. You’ve talked to me about all kinds of shit since we were kids and now’s the time you choose to shut your mouth?”
Oikawa fidgeted with an audible sniff. “You usually don’t like it when I talk about my relationships–”
“Well, yeah–”
“–and I thought since Tobio-chan’s with Shrimpy-chan, he’d be a better candidate–”
“–when you’re in them.”
Oikawa pauses, eyebrow rising. “When I’m in what?”
“A relationship.”
“How do you know I’m not still in one now?”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“Stalker, Iwa-chan!” But even the dig lacks the usual bite of Oikawa’s insults. “But good point. Still,” Oikawa says as he rises from Kageyama’s bed with a mournful smile, “I’m not really sure I can take being called an idiot tonight.”
Iwaizumi shoves his textbooks aside and pointedly cocks his head toward the hastily cleared space. Then he lays down and soon enough, Oikawa settles next to him, subtly wiping his face before turning toward the ceiling.
There’s a few dozen glow-in-the-dark stars stuck in various clusters, a makeshift map of every constellation they’d seen together since Iwaizumi decided to major in astronomy. In the beginning, Oikawa had helped him name them, helped him remember their placements and meanings -- a little too enthusiastically for his liking if he’d been asked about it then. But now, he knows them as well as he knows the flecks in Oikawa’s eyes, the tears they’ve shed when he thinks no one is looking. Not just brown, not gold. Facets of colors hidden in layers as deep as the ones Oikawa buries himself under. Like a galaxy all on their own. And as uncharacteristic as it sounds, looking at the cheap, grade-school stickers has always made him feel better, no matter the circumstance. He knows it’s this way for Oikawa, too. Though probably not for the same reasons.
“I feel worthless. It’s stupid, right? I can have a dozen of her in a heartbeat and I’m the one feeling worthless.”
“You’re not.”
“Sometimes you really have to face the music, Iwa-chan.”
If you only knew what you were really asking for.
Iwaizumi snorts. “Stop throwing yourself a goddamn pity party because of some girl. She’s the idiot if she couldn’t see how much you’re worth and broke up with you.”
“Who said she broke up with me?”
“Isn’t that why you’re sulking? ‘Cause some dumb girl dumped you?”
“No?”
“What the hell, Shittykawa? Why’re you so upset if you’re the one who ended the damn thing?”
“'Cause.”
“'Cause? That’s your answer? What kind of crockshit is this that you’re ups–”
Oikawa bolted upright and swung his legs off the bed. “I should really just go. Tell Tobio-chan I was looking for him, okay?”
“Like hell,” Iwaizumi says and grabs a hold of Oikawa’s arm before he can fully stand. “You’re always yapping about how I don’t fucking listen to your stupid whining. So go. I’m listening.”
“I can’t–”
“Try.”
“I can’t, Iwa-chan! Not to you!”
Iwaizumi releases him and scowls. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“No, it’s not like that! It’s just… I can’t. You’re my best friend, right? I don’t want to mess that up or have you get mad or say it’s stupid.”
“But I’m not gonna–”
“Seven years,” Oikawa blurts, his eyes widening when he’s realized his mistake.
“What?”
“Um, nothing! I-I have to go–”
This time Iwaizumi isn’t quick enough, doesn’t reach in time.
It’s a minute before he realizes that Oikawa has left his book bag and, with eyebrows creased and mouth pinching a scowl, he scoops it up and hurries after him.
The rain is coming down harder now, no longer the slow drizzle from when he’d left his dorm room earlier to pick up food for his all-nighter, but a wave of pounding water. Relentless and chaotic.
Much like someone else he knows. Someone else who, despite the rainfall, stands in the middle of the quad a few yards from Iwaizumi’s dorm entrance. He takes a step and then another until he’s standing behind Oikawa, soaked through and shivering, but feeling nothing but the odd weight in his chest, the loud thrum in his ears when Oikawa stifles a noise.
Is he crying? Bullshit. He can’t be that upset over a dumb girl.
“You left your book bag,” he starts, swiping water from his eyes. In hindsight, he probably should have waited to return it when the weather isn’t trying to drown the entire campus. But Oikawa’s outburst left a question burning in his mind, repeating itself in a loop in the minute it took for him to grab the bag and go. “What did you m--”
Then Oikawa turns, his usual cheery smile stretched wide despite his hair being uncharacteristically plastered to his face, despite the sopping wet clothes responsible for the tremble of his slight frame. He grabs hold of the book bag and hefts it on his shoulder, and it’s then that Iwaizumi sees how tightly he’s trying to hold on to the mask, how easily it can crumble if he would just--
“What’s ‘seven years’?”
And just like that, cracks appear and Oikawa falters.
“I can’t, please don’t make me say it, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s voice is quiet, hollow. Out of place for someone who always seems larger than life. Bigger than any constellation. “You’re my best friend.”
“Which is probably more reason to tell me before we die from hypothermia out here. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“I--” Oikawa closes his eyes, braces himself for whatever it is, and when he opens them, he’s the little boy Iwaizumi knows. The one who scraped his knees and cried so much Iwaizumi had to carry him all the way home when they were seven. Who, at fourteen, worked himself through to the bone that he hadn’t realized how destructive he was until Iwaizumi headbutted him to snap him out of it. The boy who, through all of the attention, the patronizing jokes, the underlying threat beneath the sunny smile, now looks at him openly. Vulnerable. Defeated like Iwaizumi has never seen.
“Spit it out, Tooru.”
At the change of address, Oikawa sniffles and pulls out an envelope from his back pocket, soaked through like the rest of him. Hands it over. “Seven years, Iwa-chan. I’ve been-- it’s been-- that one Valentine’s Day, I...”
He chokes on the last attempt as Iwaizumi opens the card, the ink now runny and smeared across. But the words. The words are clear.
Without hesitation, he takes the last remaining step. The most important one. Takes Oikawa’s face between his hands and keeps him in place, holds his gaze. “Eight for me.”
He doesn’t overthink, doesn’t pause to consider the consequences, what it means and how he’ll get through it if it’s a mistake. None of it matters more than Oikiwa’s mouth against his. Still at first, hesitant, most likely confused and trying to process what’s happening. But then it clicks, starts to make sense. And he kisses back. Shuts his eyes, his book bag dropping on the drenched cement next to them, forgotten.
When Iwaizumi pulls away, a little breathless, a little dizzy and out of his element, he extracts something from his back pocket and slips it between them. His forehead anchors against Oikawa’s, breath heavy and warm. “Happy Valentine’s Day, idiot.”
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says with a pout, indignant like a child as always.
“Seven years,” Iwaizumi says with the hint of a grin. “I think that’s long enough for you to drop that and call me by my actual name.”
“Only if you promise not to call me an idiot anymore.”
Iwaizumi chuckles. “I will when you stop being an idiot.” Then he stops long enough to press a kiss first to the tip of Oikawa’s nose before he finds his mouth again, the promise already there. “All right, all right. Deal.”
“Okay, then,” Oikawa says, his smile genuine and again, Iwaizumi sees stars, thinks he can map out constellations with just that smile. “Hajime.”