Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Please," Iwaizumi groans. "I'm begging you guys, please."

"But what's in it for us?" Hanamaki says as he peers over the top of the newly printed evening edition of the Tokyo Times. "And no more of this ¥500 nonsense. This job pays peanuts, but that's just friend abuse."

"Dinner on me?"

"You keep saying that, but you can't even afford your own housing," Matsukawa jokes as the printer churns out the last of the papers. He bundles them up nicely and leaves them by the doorway for the afternoon pickup truck.

Hanamaki clicks his tongue as he spots out yet another typo in the herald. "Who's been doing the QC these day? It's nothing but typing errors."

"Last I checked, Ushijima is head of the department," Iwaizumi says. He crumples over a particularly tall stack of newspaper bundles and does his best at kicked puppy imitation.

"Please?"

"We've got him begging, 'Hiro," Matsukawa laughs and thumps Iwaizumi apologetically on the back. "But jokes aside, I can't. I need to go back to Miyagi this weekend to see my dad. He fractured his leg at a class gathering. You'd think old people would know their limits but they went and had an all out brawl on the soccer field and more than half of them broke something."

"You're making that up," Iwaizumi whines. He's not the whiny, insistent kind, but this time he's desperate - because no matter how often he denies the claim, Iwaizumi is, without doubt, an awkward introvert who would trip over his own feet and bite his tongue.

"I would never wish ill upon my own father, Iwaizumi," Matsukawa gasps. He places his hand over his heart in mock hurt and shoots the kicked puppy look right back at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi, 25, journalist, had long since decided to make the big move to Tokyo from his comfortable neighbourhood of Sendai.

Initially, he had a modest apartment just a few blocks away from his office. Everything had started off really stellar - functioning house and a decent job - it isn't long before he thinks he's living the fulfilled adult life. That is until the bills and the taxes caught up. A simple miscalculation on his part had led to a downward spiral, and his bank began screaming in shrill, hard, red numbers.

With sufficient loaning from his parents ("I'm sorry, mom. Dad, I'm sorry"), Iwaizumi had promptly given up his apartment and settled in with his friend ("Hanamaki, pleeeeeease") for a while, scavenging the newspapers for tenant advertisements.

It had taken forever, but eventually he had stumbled upon a promising accommodation in the listings.
Location-wise, it is ideal, an additional ten minute travel time on foot to his office - a few blocks further down the road - isn't too bad. To top it off, the owner of said apartment wouldn't be around too often due to said person's work schedule.

Given Iwaizumi's hectic planner, it's unlikely that the two would ever be around at the same time and that suited him just fine - he’s not really the social type, and he already made plans to hermit, should the two of them ever be at home at the same time.

Of course, everything has to begin with moving in and making niceties - something Iwaizumi is largely incapable of doing, or as his friends would have eloquently put it, 'I can't seem to tell which end is your ass because shit comes out of your mouth all the time'.

"What about you?" Iwaizumi sniffs in Hanamaki's direction. The latter had been folding his paper and stuffing it unceremoniously into one of the neat bundles.

"What about me?" he says. He stands up and dusts his hands, probably proud of his handiwork. The paper had been squeezed in at an awkward angle, protruding from the bundle with the front page crumpled. Iwaizumi has no doubt that it's going to be one of those left over papers that end up going to the recycling bin.

"What's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse," Matsukawa chips in.

Hanamaki stops in mid-stretch as he replays his schedule in his head. His shoulders sag as something snags in his mind and he lets out this heavy sigh.

"Right, so there's this new staff coming into our department who starts work next Monday. Tendou thinks it's a laugh and set me up to tour the new kid around."

"Wow, are you getting paid?"

"It's supposed to be pro bono, according to Tendou," Hanamaki snorts.

"Well," Iwaizumi says, resigned. He side steps and hides behind Matsukawa for full body protection. He peers over Matsukawa's shoulders on tip toes, then digs his hands into his pockets and pulls out some stray buttons and lint. "I can't offer you ¥500 for that, but feel free to take these."

Hanamaki pinches his cheeks so hard, Iwaizumi couldn't feel them for the next few hours.

-

"The trick to small talk," Hanamaki says, “is to not show your inner asshole."

Iwaizumi attacks his gyoza with a fiery penchant before stuffing it in his mouth. It's a little under the side of miscalculation because his tongue scalds and his eyes start to water. Hanamaki snickers at him. He downs the pain with a glass of water, before taking a sip of whisky, feeling the amber liquid glaze down his throat in a swift, fluid motion leaving a scorching trail in its wake.

They're spending the night at a food bar, a small celebratory toast for Iwaizumi. Hanamaki laments on how glad he is to see him go and then promptly digs at his inability to make acquaintances.

"Sorryyy," Iwaizumi finds himself dragging out the 'y' in the most sarcastic apology ever. "But I don't really want to hear that from you-"

"I disagree," Matsukawa pipes. “If you're going to live with him, you should set the ground rules as soon as possible – let him know what kind of man you are."

Matsukawa could have said 'what kind of asshole' and it would still have meant the same thing. Their friendship is a weird core of insults and camaraderie, Iwaizumi really wouldn't have it any other way, but he's glad they still have some kind of tact.

"I'm glad you're glad to see me go," Iwaizumi mutters to his friend without spite.

"The word is 'proud', young champ," Hanamaki says, petting him on the head. Iwaizumi whips around to bite at his finger.

"You grew up so fast," Matsukawa adds, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at his mouth. Unconsciously, he dabs at his eyes with it as well, wiping away imaginary tears. He points a chopstick at Iwaizumi. "You have a spring onion stuck between your teeth."

"Yeah? Well you just wiped your eyes with gyoza dip," Iwaizumi grunts, but he reaches for the toothpick anyway.

-

It had taken Hanamaki two hours to shove Iwaizumi out of his door (the man had been teetering on a hangover that burned like a bitch), and Iwaizumi had spent the next hour at the train station, deciding whether to board the train or not. In the end, Iwaizumi misses six trains, watching as they continuously pass him by, as he mulls over his internal debate.

The travel here had been fairly quick, and he does find himself wishing he had taken a wrong turn, making a wrong decision and ending up on the wrong side of town. But he hadn't. So here he is, standing right outside his new apartment, armed with nothing but a bag and a shabby box.

Iwaizumi takes a good ten minutes fidgeting outside the door. He shifts the box around in his hands, wonders if he should come back a little later or if he should have brought a moving in gift. Not that he could afford much at this point, but he's sure Hanamaki is willing to spare some change.

Reluctantly, he knocks.

The door flies open before he can count to ten, and he feels his heart rut up a nervous beat in his rib cage. The man who greets him looks like a runway model or something to that standard.

"Hi," he says pathetically. "I... Uhm... I'm your new tenant. Iwaizumi Hajime."

"Iwa-chan!" the man says. The man sticks out his hand, a way of introduction. "Oikawa Tooru," he beams, pearly whites flashing blindingly and Iwaizumi is a little annoyed at how some people are allowed to look good and have brilliant teeth at the same time. The momentary flash of irritation buoys down his anxiety a notch, and he takes the hand begrudgingly, balancing the box under one arm against his hip. He finds himself already half wishing for his old torn-down apartment or at least the plaster manor that belongs to Hanamaki.

He can't really complain though. There aren't many people in this world who are willing to take him in, and he really doesn't want to impose on his friends any longer.

Iwaizumi sucks in a breath and takes his first step into his new home. Oikawa smiles at him, welcoming him and closing the door behind him. He seems amiable, non-threatening. Almost intelligent, maybe .

Iwaizumi dumps his bag and his small cardboard box by the door way as he surveys the surroundings - there’s something extremely unnerving about the way the house seems to split into two halves. On one side, there's an array of garish retro paintings – a variation of ET in mosaic or a UFO, something Picasso-esque. Navy stars are finely dusted onto the walls with spray paint, trailing arcs along the walls and the sofa cushions are a modern day galaxy print. The other half is a stark contrast of white walls and empty spaces.

Iwaizumi surveys the area, feeling regrets pile up one by one. He can't help it when he feels as if a metaphorical cage has him clamped in, preventing him from leaving this twisted dimension. Then he spots the huge picture print, framed up nicely over the large television. Its alluring, deep colours entrancing him despite how everything else disturbs him.

"That's the nebula of Orion, 1976 ," Oikawa whispers, dangerously close to Iwaizumi's ears. A shiver runs down his spine. Something mysterious lingers in Oikawa's voice - pitch falling an octave lower and dragging deep through his nerves. "Isn't she a beauty?" Oikawa muses.

Iwaizumi thinks maybe he's someone sophisticated, and yeah, maybe living in the same household would have its benefits. Besides, other than the ghastly array of 1960 artistic impressions of extraterrestrial life, the furnishing isn't too awful.

"It must have cost a fortune," Iwaizumi comments humbly.

"What," Oikawa snorts incredulously, cracking the sophisticated image of him that Iwaizumi was just beginning to form. "What kind of loser do you take me for? I wouldn't pay for something like that."

This time it's Iwaizumi's turn to feel ridiculed.

”Wait, I thought...?" He trails off with an implied question mark tailing at the end of his sentence.

"I printed that out in the office using the laser printer. I was actually the first person to use it," Oikawa says proudly, chest puffing out almost comically. He waggles his eyebrows and then stoops a little closer to Iwaizumi, hand coming up to cup the side of his mouth, as if he has a great secret to tell. "I ripped it off from Google Images."

He puts his hands on his hips and laughs to himself proudly.

"We couldn't print A2 sized sheets at the office so I cropped it into four A4s. If you look really closely, you can actually see the lines where they split."

The last bit has Oikawa whispering really quietly, eyes wide as if worried someone would eavesdrop and then take him to prison for it. And that's when Iwaizumi realizes what kind of person Oikawa is. He deals with two of the same kind at work and lounged off one of their homes before coming here. Right there and then, Iwaizumi knows he's stuck with another one of those hybrids - something of an idiot and an asshole.

He's sure Matsukawa and Hanamaki would love him.

-

There is a lot of socialising, and Iwaizumi realises to some degree of horror that Oikawa Tooru is someone who does not know how to shut up. His anxiety has long since whittled away to give way to his growing impassiveness. Honestly, it's like dealing with a noisier Hanamaki, only he's not so accustomed to this one.

He has to quell his rising boredom as Oikawa talks ninety things about the shared bathroom, cabinet lined with products Oikawa is too willing to share. He rattles off the name of each solution, hair spray, gel, moisturizer and the rest, he doesn't remember. The list goes on and Iwaizumi finds his attention slipping away.

As if offended by Iwaizumi's lackadaisical demeanour, Oikawa shakes his jar of bath salts, lavender crystals rattling hard in the glass jar. He pops it open to take a good whiff and then shoves it under Iwaizumi's nose. The lip of the jar collides against his skin and he flinches back in pain.

"These are brilliant," Oikawa says gleefully, completely oblivious to Iwaizumi's pain. He caps it back and stows it away in the cabinet. "Feel free to use them whenever you please, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi holds back a sigh, thinking about Hanamaki's comment about not being an asshole. He feels like it's a task too daunting for him and maybe, he really is as bad a jerk as his friends makes him out to be. And there's that thing again, that 'Iwa-chan' that just slips so naturally from Oikawa's mouth.

In all of Iwaizumi's life, no one has ever placed the '-chan' suffix next to his name after his late grandmother had passed away. And even then, it had always been 'Hajime-chan'. It's mildly disturbing to say the least.

"Why do you call me that?" Iwaizumi says impulsively. "That 'Iwa-chan' thing." He makes a vague gesture with his hands.

Oikawa blinks and then beams. "Friends should have cute nicknames for each other."

He has to hold back his comment about how they're not friends yet; it's probably for the best to keep that thought to himself. Oikawa looks like he's enjoying himself a lot, and Iwaizumi really isn't in the mood for stamping on people's happiness.

They tour the house like a museum, Oikawa's mouth moving like a shot gun with endless ammo. And on Iwaizumi's part, he feels like he's being endlessly pummeled by verbal bullets.

-

The day finally reaches its closure, and Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to retire to his room, hiding in his own little sanctuary. He's tried his finest to be polite, really, but Oikawa is such an idiot and Iwaizumi finds - as Matsukawa puts it - his inner asshole spilling from his well-contained seams.

He slips into his room, thankful for its plain interior – a contrasting calm compared to the turbulent galaxy outside his door. He makes a move to close the door, but then the door jams hard against something, and he hears Oikawa yell in pain on the other side.

"Oh my fucking god," Iwaizumi rasps in terror as he catches Oikawa's foot stuck in the doorway.

He wrenches the door open quickly, and Oikawa withdraws his foot, leaning against the door frame and massaging his injury.

"What are you doing?" Iwaizumi gasps, exasperated, and Oikawa smiles back at him through his pain; he looks as if someone had just socked him in his gut. "Are you okay?"

Iwaizumi feels faint. Oikawa is so many things packed into a single mould of a human and, to reinstate what he had just mentioned, Oikawa is an idiot.

"The question is," Oikawa wheezes through his pain. He tests his foot on the floor and winces as his raw flesh accidentally touches the flooring. "What do you think you're doing?"

Reaching for the door, Iwaizumi has to still his spinning head. Regret flits in and out of his mind, rattling and bouncing around his skull, reminding him that it had been his great idea to take up this accommodation. He's already half ready to withdraw the proposal and go back to Hanamaki's doorstep. Heck, he'd even offer his kidney if Hanamaki would just take him back in.

"I was... planning on sleeping...?" Iwaizumi says tentatively, because. Well. Oikawa is just such a mystery.

"No, that's okay," Oikawa says, egging him on. "But you were doing the thing."

He points at the door and looks at him with wide eyes, apprehension in the eddies of his brown eyes. Iwaizumi understands immediately, his patience grinding down to a stub. He has never been met with such ridiculous restrictions – even Hanamaki had allowed him the privilege of doing things his way as long as he didn't mess up the house.

"You mean this thing?" Iwaizumi says mirthlessly as he swings the door shut only to meet with resistance half way.

"In my house, there- nff - are - ugh - no - hrnghhh - closed - argh - doors!" Oikawa huffs as he pushes against Iwaizumi's dead weight.

"I always sleep with the doors closed," Iwaizumi retorts as he puts all his weight onto the wooden door, leaning against it and jamming it backwards.

The struggle continues for a moment, Oikawa huffing and puffing as he pushes against him in an attempt to keep it open and Iwaizumi - he's not even trying. Oikawa may be considerably well-built but he is in no way any match for Iwaizumi's bulk. Oikawa slips up a little, and the door slams shut with a tight click.

Iwaizumi thinks he's won, finally rewarded with that momentary silence that he's been waiting all day for. But then again, life always likes to get in the way of his plans, and Oikawa starts to whine from the outside, scrabbling his nails down the wood.

"Iwa-chan, come onnnnnn," Oikawa bemoans. "You're going to invite the Narshucks in our home. Narshucks like small, enclosed areas, you know."

"I'm sure," Iwaizumi replies airily, entirely unconvinced and disinterested. He's not even sure what that is.

"My house, my rules?" Oikawa offers as a last attempt. Iwaizumi snorts.

Oikawa gives up then, feet dragging away almost dejectedly. Iwaizumi feels a little bad.

-

He's still awake a little past 1am, neatly unpacking whatever he has on him. The books are on the shelves, folders under the table and the papers on the desk. His battered laptop is chugging on the floor as he makes sure it survived the rickety trip from Hanamaki's. It makes sad buzzing noises.

As he leaves his room, taking whatever garbage he has unearthed to the rubbish chute, Iwaizumi nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the aliens hung up on the wall. True to Oikawa's words, his door is wide open and an open invitation for entry (maybe for the Narhubs or whatever that was). Iwaizumi shakes his head. He could go in wielding a pen knife and gauge out Oikawa's heart for all it mattered. Not that he would, but the possibility is there.

When he returns to his room, he leaves his door open.

---

Iwaizumi returns to the office on Sunday, still drained from the all the interaction with the stranger he's now living with. Hanamaki meets him at the lobby elevator, eye bags just as heavy and his left eye made even smaller with a missing double eyelid . Hanamaki probably had a lot less hours of sleep the previous night.

"You look like shit," Iwaizumi comments, and Hanamaki groans.

"Ugh don't get me started on yesterday." His friend rubs at his eyes.

The elevator pings and they get on.

Hanamaki stabs the buttons with a vengeance. "Tendou has his eyes on me. He's trying to make my life a living hell. I can already feel him creeping on me."

"Is this about the new kid?"

"Nah, the new kid is fine. The touring took less than two hours in total, and I had been prepared to go home and nurse my hangover. But Tendou drags me out and literally calls me in to help out with page layouts while he mopes on and on and on about Ushijima-"

The words end limply on his tongue as the elevator reaches their level and the door slides open to reveal Ushijima, hand curled around a cup of coffee. Hanamaki squints, and Iwaizumi is pretty sure Hanamaki is plotting how best to spill that coffee before he makes a mad dash for it.

"Yes?" Ushijima says, face impassive. Hanamaki gives him the stink eye, and Iwaizumi calls a greeting before ushering them along.

"Tendou is so gay in love with that," Hanamaki says scowling when they're far enough. He taps his ID against the card reader, and they hear the knock as the glass doors unlock. "Apparently Ushijima's too dense to realise. Tendou just keeps talking about him. I listened to four thousand variations of the same thing yesterday. I can even tell you where he lives."

Iwaizumi holds up a hand and smiles wryly.

"I'll pass."

"How was your move in though? You seem a little on the downside of good," Hanamaki comments.

"It could have been worse," Iwaizumi admits. He rubs his eyes and fishes for his spare change, counting to see if he has enough to buy a can of Boss coffee from the vending machines. "He is, though, very strange. Mysterious, if you will."

"Huh."

They make a stop by the vending machine, and Hanamaki punches the buttons with an iron finger when Tendou walks past them and gives Hanamaki a pat on the back.

---

Iwaizumi isn't lying when he says he thinks Oikawa is a complete mystery.

He finds himself wondering, for the umpteenth time since he's moved in - 5 days to be exact - whether it's time for him to up and go. He lowers the evening paper as he watches Oikawa struggle to bring a whole bunch of pillows into his room. Of course, like everything else, they had galaxy print covers.

Oikawa unceremoniously dumps them next to Iwaizumi before flinging himself onto the mattress, springs squeaking in protests.

"What are you doing?" Iwaizumi says quizzically. His eyebrows meet together in the centre as he frowns down at Oikawa. The latter looks up jubilantly, lips curled into a smile.

Iwaizumi thinks back to the newspaper advertisement, wondering if there had been something in fine print that he missed - an indication that he would be signing up for a circus ring act or maybe human slavery or even worse, prostitution. He doesn't remember anything like that, and he trusts himself to make proper decisions when it mattered the most. But nothing adds up when he looks back down at Oikawa and the man does not dispel.

"I'm sorry, but...?" Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow, question prompting for an answer.

"It's a bonding session ," Oikawa declares. He reaches for a particularly odd shaped pillow and pulls out books from within the pillow case. He pulls out a tablet as well as ear phones. Only people like Oikawa would be lazy enough to do that instead of making double trips.

Living with Oikawa, so far, has not been as devastating or as traumatising as he imagined it to be. The ground rules were set on the second day when Iwaizumi had come home from work.

The dining table is a free-for-all work space. Anything in the fridge, Iwaizumi could take except for the milk breads. Laundry happens when it happens, so Iwaizumi shouldn't count on having a clean cycle of clothes unless he takes it upon himself to run the washing machine on a daily basis. The second counter in the bathroom is Iwaizumi's space to put his things and he's allowed to use Oikawa's products. Dinner is a self-help issue because they're unlikely to be home at the same time. (That being said, Iwaizumi finds Oikawa at home for the past five days and really doesn't know what he does for a living.) There are compulsory movie nights on a weekly basis, and the WiFi password is Spacetooru12 .

Iwaizumi's things had come in on the third day, and Oikawa had been there to help him accept the boxes. They had spent the evening unpacking and setting things up, not that there were a lot of things. His books finds places on his shelves, and his table lamp plants itself on the desk in his own room. He sets up residence on the dining table, enjoying the bigger space for his paperwork and his collection of stationery. He takes it in his stride to rearrange Oikawa's aesthetic stones on the window sills (they're not really very aesthetically appealing) to make space for his solar paneled bobble head. Oikawa doesn't complain although he does take a liking to the bobble head.

Iwaizumi had watched in muted amusement as Oikawa had fiddled with the figure, placing his finger on and off the solar panel. It intrigued Oikawa to no end as the figure stilled its movements before slowly bobbing back to life, like an incandescent will to live.

It's a youthful, for want of better term, streak in Oikawa. Iwaizumi figured he'd just adapt to it with time. After all, idiosyncrasies could only go so far.

That doesn't stop Oikawa from being unpredictable though. Although Iwaizumi had begun to slip into the normality of his new life and getting accustomed to this new presence, he is not weather-worn for this kind of intimacy. He's only ever had one girlfriend, and even then, they had drawn the line at hand holding and kissing.

"Okay, but why do we have a bonding session in a bed. That sounds..." Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Oikawa laughs.

"I figured that since I start work tomorrow again, we should celebrate our new acquaintanceship with an impromptu call for a movie night," Oikawa says.

"How about we just read?"

"What, no way," Oikawa says. He pulls open an app on the tablet and starts playing. A little green monster starts bouncing on notebook-lined backgrounds.

"You brought books though," Iwaizumi points out. He looks at them, The Time Traveler's Wife and the other one he can't really see. The green monster lands on a cracked ledge and falls to its death. Oikawa whines when the title screen comes up. Doodle Jump. Huh.

"And what will you read? The newspaper?" Oikawa huffs. "Why do you even read the newspaper? You practically wrote it."

"I write one article in an entire paper, I'm entitled to see the rest of it," Iwaizumi clips. He folds the paper over. "I don't even patronise my own company."

"Oh," Oikawa says, unimpressed. He slips on glasses he pulls out of his pyjama bottoms' pocket and hums. "You're one of those people huh?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means we're going to watch something now," Oikawa says changing the topic just like that. He pulls out his ear phones and hands a single bud to Iwaizumi while his other hand worries the plug into the jack. Iwaizumi doesn't know what to say but he finds that he's marginally glad talking to Oikawa isn't so much of a problem. Had Oikawa been more Ushijima and less Matsukawa/Hanamaki-esque, he's not sure how living in the same household would work.

-

It's so easy to get swept away by Oikawa's actions. Before Iwaizumi knows it, they're both curled up on the bed watching YouTube documentaries because neither of them had a good film on them. They're watching a Discovery Channel documentary on mermaids, and it sounds as ridiculous as it seems but Iwaizumi finds himself drawn in to the commentary, eyes drinking in the subtitles.

"Mermaids don't really exist, do they?" Iwaizumi whispers. Oikawa shuts him up by shoving the ice blocks he has as feet between Iwaizumi's legs. The latter hissed at the sudden contrast of temperature.

When Oikawa accidentally drifts off to sleep midway, Iwaizumi wrangles the ear phones off of Oikawa, being extra careful not to strangle the man when they catch in a ridiculous loop around his neck. Iwaizumi clicks his tongue at the child-like scenario before him. When he successfully pulls them off, he rolls Oikawa off to the side and pulls the comforter around him.

With the lights off, Iwaizumi expects to go to sleep almost immediately. That doesn't happen though, for some peculiar reason, and he ends up downloading Doodle Jump to his phone and plays it until he gets sleepy.

---

Iwaizumi's phone rings at 3 in the morning, vibrating on the bedside table. He swipes around for it, incredibly annoyed at having been rudely awakened from his slumber. He accidentally runs his hand against the side of his phone, and he feels it slide off the table before clattering to the floor. It's almost like mockery.

He buries his head under his pillow, clamping it around his ears, ignoring the way his ringtone dances in his head. Next time, Iwaizumi decides, he's going to choose something a lot less preppy and annoying for a ringtone, because he swears to God-

"Iwa-chan."

He feels fingers press into the junction between his shoulder blades, gently kneading his muscles and easing the tension knots in his shoulders. Oikawa laughs quietly, and he also smells sickly sweet of something or another.

"Iwa-chan, someone's calling you," Oikawa whispers, fingers deviously working some kind of magic. Iwaizumi feels himself groan and relents, pushing his pillow away, rolling over and sitting up. He regrets his decision immediately when he finds Oikawa dressed in a suit and a fancy black tie .

"What," Iwaizumi finds himself saying. It's not really a question of their circumstances but a statement about Oikawa's get-up.

"Hmm?"

He does a glance-over, surveying Oikawa from head to toe. In his entire life, Iwaizumi has always found the phrase "shining with happiness" a little bit of the oxymoronic type, because people literally do not shine - the only time a person would probably be shining was if they were on fire . And that clearly isn't something to be happy about. But in that moment, Iwaizumi knows what it's like for someone to shine. Because Oikawa is grinning and also absolutely glowing. Shimmering. Sparkling. Dazzling. Whatever.

Oikawa's hair is carefully styled into place. The black of his suit defines brings out a healthy glow to his skin and the snug fit emphasizes the sharp cuts of his body perfectly. Iwaizumi has to restrain from touching.

"You're staring," Oikawa teases, a knowing smirk flitting across his lips. He hands over the vibrating phone, ringtone stopping whiles ago - a very strange new function of modern phones.

"Whatever," he grumbles. He glances down at his phone, looking at the caller ID - it's Hanamaki. The realisation of his mistake sinks in only a little later when he looks up at Oikawa smiling smugly at him. He lets out a cough, pretending to clear his throat. "I probably need to answer this."

Oikawa nods, understandingly. He leaves, traces of his cologne wafting in his wake. The door clicks behind Oikawa as he gives Iwaizumi his desired privacy and Iwaizumi sees the thin line of light from the crack beneath door. He answers the phone.

"What," Iwaizumi grumbles into the phone. His fingers twist into the fabric of the blankets (with full-force irritation) because where is Oikawa going? And why does he look so good?

"Good morning to you too," Hanamaki says. He can hear the keyboards prattling away in the background, and he can hear Yahaba shouting something. There's a loud clip and Hanamaki snaps into the receiver. "Please pass stationary around like normal people." There's a soft swooshing sound as Hanamaki wheels around in his chair, a lazy habit of an office worker. He hears jittering as Hanamaki sends them off with more work before clearing up his personal space.

Hanamaki mutters a few words to himself. He has never been a night-shift person; he gets too cranky when the sun isn't up.

"Can you do coverage at Minato, 3rd Street. There's a raging fire at...Hmm..."

There's more silence and Iwaizumi can hear the television running the breaking news.

"The Saki residence. All that jazz."

Iwaizumi nods, even though he knows Hanamaki can't see him. He's been at his job for so long - doesn't need someone to run him through his proceedings anymore. The phone goes dead without any affirmation from his side nor any thanks from Hanamaki's side. His friend is probably in one of his moods again.

He picks up his glasses from the bed side and shuffles out of bed. He moves quickly - picking up his coat and his notebook before dumping them on the sofa next to where Oikawa is enjoying his morning coffee. There's a half-eaten danish hanging limply from his lips and Oikawa peels his eyes off of his cell phone screen before smiling around his breakfast. There's almost something incredibly homily about the scene - as Oikawa's eyes crescents a little, sugary glaze smeared over his lips. His sleep-addled mind only allows for one thought - cute.

"You look like you're getting married," Iwaizumi comments around a yawn, scratching at his stomach in the most unappealing, old-fart sort of way. All his haste is suddenly thrown to the wind as he takes in another eyeful of Oikawa and damn, if he isn't fine.

Oikawa laughs, eyes crinkling a little at the corners. "It's my job, Iwa-chan. I'm an air steward, cabin crew. Japan Airlines."

"You... never told me that...?"

"You never asked," Oikawa points out. "Also, no one calls at 3am unless it's something urgent. Don’t you have an errand to run?"

"Right, right," he mumbles before taking off again. He runs a quick shower and a gloss over with his teeth, checking for anything stuck between the cracks before he erupts from the bathroom in a frenzy .

When he emerges from the bathroom, Oikawa is already gone, a sticky note stuck to the front of his closet. In his room, Oikawa has his coat and a fresh selection of clothes laid out on his bed, and Iwaizumi has never been so thankful. He snags the sticky note, leaves the house, and hails a cab, ready to run to his allotted destination.

In the waning street lights that cast squares of yellow incandescence into the taxi, Iwaizumi reads the sticky note. A 5am flight to Jakarta. And a flight back the following day at 2pm. The flight codes are listed, and he finds it incredibly humbling that Oikawa would be bothered to give him the details.

-

He lugs into the office at 8am, and meets the new kid at the elevator. The kid wrings his hands together painfully, bending the ID card in his hand almost into halves. Iwaizumi finds himself idly wondering if he smells like burnt wood and soot.

In the lift, he opts for small talk, but the newbie is so flustered, he can't even get his words out edgewise. He finds it a little humouring when the unseasoned newcomer fumbles with his ID, tapping it numerous times against the wrong card reader and watches as it fails with a loud, disappointing beep. Iwaizumi doesn't really know how long he actually intended to watch the pitiful charade before him, but Ushijima cuts it short by opening the glass panel from inside.

"Is there something wrong with your ID, Kindaichi? " Ushijima says blankly.

"I... uh!" Kindaichi looks faint. He points at a panel. "Uhm, it didn't respond."

Ushijima nods. He points to another card reader, a little lower. "We use that one. The one you were using is for the master key. Security uses that, not us."

"O-oh!" Kindaichi says. His back straightens up incredibly before he takes a stiff bow and worms his way past Ushijima. Without Kindaichi, it's just Iwaizumi and Ushijima left.

"You didn't tell him?" Ushijima says. There's nothing accusatory in his voice; Iwaizumi isn't sure the big man could even manage to sound anything other than bored - something does, however, tell him that Ushijima isn't just stating a fact.

Iwaizumi tugs at his collar. "I... Didn't notice...?"

He's being stared down by Ushijima's eyes. Cold, piercing and driving daggers into his soul. Iwaizumi finds himself wishing he hasn't got any eyes.

"Come to my office before lunch break. 11, maybe," Ushijima says.

His guts sink. He kind of wishes he had helped Kindaichi.

-

Iwaizumi has always had that bad habit of shaking his leg when he gets nervous. He wracks up an earthquake in his seat as Ushijima continues to ignore his presence, fingers skidding over the keyboard. He trains his eyes on the cheap pendulum on the desk that won't stop swinging.

He's been here for five minutes. Five minutes of immaculate silence except for the prattle of keyboard buttons being pressed in a merciless assault as words slowly materialised on Ushijima's screen. He wonders briefly if he should just crawl out of the room and carry on with his work. He makes a move to leave but Ushijima catches him immediately.

"Where are you going?" he says, eyes still trained on his laptop and the keyboard still buzzing. Iwaizumi is convinced that the man has an evil third eye watching his every move - how else can he explain how Ushijima came to Kindaichi's rescue just that very morning?

"I... was.... turning to stretch," he fibs. He really doesn't know what he's doing here, and he really hopes he's not in for trouble.

"Oh."

The rattling continues, and Iwaizumi's fingers are itching for the stress relief of Doodle Jump. He scuffs his loafers into the carpeting.

It's another four minutes before Ushijima finally lowers the screen of his laptop and takes off his glasses. He runs a hand down his face and lets out a sigh.

"Would you like some water?" Ushijima asks. He points to a water dispenser in the corner of the room, and to be honest, Iwaizumi would like a drink but he's not about to ask for something that would prolong his reason of stay.

"I'm good," he croaks. Ushijima looks at him weirdly.

"I'll just get straight to the point then." He stands up and pulls a folder off the shelf to his right, Iwaizumi sees his name labeled on it. "This here, includes your CV and also all your contributions as a staff."

Iwaizumi's mouth goes dry. A mental image of his superior flinging it to the ground and stepping all over it flits through his mind, and he feels like he's on a death sentence.

"I've been pushing for your promotion for a while now," Ushijima says, taking Iwaizumi completely by surprise. He stares at him wide-eyed and stupid, mouth unhinging at the jaws. Ushijima doesn't offer him a smile. "And I do have some promising news for you.

"You've been on hold for quite some time but the higher ups are willing to look into your case. As of now, they will be monitoring your work for quality - you shouldn't have a problem passing this aspect. The next hurdle is taking on a big project. Now there are quite a few line-ups in store but potentially, we're leaving you with the meteor showers this fall.

"We're still bidding our press rights for them but if we do get through, it will most likely end up as your case. The interviewee in question would be Professor Minamoto Taro. He's an astrophysicist and while he is good at meteors, we'll take this opportunity to delve into his works. His core specialty is the black hole, so you might want to get a jump start on that just in case."

Iwaizumi surprises himself by asking, "What happens if we don't get the press rights?"

"I imagine they'll pass you the next biggest event."

His legs have stopped shaking whiles ago, all his restlessness having evaporated, and all he feels now are heavy limbs, a numb leg and a heart palpitating like a piston engine. Life hasn't panned out nicely for him in a while, and he's waiting for the opportunity to pinch himself the minute Ushijima looks away.

"I-thank you," he says, voice suddenly rough.

Ushijima nods as he slides the folder back into the shelf. "Satori has also put in a special request for this coverage. If all goes well, we will be dispatching Hanamaki along with you."

It takes a while for Iwaizumi to connect the dots that Satori and Tendou are one and the same. The first name comes off as unprofessional, but he doesn't comment on it. He can already hear Hanamaki throwing a fit once he catches wind.

He waits for Ushijima to dismiss him before he takes a bow, gives his thanks, and drifts out of the office, mind clouded in a daydream. When he's half way across the office, he barely registers Ushijima say to himself," Oh, did I say Tendou? Or Satori?"

---

There really should be a limit to how many times Iwaizumi can get impromptu night calls in a month. It's barely been two weeks since the last time he's gotten one, and Iwaizumi is not thrilled. If his life keeps up this pace, he'll probably have to find a lawyer to get his will written down.

His phone blares out an almighty tune, something even more loud and rambunctious than the last one, and he's not even sure what he's doing. He's half sure he had promised himself to change it to something a little more slow-paced that could possibly lull him back to sleep.

He snatches it off the stand, aware that this time, there is no Oikawa to drag him out of bed. He rams it against his ear a little too aggressively, plastic knocking against his skull hard.

"-'lo," Iwaizumi yawns.

"Iwaizumi-"

He jerks up, posture perfectly straight. He hadn't checked the caller ID, and he really should have.

"Yes?" He says, trying to sound as bright as he can. He fails miserably as his letters slur together.

"Can I have you come down to the office? Watari is having gastrointestinal discomfort and is currently releasing liquid egest from the bottom end of his body."

Iwaizumi winces at the phrasing. Ushijima always did have a peculiar way with his words, and it's a little surprising he managed to worm his way up the ladder of success so quickly, considering how their job revolved around words and phrasings. Some people just have it lucky.

"I'll be there in twenty," Iwaizumi says. And even though he really doesn't want to, it is honestly the best way to lather himself up for the promotion. Goodness knows how badly he needs this - how badly his bank needs that extra input. He doesn't want his parents tossing in cash because their only son can't survive in the big world alone. With his current status, he's not even sure if he could support his parents in their old age, let alone his own life.

The line clicks dead after Ushijima bids him a stern farewell, and he lies in bed for another three minutes, contemplating the sad nature of his life. If his pocket hadn't been crying, Iwaizumi is ninety percent sure he would call a pass and stay in bed. Unfortunately, he really needs that promotion, even if he has to break an arm for it.

He forces himself off the bed, legs dragging heavily on the wooden flooring. He pulls a random dress shirt off the hangers and nicks a pair of clean slacks from the drawers. He yawns, wide-mouthed, unable to contain the sleepiness in.

When he leaves the room, he doesn't expect to find Oikawa curled up into himself on the sofa with his gangly arms hanging off the side, luggage tucked neatly against the back of the sofa. The suit coat is draped over the back of the sofa along with his tie - probably Oikawa's last ditch attempt to care about his uniform - as he snoozes away in his suit pants and dress shirt. He hadn't even bothered with the socks, and his hair is still frozen in place with copious amount of hair spray.

It hits him that Oikawa had been due back some time in the morning, and judging by the state in which he finds the other man, Oikawa had probably been too tired to run himself a shower and slip into bed.

He feels the sleepiness behind his eyes start to waver, a strange fondness crawling up his throat and warming his chest. He reaches down to wake the other when he thinks better against it. The ceiling fan rotates at a leisurely pace, but it's still a little chilly in the morning.

Iwaizumi does what he thinks is best. He retreats to his room and pulls off the duvet, throwing it over Oikawa as gently as he can. He tucks in the sides around Oikawa's body and then pulls the shades over the family room windows.

He checks the clock. He had told Ushijima he'd be there in twenty, but he's going to try his luck and see if Watari can hold out a little longer because he definitely can't make it in twenty anymore.

---

The doorbell rings three times – more than enough time to get Oikawa dashing for the door like it's an emergency. Iwaizumi knows it's not, and takes his time emerging from his room. In hindsight, he probably should have taken it in his stride to answer the door because the minute Oikawa opens his mouth, Iwaizumi finds his will-power to live shattering.

"You must be Iwa-chan's friends!" Oikawa beams, and Iwaizumi feels his pride crumble like pie crust and his dignity crushed like an analgesic pill.

"Iwa-chan?" Iwaizumi hears his friends echo, and he knows he won't hear the last of it.

He pushes himself up front and takes Oikawa by his shoulders before gently tugging him out of the way.

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa says, his smile radiating. "Your friends are here."

"Hi Iwa-chan ," Matsukawa says, and Iwaizumi punches him in the arm.

"Can I get a cute nickname too?" Hanamaki snickers, and Oikawa's eyes lights up. Iwaizumi throws a hand over Oikawa's mouth.

"No, you don't," Iwaizumi says. They're all against him. He doesn't think he'll survive the visit.

"Selfish," Matsukawa tuts without malice. He turns to Oikawa instead, extending a hand. He offers Oikawa his signature lopsided grin. "Matsukawa Issei."

Iwaizumi lets his hand fall as Oikawa returns the greeting. He looks ridiculously happy for someone meeting strangers, eyes crinkling a little at the corners in a kind of pure joy.

"Oikawa Tooru," he says. He shakes Hanamaki's hand in turn when the former does his own self-introduction. They're already hitting it off, Iwaizumi knows. And he also knows he needs to intervene when Hanamaki starts talking about high school because there are memories from there that don't need mentioning.

He slides himself in between them, and takes Oikawa by the shoulders, spinning him around and ushering him in the direction of his room, hand pressed against the small of his back. Oikawa makes a soft 'aww' sound but obediently retreats to his room, throwing a wave over his shoulders at Iwaizumi's friends.

It has been months since Ushijima had dropped the potential project on them and while it hadn't been pressing then, and certainly isn't very pressing now, it is about time they looked into some of the workload before it's too late. Physics had been Iwaizumi's Achilles heel back in high school and he knows it'll take a lot of time to work out whatever the books are saying.

"I like him already," Hanamaki says when Iwaizumi gets back. Matsukawa nods.

"You didn't tell him we've known you since high school?" Hanamaki asks and Iwaizumi can already see the barricade forming against him. He just knew Oikawa would land in their good books, and he just knew that they'd want Oikawa in on whatever sadistic streak they hold against him.

Breaking off his train of thoughts, Hanamaki nudges him and then wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. "You didn't tell me you're sleeping with a model."

"What."

"I'd dig some of that."

"I'm not sleeping with him." Well, it's not exactly a lie. While Oikawa does end up in his bed a fair amount of times these days, they are by no means, doing things that crossed boundaries. Not that his friends needed to know that they were in same bed to begin with. Things like that are better fitted with a tight lid in the deepest recesses of his mind.

"Uh huh, sure," Hanamaki says and it's like he just read Iwaizumi's mind. Clearly, somebody isn't buying it. Hanamaki pulls off his shoes and slips on the guest slippers, and Matsukawa follows suit.

-

"Nice," Hanamaki croons as he sees the distorted aliens hanging off the wall in their expensive gilded frames. "Where can I get one of these?"

"Don't encourage him," Iwaizumi mutters. He leads them to the dining table where he's left all his work scattered around haphazardly. He shuffles around for the library books he's borrowed and starts stacking them on the table, thick volumes materialising one after another, and Hanamaki makes a ghastly, wretched sound in his throat. Matsukawa laughs.

-

"Okay, so the black hole was discovered in 1969 by John Titor," Hanamaki says and Iwaizumi frowns.

"I'm pretty sure it was John Wheeler."

"No way."

"I'm pretty sure of it," Iwaizumi mumbles. He flits through the thousands of tabs he has open but they all look gibberish to him. He opens a new tab to the search engine and looks it up again. They've barely been at it for an hour, just absorbing new material like spineless sponges, but all that science is too taxing, and he can feel his brain cramping up.

His laptop starts beeping uncharacteristically, and Iwaizumi thumps it once. The browser stops loading.

Iwaizumi growls low and deep, clearly annoyed.

Matsukawa beats them both to it as he flips through one of the science texts. He points to one of the pages and says, "It's John Wheeler. 1969 right?"

Hanamaki lets out an exasperated moan. He crumples a paper and throws it at Matsukawa. "Stop making it look so easy."

Matsukawa shrugs.

"Can I go play with Oikawa?" he says, and Hanamaki kicks his shin.

"Be helpful."

As if on cue, Oikawa emerges from his room and pops in on them.

"I'm going to make tea, does- Iwa-chan!" Oikawa breaks off, clearly aghast. "You didn't give Makki or Mattsun any refreshments! What kind of host are you?"

"Oh he gave it some thought," Matsukawa says, obviously pleased. He turns to Iwaizumi. "Call me Mattsun."

"But what about my refreshments, Iwa-chan?" Hanamaki says and Iwaizumi stabs him with the eraser end of his pencil.

"This is my calling," Matsukawa says as he stands up. "I'm going to go be helpful. I'll help with tea."

And just like that, Oikawa and Matsukawa disappear over to the kitchen, pulling out rice crackers from the cabinets and tea bags from the shelves. Hanamaki turns around to Iwaizumi, arches an eyebrow and flashes a knowing smirk. "He called me 'Makki'."

Iwaizumi topples a book stack onto him.

-

"Okay, so the question is, why is a black hole black?” Hanamaki says, and Iwaizumi groans again.

"How the hell would I know. Isn't the answer in one of these books?"

"Probably, I skimmed."

"Well go check," Iwaizumi says, exasperated. He mooches his face onto the table, fingers jamming on the keys to bring up the task manager. His laptop is being uncooperative, and he can smell food.

"I kind of really hope we don't get the press rights to cover this story," Hanamaki says bluntly.

"It could be worse."

Hanamaki scoffs. It's almost entirely impossible to find a topic worse than physics and the astro space, but he's not going to take his chances and jinx their luck. He picks up a book and flits through the content's page, the pages rustling.

"Light is both a wave and a particle," Hanamaki recites, clearly not understanding what he just said. He chucks the book on the table. "Your turn."

Iwaizumi weeps silently as Matsukawa returns with egg sandwiches and rice crackers. Oikawa brings the tea.

-

When his friends leave, Oikawa emerges from his room. He hovers around Iwaizumi, a little cautious about disturbing his flat mate. Iwaizumi catches on and offers him a small smile and pats down the seat where Hanamaki once sat. Oikawa takes it as his cue to go over and sit.

"How was work?" Oikawa asks idly. He looks at the volumes stacked over each other, grinning as he pulls a book into his hands. He flips it over and reads the synopsis. "Is this actually for work?"

Iwaizumi nods as he pulls out all the relevant web pages on his tabs, saving the URL onto a word file before transferring that into his trusty eggplant-shaped thumb drive. His laptop starts to make weird whirring noises again - he's going to need a new one the minute he can afford one. This thing is clearly on its way to death.

"It's for an interview," he says. He shuffles the loose leaves of papers before clipping them together with one of his many butterfly clips.

"On space?"

Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow. "Well seeing as how we're having a meteor shower some time in fall, yeah. I mean the job isn't mine yet, per se, but we're doing some prep work in case it gets through. Hanamaki and I may be going to interview some prestigious professor at Haisei University before going to see it at the observatory. Or that's what I've been told."

There's a moment of silence as Oikawa digests the information and when he does, he leans all the way in and pops his face in front of Iwaizumi, eyes wide with mystification.

"No," Oikawa whispers. It sounds like one of those scenes in a ghost movie where you find out you're the only remaining survivor. "No way. Are you going to meet Professor Minamoto? You're not actually going to meet The Professor Minamoto, are you?"

"The one and only. But like I said, nothing is definite yet," Iwaizumi replies flippantly. He pulls out the word document he's listed his questions on; indicators of the parameters of the interview - very rough parameters. There's still a long way to go. He starts skimming the pages, deleting some of them. Physics is the bane of his existence, he just knows it. "What's so special about him anyway?"

"Are you kidding me?" Oikawa sounds indignant, as if Iwaizumi had just said something blasphemous. He also sounds a little faraway, caught in his own daydream.

"I mean, like he's just another decrepit old man with a big telescope."

"Excuse you, Iwa-chan but I'll have you know that Professor Minamoto is like the king of stars. He probably knows the secret to extraterrestrial life," Oikawa says airily. His eyes keep widening in a kind of mystic bliss.

Iwaizumi snorts. He turns around and digs a finger into Oikawa's forehead. "If he did know, you'd expect to find it on the news."

"Maybe that's what you're supposed to uncover with this interview," Oikawa says. Iwaizumi is impressed with Oikawa's positivity.

"Unlikely," he says, fingers sliding down to pinch his nose. "But if I do go, I'll get you an autograph. And maybe a nice picture from the observatory. A selfie, maybe. Of me and the stars without you." He lets go of Oikawa's nose.

The brunette pulls back, eyes twinkling a little with good humor as he rubs at his nose. "You'll find me on the rooftop on the night of the meteor shower," Oikawa sniffs melodramatically. He pouts when Iwaizumi just raises his eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Commoners like me are allowed to enjoy the meteor shower from the comforts of their homes," Oikawa mopes. He turns to stare longingly out the window.

"Well. You're not allowed on the rooftop. That's off-limits. FYI."

Oikawa makes strangled noises of disbelief, clearly trifled. He stands up to get his revenge, hand reaching out and messing with Iwaizumi's hair, flattening out the spikes before running away. He doesn't get very far before Iwaizumi tackles him and they fall on a heap on the sofa, laughter echoing off the walls.

They spend the rest of the night playing Mario Kart.

---

There aren't many good things about doing a night shift, but out of several, the best thing is probably being allowed to go home early. Iwaizumi sits there warming his cold fingers on the surface of the lukewarm Styrofoam cup. Yahaba had gone on a coffee run because someone had jostled the thermostat a few degrees lower than usual.

He waits for the clock to strike 8am – just another twenty minutes before he can clock out and call it a day. He brings the piping hot liquid to his lip and takes a measured sip.

"Good morning, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi feels the coffee go down the wrong pipe, and he jerks in his seat as he chokes on it for a second. He fumbles with the Styrofoam cup before thumping his chest. He rolls around in his swivel chair to face his offending friends, face red from embarrassment and from the coffee that slid down the wrong tube. His friends don't really need to know about the semantics.

"Do not call me that," Iwaizumi grumbles.

"Wow," Matsukawa grins. He drapes his coat over the back of the chair, cracking a few knuckles before booting up the computer. He wiggles his fingers in Iwaizumi's face. "Boyfriend privileges already?"

"How offending," Hanamaki supplies. He wags a finger in Iwaizumi's face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Iwaizumi picks up his coffee, nursing it between his hands, solemnly wondering what had just happened to his quiet, peaceful morning.

"Well two can play at that game," Hanamaki says with arid confidence. He smirks knowingly at Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi knows something terrible is going to fall from his friend's stupid mouth. "From now on, only your boyfriend can call me 'Makki'."

"Oh, I like that," Matsukawa says. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Iwaizumi wants to tie them both down to a railway track or send them on a mission to the moon - anything to get them away from him, really. "And now, your boyfriend is also the only one who can call me 'Mattsun'."

"Like I'd want to call either of you 'Mattsun' or 'Makki'," Iwaizumi splutters, indignant. His friends are so ridiculous; he doesn't know why he puts up with them sometimes. But Hanamaki's eyebrows shoot up so fast, disappearing into his nonexistent fringe and in danger of disappearing off his face. Iwaizumi shoots him a dirty look, daring him to say something. Matsukawa breaks off laughing, and Iwaizumi can't help the feeling that he had just missed something entirely.

"That's... really not the part you should be refuting," Hanamaki says slowly, sleazy grin splaying out across his lips.

For once, the planets are aligned in Iwaizumi's favor, because Kindaichi comes along and breaks up the banter. Iwaizumi swears he's half a toe short of dumping his coffee on Hanamaki's lap. There's really no one Iwaizumi feels more in debt to, as the new kid stands next to their shared desk space, fingers twisting in a knot and shoulders hitched with tension. Kindaichi shuffles his feet awkwardly before speaking.

"Tendou-san is requesting your assistance in managing the news hole."

Hanamaki quirks an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't that be taken to the Marketing Team? I mean, that's what they're paid to do."

Kindaichi looks down, ashamed or terrified or maybe both. Hanamaki does pull off quite the intimidating look with his bored, non-committal facial expressions.

"You're only saying that because you know you're free and don't want to," Iwaizumi snorts. He doesn't know how true this is, but Kindaichi lights up like a firework display and in his excitement, he takes Hanamaki's arm and drags him away without waiting for affirmation. And as terrifying as Hanamaki may seem, he's really not a bad person; he lets himself be dragged away but doesn't forget to turn around and mouth a 'fuck you' to Iwaizumi before flipping the bird.

Iwaizumi waves him off. Beside him, Matsukawa is snorting with laughter. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, bringing the cup to his lips.

"Go on, say something. I dare you," Iwaizumi threatens.

"Nothing. Nothing," Matsukawa says good-naturedly. He pulls up his Microsoft Word and starts pulling out his memo pads and audio recorders.

The conversation is almost over but Iwaizumi hears the soft 'Iwa-chan' that trails at the end of Matsukawa's sentence and his face burns like the sun again. He downs his entire coffee in one go and pretends the heat on his face is just the coffee.

---

Sixteen weeks fly by incredibly quickly ever since Iwaizumi has moved in. He knows because Oikawa has specially marked their 16th movie night on the calendar by the coat rack. It's almost incredible how they manage to forcibly stuff a movie night on a weekly basis given their wretched schedules, watching as they rush in and out of the door at different hours on different days.

But Oikawa's perseverance is strong, and on his insistence, they manage to find slots in between. They're not always movie nights per se, but it happens anyway - a cheap noir film or a classic aliens film with bad graphics and abhorring CGI.

According to the alien fanatic, their 16th movie night has to be special. It is, after all, a mark of their quarter-year long friendship, and if that isn't something to celebrate, then he doesn't know what is. It doesn't hit him that it's strange that Oikawa would celebrate friendship - an indication of a passing history of something lonely. Instead, he chalks it up to another of Oikawa's weird antics and leaves it as that.

To celebrate, Oikawa buys them Chinese take-away.

And while friendship is definitely a thing to celebrate, Iwaizumi thinks it's also reward for surviving the cheap line-up of sci-fi films.

They're both sitting on the sofa, Iwaizumi's legs propped on the coffee table before Oikawa pushes them off. For the first time, they don't watch something sci-fi. Iwaizumi almost chokes on his tofu when Titanic loads up.

"Seriously?" he snorts, reaching for the can of Coke he pulled from the fridge. Oikawa shrugs.

"Someone loaned out War of the Worlds before I got to the store. It was the next best thing available."

"I didn't take you to be a hopeless romantic," Iwaizumi says, but Oikawa kicks him. He drops the subject as the film starts rolling, a headshot of Rose. He reaches for the tissue box just in case.

-

Iwaizumi really doesn't remember how he ends up in this position, head on Oikawa's lap and the tissue box settling snug against his chest in case he ends up weeping. He knows the story and he knows the tragedy, but watching it with Oikawa makes it a bit sadder. He doesn't really know why.

Oikawa's fingers are threading through his hair. The volume is ruined but it doesn't really matter, there's no one left to see it, and Oikawa's fingers are comforting. On touch, Oikawa's fingers are cooling. But they leave a trail of stars in their wake, singeing everything they touch - but not in a bad way. And he's gentle, so unnaturally gentle compared to the rampant, unruly nature in which Oikawa seemed to live his life by.

The situation is comfortable, something he doesn't expect. The bent out position is new, but he feels as if it's where he belongs. Oikawa is warm against him, and as the AC churns in the room, Iwaizumi is partially glad for their close proximity.

He catches himself smiling and smoothes his features back to place when Rose hacks away at a handcuff with an axe. He swallows because the sad parts are coming, and he can already hear Celine Dion in the distance. He makes himself more snug in Oikawa's lap, pressing the tissue box tighter against his chest. Oikawa plucks a sheet out with his other hand, and Iwaizumi lets out a puff of laughter.

This is going to hurt so much.

-

By the time the ending credits roll, they're both crying. And it's almost comical if Oikawa hadn't been ugly crying, weeping with such gusto that Iwaizumi begins to worry about whether the man could breathe. The tissue box becomes more handy as Oikawa's aide than Iwaizumi's.

He runs a comforting hand over Oikawa's back, humoured by the situation they've found themselves in. Oikawa has always been full of surprises, and this is honestly just another thing to add onto the list of traits that Iwaizumi likes. Caring. Compassionate. Empathetic.

The tissue box is empty, but the leaky taps are still running. When Iwaizumi stands to get another box, Oikawa grips onto his sleeves and pulls him back, a soft whine worming its way past his lips. Oikawa is clearly not okay, and as the minutes wear on and the sobbing doesn't stop, Iwaizumi knows he's hit a trigger.

Oikawa really has a bad handle on himself. Iwaizumi absolutely cannot fathom what had been going through his mind when he had picked Titanic out from the DVD racks, but Iwaizumi knows that they're sticking with the aliens next time.

It takes a lot of coaxing to get Oikawa to leave the sofa and into bed. He tucks Oikawa in under the duvet, the man still sniffling heavily and tears sticking to his lashes. Iwaizumi fumbles with the lights before rolling in after Oikawa, dragging him a little closer to his chest so he can feel him better, allowing Oikawa to find comfort in his presence.

The other man clings to his sleeve, mumbling something incoherent. Iwaizumi just hushes him and rubs concentric circles against his back, trying to soothe Oikawa with his touch.

Oikawa falls asleep almost immediately, crying having worn him out to the bone. Iwaizumi stays awake a little longer. If he had been expecting an explanation, he is sorely disappointed when Oikawa's breathing evens out.

It had been raining a little earlier, he didn't know - wouldn't have known if not for the raindrops that clung to the window panes. He didn't draw the curtains, and the sky is visible from where he is. A slice of the moon is hanging in the sky, a thin pencil line crescent that still shines incredibly bright .

He awkwardly pulls Oikawa a little closer and carefully tucks his head under his chin .

---

Iwaizumi, for the best part of himself, really doesn't like to be awoken in the middle of the night. Of course, that being said, work is work, and he'd unwillingly drag himself out of bed for that.

However, when the lights to his bedroom flicker on, Iwaizumi knows for one that this has nothing to do with work.

He lets out a groan and snags a pillow in his hands, promptly covering his eyes as the invasive lights start to form white spots behind his eyelids.

"Go away," he mumbles from under the mass of duck's down.

"Rude," Oikawa huffs as he bounces over to the edge of Iwaizumi's bed and then leaps onto the springy mattress. The mattress dips where Oikawa puts his weight, and Iwaizumi finds himself hoping Oikawa got memory foam mattresses (clearly not, there are no springs in memory foam after all, but Iwaizumi is allowed to dream about it) so he doesn't leave an eternal dip in his bedding.

When Iwaizumi doesn't respond, Oikawa opts for bouncing in his seat, making the mattress buoy up and down in the most motion sickness-inducing way, and Iwaizumi concedes his defeat. He peels off the pillow over his eyes and chucks it straight at Oikawa.

"For the love of God, please stop that bouncing."

"You're supposed to say 'welcome home' first," Oikawa says, pouting a little and catching the pillow single-handedly. He tosses it aside.

Iwaizumi sits up, knowing that he's not going to get back to sleep any time soon. He takes in the full view of Oikawa; a little ring of darkness under each of his eyes indicating some lack of sleep, but his hair is still in full volume, and he looks just as dashing as Iwaizumi remembers, being in full suit and all.

And he's hiding something behind his back.

"What are you hiding?" Iwaizumi asks furtively. In the moments he's known Oikawa, the man is anything between a trail of disaster and a walking tornado.

"Say 'welcome home' first," Oikawa prompts.

"Good night," Iwaizumi says instead. He reaches for the light switch by his bed side before Oikawa flies over him, landing heavily on his chest.

"Stop right there," Oikawa scowls childishly.

They're too close for comfort, and he can smell the trace cologne on him. His hair smells strangely of hotel branded soap - a little bit of jasmine and a tang of lemon. The lavender bath salts probably smell better on him.

"Get off of me," he says, a bit wheezy with the smallest distance between them.

Oikawa rolls his eyes and sits up.

"Tada," he announces with such endearing vigour, Iwaizumi thinks it would be a sin to not entertain the man. For someone 25, Oikawa surely does not act his age.

Oikawa presents to him what is probably the ugliest mug of the century. The rim isn't even a perfect circle - it's a borderline oval that goes up on one side and dips lower on the other end. The handle does a poor job of being a smooth grip with so many bumps and ridges along the curve where the potter probably pressed too hard on the clay ("more ridges = more friction = more grip, Iwa-chan. That's basic science." Iwaizumi somehow doubts that it applied here).

And the design. The colour choice is cringe-worthy and absolutely appalling. A dash of green, yellow, red and blue flecked the entire canvas of the cup in the most haphazard manner. It looks like a paintball disaster.

"Who made this?" Iwaizumi says incredulously, surprised at the indecency of the mug. He turns the ugly thing over in his hands, wondering how the hell Oikawa, with all his 'furbished great taste', would actually buy something so unpleasant-

Iwaizumi bites back his laughter when his fingers smooth over the ridges on the side of the cup. Upon closer inspection, he finds the word "Iwa-chan" and a poor excuse of a heart, moulded into the side. Because he understands then - it's a custom made mug, created by none other than the very Oikawa sitting on his lap.

He looks up at Oikawa, too delighted in his artistic failures, and smiles at the latter. He just knew that Oikawa couldn't be all that perfect, and here he is, with concrete, solid proof of Oikawa's short comings .

"Do you like it?" Oikawa asks earnestly. His mega-watt-brilliance smile absolutely glowing on his face, pride emanating from him in waves. Iwaizumi literally can't find it in his stone cold, cavernous heart to hurt Oikawa.

"Not bad," he lies, grinning down at hell's product in his hands. Oikawa is almost too cute. "Why pottery though? I thought Thailand was all about temples and elephants. Souvenir-wise that is. Could've gotten me a tiny statue or a post card."

"What?" Oikawa says, frown slipping on to his face. "No way, Kuroo said pottery was all the rage in Thailand."

"Kuroo?" Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow. Sometimes he forgets that Oikawa leads his own private life outside their shared apartment, and he feels a little pressure in his chest that makes him shift uncomfortably.

"My colleague," Oikawa says, nonchalantly. "I do most of my flights with him. He's a real friend but also a real jerk."

Oikawa rolls off of his lap, and plants himself next to Iwaizumi. He grabs the discarded pillow and clutches it to his chest, hunching over in deep thought. "So...." he mulls, "Pottery isn't a thing in Thailand?"

"Not that I know of."

Oikawa looks indignantly at him, pout slipping on.

"That asshole," he mutters indistinctively to himself, fingers reaching into his back pocket, drawing out his handphone before he turns around and smiles almost shyly at him. "I'm glad you like it though."

Now, Iwaizumi is quite sure he never said he liked it . Sure, he said it wasn't bad, but he had never said it was good either. He smiles anyway.

"Why me though? I'd suspect you could've given it to your parents," Iwaizumi says. He rolls it between his palms, looking at how Oikawa at least got the base right. If it stands well enough, he'll use it for his morning coffee.

"Hmm? I was told to make something for someone special, and since you practically live on coffee..." Oikawa replies distractedly, trailing off his sentence and not realising what he's just said. He's starting to hammer out a text on his phone, probably for this Kuroo.

"Someone special?" Iwaizumi echoes, curiously. Oikawa isn't even listening, the small of his tongue poking out between his lips in very derisive concentration. He snorts out in irritation before he chucks his phone onto the bed.

"Sorry, what was that again?"

"Welcome home," Iwaizumi says instead and Oikawa looks at him owlishly, ears turning a soft shade of pink.

How cute.

---

It's 12pm on a sunny afternoon, and they're both in Iwaizumi's bed, a rarity that doesn't happen so often. They're going to milk the day for all it's worth, making sure they maximise the day's potential lazy capacity.

"So you've seen my friends a few times now," Iwaizumi says as he flips through the Ikea catalogue he had found on the kitchen table. Despite the amount of months they've been living together, Iwaizumi can't help but realise that he has got almost nothing on Oikawa. While Hanamaki and Matsukawa have trooped through the door on more than a handful of occasions, there has never been someone like that for Oikawa.

The man's social life is a complete mystery and maybe Iwaizumi could use this time to dig out some of that information. He points to a particularly cheap painting made in the dozens and flashes the magazine at his friend.

"We should get this to replace your retro ET."

"Late tenants don't get to choose," Oikawa retorts, sticking his tongue out. His fingers gloss over his phone lazily. "Are Makki and Mattsun coming over?"

There's something really precious and special about a lazy Sunday afternoon where they're both not due at places - at least Oikawa isn't, until later into the night - having them running in and out of the door. The curtains flutter as the wind breezes through the open windows. Oikawa stays splayed out on the bed, head resting on Iwaizumi's stomach with his feet dangling off the edge.

"Nah," he says breezily. He flips through the catalogue some more before pausing at the sofas. "Tell me about Kuroo."

Oikawa sits up surprised, hair falling back into place slowly - a little like all those anti-gravity, mid-air battles in all his favourite sci-fi films. His glasses slip down his nose in the dorkiest expression and Iwaizumi feels his chest constrict with a sudden arousal of emotions stirring inside.

"Why," Oikawa drawls, crawling over to lie next to him. He plops down on his stomach, and twists over to give Iwaizumi his full attention. He rests his head on his right hand, pinky shying away from the corner of his lips. Iwaizumi catches himself staring - again.

"No reason," Iwaizumi says haughtily. He feels a little trapped under Oikawa's gaze, but it doesn't feel threatening. It borders on the side of adoration and something that hits a really close call to affection. He glances at Oikawa, a quick skirt of his eyes from the catalogue, and their eyes meet with a brief intensity that sets off a cage of butterflies in his gut. He stares back fervently at the catalogue, willing the blush spreading up his neck to dissipate.

"You're not seriously contemplating changing my sofa, are you?" Oikawa says, amused.

"Huh?"

"You haven't flipped the page for a while," Oikawa explains. He gestures with his free hand at the stupid catalogue and Iwaizumi - well he doesn't really know what he's doing. It's such a waste to spend a nice day indoors reading a lame magazine Oikawa had monthly subscriptions to, for what, he can't even comprehend.

"No," Iwaizumi sighs. He tosses it aside onto the night stand before rolling onto his stomach too. Their shoulders bump a little. Electrifying.

"So tell me about Kuroo. I'm curious about this guy and like, maybe the rest of your world outside this shady apartment."

"It's not shady," Oikawa protests. And to be fair, Iwaizumi doesn't see it as shady either but he does remember the first time Oikawa crept into his bed with his tablet, and Iwaizumi remembers briefly about the horror he had felt. He's read enough manga to know that people always wandered into these things unknowingly, resulting in them sparring for their lives and from the clutches of evil.

"Hmm," he says, half-heartedly. He's not really sure how many people got to see Oikawa without the usual load of foundation and whatever it is Oikawa needs to use before his flights, but Iwaizumi likes the idea that he's part of the rare minority who's graced with this privilege. "So, about your life...?"

Oikawa stretches out lazily, back arching in a perfect curve before settling down. The trees outside are turning a pretty auburn. Autumn is well on its way, and Oikawa looks right at home with all the pretty shades the season brings.

"Kuroo is... " Oikawa trails off thoughtfully. He plucks at the sleeve of his shirt, wondering how best to phrase it. "Kuroo is... My first real friend."

The sentence catches him off guard. Somehow, Iwaizumi always had the impression that Oikawa would be a hit with people - he's amiable, outgoing and selfless. Most of the time, anyway. It's hard to see Oikawa having difficulties with friends, but then again, he can suddenly see how easy it is for people to take advantage of Oikawa.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in Iwaizumi's mouth, and he takes a good hard look at Oikawa. If there's anything hidden in the recesses of his mind, Oikawa doesn't show it. Instead he taps at his mouth thoughtfully and says, "I met him at the training sessions. We were just fresh out of college with no direction in life and then we met and thennnn... yeah. But it's not like I regret it, I guess. When I do overnight flights, I like to think how much closer I am to the galaxy out there. And maybe one day I'll run into a UFO. The aliens will be communicating to me in Morse code - I've been studying. But other than that, I guess that's it? I mean, about Kuroo, that is."

"That's it?" Iwaizumi echoes, a little dubious.

"He's really nice," Oikawa reassures him. "I've never felt the need to pretend when I'm with him. He's just as much fun as I am. And he's also a super hit with the ladies." Oikawa clicks his tongue. "His boyfriend isn't too fond of that, but I guess Kenma can be proud that Kuroo is his to keep."

Something stirs in Iwaizumi, a feeling he can't quite identify, and he finds himself half worrying if it had been a cue meant for him to pick up. Oikawa is looking at him with such secretive eyes, something soft and tender in his irises, but the windows to his soul still shuttered tightly - as if goading him to take the first step to really know him.

"Do you..." Iwaizumi feels the word hanging heavily on his tongue. Do you have to pretend when you're with me too? he thinks, but instead he says, "Do you have a picture of this lady-killer? Just how good-looking is he?"

The atmosphere shifts entirely, and Oikawa laughs. Iwaizumi feels as if he just missed a chance.

"Oh oh, I have a selfie with him," he says primly, fishing out his handphone and pulling out the camera roll. He starts scrolling through a billion random pictures before he draws out one in a million.

The selfie leaves Iwaizumi speechless. He knows he asked for Kuroo's face, but Oikawa's face takes up a third of the picture and his eyes are attracted like magnet to those devilishly beautiful eyes of Oikawa's.

Iwaizumi feels his throat dry, a raging Sahara Desert settling its roots into his oesophagus. He stares at the Oikawa in the picture that smiles seductively back at him, coy smirk tugging at his lips, eyes shadowed brilliantly. He's in that damn uniform, the black coat contrastingly dark against his peachy skin and Iwaizumi needs to control his thoughts before they wander south .

And then there's a shady man standing behind Oikawa, hair spilling over half his face, complete with a devious smile. Something that could be borderline perverted and-

Oikawa zooms all the way in to the shady man's face, blowing past his face and focusing on the nostrils.

"Haah! Loser," Oikawa crows loudly, plush lower lip being chewed under his teeth as he struggles to suppress a giggle. He screenshots it, phone going off with a loud snap, before he Lines it to Kuroo.

"Airlines have very strange standards for 'handsome'," Iwaizumi says as he points a finger at Kuroo. "That looks like bed hair."

Oikawa gasps. "I knowwwwww, I keep telling him! I even sent in an anonymous bad rating, but it turned out to be the only one. "

"You are a terrible friend," Iwaizumi says lightly, fingers reaching out to pinch Oikawa's nose. The latter squawks in protest, but they end up laughing; the feeling is a little similar to when Iwaizumi is seventeen and had his first love.

---

Iwaizumi finds himself in Ushijima's office first thing in the morning. There aren't many things on his wooden table, and the pendulum still swings without a care in the world. Iwaizumi didn't really think people actually placed pointless things like that on desks - it had always been a television thing; a play-up for the big screen. But then again, Ushijima doesn't really fall into the category of normal.

Ushijima shuffles some paper around before he pulls out a sheet of paper from his drawer along with two tickets.

"So our press rights to the meteor shower went through, and there has been a unanimous decision to let you take on the project along with Hanamaki."

Iwaizumi nods, tongue incapable of forming coherent words. This always happened to be the case when it came to Ushijima.

"The date is October 3rd," Ushijima says. He slides the paper across the desk and highlights the date with a purple highlighter in his stationary holder. "You'll meet him at 3pm at Haisei University. And then you will head over to the observatory to observe the meteor fall. It is imperative that you close the article with a brief summary of the meteor shower."

Iwaizumi watches as Ushijima highlights text upside down. Maybe a skill only the left-handed could do. He doesn't question him about the summary of the meteor shower; doesn't ask about the significance of it.

Ushijima flips the paper over and points at two names he's never seen before. A Sugawara Koushi and a Sawamura Daichi. There are numbers scrawled to the side. "These are the two members we're also dispatching from the Marketing sector. They will be doing the media coverage for this article so you can get the photos you need for the column from them. I'll need you to pass on the information to Hanamaki."

Iwaizumi nods again.

Ushijima hands him the paper and tickets and folds his hands over the desk. "It's most probably a cover page story and a run-on to the middle spread. It will feature on the monthly special weekend edition under the entertainment catalogue. This is a big project, so I hope you've gotten a bit of a head start. Once you clear this, the promotion is as good as yours."

Iwaizumi takes the papers into his hands, fingers shaking a little with how real everything feels. His last chance effort to give him the boost that he's been craving for. He exchanges a word of thanks before showing his way out.

When he's halfway out the door, Ushijima calls out to him.

"I trust in your abilities," Iwaizumi hears Ushijima say. "Make this one time count."

-

The date to remember is October 3, Iwaizumi reminds himself a thousand times over as he marks his planner. At 3pm, we will meet Professor Minamoto in the university foyer, and then-

"You look like you're in pain," Matsukawa comments as he slides over, handing him a glazed donut. "Kunimi won a box at the lucky draw during lunch. That boy's a walking charm."

"I don't think he wanted to win donuts though," Iwaizumi says, taking an appreciative bite from the sugary goodness.

"Don't we all want that lucky break," Matsukawa muses. "So what did Ushi want to see you for?"

Iwaizumi grins.

"It's about my promotion."

Matsukawa's eyes widen, and a crooked grin makes its way onto his lips. Hanamaki slides over.

"So what did the big guy want with you?" Hanamaki says. He licks at his fingers before helping himself to one of Matsukawa's paper napkins.

"I just asked him that," Matsukawa says with jest. He cuffs Hanamaki on the head lightly.

"We got through," Iwaizumi says to Hanamaki. He flaps the observatory tickets in his face and Hanamaki's facial expression immediately floors.

"No way, I can't remember anything about the Big Bang," Hanamaki whines. He tucks his head against Matsukawa's arm in a low whine.

And maybe it's the way Hanamaki is so reluctant or maybe it's the way Oikawa is always on his mind, but an idea plants itself in his wayward mind. It's not exactly something he'd call a 'good' idea but Oikawa has done a lot for him and maybe, just maybe, he could do something nice for him too. He tests the waters a bit.

"Actually Hanamaki, how badly do you want to go for this thing?" Iwaizumi says as he tosses the tickets onto the table.

"On a scale of one to ten? Fucking negative two thousand," Hanamaki snorts. He crumples in defeat in his chair and grabs at Matsukawa's dress shirt. "Save me from torment, Issei. Tendou's out for my blood because he can't get his man."

"I have an idea actually," Iwaizumi says and Hanamaki peeks at him. "It's probably not the best thing to do since your job is riding on this, but I know someone who would willingly take your place."

"Who?"

"Oikawa would."

The silence settles on them like a dramatic pause, and Iwaizumi doesn't really know what he's offered on that silver plate. He feels himself cringe inwardly when neither of his friends make a move.

"I'll make sure nothing goes wrong." He makes a promise he knows he can't keep, but he has good enough faith that Oikawa wouldn't mess up too badly. The twin Cheshire grins that appears on both his friends' faces is a clear indication that they've caught up on something.

"Can I entrust you with my future?" Hanamaki says seriously. Iwaizumi shrugs.

"Mine will invariably go down with yours if it ever comes to that."

Hanamaki's expression does a 180 flip. He grins, satisfied. "That's cool. I'm sold. Give Oikawa my thanks."

And it's really not so much the fact that Hanamaki just willingly slides it away that makes Iwaizumi feel a warmth spreading out in his chest. As much as Hanamaki doesn't like the task, he will always pull through should it ever come down to it. If anything, his friend had just laid his cards bare on the table, just so he could play it up with Oikawa.

Iwaizumi feels incredibly blessed.

---

"Okay, the deal is this," Iwaizumi says as he pastes Oikawa's passport photo over Hanamaki's face, making sure the rectangles did a perfect overlap. He inverts the card, shaking it a little, and when he's sure the tape will hold strong enough, he slides it into the card holder and passes the lanyard to Oikawa. "If Professor Minamoto takes out beverages, drink all of it."

"What if it tastes bad?" Oikawa protests. He takes the card in his hand, the word PRESS printed in huge, fine lettering, and his face next to Hanamaki's name. A small exhilarated smile pulls at his lips, and Iwaizumi is glad for his friends once more.

"Be professional. Suck it up and finish it."

Oikawa makes an 'okay' sign with his fingers, eyes still trained on the reporter's pass. He skirts his eyes to the observatory tickets, fingers itching to pick them up in his hand. He doesn't only because he knows Iwaizumi is going to hit him for not paying attention.

"And if they take out food?"

"They usually don't, but when they do, it's usually biscuits. Always take a few, but no more than five."

"What if they only take out five?"

"It means they're stingy as fuck and don't really want you to eat-"

Oikawa clicks his tongue, wagging a finger.

"No swearing, Iwa-chan."

"Okay, moving on-"

"Wait, wait, you didn't tell me how many I should take."

Iwaizumi drags a hand down his face, not believing the man in front of him. He sighs, clearly aggravated. "Literally no one will just hand you a plate of five biscuits. Don't worry." He pulls out a clipboard for Oikawa. "For your aesthetics purpose, you will hold onto this clipboard. I'll clip on the questions later but you will not say anything."

"But-," Oikawa protests.

"Nothing will come out of your mouth, capiche?" Iwaizumi says firmly. He knocks Oikawa's head gently with the clipboard before handing it over. He pulls out the audio recorder. "You will hold onto this and start recording before the interview starts. There's limited space in that thing so don't play with it."

The recorder exchanges hands, and Oikawa's mouth twists in delight. He turns it over in his fingers. Clearly, something about taking on a different profession for a day astounds Oikawa because he even observes the clipboard with sincere interest. It's just a clipboard, but Iwaizumi doesn't want to burst his private bubble.

Iwaizumi sits there pondering for a bit, eyes analysing Oikawa's demeanour. He turns over the process of interviewing in his head, debating about what else to bring up. He's been in the industry for so long, everything is second nature to him. Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa and feels a disaster rip coming from him. But the honesty of the excitement that shines off Oikawa's face makes him sigh inwardly in despair. He's such a sucker.

"Eye contact," Iwaizumi says after awhile. He watches as Oikawa burns holes into the tickets on the table top, can see how badly the other wants to touch them. He smiles, enamored, and slides the tickets closer to Oikawa. Said man looks up surprised, and then flushes in embarrassment as his hands creep up to pluck them off the table.

"Eye contact," Iwaizumi repeats. "Is very important. We'll be recording this so we don't need to take notes. Show respect. Be polite. Familiarise yourself with his work and also his field of study - not that you have a problem with this and not that you'd need to worry about it either; you won't be talking after all."

"I could help," Oikawa offers, genuinely.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. "It's my job. And you're my guest. Also, Hanamaki's job is riding on your ability to behave. All I need you to do is just to sit there and be pretty. And hold my audio recorder."

Oikawa glances at him, eyes wide with shock, and Iwaizumi knows that the words were not lost on him. He rubs the back of his neck, a blush creeping up. He's clearly spending too much time with Ushijima; there goes all his tact.

"You-"

"Dinner," Iwaizumi says abruptly, standing up and pulling the laptop lid down. He clears his throat when Oikawa doesn't make a move, still looking up at him, tickets clutched in his hands. "I want dinner."

---

Third of October swings by uncharacteristically quick, and no one is more thrilled than Oikawa.

Iwaizumi wakes up to a pop ballad roaring from the living room, chasing his dreams away as the notes pour in through his open door, accompanied by Oikawa's off-tune belting. He sits up, eyes squinting and adjusting to the brightness. It's barely 8am, and their taxi is only due at 1pm.

He gets out of bed reluctantly.

"Oikawa what-"

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa exclaims, starry eyed. "Our bus leaves in 30 minutes."

"What bus?"

"Our bus to the university! Our bus to the stars."

Iwaizumi feels his head throb involuntarily - Oikawa makes it sound like they're going on an adventure. They're not.

"I booked a taxi," Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa clicks his tongue as he ladles two sizzling bacon rashers onto a plate. The toast jumps as the timer goes off. "Taxis are for the boring , Iwa-chan. You're not actually going to be a boring person, right?"

It's that tone again; the one that left no room for argument and the one that means Oikawa wins.

Before he knows it, Iwaizumi is shoveling breakfast as fast as he can, Oikawa counting down the minutes in a frantic voice - they're literally ten minutes early but Oikawa insists on waiting for the bus for at least five minutes. They make a mad dash to the bus stop. Iwaizumi doesn't know why he's doing this but alas, here he is. When they make it to the bus stop, Oikawa looks extremely pleased with himself.

Humouring Oikawa has always been a little emotionally rewarding, Iwaizumi thinks.

-

They get through security so quickly, it's almost a joke. Oikawa holds out Hanamaki's card and grins.

"Call me 'Hanamaki'," Oikawa says, proudly.

Iwaizumi does not.

-

They meet the professor at the faculty piazza, exchanging niceties. Iwaizumi is ridiculously stiff, and Oikawa does a better job. From there, they move to the office.

Once inside the office, Oikawa gasps unabashedly, brown eyes twinkling with incredible brilliance. The stars are walled all over the office, charts and maps dotting the room, and Oikawa tugs Iwaizumi to a halt, pointing at one of them and making pleased noises.

"That's the limited edition copy of Sky Comets," Oikawa gasps, completely taken by the sight. Iwaizumi doesn't know what Sky Comets is. He's not going to find out.

"Do you remember the pact?" Iwaizumi hisses through clenched teeth because Oikawa's already forgotten the golden rule of no talking.

Oikawa nods, bringing a finger to his lips.

Iwaizumi takes out his recorder and motions for Oikawa to take out his clipboard. Oikawa sets the clipboard on his lap before taking the audio recorder from Iwaizumi. They sit in hushed silence as the professor excuses himself to prepare some kind of refreshment. Iwaizumi uses the time to silently run through his questions and cycle some of his newly found knowledge through his head. He takes a deep breath and knows that he's ready - or as ready as he can get, really.

But his confidence is nearly shattered as the professor comes out of the pantry, holding a tray with tea cups, and to his - and Oikawa's - absolute horror, a plate with five biscuits. Oikawa lets out a mournful cry on impulse, too quick for even his own brain to process. His hands fly up to clamp over his mouth in sheer horror, and Iwaizumi can feel his own face mould into one of mortification, probably a mirror to Oikawa's expression. Luckily for them, the professor doesn't notice.

Iwaizumi motions to the audio recorder, and Oikawa fumbles, hitting the record button without switching it on first.

Iwaizumi knows the interview is going to be a train wreck.

-

The rest of the interview, unexpectedly, goes by without a hitch, and Oikawa, true to his words, keeps his mouth clamped tightly, more intent on paying attention than Iwaizumi himself. They go through the course of questions smoothly, one after the other, getting detailed responses, and Iwaizumi finds it amusing that even people as old as the professor could still find things that made them sparkle with excitement.

They are so close to the end; Iwaizumi just has to do his wrap up. A casual thanks and a shake of his hand, informing him the approximate due date for the article and which section of the papers he will be able to find it in. He's so close to the end, really. So close. But Iwaizumi's always known, for the months that he's known Oikawa, that an obedient Oikawa just doesn't happen.

The thanks falls short for one second, a step too late. Oikawa beats him to it as he blurbs, "Do you believe in aliens?"

And Iwaizumi feels his eye twitch; the world really works against him in weird ways. Professor Minamoto looks so mollified; Iwaizumi doesn't know what to say. He glares daggers at Oikawa, before waffling for an explanation.

"That's... UH. Our... Shirttail story. Like uhhhh, the uh, food for thought section after the columns on your interview." He does his best imitation of a sugary, sweet smile.

"But!" Oikawa adds when the professor does not budge, frown settling itself deeper into his skin folds, in danger of making a permanent print there. "I think we actually have more than enough material for the article and we might have to scrape that Food for Thought section, don't we Iwa-ch-izumi-san?"

Iwaizumi nods stupidly, mind reeling so fast at Oikawa's quick save. He doesn't even have time to counter the 'Iwachizumi' that Oikawa had slipped up on. He stands up quickly, shakes the professor’s hand, praises him for his work, and tells him to anticipate a glorious spread on his work in the science header of the entertainment section. Oikawa shakes his hand too and compliments the refreshments. He lies about the biscuits obviously, because neither of them had taken any.

They make the hastiest retreat, shoving their clipboard and audio recorder into their carriers before bidding their farewell.

When they're well far enough, Iwaizumi shoves Oikawa in the shoulder, none too aggressively.

"Excuse me, but what the hell was that?" Iwaizumi says, quirking an eyebrow, amused grin twisting into place.

"I was such a fan of his!" Oikawa bemoans. "I can't believe he doesn't believe in aliens. I'm going to have to take his poster down. And he only gave us five cookies."

Iwaizumi sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "It's okay, it's okay. We'll fix this by writing a good story for the papers. He'll just-"

His voice cracks as the urge to laugh becomes overwhelming. The events come rushing up to him, the five cookies, the aliens, the professor's face. He doubles over as his laughter fades into the silent kind and his heaving shoulders are the only sign that he's still, in fact, laughing. Oikawa looks at him concerned.

"It's okay," he wheezes, sides splitting and bleeding with the desire to snort. It hits him how much he likes being with Oikawa, because he brings out a side of him that wants to be better and not as grumpy. And while he knows the interview was a bit of a mess, it's nothing he can't fix with a little spritzing of journalist glamour and praise.

Oikawa eyes him nervously. "Iwa-chan, are you-"

Iwaizumi doesn't let him finish. He pulls out the campus map and points to the observatory. "We're a little early but if we go now, we can get better seats."

"Iwa-chan-"

"It's fine," Iwaizumi insists. He reassures him with a smile and takes Oikawa by the wrists, tugging along gently. Oikawa lets himself be pulled.

-

They reach the observatory ten minutes before admission and only then does Iwaizumi relinquish his hold on Oikawa's wrist. He digs out their tickets, smoothing them out with his hands before passing them to the ticketing counter. It gets a hole punched through it, and Oikawa gets a little antsy and exacerbated with the hole punched too close to the corner.

"It looks terrible," Oikawa whines.

"You complain too much," Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa sniffs.

They get a seat in the observatory, pulling out a mat so the cold doesn't seep straight to their bones from the metal flooring. Oikawa is excited, a different kind of brilliance enveloping his frame. He eagerly tugs the mat open, a cheap print of the solar system on it - and clearly outdated, Pluto still marked on the orbits. Iwaizumi makes a move to point it out, but Oikawa gently slaps his hand away.

"Don't be mean," Oikawa says, scrunching his nose a little. "Pluto is still a planet. He's a dwarf planet. Still a planet."

It's always funny that Oikawa would choose the most random things to sympathise with, but Iwaizumi finds it all the more endearing.

They make enough room for the both of them, sitting a little tightly against each other, just enough space for them to put their hands on either sides of themselves. Iwaizumi isn't complaining; he hopes Oikawa isn't either.

A little later, when more people have settled around them, the dome starts to open up, showing them a vast expanse of navy ink sky, perfectly dark save the small exit sign. Iwaizumi hears Oikawa take in a deep breath, holding it there in anticipation as the ceiling slowly slides away. The wind is chilly, sharp and enticing, but the sky shows not a single cloud in the sky. In the dark isolated corner of their world, Iwaizumi is deluded into thinking he's got the world in his pocket and the galaxy in his hands - this special hour of intimacy is his alone to keep. Something pulls at his chest, and he slowly inches himself a little closer to Oikawa.

Oikawa pulls out a pair of binoculars and stares up, his entire being shaking with gleeful composure. He surveys the area, lips quirked into a pleasurable smile - a rare kind that shows the small dimple on his left cheek and smoothing out any false strain on his features. Iwaizumi finds that he's better entertained just watching Oikawa. He can already hear his inner Matsukawa-Hanamaki voice chiding him for being so 'gay in love'. He snorts. Well. They're not really wrong.

The first meteor falls, and Oikawa's face lights up with an intensive joy that warms Iwaizumi all the way to the heart. He plants his hand next to Oikawa's other hand, pinky fingers brushing, and Iwaizumi thinks that everything that has happened up to now had been worth it.

The meteors rain in the sky, comet trails flaring brightly in the darkness, and Oikawa makes small noises of appreciation every time it dissolves into blackness. He takes off the binoculars, watching them fall in a beautiful fleeting image, a perfect memory rasterised into the back of his mind.

Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, eyes glowing brilliantly, catching the world of stars in them and reflecting the glow. A comet flashes nearby, illuminating the sky almost like lightning. In that moment, he sees Oikawa glow with silvery beauty, his eyes liquid pools of adoration, and Iwaizumi feels his heart swell, ready to burst out of chest in a flow of endless desire.

"Thanks for bringing me," Oikawa whispers, afraid of breaking the magic of the atmosphere.

Iwaizumi can't find his voice; Oikawa is the epitome of beauty in this very moment. His feelings crest like a wave and crash over him, swamping his thought in a flood of love. He hooks their pinky fingers together, trying to convey his feelings through the single contact. Oikawa perks considerably, burrowing his face into the crook of his arm, averting his gaze but tugging back on his pinky lightly.

The rest of the meteor shower continues like that. Oikawa's rapt gaze trained on the fiery lights streaking through the sky like laser lights, Iwaizumi feeling his heart in his throat at how reverent everything felt. And their little fingers, loosely entwined in a soft hold.

---

"It's that time of the year again," Yahaba says solemnly as he ties a handkerchief around his nose, letting the small triangle fall over his mouth.

Watari laughs apprehensively, cracking open the box of clinical masks. "Are you sure you don't want one of these instead?" Yahaba waves it away with a flick of his hand.

"What's happening?" Kindaichi asks, worry creasing his features, and Iwaizumi feels sorry for him.

Kunimi clamps a hand on his shoulder, looks at him sagely. "It's time," he says, almost dramatically. The pause is, if anything, dramatic and that makes up for his monotonous voice. Kindaichi trembles with a false sense of excitement and once again, Iwaizumi feels sorry for him.

"What is it?" Kindaichi asks, eyes going wide as if he's being initiated into a secret society.

"It's time to clear out the morgue," Kunimi finishes. The anticlimactic plummet has Kindaichi's shoulders sagging, and he looks almost deflated. Kunimi wriggles his hands in front of Kindaichi. No one seems to enjoy taking the kick out of the newbie as much as Kunimi does, but they know it's all in good nature. It's obvious to everyone that the boy has grown attached to Kindaichi.

Yahaba digs into his drawers and pulls out a second box. "Don't forget your gloves."

"We need gloves too?"

Watari pats Kindaichi on the back, a solemn action of comfort.

-

The morgue is, in Iwaizumi's eloquent way of saying things, an utter clusterfuck.

He's really not wrong. There are only a few things in this world that can smell really mouldy and foul, a little like decomposing paper and old ink. Five hours in that hell hole has Iwaizumi tearing up with all the dust in his eyes, and Kindaichi has made more trips to the bathroom than the rest of them collectively.

The task is supposedly simple; what they need to do is to pull out every newspaper leaflet dated 1919 before throwing them out for the incinerators. It really should be simple, but everyone always forgets to mention the part about how the newspapers are piled one on top of the other, pages spilling out of shelves and littering every available walking space on the flooring. They consider themselves lucky if they don't slip on loose pages or if they don't knock over piles after piles of newspapers, watching them topple like domino towers.

When Ushijima comes to release them at six, their battle reaches a temporary closure. They start shuffling stacks into their arms because they know what comes next. Kindaichi looks dejected when he finds out they need to take some home.

"You'll get used to it," Kunimi tells him, and Kindaichi shivers. It's not really something people would willingly get used to.

-

"So what are we doing with all this?" Oikawa says as he plucks at a particular stack.

Iwaizumi glances over from the ones he's browsing. "We're throwing out everything dated from 1919. They didn't arrange them according to date because the whole morgue's a mess, so we have to find every piece dated 1919 and put them aside. Some may come off as loose leafs so we need to check everything carefully."

"Why do you guys even keep papers dated so long ago?" Oikawa asks as he pulls the first paper off the top of the stack. He coughs as the dust floats into his breathing space and blanches. "You won't believe it but even the dust tastes stale."

Iwaizumi offers him a smile, half amused and half affectionate. Oikawa grins back.

They sit there in silence, sifting through sheets of papers, separating every piece of newspaper dated from 1919.The only sounds are the rustling of paper, the occasional sound of paper ripping and the sniffles of runny noses, glands tickled sensitive by all the dust particles.

It takes them just under two hours before they're done running through the stacks Iwaizumi's brought home, their fingers blackened by the loose ink on the pages. Oikawa grimaces and wipes it down Iwaizumi's pant leg.

Iwaizumi jerks around immediately, catching Oikawa's wrist, fingers still pressing against his thighs. He quirks an eyebrow, a silent question. "You did not just...?"

Oikawa smiles meekly. He tugs at his hand, trying to get some lease but Iwaizumi tightens his grip. Oikawa swallows thickly.

The next few moments happen in a flurry as Iwaizumi launches himself at Oikawa, digging his fingers into Oikawa's sides in a merciless attack of tickles. Laughter rings in the room, something rich and full of life. They tussle for a bit, scattering the neatly piled stack of 1919 papers.

When they're done rolling around, both breathless and flushed, Iwaizumi finds himself straddling Oikawa, knees on either sides of his hips and eyes trained on Oikawa's lips. They look so soft, and he wonders what it'll taste like if he hooks it between his teeth. The temptation is strong, and the situation is just another call for him to close that small gap and plant his lips on Oikawa's.

Instead, he presses a blackened thumb right onto Oikawa's cheekbone. Oikawa squirms under him, squawking in protest when the black ink smudges across his skin. Iwaizumi snorts triumphantly.

"That's going to bring on an entire pimple festival," Oikawa pouts.

"Where can I join the party?" Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa hits him on the arm.

-

The tumbling and tussling creates more mess than either anticipates, and they end up spending too much time getting the papers back into their separate stacks. Iwaizumi is too knackered by the time they're done, and he plops onto his bed like a wooden statue.

He knocks out immediately, breath evening out as dreams envelop him. He doesn't come to until his alarm starts blaring at 7 in the morning.

-

He feels a little forlorn when he doesn't find Oikawa in bed. Sitting up, he notices the green post-it stuck on his closet and he knows that Oikawa's gone on a flight. It's strangely disappointing, and he feels his lips turn down in a petty pout that feels like a childish longing.

He swipes the sticky note on his closet and reads off the destinations and flight numbers. A 6am flight to Dubai and a flight back at 3pm. If customs clear and everything is smooth, Oikawa would be back by 7.

-

The first thing he does is to pull out the shopping trolley. Wheeling it across the house, he stops a metre away from the newspaper stacks. Something seems incredibly off - although he can't quite put a finger on it. There is, just as there had been, two stacks neatly piled next to the sofa. Although he clearly doesn't remember placing a permanent marker atop one of the clearly diminished stack.

He knows Oikawa's been here even without even looking for more evidence.

He finds the rest of the 1919 papers on the kitchen table, paper planes swamping every inch of uncovered wood. Heaps of yellowing planes resting on the table, framing his laptop and his ugly coffee mug - the blotchy colours and grey metal a sharp contrast to the yellow - and nothing screams Oikawa louder than the scene before him.

He picks up a plane and feels his lips quirk into a smile as he reads the thick lettering on the wing of the plane. Oikawa had hastily scribbled variations of 'don't miss me too much' on every single plane he's folded, complete with lopsided hearts and kissy faces. It's actually incredibly silly but also amazingly endearing. He finds that he likes the idea of paper planes, something that is strangely symbolic of the two of them; a journalist and an air steward, a paper and a plane.

But as much as he'd love to keep them, he still needs to bring back the 1919 sheets to the office before they're trooped to the incinerators.

It is with anguish that Iwaizumi sweeps the planes into the trolley. It doesn't take long for him to find out that he can't for the life of him toss them all away - his taciturn heart has grown attached to Oikawa, and it beats something akin to a summer song.

He salvages two aeroplanes before he piles the rest of the unwanted papers in. He nicks another sheet of newspaper from the unwanted stack and folds his own shabby plane - he's not particularly good with his hands as he is with words. On it, he writes a welcome home message and leaves it on top of the shoe cabinet, making sure it's the first thing Oikawa sees when he gets home. A few missing pages would probably escape unnoticed.

Admiring his handiwork one last time, Iwaizumi leaves home with the stupid grocery trolley and his briefcase.

---

"I feel like having pizza for dinner," Oikawa calls from his room. "What do you think?"

"I've never had pizza before ," Iwaizumi grunts back. He scrolls through his columns from the interview. It has been weeks since the interview and he's put a whole lot of heart and soul into making this one article count; there is, after all, something he needs to rectify with the professor and call things even. It's dreary work - his new position would consist of endless hours of editing, and he's a bit worried he might actually miss the 3am wake up calls and midnight trips for last-minute story coverage.

"What?" Oikawa yells from his room and Iwaizumi can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. He's grown accustomed to having Oikawa around in his life - once upon a time he had dreaded coming home to the horrible singing and overly bright personality that makes Oikawa's being, but now, nothing feels more right and comforting.

"I've never had pizza before," he repeats, a little louder. He continues scrolling through the paper edition, nodding to himself periodically. He hears footsteps padding across the flooring as Oikawa makes his way over.

"Sorry, I don't think I heard you," Oikawa says. He waves the feather duster in his hand and unsettles clouds of dusts. Iwaizumi sneezes once. Oikawa had been complaining nonstop about the trail of dust the old papers had brought in and, even though that had occurred several weeks ago, Oikawa still takes the liberty with the duster every so often.

He lowers his laptop screen and looks up at Oikawa. The other man was squinting at him with somewhat distrustful eyes, lips pursed into a worrisome frown. Iwaizumi holds back his desire to laugh and repeats, slowly (and maybe a little mockingly), "I've never had pizza before."

He waits as the words register, and Oikawa collapses into the chair next to his. He looks completely aghast, and his free hand flies up to clutch at his heart dramatically.

"Yeah, that's what I thought I heard."

Iwaizumi waits for Oikawa to calm from his initial shock, but when Oikawa just sits there in stunned silence, he pushes open his laptop screen and goes back to editing the paper. He's two hours ahead of schedule, and he feels a serene kind of peace settle into the atmosphere.

Fingers still skidding over the keyboard as he makes last minute edits, Iwaizumi is completely taken by surprise (and a lot of pain) when Oikawa collects himself enough to shift out of his stupor and slams the laptop screen down.

A yell tears itself free from his throat, and it takes him a few moments to register that Oikawa is yelling along with him. He clamps a hand over Oikawa's mouth, fingers still throbbing painfully where the laptop screen jammed tightly into his flesh. There are tears of pain stinging from the corner of his eyes, but for some reason, he finds the situation incredibly humorous.

"Why are you screaming?" Iwaizumi wheezes, trying to contain the sudden need to laugh. He is aware of Oikawa's plush lips pressed against his palm, and he hastily shifts them away. Oikawa stares at him with wild eyes.

"I'm sorry," Oikawa says. For a second, Iwaizumi thinks he's apologising for jamming his fingers, but when Oikawa continues talking, he's not so sure anymore. "But you've never had pizza before?"

"No, I-"

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa wails, "how can you never have pizza before? Don't your friends take you out for pizza? Your family?"

"My-"

"Pizza, is God sent, Iwa-chan!"

If Iwaizumi ever thought Oikawa had been joking, he's now a hundred percent sure this isn't some elaborate joke as Oikawa eyes with him with this pitiful, mournful look. Oikawa takes his hands and grips them so painfully, Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa is going to grind his bones to calcium powder. (He also feels his heart strings pull sweetly as Oikawa's soft hands close over his calloused palms.)

"Is it, now?" he winces as Oikawa fails to relinquish his death grip.

"It is," Oikawa says seriously. "Like me."

Iwaizumi's last remaining thread of self control severs then, and he lets out a loud and unattractive guffaw. He wrenches his hands free to clutch at his stomach, and the tears of pain switches over to tears of laughter. It takes all his energy to stutter out a reply and when he does, he says, "If that's the case, I don't want pizza."

He's promptly awarded with a hit to the back of his head and a pouting Oikawa.

"Rude," he grumbles.

-

Iwaizumi hits the send button and watches as the page starts loading. He picks up his keys and herds to the door where Oikawa is waiting for him. It's a decision made on the spur of the moment, but Oikawa insists they go make their own pizza. The grocer isn't too far downtown, and Iwaziumi knows he's done his job.

It's getting colder outside, the colours are turning grey. They walk close to each other, shoulders bumping, and Iwaizumi is glad for the extra warmth.

They spend a good two hours travelling down to the grocer's and back, spending too long at the aisles getting ingredients for pizza.

Oikawa is not a pro at this, Iwaizumi knows because Oikawa has to Google the necessary ingredients. And on top of that, he finds Oikawa looking up ways to tell apart a mediocre tasting vegetable from a quality plant. The man even has issues identifying a cabbage from a lettuce - Iwaizumi is a little doubtful with the idea of lettuce on pizza but it's not like he knows any better.

It gets even better because Oikawa doesn't even remember what they have back in their apartment.

He would've helped, he really would have. But as all things go, Iwaizumi forgets to bring his phone, having left it on the desk next to his PC. He finds that he really doesn't care - it's almost comical on its own to watch Oikawa stress out over the smallest things. He enjoys the moment without its technical interference.

-

When they get home, Iwaizumi picks his phone off his desk before he goes and dumps his share of groceries on the kitchen island. His phone is strangely hot in his hand, similar to the times he'd run through intensive rounds of Doodle Jump in one sitting. He unlocks his phone and checks his notifications - and then he feels his blood run cold. His mood plummets ten feet under.

In his entire life, Iwaizumi has never clocked in more than 5 missed calls. Usually, the casualty had been his mother, bemoaning about how he never calls or how he never has time for family, or more recently, how he never brings home a partner to extend his immediate family.

He runs through his call log, fingers suddenly too sweaty and uncomfortable, making him slip over the screen. He has 19 missed calls from Matsukawa, 12 from Yahaba, 23 from Hanamaki, 1 from Kunimi (the boy probably gave up on first attempt) and then (Iwaizumi gulps) 10 from Ushijima. The grand count adds up to a solid 65 and Iwaizumi feels the ice creep into his heart and freeze his lungs.

He bolts out of the kitchen immediately, knocking into Oikawa, before stumbling over to his PC. To his absolute horror, the power is cut. He checks the wiring and finds it still plugged in. Fear's visceral grip on his lungs tightens.

He hits the power key so fast. He panics, heart beating erratically and sending his pulse into an intense overdrive. He phones Ushijima straight - a single call from his superior is always an indication of something gone horribly wrong, but 10 missed calls can only mean that something really ugly had gone down while he couldn't be reached.

And just as his luck would have it, his computer freezes and gives him the blue screen of death, just when he thinks he's gotten it loaded up. He almost throws his laptop out when Windows pulls out the notification accompanied by the sad face emoji that he knows so well. His calls don't get through and instead goes straight to Ushijima's voicemail.

A guttural groan escapes from his lips, and he just mashes the keyboard.

Oikawa chooses the worst timing to come by as Iwaizumi hastily reboots his computer. It's definitely time to get a new one, because it won't even turn on anymore.

"Iwa-chan...?" Oikawa calls tentatively, almost timid. The fact that Oikawa might be scared of him irritates him further, and his anger tapers off into a boiling concoction of poisonous feelings.

"Not now," he grits, teeth mashed together as he forces back a snarl.

"Maybe you should..." Oikawa trails uncertainly. He lingers at the doorway, unsure whether he should come in or not. "Maybe you should put work aside. It's a Saturday, after all."

"Are you kidding me?" Iwaizumi bites. His words are sharpened to needle fines, and he's pretty sure he just speared one right through Oikawa by the pinched look on his face. "This is the deciding factor of my promotion, I can't just 'put it aside'. That's about the most asinine thing you could ever say."

The last bit was really uncalled for, and even Iwaizumi finds himself reeling back a little at how nasty he had just sounded. It's not like him to take his anger out on Oikawa, or at anyone for that matter, but he's also never been on such hot bricks in his life.

Oikawa flinches.

"Uhm, haha, well what's the worst that can happen? I mean, it only means you're stuck here in my apartment for a little while longer," Oikawa offers feebly.

"Damn right it does," Iwaizumi barks back without thinking, as his PC makes one last attempt at life and boots up. It doesn't go very far, because it dies again once he reaches the login page. He slams a fist onto the table, making his pens jump and roll a little. "Fuck!"

"Hey," Oikawa murmurs. "Relax-"

"You don't fucking tell me to relax when I'm in the middle of a fucking crisis," Iwaizumi roars. His veins are all bursting one by one, he just knows it. And the fine membrane that helped filter his words before he speaks is slowly being shredded like the cabbage Oikawa couldn't differentiate.

This time Oikawa scowls.

"Hey look, it's just a promotion. You don't have to get so worked up over-"

"I've been waiting for this for a lifetime now! Don't you dare tell me that this isn't something to get worked up over," Iwaizumi seethes.

He really can't tell anything at this point. His idea of time and space undergoes a momentary distortion and his vision swirls. Iwaizumi has never had a full blown fight with Oikawa, and he feels a little sick. He can't really hear over his heavy breathing, and his vision is doing all sorts of tricks - making Oikawa look hurt and then almost sinister.

"Wow, everything's all about the money these days, isn't it?" Oikawa finally spits crudely after a moment of silence. That stings, and wow, is this really the person Iwaizumi had clearly fallen in love with? The realisation is swept away under the tide of his anger.

"Well that's rich, coming from someone with a huge-ass paycheck. You don't know what it's like to be living life on edge."

"The price of my job is my life!" Oikawa sounds nearly hysterical, and Iwaizumi feels heat flare in his chest, stomach doing a twist; an indication that he's irrevocably very, very pissed - as if 'life' itself is a good enough reason to determine the size of his salary. If anything, his job weights a lot riskier than Oikawa's - and it's really not his fault he ended up with the shorter end of the stick in life. Oikawa's justification is just as much a joke as his personality, and Iwaizumi isn't really surprised when he realizes that all his reasoning to hold back and not lash out has dissolved in a liquid pool of sudden despise.

“Well, fuck your life,” Iwaizumi finds himself snarling. He hears his words from a distance – doesn’t really process what he’s saying. He only knows that his brain has given up on his last ditch attempt to sound rational, and he blanks out of lucidity.

Iwaizumi allows his mind to undergo a momentary shutdown, and he swipes his hand across the table as a carnal roar rips out of his mouth, his animalistic instincts turning him into a forest beast. The thick of his arm collides with everything on the table top, and he watches as everything glides off the table at lightning speed.

His pens fly over the edge like little arrows, and his laptop clutters gracelessly to the floor in a horrid clatter, hard drive rattling in the broken metal skeleton. The paper stacks flutter out in a mess (paper planes, Iwaizumi thinks briefly) as they scatter and flutter to the ground. His notebooks slide over the table top, some skittering to the floor, the metal spines clacking loudly. The worst, though, is the ugly mug.

He barely catches a glimpse of the shaky lettering of his name and the poorly moulded heart in blotchy green and yellow before it disappears over the edge of the table and hits the ground hard, shattering as quickly as Oikawa's expression. His heart makes a sudden jump and then takes a sudden plummet just as hard, anger dissipating like smoke as the horror of his actions take charge of his quaking mind. They both stand there amidst the electricity, shell shocked into silence.

Oikawa moves first; gaping before he sucks in his lower lip, the sharp lines of his jaw quivering. Iwaizumi hates himself so much, and there's so much he needs to fix - not sure what possessed him in the short span of 6 minutes to inflict so much damage. He watches as Oikawa brings a hand to his face, pressing the tip of his fingers against his mouth as he starts to shake visibly. Oikawa is going to cry - it's not so much a statement as a premonition, because he can already see the thin film of glass over his eyes and the little bubble of tears that form at the corner of his eyes.

It's all too much for him, guilt tripping the heart in his mouth while a dull panic still bites him from inside. He feels like he'll come to regret it as he plugs in his last asshole move, taking measured strides over his mess, picking up his eggplant thumb drive from the clutter and then walking out of the dining hall. He grabs his coat and keys before shoving his feet into his loafers. His heart is about to rip out of his chest, the muscle drumming out a beat too fast for him, ribcage suddenly feeling ten sizes too small, caging in his lungs. Iwaizumi bites on a knuckle to stop himself from breaking down.

I can do this, he thinks blearily. Just take one thing at a time.

---

The wind slaps him in the face the minute he cracks open the door. He thinks he deserves this, but he also thinks he deserves worse. He wished Oikawa had understood - how important the job is to him, how important he is to him. But all that would have to wait for later; he has enough time to make up for that. This, however, could not wait and he knows his job is hanging precariously on a thin red line, ready to snap.

He makes the mad dash to the office, glad that it isn't winter yet. The wind is in his eyes, and by the time he stumbles to the front of his office, he is tearing, a constant flood of water raining down his face.

He's not quite sure if it's the wind's undoing or if he's crying.

-

The office is a disaster with all his colleagues running to and fro, jostling papers and spilling stationery. There are so many people talking at once and Iwaizumi feels giddy with horror at the state of the press room, fear climbing him bodily like a vine. He heads for Ushijima's office first.

He knocks twice before the door flings open and Tendou walks straight into him. The latter takes a moment to collect his bearings before his lips curl almost comically and eyes narrowing down to slits.

"Oh, it's you," Tendou says acidly, and Iwaizumi really wants to knock him to the ground and maybe let loose a few of his teeth. He could really do without the condescending tone right now.

"Sorry, excuse me," Iwaizumi grits, attempting to push past the lanky man. Tendou pushes him away and holds him at an arm's length (a very long arm, at that). He peers carefully at Iwaizumi's face. Iwaizumi bites back anything scathing; the urge to splinter a few bones has never been so real.

"You-," Tendou says, a little too serious for Iwaizumi's liking. He looks away, obnoxious facade slipping off, and his eyes twitch anxiously. Tendou seems nervous, lower lip suctioned into his mouth. He pats Iwaizumi firmly on the shoulder before jamming a thumb in the direction of Ushijima's office. "Go in there and tell him a pun. He's never been so stressed before."

He gives Iwaizumi a firm squeeze before he walks off in search of someone else, and Iwaizumi takes it as his cue to enter Ushijima's office. He knocks once before sidling in. Ushijima looks up from his deskwork, fingers that were previously rattling away like a hurricane coming to a jarring halt. His glasses slip down the slope of his nose a fraction.

Iwaizumi cuts him before he can say anything. "My friend's bakery burned down last night. You could say, his business is toast."

Ushijima frowns. "Is everything okay? Does he need a job-"

"Wait, wait. Did you hear about the guy who had his whole left side cut off?" Iwaizumi pauses for that dramatic effect and has absolutely no idea why he's here, spilling puns when there's a war waging in the office right outside that door. The pendulum still swings nonchalantly on Ushijima's desk. He delivers the punch line. "He's all right now."

Ushijima doesn't even respond. The corners of his mouth stuck in a perpetual downturn, and Iwaizumi feels himself begin to sweat. He makes a feeble last attempt.

"So. I heard that writing with a blunt pencil is pretty pointless."

He watches as Ushijima pulls off his glasses and rubs at his temples, a true sign of old age.

"Iwaizum-"

"What happened?" he asks. His body shivers - he had never felt so unnerved being in his own skin and right now, he'd love to be anyone but him.

"We didn't receive any files from you nor Hanamaki, so everyone is trying to find last minute articles and shifting pages to cover up the inside story that has suddenly been vacated. Satori's been trying to get through to the Professor, although he's not getting any luck. It's a bit puzzling that Hanamaki doesn't have a copy of your joint article but he's upstairs helping adjust the page layouts."

Ushijima's tone doesn't change; his face doesn't change. But something about it sounds incredibly disappointed, and Iwaizumi feels himself break out into cold sweat. He clenches and unclenches his right fist, left hand pulling out his eggplant keychain.

"I have the file with me. I mean if you still need it, if we can still use it, I have it."

He feels the promise of his promotion evaporate into smoke, but right now, he really doesn't care. As much as he complains about his work, and as much as he doesn't patronise the newspaper brand, it's still something he is going to work to protect. And that includes the company's prestige.

Ushijima visibly slackens, his whole body shaking as he lets out a strangled sigh. His tired eyes droop a little as he offers him a small quirk of the lips.

"I knew you'd come through," Ushijima says, and Iwaizumi feels his legs start to shake.

They're okay.

He made it in time.

-

The proof-reading happens so fast; Ushijima reads like the wind and corrects like a tornado. He whirls through the entire spread and design before sliding the pages into the blank templates and fitting them up nicely. It doesn't take long before the whole paper collection is completed. The efficiency is stunning, and Iwaizumi doesn't think he has that kind of capacity and capability.

Iwaizumi takes to the printing room while Ushijima pulls Kindaichi aside and tells him to help spread word of completion.

The relief spreads quickly and the only problem that remains is the printing. The office turns upside-down as all the departments starts printing, paper churning out in fresh heaps, one after the other. The entire company works together for the first time in a frantic effort to salvage their evening paper.

Iwaizumi can't say he's very aware on what's happening - he only remembers a lot of running and shouting, and then of course the swamping pungent odour of paper and ink.

-

It's late when Iwaizumi finally reaches home. He's never felt so tired in his life and he's just so glad to be home - or something that used to feel like home.

The first thing he notices when he enters the house is that there's a closed door in Oikawa There-Are-No-Closed-Doors Tooru's home - Oikawa's room to be exact. His leaden heart starts to sink again as he replays the events of the day.

Before anything, Iwaizumi makes a beeline for the living room. Despite his savage brutality, Iwaizumi still wants that mug back, and he will do whatever it takes to glue the damn pieces together. Even if he can't drink from it, the novelty of being able to see it would still make him feel a lot better.

He fumbles with the tool kit in the living room for a sec, throwing his coat over the sofa, as he gropes around for the tube of super glue. When he finds it, it's all shriveled up and pressed flat, with probably very little glue left in it. It'll have to suffice though - it's his own fault for breaking his beloved mug in the first place.

He holds his breath as he enters the kitchen, right hand feeling around for that light switch. He anticipates the mess he made - what the mess had looked like from Oikawa's point of view. But when the light comes on, his breath is unexpectedly knocked out of him.

The flooring is spotless. He takes a glance at the table and finds his battered laptop sitting on the table, almost like it's meant to be there. (It used to, but now it belongs in the trash, really.) His pens are aligned neatly next to his PC, and the paper had been collected and weighed down with one of Oikawa's aesthetic (not so aesthetic) stones. The worst part is probably how Iwaizumi can't find a single shard of broken ceramic.

Honestly, what exactly had he been expecting?

He checks every dustbin in the house, the cabinets, under the sofa - everywhere except Oikawa's room. When he doesn't find it, he knows with a sinking feeling that Oikawa threw it down the rubbish chute. The thought makes him incredibly forlorn and ridiculously petulant. He wants to cry so badly.

In his own personal vendetta against Oikawa, Iwaizumi goes and runs himself a hot bath, dumping half of Oikawa's remaining bath salts into the tub. He sinks in there up to his nose, making bubbles through his nostrils and somehow relishing in the scent that's all too Oikawa.

When he gets to bed, he's surprised by how big and spacious it is. His only comfort is the fact that he now smells like Oikawa - too much bath salts can do that to him. It's not like he really minds.

---

They're in the same house but it's like they're not. Iwaizumi knows Oikawa has been avoiding him since the incident - he goes on his flights without leaving a memo (Iwaizumi has counted 6 days of obsolete silence in the house, and he knows Oikawa's been back 3 of the times because the luggage is there and then it's gone). He loses track after that.

Oikawa never makes it back for dinner nights anymore. His share of takeaway usually becomes Iwaizumi's lunch on the day that follows. On days they're both home, Oikawa coops out in his room forever, the wooden sheen of the door always glinting back at him whenever Iwaizumi passes by. It's quiet, too quiet, and Iwaizumi can't say he's enjoying it.

Movie nights stopped ever since; previously appointed days slip by unnoticed, and Iwaizumi finds that he misses lounging on the sofa with his head on Oikawa's lap. He misses the fingers in his hair or the lazy afternoons they share together doing nothing when there's so many things to explore outside their little world.

Oikawa doesn't invade his room with his tablet and cold feet anymore. The books Oikawa's kept by the night stand disappear one evening when he comes back from work, and the door to his room is still glided shut.

Of course being in the same apartment means they can't avoid each other completely. Sometimes Iwaizumi runs into Oikawa when he's on his way home and Oikawa makes a trip to the post box. Sometimes they run into each other when Oikawa gets a morning flight, and Iwaizumi does a night shift. Or sometimes Iwaizumi needs a midnight trip to the bathroom and he finds Oikawa bent over the kitchen counter, fingers thumbing idly on his phone.

On days like these, they pretend they're okay. They make noncommittal small talk; Oikawa welcoming him home, toasting an extra slice of bread, running his cup of coffee in a spare mug or asking if he's okay. Otherwise, nothing else changes, and Iwaizumi can't help but feel aggravated with the situation. He wants to take a step forward and then again, he's also terrified of what will happen if he does.

They dance around the issue like that. A make-believe choreography that everything is fine, a pretense that if they keep up their act, then they are inclined to believe that nothing has happened. And that's what Iwaizumi does. He sits and watches, not sure what to do with himself.

And Oikawa keeps walking out the door without turning back.

---

The next few weeks flit by unnaturally quiet, his days slurring together in a monotonous blur. Days at the office slowly slip back into the casual humdrum of uneventful press holdings.

Winter sets in and brings with it snow.

Hanamaki gets promoted first. No one had been expecting it and no one had been more surprised than Hanamaki, but Tendou plucks him out and replants him as the vice head of the Marketing and Design sector. Looking back on things, everything probably did lead up to this moment, with Tendou personally nitpicking on everything Hanamaki did. People are usually given a heads-up, but Tendou walks his own line of ruling.

On a completely unrelated note, Tendou does get his man through some lucky twist of fate. A lunch break turned lunch date, and the rest becomes history. Hanamaki drowns whenever Tendou talks about Ushijima.

Hanamaki bade his tearful farewell as his things got up and lifted off to the floor above. Rumour has it that the marketing department is even more unruly than the editorial; the team is notoriously loud with a small orange man running and jumping and a bald one yelling. They do have a pretty manager though. Two actually. The younger one is a breakthrough for them because she is talent packed into skin.

The office gets a lot quieter now without Hanamaki saying twenty things a second, and Matsukawa almost looks forlorn without his buddy by his side. It doesn't help when one day, Iwaizumi gets his promotion too.

He sits at his table, stationery stuffed into a box and his new ID card in his hands. His position is relabeled, and he now stands as Ushijima's equal. His cubicle is in the room adjacent to Ushijima's, isolated from the rest of his team, but at least he's still on the same floor.

A heavy hand falls on his shoulders and he looks up.

"Hey, congratulations," Matsukawa says. He offers him a cup of coffee, and Iwaizumi takes it, much obliged.

"I..." To be very honest, Iwaizumi is pretty sure a promotion should leave him feeling chipper and a lot better. But it feels wrong; the price he had to pay for the promotion had ripped his heart out like a transplant operation and analogically speaking, his chest should feel lighter but now it just seems so full and heavy. He feels lonely.

"Everything okay, there?" Matsukawa slides into his seat, taking a break from the article he had been currently putting together, and Iwaizumi shrugs.

"You probably... I mean it's quite unfair for us to leave you behind, isn't it?"

Matsukawa shrugs, completely indifferent. He swirls the coffee in his hand before taking a chug. He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin. "Not really. The two of you have done your time running in and out of this place. It's really justified."

"Will you be okay?"

"It's not like we won't see each other. You're literally just down the hall. Plus they can't really promote me, can they? No one operates the printers more efficiently than I do."

"Will you get lonely?"

"Maybe, but not as lonely as you," Matsukawa jokes, lightly. He nudges Iwaizumi gently. "Don't worry, Kindaichi's station will be set up here. I'll have a ball of a time. Plus, we're getting a new member in a few months' time too. I saw Ushijima pick up his application. Kinda looks like you - murderer eyes and grouchy face. I'll be running my own party here in no time."

Iwaizumi had always been incredibly thankful for his friends, and this isn't the first time he's been moved by their encouragement. He smiles down at his card and nods.

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Iwaizumi murmurs earnestly. He really means it.

"Tell you what, why don't we have a celebratory dinner tonight. With Hanamaki. We could all do with that celebratory alcohol, and you have a week's break before you start in your new office right?"

"Yeah..."

Matsukawa thumps him roughly on the back before swiveling back to his work. "We'll meet you at seven at the usual. Bring Oikawa. I miss that chap."

I miss him too, Iwaizumi finds himself thinking bitterly. He packs up the last of his binders and papers into his box before standing up. He's just going to shift this over to his new cubicle before he goes home, and it's probably the best time to fix things with Oikawa. He has time, he'll make it happen.

-

When he gets home, the first thing he does is announce that he's home. The second thing he does is to realises that Oikawa's door is open and his luggage is gone. He sighs and makes the trip to his closet, hoping to find a sticky note but knowing there won't be any.

He cracks open the cabinets and helps himself to a serving of whiskey he finds in the lower cupboard. It won't do him any harm if he gets a head start on his friends. It's not like he has to worry about waking up the next day anyway. He does the irresponsible and tries to drown his upset with alcohol.

The bottle is almost empty, and he drains it with two shots. Well, there's no point getting wasted before the fun begins, anyway.

-

The celebration had probably been a blast. Probably, being the key word because he can't remember anything about it. His memory is shaky after his fifth shot of whiskey.

He vaguely remembers green onions in his ramen and too much soya sauce.

-

When he gets home, vision swimming in his eyes and head spinning like a top, he takes to the sofa. He can still hear his voice of reasoning, a shaky whisper of something reprimanding and maybe a lot of self disgust. He really doesn't need that right now, so he peels open the cabinets and drawers, looking for more alcohol to subdue that stubborn spark in his mind until he hits upon a six-pack of beer.

It'll have to do.

-

He downs his fourth can of beer, not giving a damn in the world. His vision is swirling, and his head is buzzing heavily. He feels warm all over and doesn't think he needs the heater tonight. He flips through the television and sees one of Oikawa's stupid alien documentaries playing on screen.

He watches it without reason, giggling hysterically when the screen brings out footage of UFOs and when he counts the number of strands of hair the specialist has. He falls asleep with hushed giggles and hiccups dying on his lips, the faint glow of the television painting him in soft lighting.

---

Iwaizumi wakes up when the television gets too loud, voices digging a hole right through his brain. He groans, fitting an arm over and around his head, as his mind continues to rocket back and forth inside his skull. The hangover is driving skewers into his head, and the television isn't making things easier.

He feels around the floor for the remote, head still firmly planted onto the armrest. After five minutes of feeling around and having his finger tips brush over the most disgusting things ever, Iwaizumi gives up. He sits up a little too fast, and the room spins around in rapid circles. He groans and clutches at his head, finds the remote under his own ass before he moves to turn off the television.

The screen catches his eyes and even though the colours and lights are making his eyes bleed metaphorically, the red headers are not mistaken.

The 'Breaking News' flash on the screen and below the header, there's live footage of an aeroplane going up in flames on the Narita run way. He can hear the crackling of the flames from the footage, and he can hear the metal of the plane creak as it caves and folds into halves.

His mouth goes dry - even drier than when he woke up - as he catches the tail of the plane and the unmistakable Japan Airlines logo. His heart sinks impossibly low, and he reaches out, fumbling for his cell phone, brain ringing with an almost forgotten memory laced together with words that sound like breaking ceramics.

He calls Oikawa on his cell but doesn't get through. Oikawa's voicemail comes on, happy and bright. He hangs up and thumbs through his email and texts - looking for messages from Oikawa or news from Hanamaki or Matsukawa. When he finds nothing, he feels his throat burn with the bitterness of stomach acids.

-

Iwaizumi has literally never moved so fast in his life as he quickly changes out of his bedraggled clothes. He fumbles with the buttons and makes too much of a haste, consequently aligning them wrongly. He lets out a hoarse cry of desperation as he wrenches the buttons free and redoes them.

He downs two pills of aspirin and a cup of tap water before jerking his coat off the coat hanger. He uses too much force and the entire coat hanger topples over sending hats and coats sprawling across the floor. Iwaizumi lets out a string of curses, attempting to put things back together before deciding that he actually really can't be bothered right now before kicking them aside and making a dive for the shoe rack.

He slips on the first pair he finds and takes off for the stairs. Looks be damned as he catches his reflection off the glass panel on the doors to the stairwells - his hair is sticking up in more directions than usual and his fringe is flattened upwards in a fight against gravity. There's a darkened oval around his forehead where he had pressed against his forearm while asleep.

-

The snow crunches loudly under his shoes as he races across the streets. He feels his legs slip over ice a few times and has to reach out to the lamp posts to steady himself. His breathe comes in short wheezes, and he feels like puking - it's probably fifty percent the alcohol's undoing and fifty percent a result of his rising panic.

It takes a while, but he makes it to the office building. The cold sneaks up on him and crawls between the gaps in his clothes to settle snuggly onto his skin like a second layer. He's shivering when he flies in through the double doors, and his teeth clatter noisily as he waits for the elevator. He uses the time to catch his breath, and when he sees his own reflection on the elevator doors, he reaches out and tries his best to tame his lion hair.

He thinks of Oikawa's fingers gently threading through his short hair, fingers pressing lightly against his scalp in the most tender way Iwaizumi never expects. He feels the vomit climb a notch higher in his digestive tract.

When the elevator doors open and he scans his card at the entry way, he's greeted by a flurry of movement as his colleagues walk to and fro, carrying stacks of papers and talking into the headsets. It smells like fresh ink and printer-warmed papers.

The first person he finds is Matsukawa, not because Hanamaki is any lesser of a friends but because he knows where Matsukawa would be whenever panic strikes. And the fact that he's never been to the Designing departments.

No one operates a printer with as much efficiency as Matsukawa does.

His intuition isn't wrong when he finds Matsukawa running all six printers alone in the printing room. There's the sound of paper churning out and settling on the collection tray. The paper pungency is strongest here.

"Matsukawa," Iwaizumi starts. His head is feeling incredibly heavy, and he feels his own heartbeat in his mouth.

Matsukawa looks up from the printer, he frowns before glancing back and pressing a few buttons. He bundles up a whole stack of paper and ties them up neatly. Picking up the bundles, Matsukawa bustles right past him and heads for the doorway, unloading them by his feet and calling Yahaba over.

"What are you doing here?" Matsukawa asks as he unloads another printer. One of them noisily beeps in the corner, and he motions at Iwaizumi. "Can you load in some more paper?"

His motions are almost mechanical, and Iwaizumi watches as Matsukawa rotates around the printers like clockwork. Iwaizumi slides in a whole stack of paper, and the printer churns to life, printing out more copies.

"Matsukawa," Iwaizumi says again.

"Not now, Iwaizumi."

He stands around stupidly, unsure what to do with his hands. It feels oddly unwelcoming in the department even though he had been part of the team until just yesterday. It's not that the people were unkind and foreign - it's just that he had spent so many years as part of the panic. Now, as he stands around and observes the panic take reign in his office, it feels borderline surreal.

He watches as Matsukawa flits around the room, the heater is working, and he can see Matsukawa work up a sweat. The clock on the wall is a constant reminder of the time slipping through his fingers and anxiety makes him impatient. He hadn't raced out of his home just to get pushed into a corner and forgotten about. So when Matsukawa passes close by, Iwaizumi reaches out and grabs his friend by the wrist. He feels his friend tug for release, but Iwaizumi grips harder, blunt nails digging into tanned flesh.

Matsukawa whips around, expression clearly pissed.

"Hey, look-"

"Matsukawa, please," Iwaizumi says around an accidental sob. He didn't intend to break in front of his friend but the desperation is destroying him from inside and its making him lose his calm.

"Oikawa is an air steward," he sobs, and understanding settles on Matsukawa's features.

Iwaizumi doesn't really know what happens, but he's being exchanged from hands to hands as people lead him around and away from the havoc orchestrating in his former office. The last person to receive him is Kindaichi, and he's being led to his new office. Polished door and his name on a golden plate. He feels sick - this is what he gave up Oikawa for, a posh isolated room with his name in fancies.

Kindaichi leaves swiftly, and Iwaizumi is left to his own thoughts. He lets them infest his mind with a cloud of foreboding negativity until a firm knock rattles his door.

Ushijima enters.

He whips around and grabs Ushijima without thinking, so many questions hanging off the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth and before he can say anything, he vomits all over the man, watching as his undigested dinner and leftover alcohol take form on Ushijima's shirt.

-

"I'm so sorry," Iwaizumi says for the umpteenth time, feeling himself go faint. He watches as Ushijima takes another tissue from the holder and dabs at his soiled shirt. If he's pissed, he does a good job of not showing it. Iwaizumi doesn't know how he'll ever live, working with this man just next door, with the memory of him barfing all over his colleague.

"It's okay," Ushijima says. It doesn't look okay, and Ushijima doesn't look forgiving either. But then the catalogue of his expressions is probably just one-paged.

"I... I...? Water? I mean I-Should I- Do you want-" Ushijima silences him with a piercing gaze, and Iwaizumi shivers. "Sorry, I-"

"Iwaizumi."

He looks down in defeat, scuffing his shoes on the linoleum flooring. He feels his own heart sink, the internal need to just curl up and give up is so strong. He should've just stayed a hermit at home. Indulge in a tub of ice cream, letting himself wallow in all the chances he gave up on without even trying.

Iwaizumi jumps when he feels a huge hand fall on his shoulder.

"Matsukawa said you were having a crisis. He said you needed the casualty list of the flight."

Iwaizumi nods dumbly, thanking his lucky stars for Matsukawa. Ushijima procures a folded list from within his coat pockets and hands it to Iwaizumi. He takes it with shaking hands, lump going so high in his throat, forgetting how to breathe.

"The list is actually on hold for release but I can make exceptions," Ushijima says, offering a genuine apologetic smile. "This is the updated list as of ten minutes ago. I'll keep you posted whenever a new name turns up just in case."

Iwaizumi is so thankful, after all these years of blindly fearing the big man, Iwaizumi has never felt so in debt and so grateful for Ushijima's presence. There really is something that everyone has underestimated in him.

"Thank you," he says weakly. His voice betrays how faint he feels, and the stupid alcoholic haze is still clouding his ability to say anything more.

Ushijima pats him on the shoulder awkwardly, ushering him out of his office and out the building. Iwaizumi follows numbly, not even sure what's happening until a cab is hailed and Ushijima pays with a ¥5000 bill.

The taxi ride home is an emotional wreck, and he allows the emotional dam some breakage as the hot tears of frustration start running down his face. The driver glances at him from the mirror, but Iwaizumi can't find it in him to care. He clutches the name list to his hand, allowing the hot tears of relief to spill when he doesn't find Oikawa's name on it. He doesn't hold his stakes too high though. Because the wreckage is still burning and there are people still unaccounted for.

When he gets home, he heads for Oikawa's room on impulse. It hits him that he's never really been in Oikawa's quarters and he wished he had. The ceilings are studded with glow-in-the-dark stars that curl in patterns similar to the Milky Way. There are Styrofoam planets and stars that hang over the desk on thin nylon string; Oikawa's very own solar system. And a little to the side, he finds a paper plane hanging over his desk by a thread; he recognises his handwriting and his welcome home note. He hadn't known Oikawa had kept it.

The shelves show a row of galactic encyclopaedias, picture glossaries of the Big Bang, romance novels Iwaizumi didn't know Oikawa reads, and air stewarding manuals. The Time Traveler's Wife is on the bedside. He finds a folder of certificates with Oikawa's name, stuffed into the corner of his desk, endless shows of outstanding services and then certificates that date back from high school. Outstanding academic achievement, an all-rounder's award, a best setter award.

It pains Iwaizumi how much he didn't know about Oikawa, how much he still had to learn about the moron. He takes to the bed, making himself as small as he possibly can on the star-spangled duvet and pulls a pillow to his chest, inhaling Oikawa's scent.

It feels so incredibly lonely in the little universe Oikawa's made for himself, and Iwaizumi wonders if this is why he finds him in his bed all the time. He curls up tighter into himself, letting the stars take him.

---

Iwaizumi hears the keys jingling, and he thinks it must be some cruel game played by destiny - a cold joke of nature. But then he hears the lock turn and the gears tumbling back into position. His heart leaps to his mouth as he jumps off the bed and skids to the front door, slipping slightly as the welcome mat slides across the flooring.

He yanks on the handle as it dips down, and pulls with all his might.

The next few seconds happen in a flurry as Oikawa, body carried forward by momentum, stumbles inwards and collides into Iwaizumi right as his knees buckle, and they fall in a heap onto the floor.

"Wha-?" Oikawa gasps, wind knocked out of his lungs, and Iwaizumi gasps as he feels the full weight pressing in on him.

Iwaizumi is rewarded with a mouthful of Oikawa's brown tuft as the latter struggles to get up, but Iwaizumi wraps his arms around the other's slim waist, keeping him there.

He takes a deep breath and smells the cinnamon in Oikawa's hair and the jasmine and pomegranate in his cologne. It's a scent he's unwittingly fallen in love with - nothing smells more like home and welcome.

"Iwa-chan...?"

Iwaizumi grips tighter, and the lump in his throat breaks to give way to a fresh flood of relief.

"Oh my god," he breathes. His heart is doing somersaults in his chest, and he swears he'll do it right this time. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest spirals into something heartwarming instead, and he wants to pull Oikawa closer.

"Iwa-chan, are you okay?"

"I thought I lost you," he rasps. The reality of it scares him - how close he had been to losing his idiot. He feels tears squeeze out from the corner of his eyes.

"Iwa-chan, are you crying?" Oikawa says, voice betraying a hint of concern.

He looks down and takes in Oikawa, who's staring up at him with big brown eyes. The stiff material of Oikawa's suit jacket crumples under his arms, he's so glad at how immensely real everything feels.

"I thought I lost you," he repeats, voice gruff with unshed tears.

Oikawa's eyebrows furrow in confusion before understanding settles in.

"Oh," he says. Oikawa doesn't move, instead he settles against Iwaizumi, resting snug against the broad chest and just breathes him in.

Iwaizumi's heart ruts against his rib cage in the most welcoming way, he had missed the fluttery feeling, and Iwaizumi allows himself to break out of character to thread his huge palms through the crests of Oikawa's hair.

"I wasn't on that flight," Oikawa hums after awhile. He burrows his face against Iwaizumi's chest, melting against him and leaning into his touch.

"You didn't leave a memo," Iwaizumi breathes. Not that it really matters now because Oikawa is safe, he's in his arms and now, and that's all he really cares about.

Oikawa pulls off of him and Iwaizumi briefly misses the warmth, wonders if he could chase it back with his arms still curled around Oikawa's waist. The latter sits on his lap, a dead weight yet somehow fairy light. He bites his lower lip in contemplation, a hint of anxiety contorting his face into a mix of tight lines.

"I didn't think you cared," he whispers, flinging the truth out there. And Iwaizumi finds that he can't really blame Oikawa for that - he had been particularly rough and hard to handle, like a rocking tide of the sea. But Iwaizumi wants this - wants him - so badly, he's willing to walk through the storms with Oikawa. They'll have to learn each other - memorise habits and quirks and make leeways for some insufferable mannerisms, but Iwaizumi is willing.

He loves Oikawa - doesn't like men but loves Oikawa. It doesn't really make sense, but he feels himself smile with satisfaction. The reasoning is enough for him.

Iwaizumi pulls himself out from under Oikawa, plants himself so they're just sitting opposite and he reaches out, taking Oikawa's face in his hands. There's a need to plant his lips all over Oikawa's face, to tuck Oikawa's head neatly under his own, but there are things that are more important than that. Some things he has to clear first.

"I'm sorry," Iwaizumi whispers quietly. He moves a hand to tuck away a stray hair over Oikawa's eyes and then pulls Oikawa down to his level, locking their foreheads against each other. "I'm so sorry."

Oikawa glances away, fingers fiddling with the fancy Japan Airlines cufflinks. He looks up and lowers his gaze again, mouth barely moving as his words come out in a soft audible puff.

"Please don't leave me too."

Iwaizumi doesn't really know why Oikawa would think something like that - as if the months they had spent together didn't hint at something possibly larger. But the 'too' betrays something a little deeper, an indulgent hurt lodged somewhere in Oikawa's covert history. Like a cosmic alignment of the planets, a skeletal framework of understanding falls into place - something to do with closed doors, being left behind and never having friends. Iwaizumi vows to learn these fragments in their own time; promises to build new monuments in their places.

He scoots a little closer, pulling Oikawa into a tight embrace, running his hand over the curve of his back. He lets Oikawa settle against the crook of his neck.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. Oikawa doesn't move, but Iwaizumi swears he hears a ghost of a gratitude, a 'thank you' waltzing around in the silence that envelopes them both.

---

The kitchen smells too much like chopped onions and that jar of sauce they accidentally spilled on the floor. The sink is cluttered with utensils and a box of expired yeast is in the bin. One year ago, he had been balancing his accounts and making sure the numbers didn't fall into the negatives.

He's kind of glad he made that miscalculation.

It's been months now, ever since the incident with the airplane, and Iwaizumi thinks he's finally made peace with every turmoil that rumbled inside of him. He looks at Oikawa over the counter and watches as he slides in the tin tray laden with the long overdue pizza. He goes over.

"Now, we just have to wait for twenty minutes," Oikawa says. Glancing a little over his shoulder as he turns the knob and sets the timer. He stands up and dusts his hands, scattering flour powder, and Iwaizumi smiles when he finds a smear of sauce over Oikawa's right cheek.

Oikawa grins at him before he picks up the rolling pin."Well, we should clean this up before the pizza is done."

"Uh huh," he says, disinterestedly. He picks at an eggshell on the counter and tosses it into the bin. It cracks unceremoniously on the rim before falling off the side. Oikawa clicks his tongue at him before dumping the rest of the stray utensils into the sink.

"Move over," Oikawa says lightly when he reaches over for the sponges on the drying rack just behind him. And Iwaizumi likes the way Oikawa presses in against him. He uses this leverage to his advantage.

He grabs Oikawa's arm and spins him around, pinning him against the counter, arms caging the taller man in. Oikawa blinks at him in stupor, eyes spinning a little from the sudden motion.

"Wha-"

Iwaizumi presses a finger to his lips. The clock in the living room is incredibly loud, the second hand ticking away and the timer clicking as the seconds whittled away. The pizza is baking. Outside, the flowers are waiting to bloom; spring's reticence.

Oikawa's eyes are wide when Iwaizumi removes his finger and reaches for the tissue to wipe off the sauce stain - Iwaizumi strangely gentle as he works the rough of the tissue over smooth skin.

"Iwa-chan-?"

Oikawa gives him a searching look, lower lip pinched between his teeth. Iwaizumi crowds in on Oikawa's personal space, feeling the heat radiating off him, and the ghost of a breath on his skin as he peers into the latter's face.

"Go out with me," Iwaizumi whispers.

Oikawa looks surprised and almost embarrassed. He takes one of Oikawa's hand in his, soft and cold, and flour under the nails. Like how he remembers them and more - something that spells a little like forever.

Oikawa blinks, surprised.

Iwaizumi breathes him in. "What do you say?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Oikawa whispers, sounding a little afraid and a little wistful. "But people do say I'm a handful so-"

Iwaizumi cuts him off. "They're not wrong about the 'handful' part," Iwaizumi says mirthfully. He presses Oikawa's flour dusted fingers to his lips planting soft butterfly kisses on them. "But I have thought about it for a long time now and I do know what I want. The question doesn't lie with me anymore. I only need your answer."

Oikawa breathes heavily but doesn't say anything. His cheeks are turning a lurid shade of red. Iwaizumi thinks it's adorable.

"Will you go out with me?" He tries again.

Oikawa nods slowly, body trembling with overwhelming joy.

"Can I kiss you?" Iwaizumi asks. Oikawa nods again, mouth parting slightly to say something else.

Iwaizumi smiles, doesn't give him time to reply. He leans in and slots their mouth together in probably the most emotional kiss he has ever given, lips sliding against each other, teeth knocking lightly. His free hand goes up and cups Oikawa's face, thumb caressing the smooth curve of his cheek. Oikawa makes a noise in the back of his throat, a soft whine of happiness.

Iwaizumi thinks he can get used to this.