Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oikawa Tooru isn't stupid; he knows that being a male alpha allows certain privileges. Overt gender discrimination for both primary and secondary sexes might be dying out, but it undeniably still exists. Men are more likely to get promoted to positions of leadership over their female counterparts, and alphas are still expected to provide for their omegas, who, in turn, are usually delegated to be homekeepers and stay-at-home parents. Being seen as a good-looking alpha male means that many doors that others had to knock down, open automatically for Tooru. 

He's not blind to his privilege. 

He's also not blind to the resentment it brings. There will always be people who whisper behind his back that he only got that far because he's an alpha; that he's only successful on the court, in his studies, in charming the fairer sex, etc., because he's an alpha. Whatever the current topic of irritation amongst his anti-fans, his success is always attributed to his secondary sex. 

The conclusion makes sense. Surely his ability to excel has nothing to do with all the hard work he puts in — the years spent pushing his body to and past its limits, the late nights with his head buried in a book, the effort in acting courteous and remembering the little details about his classmates that make them feel seen and understood. No, surely all of those things are of little consequence and take a back seat to his biology. That makes more sense — after all, if he succeeds because he's an alpha, then it's not really him succeeding, right? It's just the natural order of things; nothing to be impressed by.

Here's the thing, though — he's not an alpha. He's not even a beta. 

The damn hypocrisy of it all, when some useless asshole sneers behind his back that he's only special because he's an alpha, makes Tooru want to laugh in their face. It makes him want to taunt them, to show them that he's the exact opposite of what they assume of him, that he's a fucking omega, and he still beats them at everything. 

Tooru wants to push them over, kick them while they're down, and spit on them — literally and emotionally. He wants to scream that he works harder than any of them, and it doesn't fucking matter what hormones flow through him because no matter what he is, he'll come out on top. He wants to let out every bitter, ugly part of his nature to humiliate anyone who dares even imply that he doesn't deserve everything he has. 

He's spent too long climbing, leaving his muscles sore and palms bloody, to accept anything but the view from the zenith. 

However, he has enough self-control not to do any of those things, despite how satisfying it would be to watch the self-satisfaction slip away from people's faces. Tooru might have a rotten personality, but he also has enough foresight to keep himself from being tempted into ruining everything by something so petty as a bit of jealousy. 

To lie was never his intention. Honestly, to call it a lie is unfair — it's the rest of the world making inaccurate assumptions. People take a single glance at his tall frame and accomplishments and assume that he must be an alpha.

Tooru doesn't lie; he just doesn't bother correcting people. What business is it of anyone else's if he's actually an omega? 

Tooru is nine, and it is the first time that the importance of secondary genders hits him. Like a stray ball smacking him in the back of the head, it's sudden and out of nowhere and leaves him with far more questions than it answers.

It's the first year that his and Iwaizumi's parents have agreed that they're old enough to walk home on their own together, something that Tooru has taken great pleasure in. Iwaizumi, slightly less so, but that's to be expected given the boys' natural demeanors; Tooru has always been excitable enough for the two of them. 

It happens on an otherwise completely ordinary Thursday. As usual, the two boys walk home together, and as usual, that walk turns into an argument. This time, it's about who gets to pick the movie for their weekly sleepover that weekend. 

"It's my turn!" Iwaizumi insists. "You picked last time!"

"That was two weeks ago," Tooru reminds him. "Your turn was last week, and now it's my turn."

"I went to visit my grandmother last week, and we didn't have a sleepover, though."

Tooru just shrugs, utterly unmoved. "That's not my fault. If anything, it should be your responsibility to make it up to me!"

"But you always just want to watch some stupid alien movie."

"They're not stupid!"

"Yes, they are!"

"You're stupid!"

"Take that back!"

The fight devolves from there, the two of them throwing insults back and forth. The conversation flows easily, not even pausing when they have to cross the street and Tooru grabs Iwaizumi's hand like their moms told them to. Easily embarrassed, Iwaizumi goes a little red when he does it, but doesn't allow that to keep him from calling Tooru a 'sci-fi obsessed weirdo.'

Eventually, they reach their street, and Tooru starts his customary whining, insisting that Iwaizumi walk him to his door, even though to get to the Oikawa's, they have to pass Iwaizumi's. There's only a handful of houses between them, though, so it's not like it would take more than a minute or two for Iwaizumi to circle back to his own house. 

"This is so stupid," Iwaizumi grumbles as Tooru pulls him past his front door and further down the street. "You'd only be on your own for like a minute."

"A minute too long! What if I got kidnapped?" Tooru asks with an exaggerated gasp.

"Don't worry; they'd get annoyed and return you before the end of the day."

"So mean!"

Despite Iwaizumi's complaints, he gives no real resistance to being tugged all the way to Tooru's house; he's too used to it at this point. Eventually, the pair say their goodbyes, and Tooru lets himself into his home, head full of thoughts of Iwaizumi and how he might be able to convince him to finally watch Alien: Resurrection. It was the only one of the franchise that the boys hadn't seen yet, and with the Alien Vs. Predator coming out in just a few short months, they needed to be caught up. Maybe if he was lucky, Tooru would be able to manage to guilt Iwaizumi into an entire marathon.

However, Tooru's train of thought is derailed when he enters their living room and spots his sister sitting at the dining room table next to a girl he's never seen before. While excited to see Tomoyo at home from university, he's also confused. It's not a holiday, and while his older sister occasionally visits during the school year, it's rarely by surprise and never on weekdays. 

The tone of the room doesn't feel like it usually does, either. It's strangely serious — none of the joviality that he's used to in their home. Unrepresented, Tooru's sense of smell isn't as keen as an adult alpha or omega. Even he can catch the tension in the pheromones, though, the usual soft scents of his family turning rotten with worry. The new girl — the one Tooru has never seen before — is the worst. The unfamiliar smell of unripe peaches, sour and acrid, fills the air, standing apart from his family's scents. 

"Oh, hey, kiddo," Tomoyo says when she spots Tooru in the foyer. "Come meet Momo."

Tooru steps forward cautiously, eyeing the girl sitting beside his sister. She looks about the same age as Tomoyo, with shoulder length dyed-pink hair and wide eyes that are a little red-rimmed — as if she's been crying. 

"Is this your friend?" Tooru asks, glancing around the room. Even at nine, he's pretty good at reading the room and he can tell he walked in on something uncomfortable. He doesn't have enough experience in these types of situations to be able to understand why yet, let alone how to fix things. 

Momo tucks some hair behind one ear and Tooru spots a few dots scaling her ears up to the cartilage — places where earrings have recently been taken out. She's dressed nicely, in a light blue dress and cardigan. She keeps smoothing her hands over the dress, though, fiddling with the fabric, and Tooru wonders if it's new — if she tried to make herself more presentable to their parents than how she usually dresses. Tooru understands why she might want to dress up to impress people, but he also thinks it's pointless — their parents have never really cared how someone dresses; it's more about how they act. It's why Tooru still gets in trouble when he acts like a brat, even though he's so cute. 

"No," Tomoyo says before reaching out to grab Momo's hand. "Or yes, she is my friend — my best friend — but she's also more than that. She's my mate."

"But you're not married," he says, confused and surprised enough to let the words come out unfiltered. Though he's usually pretty good at thinking before he speaks, he's still young, and at this age, the only mated people he knows are the parents of his friends. He's never met someone who was mated but unmarried.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Momo flinches, as if he'd hit her and not just stated a fact. It makes him feel guilty about it, even though he doesn't know why she's upset. The situation is too new for him to dissect with any sort of accuracy. 

"We're not married yet," Tomoyo confirms, the knuckles of the hand she's holding Momo's with going white. "But we will be soon and… and we're going to be having a baby." 

That statement is even more confusing — he's old enough to know a little bit about how babies are born (The whole "making" of them will still be a nebulous, confusing thing for another two years until his dad sits him and Iwaizumi down and explains the whole thing to both boys' mortification. Apparently, Iwaizumi's dad was too shy to do it and Tooru's dad was more than happy to fill the role for both. Tooru's desire to tease until the point of humiliation came from somewhere, after all.). However, Tooru doesn't get how his sister and Momo could already know that they're going to have a baby before they're even married. Tooru doesn't point this out, though, because Momo's eyes have gotten glassy and he's afraid of making her cry again. 

"Congratulations," Tooru says instead, a wide smile on his face. This also seems to be the wrong thing to say because Momo responds by immediately bursting into tears at the words.

"I'm so sorry," she says, standing up and doing her best to wipe away the tears on her face. "May I use your restroom?"

"Of course," their mom says at the same time his sister stands from her chair as well.

"I'll show you where it is."

The pair go together, leaving Tooru in the dining room with his parents. The room is quiet in the wake of the girls, leaving Tooru feeling untethered and strangely awkward in his own home. 

"Why don't you go play in your room?" his mom asks.

Tooru takes the out, not wanting to be part of the tense atmosphere any longer. It's only once he's gotten to his room that he realizes he's thirsty from the walk home and has to go all the way back downstairs to get some water. 

His footsteps must be lighter than normal, or his parents are too preoccupied with their conversation to pay attention to anything else because they don't seem to notice him approaching. 

"I wasn't supportive enough," his mom is saying. Her voice is tight in the way it only ever is when she's holding back tears. It's a voice Tooru has only heard when they're watching movies where an animal dies or when his mom gets off the phone with her own dad — a man Tooru has only met once and is fine to never meet again.

"You were surprised," Tooru's dad says, calm and reassuring. "We both were."

"Still, I should have said something. I shouldn't have sat there in silence. She was obviously so scared, and I just — she must be so hurt."

"Tooru walked in almost as soon as they told us. You didn't have time."

"I didn't even say congratulations."

"We'll tell them when they come out."

Tooru decides that he can wait on the water. On his way back to his room though, he overhears another conversation — this one muffled by the bathroom door. 

"They're not mad at you," Tomoyo is saying. She reminds Tooru of the way his dad was just comforting their mom. It's kind of weird how adult Tomoyo suddenly sounds as if just last year, she wasn't calling their parents in a panic because she burned her dinner and didn't know how to get the fire alarm to turn off.

"They think I'm ruining your life," Momo says in return. Her voice is surprisingly firm despite her sniffles. "That I'm just some stupid omega who let herself get knocked—"

"No," Tomoyo says, just as firm. "They'd never think that. They're… not like your parents. They were just surprised. Trust me, they just need time to adjust."

"But maybe I am," Momo says. "You're an alpha — you don't need to be trapped—"

"I'm not trapped," Tomoyo interrupts. "I am a part of this just as much as you are. Besides, I love you, so how could staying with you possibly ruin anything?"

"You're too responsible."

That startles a laugh out of Tomoyo.

"I'm really not — ask anyone. If I were, you'd be meeting my parents on Christmas like we planned and no one would be crying. I'm not doing this because I feel responsible. I'm doing it because I love you, which means I want to be with you every step of the way."

There's a moment of sniffling before Momo responds.

"You're right," she says, her voice lighter than it was a second ago, though still a bit choked up sounding. "You're not responsible at all. I can't even rely on you to remember to buy coffee, and I'm pretty sure it makes up half of your blood at this point."

"Exactly!"

There's some soft laughter behind the door, at which point Tooru leaves this conversation as well, going and shutting himself back into his room. He opens up his notebooks and stares down at his homework.

An hour later, when his dad calls him down for dinner, he finds the four of them at the dining table again. This time, the air is much more relaxed. Something must have happened while he was in his room because Momo seems much more at ease now than she was when Tooru last saw her. Her eyes are still red, but at least they're dry now. 

They have take out for dinner, even though they usually only eat take out on weekends or the occasional Monday when their parents are just too tired from work to cook. Their dad mentions finding Tomoyo's baby album to show Momo and their mom asks if Momo wants to look through their attic for any baby clothes she might have saved. 

Tooru, not wanting to make anyone upset, doesn't comment about anything being out of the ordinary.

That night, Tooru lies in bed, looking at the ceiling and thinking about everything that happened since he got home. 

It must be terrible to have to rely on people like that, he thinks. I'm so glad I'm not an omega. That will never be me.

While no one explicitly tells Tooru to keep the whole situation a secret, based on the number of tears last night, he thinks that he probably shouldn’t tell everyone. He figures Iwaizumi is safe, though — he doesn’t keep secrets from his best friend. Other than the ones for Iwaizumi's own good, like the fact that Hanami from class 3 said that Iwaizumi seems mean and scary — which is true, but only Tooru is allowed to say that. Anyone else saying such things about Iwaizumi counts as bullying, and Tooru won't stand for it. 

“My sister is getting married,” Tooru tells Iwaizumi once they're finally on their way home together. He's been bursting at the seems to tell someone, mostly because he isn't sure how he feels about the whole thing, and maybe saying it out loud will help him figure it out.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Yeah. They’re having a baby too.” 

“You’re going to be an uncle!" Iwaizumi says, uncommon excitment coloring his tone. "That’s so grown up!”

"I am!" Tooru agrees, suddenly excited by the idea. He hadn't thought about it like that before, but now that Iwaizumi pointed it out, he realizes that he quite likes the idea of being an uncle. It makes him feel mature and incredibly cool. He only has one uncle, his mother’s brother, and Uncle Takahiro is great. 

"When are they getting married? When is the baby coming?"

"I don't know," Tooru admits. He didn't ask more last night, afraid of upsetting anyone. "I think they're getting married before the baby comes, though, so I guess it's soon."

"That's so cool."

There's a short lapse in the conversation as they pause at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to tell them they can walk. When the light finally turns, Iwaizumi grabs Tooru's hand automatically, pulling him across the street.

"You don't think it's weird?" Tooru asks, staring at their linked hands.

"What's weird?" Iwaizumi asks, glancing back at them.

"I mean, they're already mated and having a baby, but they aren't married yet."

"So?" 

"Well, people don't usually do that until after they're married. I was listening to them, and it seems like Momo-chan — that's the girl my sister is marrying — it seems like her parents are pretty mad about it. It seems like... I don't know, like they think she's being a bad omega or something."

Iwaizumi just shrugs at that.

"It sounds like her parents are jerks."

Iwaizumi's response is so straightforward, just like him, and it untangles that little knot of uncertainty that has lingered with Tooru since yesterday afternoon.

"You're right," Tooru agrees. If Iwaizumi thinks it's exciting, then it must be. “Who needs stupid parents like that? The baby will get all their love from their Uncle Tooru-chan and Uncle Iwa-chan!”

“You’re not getting the new baby to call me by that stupid nickname,” Iwaizumi complains.

“That’s right, only I can call Iwa-chan that!” Tooru preens. “So, sleepover at my house tonight? Onee-chan wants to say hi before they leave today."

Tooru doesn't even notice that their hands are still clasped until they get to his door, and Iwaizumi has to let go for them to take off their shoes. When he does, Tooru finds himself missing his friend's warmth just a little. The feeling is quickly forgotten as Tomoyo comes to greet them. 

Tooru doesn't think about it again until later that night. They're watching Alien — Tooru having worn Iwaizumi down and convinced him to just binge the whole franchise — and Tooru is doing his best to pretend like he isn't trying to hide behind Iwaizumi's shoulder. He loves science fiction but somehow seems to have forgotten that the horror parts of the film still scare the shit out of him. 

"You're such a baby," Iwaizumi complains, but he takes his hand anyway and squeezes it. 

The warmth of the other boy's palm against his own is comforting. It feels right and safe like not even a speeding car could hurt them. Iwaizumi’s soft scent — like pine trees after it rains — blankets Tooru, wrapping around him as securely as a hug.

Suddenly, the movie doesn't seem scary at all to him. How could anything go wrong with his Iwa-chan at his side? Nothing could be frightening when they're together.

That is until the Xenomorph pops out two minutes later and both boys scream so loudly that Tooru's mom comes in and threatens to turn it off. 

When he's born, Takeru is much smaller than Tooru thought possible. Tooru feels like he can hold the baby with a single hand; he doesn't, obviously because Takeru is a baby and needs to be handled gently, but he still feels that way. Takeru might be small, but his stature seems to have no effect on his lungs, and he fills every room with cries or shrieks of laughter. 

According to the adults, Tooru was louder as a baby, but Tooru is pretty sure they’re just teasing him. They also claim that Tooru cried almost non-stop as a baby, other than when Iwaizumi came over to play, which Tooru suspects there might be some truth to. 

Playing Uncle with Takeru is surprisingly fun. Tooru drags Iwaizumi over with him, taking turns carefully holding the baby while Momo or Tomoyo watches them. Maybe it’s just because Takeru is Tooru’s actual nephew, but he enjoys babysitting more. Takeru's size and propensity toward whaling seem to intimidate Iwaizumi, making him tense up with anxiety whenever it's his turn to hold Takeru. Tooru finds it unbearably charming — something that he'll never tell his best friend.

Dozens of photos are taken of the two young boys carefully cradling the newborn. 

“You two are so damn cute together!” Tomoyo comments on more than one occasion. “Ugh, seeing you with Takeru just makes me wanna bite all of your cheeks off! Who allowed this? Who let it be legal to be this cute?”

“I’m always cute!” Tooru replies, snuggling Takeru against his chest. “I have to make up for Iwa-chan’s gorilla looks somehow!”

“Why you—“ Iwaizumi starts, looking like he wants to hit him, but hesitating and glancing at Takeru. 

Unlike most other rules, the boys take the rule of no ruff housing while around the baby seriously. Tooru only occasionally uses it to his advantage. Like, only a few times per visit.

“You’re so full of yourself,” Iwaizumi says instead, crossing his arms and sitting back down. "You act like you're so amazing."

“You don’t think I’m cute?” Tooru asks. It’s meant to be said teasingly (how could Iwaizumi consider him anything else?), but the sudden idea that Iwaizumi might actually not think of Tooru as the cutest thing in the world has never occurred to him before and now that it has, he finds he absolutely hates it. Who could possibly beat Tooru? Who could Iwaizumi like more than his best friend?

“That’s not what — wait, are you crying?” 

“No!” Tooru snaps, trying to wipe his eyes on his shoulder with only marginal success. 

“God, you’re such a crybaby.”

“I am not!” And usually, he’s not — not anymore, at least. He’s eleven and an uncle; he should be over this now. "You're just being mean!"

"You were mean first!"

"Was not!"

"Was, too!"

"Okay," Tomoyo cuts in. "Why don't I take Takeru? You two can go play outside. It seems like a lot of excess energy needs to be burned off."

“Iwa-chan is so mean,” Tooru complains later. They're in the kitchen now, Tooru helping his sister wash baby bottles, ensuring they're spotless and utterly devoid of leftover soap.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Tomoyo teases, handing over a bottle for Tooru to dry.

“Well, someone has to,” Tooru tells her with an eye roll. “Otherwise, a big bully like him wouldn't have any friends.”

It’s not true, and they both know it. Other kids flock to Iwaizumi in a way that Tooru has always envied. Sure, kids have crushes on Tooru and adults think he’s just the cutest, but it’s different with Iwaizumi. With him, there’s a genuineness to the admiration; people like Iwaizumi for more than just what he shows on the outside. Unlike Tooru, Iwaizumi is always earnest and honest, showing a hundred percent of himself, and everyone loves him for it.

If Tooru did that, he's pretty sure Iwaizumi would be his only friend left.

“You’re so cute together,” Tomoyo repeats. “I know you like teasing each other, but remember not to take it too far if you want him to stay by your side.”

"Iwa-chan will never leave my side," Tooru says with a scowl, disliking the insinuation that they could ever be separated. "He's my best friend."

"Still. Just remember, even if he's your best friend and doesn't mind being teased, I'm sure he'll appreciate it if you go out of your way to be nice to him, too."

Tooru considers the words, rolling them around in his mind. He thinks of their parents, of how much they like to tease each other to the point of exasperation, but also how delighted they get when one of them gives a genuine gift or compliment. He thinks of the fond smiles Momo gives when Tomoyo is needling her and the delighted laughs when Tomoyo tells her that she loves her. 

"Maybe I'll let him borrow my Tamogachi," Tooru says after a minute of consideration. "Maybe."

"So cute!" Tomoyo laughs. "Honestly, you're just the sweetest things together."

Together. Tooru finds that he likes that the two of them aren't just cute, but they're cute together. 

It would be nice, Tooru decides, if the two of them can always be together.

“I’m sure Momo is going to be excited,” Tomoyo comments on their way back from the doctor. “Finally, another omega in the family!”

He wishes he was at home already or that it was his mom to take him to the doctor, not his older sister. Both of their parents were busy with work today, though, and Tomoyo’s new job is close to Tooru’s school, so she volunteered to take him. Considering the eleven-year age gap between them, he and Tomoyo get along pretty well. However, right now all he wants is his mother’s warm arms and her gentle beta scent. 

“We don’t know anything,” he tells her. His older sister isn’t trying to be mean, Tooru knows, but Tooru is only twelve and still in shock from the results. “Nothing's confirmed.”

And it’s not — not exactly, anyway. At twelve, some early bloomers have already presented, but those cases are very few and far between. Typically, secondary gender tests performed at this age are only vague predictions and guesses about what someone might be. Tooru is too young for his hormones to entirely change his body and the ultrasounds of his abdomen came back inconclusive — something perfectly normal for an unpresented boy his age.

His hormone test results are pretty damning, though. The results of his chances of manifesting are thus:

Alpha: 3%

Beta: 9%

Omega: 88% 

The percentages were so skewed that even the doctor congratulated Tooru on his impending presentation. 

They're just predictions; it's still possible for me to end up a beta or even an alpha, Tooru reminds himself. A one-in-ten chance of not being an omega isn’t so bad. It’s slim, but it’s not nothing.

Over the last few years, Tooru has grown to love and admire Momo, but that doesn't mean he wants to be like her. He doesn’t want to think about the time Momo stayed with them during her heat while Tomoyo was out of town, and Momo spent the entire time incapacitated with cramps and a fever. He doesn’t want to think about the sad look in her eyes when she talks about yet another company rejecting her application. He doesn’t want to think about the terrified look in Tomoyo’s eyes as they took Momo away for an emergency c-section. He doesn’t want to think about how weak she looked in that bed after Takeru was born — a beautiful, strong woman who was almost killed by something her body was supposedly made to do. He doesn’t want to think about the girl who cried out of the fear of her mate’s family rejecting her the way her own parents did. 

He’d rather be like Tomoyo — his alpha sister who gets her way no matter what. 

“Now you can go marry your Iwa-Chan,” Tomoyo continues, her voice light and teasing. “You get to be his omega.”

“Stop it. We don’t know that he’s an alpha; even if he is, that doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be anyone’s omega, especially not some gorilla like Iwa-chan.” 

For reasons Tooru doesn’t quite get, Tomoyo just laughs from the driver’s seat. 

“Poor Iwa-chan,” she says nonsensically. "He's really got his work cut out for him."

Whatever, his sister is always weird anyway. At least Tomoyo drops the conversation, leaving Tooru to brood in the passenger seat in silence.

When they get home, Momo is playing in the living room with Takeru, whose two-year-old body never seems to run out of energy. The three of them are staying with the Oikawas right now while they look for a house nearby. Now that Tomoyo and Momo have graduated from university, they plan to move closer, though they've been struggling to find a place they both like.

Tooru looks at her, at the woman who’s become a second sister to him, who he has grown to honestly care for and who he desperately doesn’t want to be like. Her hair is still pink, though nowadays, she's started dying it a soft blush pink rather than the cotton candy she had when they first met. She's started wearing her earrings again, a total of ten piercings scattered asymmetrically between her ears. Like his sister, she looks almost unbearably cool and adult, and Tooru hates that something as stupid as being an omega means that people look down on her in a way they never do to Tomoyo.

For a moment, Tooru wants to run away, to hide under his blankets and not have to look at any of them. Then Momo smiles — wide and welcoming and extends her arms toward both Oikawa siblings.

“Welcome home.” 

When Momo knocks on his bedroom door later, Tooru assumes it’s to get him for dinner. However, instead of beckoning him out, she asks to come inside. 

“Your sister told me about your results,” she says. Tooru should have seen that coming, should have known that his sister would tell everyone. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know how you’re feeling. It’s scary and—”

“No, you don’t,” Tooru snaps. “You don’t know because you’re an omega and I’m not.”

The words come out much harsher and crueler than he intended. Of course, he instantly feels guilty about it, but even more than that, he feels embarrassed by his outburst. It's the type of mean, bitter thought that he's gotten pretty good at burying deep within, never letting out, lest everyone around him see how rotten his personality truly is.

She doesn’t look upset though, just a little sad. Somehow, that’s even worse.

“You might not be an omega,” she agrees. “We don’t know yet. We just have to wait and see. If you are, though, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Obviously, I know that there’s nothing wrong with it,” Tooru says, trying to sound calm and reasonable but probably just sounding petulant. “It’s fine to be an omega, I’m just not one.”

There’s a moment of silence before Momo speaks again. “Of course. Though, even if you’re not one, one of your friends might be, and if you ever want to talk to someone about omega stuff, you can always talk to me. You know, so that you can understand your friends better.”

“Okay,” Tooru says, not meeting her eyes. “Thanks.”

Tooru should apologize; he knows he's been nothing but rude this whole conversation, but he just can’t quite bring himself to. He's never been good with apologies, not when they're genuine.

Before she leaves, he can’t help but to call out again.

“How can you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“Being so… weak?” Like everything else he's said in the past few minutes, it comes out meaner than he meant, and his hands clasp over his mouth as if he can stuff the word back in. 

Momo seems to understand because, again, she’s not upset.

“Learning how to do so can take a while, but it's not always bad to lean on others. That’s what friends and family are for—so you don’t always have to be strong on your own. It’s okay to let yourself be weak sometimes, to let others take care of you because it means that when they're tired, they know they can trust you to take care of them back.”

"Not me," Tooru tells her. "I'll never be weak."

Momo smiles, like she wants to be supportive even if she doesn’t believe him. That’s fine, though, she doesn’t need to believe him. It doesn’t matter if anyone doubts him now; he’s telling the truth and time will prove it.

Despite how much he doesn’t care about secondary sexes, for reasons he can’t really explain, Tooru desperately wants to know Iwaizumi’s. 

They’re best friends, he reasons, and best friends shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. Everything about Iwaizumi is Tooru's business — that's just how it is.

Not that Tooru can just come out and ask because asking would require him to disclose the results of his own test, and there’s no way he’s saying that. Also, for some reason, the idea of Iwaizumi knowing that Tooru is interested in his gender is oddly embarrassing. So Tooru doesn't ask and instead obsessively wonders about it, waiting for Iwaizumi to bring it up. He's not weird obsessive, but normal obsessive — like how Tooru gets a little obsessive about volleyball or whatever new sci-fi movie is releasing soon.

So Tooru waits and waits, and Iwaizumi doesn't bring it up. Honestly, it's starting to get a little annoying how little interest Iwaizumi seems to have in gender. Maybe it's because he's not interested in dating, but Iwaizumi never even talks about it. 

An entire semester passes, and then another, and still nothing. Grade school ends, and they enter Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High—always together. Junior High isn't too much different regarding school work, but it is monstrously different in volleyball. They both made it onto the team, but neither has seen much play yet. Junior High Preliminaries were as exciting as they were disappointing. Iwaizumi got put in for half the second set in their first game, and Tooru not at all. Only in their second game was Tooru able to leave the box — just in time to be demolished entirely by their team out of the running. The humiliation of it burns like hot coal in Tooru's stomach. 

It's just after their thirteenth birthdays before the topic finally comes up naturally enough for Tooru to pounce on it. The boys are on their way home from practice, the sun low in the sky and conversations are flowing easily. 

"Oh," Iwaizumi says, interrupting the conversation, "did you hear about Ushijima?"

"What about him?" Tooru asks, his mood already souring at the mention of the boy. They'd only interacted briefly, but even that short time across from each other on the court was enough to instill a distinct disdain in him. The entire Shiratorizawa Junior High volleyball team could collectively jump in a lake and drown for taking Kitagawa Daiichi out last month — Ushijima Wakatoshi especially. He could jump into two lakes. 

"It looks like he just presented as an alpha," Iwaizumi says. "Some of the senpais on the team were talking about it."

Of course, he did. What an asshole.

"Must be nice for him. I'm sure his entire team is just so excited; they're probably throwing a party to celebrate. We should send them a care package to congratulate them."

Iwaizumi shoots Tooru a strange look at that.

"What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Nothing! I'm just not surprised that someone like that presented as an alpha. He already has so much going for him; it makes sense that he's also won the social hierarchy lottery as well." Tooru is about to continue when a sharp smack to the back of his head interrupts him. "Ow! Iwa-chan! What was that for?"

"Don't be a dick," Iwaizumi tells him. "So what if he's an alpha? We're still going to kick his ass next year."

Tooru isn't sure he believes it; the memory of that jerk looking down at him on the court, scoffing at Tooru's botched set that lost them the entire game, is still too fresh in his mind to feel anything other than doubt. Still, Iwaizumi says it with such confidence that Tooru thinks if he hears his friend say it enough, even he'll be swept up in it.

"An alpha, hm?" Tooru tries to keep his voice light as if he's uninvested in the conversation. "It must be nice, don't you think?"

Iwaizumi shrugs, pausing at a vending machine on the sidewalk.

"Can I borrow a few coins? I'll pay you back."

Tooru fishes out his coin purse from his bag, tossing it to his friend, who catches it easily. Usually, Tooru would whine a little more about lending Iwaizumi money or brag about how generous he was, but right now, he has more important things on his mind. Iwaizumi punches the button for Porci Sweat before tossing Tooru's coin pouch back to him. Tooru catches it before being very briefly distracted by the sight of Iwaizumi leaning over to fetch the bottle. That's something that's been happening increasingly lately — getting distracted by Iwaizumi. It's fucking inconvenient, is what it is, especially on the court or in practice. 

"Think you'll present soon?" Tooru asks, tearing his eyes off Iwaizumi's backside and leaning close as if he's very interested in the sugar content of the can of lemon soda in the machine.

"As what? An alpha?" Iwaizumi asks. Together, they continue down the street. Iwaizumi opens the sports drink and takes a sip.

"An alpha or whatever." Tooru shrugs. 

I guess his numbers are skewed enough that being an omega doesn't even occur to him. Tooru can't help the little hot ball of envy that sizzles in his stomach. 

"Who knows about that sort of thing? If it happens, it happens; if it doesn't, then it doesn't. It isn't worth dwelling on."

It's such an Iwaizumi answer; Tooru shouldn't be surprised. 

"Oh, Iwa-chan, so naive about the world," Tooru says, a dramatic sigh on his lips. 

"Shut up, Shittykawa!" Iwaizumi snaps, hitting Tooru with the still half-full drink. "I'm not naive! I know it's no use worrying about things I can't control."

"Not with that attitude," Tooru teases, swiping the bottle from Iwaizumi's grasp and taking a swig. It tastes a little sweeter than usual, Tooru thinks.

Chapter Text

The topic of secondary genders comes up occasionally, but Iwaizumi still doesn't offer any insight into his own chances. He doesn't ignore or avoid the topic; rather, he just acts uninterested.  

It only drives Tooru slightly up the walls. After all, Iwaizumi is his best friend, which means that Tooru deserves to know absolutely everything about him. It must be against some best friend code to keep this information from him, Tooru is sure.

Iwaizumi is nothing if not consistent, though, and continues to avoid answering the question Tooru refuses to ask out loud.

It’s not until their last year of junior high that one of the boys in their class starts outright asking people.

The year has just begun, and Tooru is settling into his role as captain of the volleyball team. It’s going well so far; the new first years are a little annoying — particularly that new setter — but it’s nothing that Tooru can’t handle. It’s only the first week of school; he has time to whip that little shit Kageyama into place. 

The conversation happens at the end of lunch once most students have returned to their seats and are just talking with their seatmates while they wait for class to start. Tooru was very disappointed to realize that he and Iwaizumi were sat several aisles away from each other — too far to whisper during class. Knowing their reputation for distracting one another, that was probably intentional on their teacher's part. 

Luckily, even if his best friend has been ripped from his rightful place at Tooru's side, Tooru is surrounded by several cute girls who all seem half in love with him — an acceptable substitute, at least for the few minutes that moments like this take up. Of course, he'd never trade Iwaizumi for some randos in the long term. 

Unlike Tooru, Iwaizumi sits next to a group of boys—none of whom are on the volleyball team or have expressed obvious crushes on Tooru, so Tooru is relatively unfamiliar with them. It's not that Tooru is particularly discriminatory about who he spends time with; outside of the requirements of volleyball, he's pleased to befriend anyone who approaches him, and it's not his fault that most of the people who do happen to have crushes on him. 

Waiting for their teacher to return and start class, the students chat idly with each other. Typically, Tooru pays attention to people in group conversations, constantly engages with whoever is speaking, and makes them feel heard and understood. When he was young and whenever Iwaizumi wasn't around to specifically include him, Tooru had plenty of experience feeling excluded from groups — he doesn't want anyone to experience that loneliness because of him.

However, today, a different conversation draws his attention from those around him. Sota — a slightly obnoxious kid who sits in front of Iwaizumi and who apparently presented as an alpha over the summer — has been loudly alternating between bragging about it and asking everyone else if they've presented yet.

Fifty percent chance he's full of shit, Tooru thinks snidely. It wouldn't be that uncommon at this age — kids so sure that they'll present that they'll claim the title of 'alpha' before they ever hit their first rut if they do at all.

“What about you, Iwaizumi?” Sota asks. It's a question that skates on the line of socially acceptable, not that Sota seems to care.

Out of the corner of Tooru's eye, Iwaizumi shrugs. So far, Iwaizumi has only made neutral comments — the kind that shows he's listening but not really participating in the conversation. Now that he's been asked directly, he can't escape answering. Three of the six boys sitting together have admitted to being betas, with Sota and one other claiming to be alphas. Only Iwaizumi hasn't volunteered his status.

“I'll probably stay a beta,” Iwaizumi says, not sounding particularly interested in the conversation. "Not like any of us can know for sure, though, until we get older."

In Tooru’s gut, he feels a weird mix of feelings when he hears that. 

It’s good, he tells himself. It’s actually better if Iwa-chan is a beta. If he’s normal and I'm normal, then nothing will ever have to change between us. We can just be us. We can be normal together.

Still, though, there’s a weird feeling of disappointment in his gut, which he doesn’t know what to do with. It's probably because of his family's teasing about Iwaizumi and him, about how Tooru will be his omega. It's not like that will happen anyway because Tooru isn't an omega, so he'll never be anyone's omega.

It's just that... well, Tooru is just used to the idea of belonging with Iwaizumi. Honestly, it's a silly thing to even think about because, obviously, he will always have Iwaizumi. The two of them have always been together and always will be, no matter their gender. If there's one thing in this world that Tooru can count on, it's Iwaizumi.

“What do you think about Oikawa?” Another one of the group asks. He says it a little quieter, obviously aware that the subject of their conversation is in the room. “Alpha, right? He’s too perfect to be anything but an alpha.”

There’s a groan of agreement from most of the other boys in the group. 

“We have no chance with an alpha like that around,” Sato bemoans. “I might be an alpha, too, but come on . How are we supposed to compete with that ? I’m just glad he’s too obsessed with volleyball to accept any confessions.”

There’s a buzz of satisfaction in Tooru’s gut at that. That’s right — obviously, he’s an alpha and better than the rest of these scrubs. 

“I don’t know,” one of the other boys comments. “I mean, Oikawa's tall and stuff, but don’t you think he’s too pretty to be an alpha? My money’s on omega. Anything else would be a waste of that face.”

A sour, sharp feeling twists in Tooru's gut at the boy's words. It's the first time he's ever heard someone outside of his family even mention the possibility of Tooru being an omega and he finds that he likes it even less than when Tomoyo teased him about being "Iwa-chan's omega." Swallowing becomes difficult, the saliva in his mouth pooling like it does right before he's about to be sick.

They don't know anything. They can't know . Just because they're speculating doesn't make it true .

"Agreed," another boy (Hideki, sits behind Iwaizumi) says. He hasn't spoken much, other than to volunteer that he presented as an alpha last year when the question was turned to him. "Oikawa totally has omega vibes."

"You sure that isn't just wishful thinking?" someone else teases. "You do like a pretty face." That has to be Arata — Hideki's close friend and fellow member of the basketball team. From what Tooru remembers of the pair's interactions, he's pretty sure Arata has a crush on his friend, though he likes to cover it up through merciless teasing and light-hearted bullying.

"Shut up!" Hideki protests. "I just — I'm just saying that he's — oh, shut up."

"You're just saying what?" Arata laughs. "Come on, I wanna see how deep you can dig that hole!"  

There's an edge to Arata's voice that Tooru would be surprised if anyone else picked up on. It's just a note off, a little tenser than it ought to be to sound perfectly genuine. It's not that he knows Arata particularly well or anything. Rather, Tooru is familiar with that sound. It's how some girls in his fan club sound when they tease each other — that little mix of pain while they try to keep their affection hidden. Sadness over something they can't have, but the determination not to let it ruin what's already in their grasp. (Tooru is always extra careful when turning those girls down.)

What an idiot. If it hurts that much to tease him about a supposed crush, then why do it? Tooru can't help but think. If I liked someone, I'd just tell them. Why bother with all that stupid pinning nonsense?

“It’d be so funny if he turned out to be an omega,” says Sato, dragging the conversation away from Hideki's possible attraction Tooru. “I'd love to see him knocked down a few pegs. He thinks he’s so good now, but just imagine him going into heat and—”

“Does it matter?” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts in, far shaper than he usually ever is. “What he is; does it matter? Does it matter what any of us are?”

“Of course it matters, it—”

“Alpha, omega, whatever. He’s still leagues above someone like you.” The comment shuts down the conversation entirely, leaving a tense silence behind.

Stupid Iwa-chan, saying stuff like that doesn’t matter. Of course, it matters, Tooru thinks. Still, the warm flush that fills him at his friend’s flippant reply soothes some of the twisting, sick feeling in his gut — just a little. It's not quite as effective as the last time he heard Iwaizumi say it doesn't matter, the threads of discomfort lingering like rotting roots of a plant growing inside his ribcage.

Of course, Iwaizumi doesn't care about those things. Iwaizumi doesn't, but Tooru does and his friend's blind acceptance isn't quite enough to burn away those stubborn roots.

Iwa-chan is the one who’s leagues above the others. Not that Tooru would ever tell his friend that. Can't have Iwaizumi getting too big of a head.

"Well," Arata says, breaking the silence with a slightly awkward laugh, "I'm sure Hideki here would be very disappointed if he doesn't present."

"I hate you so much," Hideki says. "And Iwaizumi's right. It doesn't matter, it just..."

"You just like a pretty face, I know."

The irony that Tooru gets asked out later that same day is not lost on him.

Despite what the rumors about him claim, he doesn’t actually get confessed to all that often. Though, that's less a reflection of Tooru's popularity and more because of their ages. At this age, it’s pretty unusual for people to confess or date at all. 

There’s the play dating that grade school children do — holding hands on playscapes and insisting they’ll be together forever before inevitably breaking up by the end of recess. Then, in high school, everyone clambers over each other to get a date. 

The whole presenting thing throws a wrench in everyone's plans. Most omegas and alphas present somewhere between thirteen and fifteen, making junior high a nebulous time. Hormones rage and sexualities begin to emerge — people figuring out their preferences as everyone's scents mature.

It’s not uncommon for the few couples that form to break up when someone presents — especially if the other one is still unpresented. Before they present, most people tend to date the other primary gender — it’s a safe bet considering how “nonproductive” relationships are still looked down on, even if society has gotten more progressive. Safer for an unpresented boy to date an unpresented girl than to date another boy on the off chance that one of them is an omega. When anyone could present as anything at any time, navigating relationships in junior high tends to be far more trouble than it’s worth. 

This is to say, it’s actually pretty uncommon for Tooru to find a note in his shoe locker at the end of the day asking to meet him beside the gym before he goes to practice. What’s even more unusual is that it’s a boy waiting with clasped hands and a nervous hunch to his shoulders. Tooru might be popular amongst many people, but he's never been confessed to by a boy before. 

The boy is a second year — a year younger and several centimeters shorter than Tooru. Cute enough, with dark spiky hair and cheeks that redden easily, Tooru thinks he might look familiar, but he can’t be sure. If the boy is confessing, then Tooru has probably seen him around some — at games or just in the halls.

The confession itself is nothing out of the ordinary. Complements on Tooru's good looks, admiration for his passion for volleyball, and blushing confessions of noticing how considerate Tooru is. It's all very sweet but not particularly unique, either.

As nice as the kid is, Tooru plans to turn him down for the same reason he turns everyone else down; he simply doesn’t have time to date. He has his new role as the captain of the volleyball team, and he needs to keep his grades up as well if he’s going to get into a good high school. 

“What’s your name again?” Tooru asks once the boy has finished saying his piece.

“It’s Kenzo,” he says with a blush. “Sorry, I should have started with that.”

“Kenzo. Ken-chan,” Tooru starts. 

He might not be confessed to as often as people think, but he has gone through the experience a few times by now. It’s not conceited to say that he’s gotten pretty good at rejections, making people feel listened to and truly seen, even if he can’t return their feelings. Right now, he’s gearing up, trying to figure out which rejection speech would cause this boy the least heartache. Before he can start, though, Kenzo adds something else that makes him hesitate.

“I’m an omega,” he says, looking to the side awkwardly. “Or, probably anyway. There’s a seventy percent chance, which is pretty high. I don’t know if that makes a difference.”

Seventy percent chance is pretty high, Tooru repeats to himself, thinking about the black ink that curled into an 88 on his own test. Suddenly, his hands feel clammy, and his chest feels tight as if that thing growing in Tooru's chest was just watered and is sprouting new leaves as they speak. It's some sort of vine, he thinks, twisting around his lungs, keeping him from breathing too deeply, making his head light and breaths shaky.

“Why would that change anything?” 

“Well, you’re an alpha, aren’t you?” The boy asks. 

And alphas date omegas, Tooru’s brain fills in. 

Tooru accepts the confession. 

It’s a little weird at first, hanging out with this boy he doesn’t know but is supposed to be dating. Despite his popularity, Tooru has never officially had a boyfriend or girlfriend before, so he’s honestly not sure what to expect or how to behave outside of what he's seen in movies.

It’s not so bad, though, he supposes. Thankfully,  Kenzo seems happy just spending time around Tooru and doesn’t push him toward putting more effort into it than Tooru really has time for. It makes sense — they’re still young and unprepared for much more than occasionally going to diners and hand-holding. Occassionally, Kenzo offers to scent with him which Tooru always politely but firmly turns down. As much as Tooru enjoys affection, scenting feels too personal to do with someone he barely knows. Outside of his family, Iwaizumi is the only friend he's ever felt comfortable enough with to do that and even then, they've done it less and less as they've gotten older. Adding a romantic component to it is not something he's ready for.

So Kenzo and he kiss, chaste and short, and Tooru wonders if he should feel anything other than uncomfortable.

At least when he's with Kenzo, playing the attentive boyfriend, the roiling vines in his chest loosen. He's doing what he's supposed to be, being the ideal that everyone wants him to be. It's good.

Their dates are fine — Tooru is a perfect gentleman toward the younger boy, and Kenzo is always polite in return. The dates are nice, if a little dull, leaving Tooru struck with how hard it is to keep his mask up while he’s supposed to be relaxed.

It's never like this with Iwa-chan, Tooru thinks, though that's probably unfair for many reasons. For one, they've known each other their entire lives, and Iwaizumi can see past Tooru's mask before Tooru even finishes putting it on. For another... well, it's Iwaizumi. Everything is better with his best friend, so of course, it's more fun hanging out with Iwaizumi than with Kenzo.

Kenzo is a perfectly nice boy, which makes Tooru's family's disapproval of their relationship simultaneously annoying and confusing.

"We just think you should focus on things that are important to you," Tooru's parents tell him after Tooru announces that an underclassman confessed to him.

"It won't distract me from volleyball," Tooru insists. He knows volleyball is why he's rejected people before, but he never thought his parents would care. Tooru has always been the one obsessed with the sport; his parents are just supportive of his dreams.

"We're not worried about that," Tooru's dad says. "We know that you can handle those pressures."

"It's just..." his mom starts, "Well, dating someone can be a lot of work, and it's not fair to the other person if your heart isn't really in it."

"Why are you just assuming my heart isn't in it?" Tooru is starting to get annoyed. He was sure his parents would congratulate him, not share worried looks when he announced he had a boyfriend.

"We just want you to be happy," his dad tells him. "And if you think this Kenzo boy will make you happy, then we're happy for you."

The words don't sound like a lie, as much as his parents just telling him what he wants to hear.

"He's just not right for you," Tomoyo tells him plainly that night on the phone.

"You haven't even met him." Tooru is lying on his bed, bouncing a volleyball above his head while he cradles the phone between his head and shoulder. They've been chatting on the phone more often lately, ever since Tooru started middle school and Tomoyo decided he was finally becoming a person and not just a little kid.

"Don't need to. I know he isn't right."

"And how can you possibly know that?"

"Well, what does your Iwa-chan think about it?" Tomoyo asks.

Tooru doesn't even bother to correct her—it's been years since she started referring to Iwaizumi as "his Iwa-chan," and it's not worth fighting her over. At least she doesn't do it in front of Iwaizumi.

"I don't need Iwa-chan's approval to date someone," Tooru grumbles, knowing that his sister will read into his lack of answer.

"Maybe. I still think that if someone doesn't pass the Iwaizumi vibe check, then they aren't right for you."

And that's the thing. Iwaizumi seems to hate Tooru's boyfriend much worse than his parents or even Tomoyo feels. That alone isn’t too weird; he’s never gotten along particularly well with Tooru’s admirers. What’s strange is that Iwaizumi pretends otherwise. In the past, Iwaizumi’s exaggerated eye rolls whenever Tooru talks about a new admirer have always been on clear display. 

Instead, it feels like a genuine dislike that Iwaizumi has, one he tries to hide. For someone who's always so honest, something like this just makes no sense.

“Why don’t you like my boyfriend?” Tooru asks on their way home from practice one day. 

"I don't dislike him," Iwaizumi immediately replies. Lies.

"Yes, you do. Whenever I invite you to hang out with us, you either say no or cancel at the last minute. There was dinner after practice last Friday, and the arcade the week before that, and lunch on the rooftop the week before that. You're totally avoiding him."

"I'm not. I'm just being considerate — giving you alone time. You'll get dumped if you always invite your friends on your dates."

"It's not always, " Tooru defends. It's true; he sees Kenzo numerous times without inviting anyone else. Sure, most of those times are quick chats in the hall or before class, but that's just because he's busy.

Besides, isn't it normal to bring his boyfriend along to hang out with his friends? They're all guys anyway, so it shouldn't be weird or anything.

"Seems that way to me."

"Well, if you rarely come anyway, then it's not like I'm actually bringing someone else along on those dates."

"Why invite me at all? Shouldn't you want to spend time alone? Can't exactly hook up with me breathing down your neck."

"Don't be crude, Iwa-chan." Tooru smacks him on the arm just to emphasize his point. "I'm a total gentleman. I'm just worried that my poor single best friend might be feeling left out!"

Also, the few times Iwaizumi has come with them have been infinitely more fun, despite Iwaizumi's party-pooper attitude.

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't wanna watch you sit around and flirt with some boy. Have you thought of that?"

The comment is normal enough, but there's a small part of it that makes Oikawa flinch.

“Is it because he’s a boy?” Tooru asks, and the idea makes something sour twist in Tooru’s gut; it's becoming an irritatingly familiar feeling. “Because he’s probably an omega, so it’s fine—”

“No!” Iwaizumi says, looking horrified by the idea. “Of course not. You know I don’t care about that sort of thing — omega or not.”

Tooru knows that. He knows Iwaizumi is rough around the edges, but he is also one of the least judgmental people he's ever met. He's not sure why he's been so worried about what Iwaizumi might think lately.

“Then why?”

“Do I have to like him?”

“I mean, it's not like I need your approval, but you're still my best friend.”

“Yeah, and it’s always been us. You're my partner."

Partner. The word floats in Tooru's chest, squeezing in a strangely delightful way.

"You are my partner," Tooru agrees, a shiver of pleasure running through him. "Me dating someone doesn't change that."

"I know, I'm just saying — I mean, it's just — I don’t know, weird or something — having another person always around. It's different from when it's just a random friend but with this... I’m just not used to it.”

Oh. That was... not what Tooru was expecting.

Wait, did that mean…

“Iwa-Chan, are you jealous ?” Tooru asks, the idea making something bubble up in him, a giddiness that he's even more familiar with when it comes to Iwaizumi.

“What? No, of course not! I’m not interested in y—“

“I didn’t mean if you were jealous of me," Tooru interrupts. "I was asking if you were jealous of Ken-chan interrupting our valuable best friend time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi snaps, smacking Tooru on the back of the head. "I'm just saying I don't like being a third wheel."

It’s dark out, their way mostly illuminated by the streetlamps, but there’s just enough light to see the tips of Iwaizumi’s ears glow red. Tooru is generally partial to blue — their school color — but he thinks this exact shade of red might just be his new favorite color.

“Oh my god, you are! Iwa-chan is jealous of my boyfriend!” 

“No, I’m not; shut up!”

“Don’t worry,” Tooru says, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “As you said, you're my partner, not him. How could you think I’d ever let some person I barely know be more important than my most beloved childhood friend? Insecurity is unbecoming, my friend.”

“You’re an idiot,” Iwaizumi tells him, but he doesn’t shrug him off. Instead, he just leaves Tooru’s arm resting over his shoulder the whole way back. 

That night, the two friends do their homework sitting on Iwaizumi’s bedroom floor, and when Tooru insists that he’s too tired to possibly walk down the street to go home, Iwaizumi grumbles but lets him stay. It’s a common enough occurrence that neither set of parents thinks anything of it — Iwaizumi’s dad just reminds them not to stay up because they have school the next day, and his mom pulls out a packet of milk bread for Tooru after dinner from a stash she keeps especially for him.

After the lights go out, Tooru abandons the guest futon on the floor and crawls up onto Iwaizumi’s bed, the same way he used to when they were in grade school. They haven't used the same bed in years, not since they hit their growth spurts and ran out of room, but right now, Tooru feels weirdly brave and impulsive. The giddiness over Iwaizumi's rare act of possessiveness hasn't subsided, even hours later.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi hisses. “Get off! We’re supposed to be asleep.”

“But I’m cold!” Tooru whines, which is true but not the entire reason he came up here. He's unsure what exactly pushes him to do it, but acting on instincts has worked well for him so far, so he doesn't question it.

“Suck it up.”

“You suck it up," Tooru very maturely shoots back. In retaliation to his friend’s insensitivity, Tooru presses his toes against Iwaizumi’s calf, causing Iwaizumi to yelp in surprise.

“What the hell, Oikawa? Does your blood not move or something? How the hell did you get so damn cold?”

“It’s Iwa-chan’s job to warm me up,” Tooru tells him. “Because you’re my partner. ”

“Fuck off,” Iwaizumi tells him, but for the second time that day, he doesn’t push Tooru away. Instead, he just captures Tooru’s (equally freezing) hands with his own warm ones. “You’re going back to the futon as soon as you warm up.”

“Of course, Iwa-chan." What Tooru doesn't say is that he already feels warmer just because Iwaizumi is so close. He's warm deep inside, that same place that makes itself known whenever he thinks of the word 'partner.'

They wake up the next morning to the sound of a phone camera going off and Iwaizumi’s mom making little “Aw” sounds. 

For the next three months, Iwaizumi’s parents, Tooru’s parents, and even Tomoyo’s phone lock screens become a picture of the two boys sleeping, their foreheads pressed together and their hands clasped between them. 

Tooru pretends to hate it like Iwaizumi, but every time he looks at the picture, he remembers how warm Iwaizumi’s hands were. 

Tooru sets it as his own lock screen as well, just to annoy Iwaizumi. The zing of something like pain, but not remotely in a bad way — the same one he gets when he thinks the word 'partner' — goes through him every time he glances at it. He plans to show everyone during practice and get the rest of the team in on teasing Iwaizumi: Human Hot Water Bottle.

Before he can show it off to the team, Kenzo spots it first. They're on the rooftop eating lunch, just the two of them — their once-weekly lunch date.

"Is that Iwaizumi-senpai?" Kenzo asks, glancing at the screen.

"Yeah, my sister must have changed it last night," Tooru laughs, "you know, just to annoy me. I guess I unlock my phone too quickly to really notice it."

He's unsure why he lies, just that he doesn't want to share the truth. It's not like he's ashamed of the photo or feels he's somehow betrayed Kenzo's trust by falling asleep beside his best friend. Still, he can't seem to shake a weird sense of guilt.

"When was that photo taken?"

"Hm? Oh, last year, I think? I don't really remember."

"Oh, okay. It's... nice that you two are so close. I don't think I've ever had a friend I was that close to." Kenzo doesn't look upset, but he does look a little odd. It's like he's trying to put together a jigsaw without being able to move any of the pieces.

"Yeah, well, that's Iwa-chan and me. Closer than a game tied at 25-25."

Tooru changes his lock screen to a picture of him and Kenzo in front of a high score that Tooru got on a rhythm game at the arcade last weekend. Kenzo never asked him to change it, and Tooru doesn't really want to, but he does want Kenzo to stop looking at him like that. The gaze says that there's something about Tooru that doesn't make sense, that doesn't line up with what he's "supposed" to be.

When he sees Iwaizumi after lunch, Tooru doesn't mention the picture. For some reason, it feels a touch embarrassing to do so now; that strange look Kenzo gave him stuck in Tooru's mind.

Two days later, Iwaizumi asks to borrow Tooru's phone. Tooru, who generally doesn't pay too much attention to his ever-changing lock screen, hands it over without thinking. He doesn't even bother unlocking it; he and Iwaizumi have always known each other's passcodes.

Only after the phone leaves Tooru's hands does he remember that the screen shows a picture of Kenzo kissing Tooru on the cheek. Tooru is about to say something or make an excuse (though he can't say why he feels the need to make an excuse when it's a totally normal background to have) when Iwaizumi just looks at it and then hands it back.

"Just checking the time," Iwaizumi says. There's no trace of any sort of emotion on his face.

Once again, Tooru feels weirdly guilty about the whole thing. Part of him wants to change it again, set it as some motivational quote or piece of art or anything that's not a photo. He doesn't because that would be a weird overreaction to what is honestly nothing and probably hurt Kenzo's feelings while he's at it.

Three months into dating, Tooru turns fifteen. He and Kenzo have lunch under a sakura tree in the courtyard, and Kenzo gives him a keychain as a present: a little volleyball with a tiny crown on top of it.

Tooru thanks him and attaches it to his keys and apologizes that he can't go out to celebrate his birthday.

"My parents would kill me if I ditched my own birthday dinner. It's a family thing, you know?" he tells Kenzo, which the other boy readily accepts.

That night, Tomoyo and Momo show up with Takeru, and the trio of Iwaizumis come over. They crowd themselves around the table, not nearly big enough for so many people, and Iwaizumi and Tooru find themselves pushed out to eat on the couch.

"The birthday boy, banished from his own party!" Tooru complains good-naturedly.

"Quit your whining, or I'm not giving you a birthday present," Tomoyo shoots back as she tries to shovel curry into five-year-old Takeru's mouth, sitting on her lap.

"So mean! Iwa-chan, defend me!"

"Nah, I think Nee-san is right. You totally don't deserve any presents."

"Iwa-chan!"

The night is full of laughter and warmth, reminiscent of a similar night on Iwaizumi's birthday just last month. It's tradition, the two families coming together once in June and then again in July for the boys' birthdays—something they've done every year since their first birthdays.

After the cake has been eaten and presents are given, Iwaizumi's parents head home, and the two boys go up to Tooru's room.

"I'm never moving again," Tooru complains, spread out over his bed. "Why did you let me eat that much cake?"

"You say that like I could have stopped you," Iwaizumi says, picking up Tooru's pillow and chuckling it at his face. "You threatened to bite my fingers off if I took it away from you."

"I thought you were braver than that. How sad."

"Oh, shut up, Trashykawa," Iwaizumi says, shoving Tooru over enough that he can drop down on the bed beside him. "Before I forget, here."

From his pocket, Iwaizumi pulls something out and drops it onto Tooru's chest. It takes Tooru a moment to realize what it is, craning his neck and trying to see without sitting up.

"Did you... get me kneepads for my birthday?" Tooru asks, picking up the package.

"Yeah, yours are wearing out."

"Oh my god, Iwa-chan, you're such a mom."

"Shut up," Iwaizumi grumbles, knocking his shoulder against Tooru's. "You've been favoring your right knee lately; this one should offer more support. If you hurt yourself because you can't take care of yourself, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"A mean mom!"

It's such a utilitarian gift, the type of thing that Tooru should find utterly dull, and yet...

Tooru gets enough trinkets and nicknacks from his fan club; his shoe locker was overflowing with them this morning. They're all very cute and sweet and much more normal gifts and utterly useless. The kneepads are such an Iwaizumi gift, though, because he's right — Tooru's kneepads are getting worn out, and he's been meaning to replace them, but he only likes one brand, and he hasn't felt like going to the mall to get new ones from the only store he knows that carries them. It's been on his to-do list for weeks but not so pressing that he's even mentioned it to anyone.

Iwaizumi just noticed and got them for him because that's what Iwaizumi does; he ensures that Tooru is taken care of, especially when Tooru isn't willing to do it himself.

Those vines that Tooru felt recently are back, but in a different way than usual. Instead of constricting and forcing all of the air from him and twisting to the point of pain, they've moved to his stomach. They flip around, almost tickling him from the inside.

They're not entirely unpleasant.

"Hey, let's go to the movies this weekend," Tooru says, rolling over onto his stomach.

"No aliens."

"I like things other than aliens!"

"Other than aliens and volleyball?"

"Oh, shut up," Tooru says, headbutting Iwaizumi's shoulder.

"When is the new Tron movie coming out?" Iwaizumi asks.

"Not for another few months. Oh! I think that one movie about dreams and stuff is out. Inception?"

"I've been wanting to see that one."

"Oh wait!" Tooru says, sitting up. "I think there's a new sci-fi movie at that theater that screens all the weird movies."

"The one that only shows shitty D-rank action and sci-fi movies?"

"Yeah, that one! I think the movie is called Atomic Brain Invasion . "

"Sounds like shit," Iwaizumi says.

"That's not a no!" Tooru singsongs. "Tickets are on you."

"What?" Iwaizumi snaps, scowling up at Tooru. "You want to see it; why should I pay?"

"Belated birthday present," Tooru says with a grin.

"I just gave you your birthday present."

"Well, I can never have too many! I deserve to be pampered."

"You deserve to be bullied."

"So mean! And on my birthday, too!"

"Don't worry; I'll be mean to you tomorrow too."

"Hey!"

Later that night, after Iwaizumi is passed out on the guest futon, Tooru checks his phone for the first time in hours and sees a text from Kenzo.

Ken-chan <3

happy birthday again senpai ! I hope dinner with your family was a lot of fun!

Only then does Tooru realize he probably could have invited Kenzo to join them. The thought just... never occurred to him.  

Both Iwaizumi and Tooru have had birthday parties over the years. There was even a disastrous joint one when they were for their sixth birthdays that they swore would work out well and ended with Tooru crying when he realized that since it was in the middle of their birthdays, he wasn't actually six yet and wouldn't be allowed to eat any of the birthday cake.

"It would be a lie!" Tooru whaled when someone tried to reassure him that eating his cake a little early was fine. "It's my six-year-old cake, and I'm not six yet! I can't lie to the cake!"

His parents ended up sticking his slice of cake in the freezer, which Tooru ate three weeks later. As it turned out, a half-defrosted three-week-old cake was significantly worse than a fresh one.

That is to say that the boys have spent their birthdays with other people before. The birthday dinner, though, has always been saved for just the two families. Momo and Takeru are the only additions in fifteen years. It's just... this is Tooru's family and inviting outsiders in doesn't feel right.

Despite Iwaizumi's previous objections, he buys their movie tickets and snacks.

"Why didn't you ask Kenzo to watch it with you?" Iwaizumi asks while they wait to be let into the theater. They're there absurdly early because Tooru always insists on watching all of the previews, which Iwaizumi always complains about but acquiesces anyway.

"Please, I have a reputation to uphold," Tooru says with an arrogant sniff. "I can't let just anyone know about my secret love affair with underrated sci-fi movies."

"You're so stupid." Iwaizumi laughs, eating a handful of Tooru's popcorn.

"Movies are our thing." Tooru shrugs. "Besides, it's more fun with you anyway."

"You're such a shitty boyfriend, Shittykawa."

"I am not!" Tooru insists, pulling his popcorn away and holding it out of Iwaizumi's reach. "You don't know anything; you've never even dated someone before!"

"When I get a girlfriend, see if I tell you," Iwaizumi scoffs.

The vines are back, fattening up and pushing against his ribs as if they want to break through. It's as if his heart is trying to escape the confines of his chest.

When he gets a girlfriend. Not boyfriend, not date, but specifically girlfriend.

Tooru can't help it. He's always been one to press on bruises.

"Afraid I might steal her away? Very fair; a prince is far preferable to a gorilla, after all."

"Shut your pretty boy mouth," Iwaizumi tells him, taking a piece of popcorn and chucking it at Tooru's forehead.

"Fine. When the time comes, I'll just be waiting for you to come crawling to me in desperate need of advice."

"As if I'd take advice from someone ditching their boyfriend to go watch shitty sci-fi movies with their friend. Trust me, when I date someone, I'll actually be a good boyfriend."

"You'd chose a date over me? Your greatest and most wonderful childhood best friend? Your partner ?" Tooru puts a hand to his chest, clutching his heart in a way that's not nearly as much of a farce as he wishes it was.

"Obviously, dumbass," Iwaizumi says.

"Well, I hope all your future girlfriends stomp all over your heart. It's what you deserve."

"Don't curse me!"

"Too late. Now come on, the previews are about to start."

Unusually, Tooru finds himself struggling to pay attention to the previews, the conversation replaying over and over again in his head.

Iwa-chan wouldn't really ditch me for some rando, right? Right?

The vines in his chest, that ever-present pressure, feel strange — as if they're hollow. It's as if Tooru's body is being filled up with emptiness.

Tooru scoots over in his seat, leaning against Iwaizumi's side, desperate for just a touch of his best friend's warmth. Absentmindedly, Iwaizumi adjusts his position, slinging an arm behind Tooru. It's resting more on the back of Tooru's chair than his shoulders, but Tooru can still feel the heat radiating off it.

It's just because I'm cold, Tooru tells himself as he presses even closer until his side is plastered against Iwaizumi's, slouching in his seat so that he can rest his head against the other boy's shoulder.

Just because I'm cold, he repeats to himself. I'll move away once I've warmed up. For reasons that Tooru can't understand, it feels like a lie.

Tooru stays like that for the rest of the movie, and by the time they head out, his right side feels like it's on fire, and his neck cramps. The vines around his heart have loosened, though—just a little.

Tooru leaves the theater with a strange fluttering in his stomach and the scent of pine in his nose.

Everything comes to a convergence two weeks later. The whole day has been strange; he's been agitated, with every little sound feeling like thunder in his pounding head and a peculiar warmth rolling off his skin in waves. Every sense seems to be wrong, either too sensitive or oddly dulled. He spends each class in a half-daze, the scents of his classmates dense and distracting, the sound of his teacher's voice muffled and incomprehensible. He floats from class to class, shepherded along by a concerned-looking Iwaizumi.

During lunch, Tooru tells Iwaizumi that Kenzo wants to eat together and Kenzo that he has an exam to study for, and then goes to the nurse to lie down. The very thought of eating feels nauseating.

Luckily, the nurse accepts his excuse about pushing himself during practice that morning and needing a little rest and lets him borrow a cot until the end of lunch without even checking his temperature.

He’s sick — he has no doubt about that, not when he feels about a hundred degrees hotter than usual — but he can’t skip out on practice. Especially not now that the stupid little genius setter has been excelling. 

I just need a little break, he thinks as he walks into the gym after school, the court swimming in his vision. Just a few minutes, and then I’ll be fine. 

“I’m going to go check some of the equipment!” Tooru calls as the rest of the team pass through the gym to their changing area. Iwaizumi shoots him a confused look — they always get changed before grabbing the ball cart.

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, though, and Tooru darts out of the room, hurrying over to the equipment closet. Their equipment closet, while attached to the gym, is only accessible from outside so that the outdoor sports can get to it without interrupting the practice in the gym. Typically, dragging the ball cart around the gym is a bit of a pain, but right now, Tooru is grateful for the separation. It’s good; it gives Tooru more space to be away from the sounds and smells of the gym. 

Throwing himself down on one of the gymnastics mats, Tooru breathes deeply, yanking off his tie and pulling his collar away from his sticky body. It's a little better, but it's not enough. Undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, Tooru fans himself with his hand, wishing that the equipment closet had air conditioning. As it is, the room is even hotter than the gym, and Tooru is already regretting using it as a temporary shelter.

He only meant to sit down for a minute, just long enough to still the spinning in his head, but time has been acting wonky all day, and suddenly the door is opening. 

Tooru isn’t surprised to see that damned Kageyama standing in the doorway. Of fucking course, it's the last person Tooru wants to deal with when he’s feeling like shit.

“Oikawa-senpai?” Kageyama asks. “The coach sent me to come help. You’ve been taking a while; are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay,” Tooru snaps. Just seeing the kid gets under his skin — makes his bones itch. His stupid, mocking face makes Tooru want to smack him.

“Are you sure? You look like you might be getting sick.”

“Just take the balls and get out.” With one foot, Tooru kicks the cart of volleyballs at the younger boy. He doesn't mean to push it too hard, but his irritation must get the best of him because the cart hurtles toward Kageyama, almost knocking him over. Kageyama barely dodges, the cart making a loud clanging sound as it hits the wall beside him. Several volleyballs come bursting out, bouncing in a mess across the floor. 

Tooru should probably apologize, but right now, the very idea of it makes his skin crawl. Fuck that; this is Tooru's space and that asshole is intruding on it. If anything, Kageyama is the one who needs to apologize to him. 

For his part, Kageyama looks more confused than angry at Tooru’s outburst. It makes sense — despite Tooru’s disdain for the little genius, he’s been good at keeping it to himself so far. Kageyama isn’t particularly good at reading people either, so there’s no way he’s been able to see past Tooru’s mask. As far as Kageyama is concerned, Tooru is just his friendly senpai, who's usually just a little too busy to teach him new skills.

“Are you sure you're okay?" Kageyama asks, annoyingly genuine concern in his voice. "If you want, I can go get Iwaizumi-senpai to help—”

“Get out !” Tooru all but yells, picking up one of the volleyballs that fell and chucking it at Kageyama’s head. Tooru must really be sick because his aim is so off that even without Kageyama dodging, there’s no way it would have hit him. Instead, it goes whizzing uselessly out the open door. “I don’t need you or the coach or Iwa-chan to take care of me! I don’t need anyone to take care of me! I’m fucking fine.”

The last word comes out as a spit of fire. Kageyama looks like he’s been slapped in the face, blinking in shock and probably a little bit of hurt at the venom in Tooru’s voice. Grabbing the ball cart, Kagayama sprints from the room, not bothering to pick up any of the balls scattered around the floor of the equipment closet. 

Tooru just falls back against the mats, exhausted and sweaty. He'll have to deal with the repercussions of yelling at the first year later, but right now, he can't force himself to give a shit.

His clothes feel too tight and itchy — all wrong, and he wants nothing more than to rip them off.

I should have just gone home during lunch, he thinks, reminding himself why it's a bad idea to strip in the middle of the closet. He's not going to be able to play like this—he can barely stand up, let alone move with the dexterity he needs to show up the little upstart setter. Still, he can't miss practice, not when his place on the first string is in jeopardy. He'll just push through and collapse after practice.

Barely a minute later, the door squeaks open and Tooru is about to yell at whoever it is to get out — sure that it’s either Iwaizumi or Kageyama back to check on him. Instead, Kenzo stands nervously in the doorway, and Tooru’s mouth clicks shut. He’s always worn his most gentlemanly mask around his boyfriend, and even though he’d rather eat tar than be around another person right now, he’s not going to be mean to the boy.

“Senpai?” Kenzo asks. “We were supposed to meet up before practice, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Hey, Ken-chan,” Tooru says with a small wave and a broad, incredibly false smile. “Sorry, I wasn’t feeling very well. I should have texted.”

“Are you sick?” he asks, concern coloring his features. “Do you need to go to the nurse?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just need a moment by myself to rest, and then I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Instead of taking the not-so-subtle hint to leave, Kenzo steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, coming close. “You don’t look so good.”

Patience, Tooru reminds himself. I just have to be nice long enough for him to go away.

“Ken-chan!” Tooru teases. “How could you say something so mean to your boyfriend?”

“No, that’s not what I—” Predictably, Kenzo blushes at the comment, looking embarrassed. “You’re very handsome, Oikawa-senpai.”

Objectively, it’s much cuter than Iwaizumi’s reaction to similar comments, but for some reason, Tooru finds himself longing to be swatted over the head and called an egotistical idiot. 

“Well, thank you.” The wide, placating smile that Tooru is wearing is starting to grow tiring. “Honestly though, I just need—”

This time, it’s Tooru cutting himself off, but not out of embarrassment like Kenzo did. Instead, it’s because of Kenzo, who has come much closer than Tooru realized. Between blinks, Kenzo goes from across the room to right in front of Tooru. He’s close enough to reach forward and press a cool hand on Tooru’s hot forehead. 

“I think you might have a fever, senpai; you feel pretty hot.” Kenzo’s hand slides from Tooru’s forehead to his cheek. Kenzo's palm feels a little clammy, not quite right or what Tooru needs, but the closest thing to a balm he's found all day.

Despite himself, Tooru wants to lean into that touch. 

As if moving on instinct, Tooru finds himself turning into Kenzo’s hand, rubbing his face against the boy’s palm as if he’s a cat asking to be petted. From Tooru’s movement, Kenzo’s hand slips from his cheek, resting against Tooru’s neck rather than his face. 

Then, all hell breaks loose. 

The moment that Kenzo’s hand lands on Tooru’s neck, he knows something’s wrong. This seemingly casual touch feels nothing like it should. It doesn’t feel like when his friends throw their arms over his shoulders or when his mom brushes her wrist over his neck in an affectionate, familial scenting. There's nothing casual about this; they're not even properly scenting, yet it's unbearably intimate, Kenzo’s fingers pressing into his scent glands' soft, sensitive flesh. 

Tooru's scent glands, underdeveloped like all unpresented children, seem to flare up. Swollen like he's somehow injured himself, his scent glands burn at the contact, the heat he's been feeling consuming him.

Kenzo obviously notices something is off as well. He gasps at the contact but doesn't pull away. Instead, his touch gets a little firmer, pressing intently, just light of digging his fingers in. His touch brings a mix of discomfort and euphoria, a confusing swirl that's making it hard to think.

“Ken-chan, what are you—” 

Abruptly, the world is turning — spinning like it was in the gym earlier, except this time, Tooru ends up on his back with a lap full of his previously shy boyfriend. Kenzo doesn’t seem so shy right now, though, crawling up Tooru’s body and pressing his face into the crook of Tooru’s neck. 

“Senpai, you smell so good,” he says, hands finally leaving Tooru's scent gland to slide down his body, resting on his waist. The way Kenzo's hands feel is weird, a strange mix of right and so utterly wrong. Tooru wants to kick Kenzo away and reclaim his space, yet at the same time, he wants Kenzo to come even closer, inside — “I didn’t know alphas could smell like this. Smell like an omega in heat—”

Kenzo keeps talking, but the blood pounding in Tooru’s head drowns out any other noises. Those last three words are like an ice bucket to Tooru's addled mind.

Omega in heat.

“Off.” Tooru tries to make it sound commanding, but it comes out more whine than anything else.

Kenzo doesn’t move; Tooru isn’t even sure if he heard him. He tries to push the other boy away — something he’d usually be able to do easily, given the height and general athleticism he has on the other boy. Kenzo is small and bookish — weaker than Tooru in every way. Right now, though, it’s like all the strength has left him, his hands clutching uselessly at the arms of Kenzo’s school jacket. 

Kenzo isn’t moving away, and suddenly, Tooru feels suffocated, like he will die if he doesn’t have space. It's different from the indescribable vines that fill him every so often — this is sheer panic. Kenzo's pheromones are usually light like everyone's is before they present. Tooru's never paid too much attention to them; he usually doesn't sit close enough to really even notice them. Right now, though, Tooru's lungs fill with some unknown earthy smell — an herb or root plant or something that Tooru is unfamiliar with and yet is drowning him.

Kenzo is too close, his face pressed against the scent glands on Tooru's neck, lips skimming his skin, and Tooru has only one thought in his mind.

“I said, get off !” Tooru’s arms might be limp and uncoordinated, but he can move his head well enough. A sickening thwack rings out as Tooru's forehead makes aggressive contact with Kenzo’s face.  

“Shit!” Kenzo yelps, hands coming up to clutch at his already bleeding nose. It’s the first time Tooru has ever heard Kenzo cuss, which he’d normally be excited about — Tooru takes great pride in his ability to corrupt the innocents — but right now, all he can think is have to get away, have to get away, dangerous !

At least the hit to the head seems to have knocked some sense into Kenzo because he finally backs up, giving Tooru room to breathe in for the first time in what feels like hours. 

“I’m sorry, I—” Kenzo starts, the words coming out slightly garbled and wet, his hands trying to keep the blood at bay. “I didn’t mean to — I mean, I wasn't going to — I don’t know what came over—”

“Get the fuck out!” Tooru snaps at him, picking up one of the volleyballs that are still on the ground and hurling it at him. Unlike earlier with Kageyama, it hits the boy square in the chest, sending him staggering, his hands moving from his face to his chest and smearing blood there too.

"Senpai, I'm so sorry. You're sick, let me help you—”

“I don’t want your help!” Tooru shouts, throwing another volleyball at him, this one landing hard against his left shoulder. “I don’t need it! I don’t need fucking anyone’s fucking help; people need to realize that. I’m not so damn weak that I can’t spend five fucking minutes on my own. I’m fine on my own, so get the hell out before I throw something heavier at your pathetic face! I’m tired of looking at it; it makes me sick.”

For the second time today, Tooru’s words make someone look like they’ve been slapped across the cheek. It’s the first time Tooru has ever deviated from his perfect prince act in front of his boyfriend; the first time he’s said anything even remotely harsh. However, he can’t bring himself to feel sorry even as fresh tears well up in Kenzo’s eyes. 

Good, Tooru thinks viciously, let him cry. He deserves it.

Finally, Kenzo turns and bolts from the room, ripping open the door and slamming it shut behind himself. 

Muffled by the closed door, Tooru can hear voices right outside. 

“Dude, are you—“ Iwaizumi’s voice is cut off before he can finish the sentence. 

“Ask him!” Comes the distorted response of Tooru’s definite ex -boyfriend.  

“Oi, Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi’s voice becomes clearer as the door to the storage shed swings open. “Did you get in some sort of—”

“Go away, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says. "I wanna be alone." It’s supposed to be a command, but the whole interaction with Kenzo took all the fight out of him, leaving him tired, aching, and desperate for something he can’t name.

Something he won’t name.

“What happened?” Iwaizumi asks instead of leaving. The click of the door swinging shut behind him sounds, and the two of them are alone. "Kageyama said you weren't feeling well."

The third person in a row to ignore Tooru's insistence that he's okay; it’s like no one understands the meaning of the word leave anymore.

“Nothing,” Tooru says with a shake of his head. “I just — I just need a minute, and then I’ll be fine.” 

“You don’t sound fine. Didn't I tell you that I'd kick your ass if you got sick, Shittykawa?" Despite the harsh words, Iwaizumi's voice is relatively soft.

Unlike Kenzo, Iwaizumi moves slowly enough for Tooru to follow his movements. Or perhaps Tooru is simply more in tune with his friend's presence—that would also make sense. Tooru has spent years honing his ability to always know where Iwaizumi is on the court; of course, he can track his movement across a narrow room.

"I'm not sick," Tooru says, though more because that's just part of the script between him and Iwaizumi rather than because he's still in denial.

He probably has a cold, which Iwaizumi will tease him about because only idiots catch colds during the summer. Then, Iwaizumi will take him home and make him drink lots of liquids so that Tooru can return to practice as soon as possible. Actually, it sounds kind of nice to be taken care of by Iwaizumi. His friend's bedside manner has always been shit, but no one knows how to look after Tooru like Iwaizumi does — rough hands and threats of bodily harm included.

"Hey, Oikawa," Iwaizumi says. "You look like shit. How long have you been feeling sick?"

"Just need some time to rest," Tooru insists.

"You should have just gone home if you were feeling sick," Iwaizumi scolds, reaching up to check Tooru's temperature. "Fuck, you're burning up. What the hell, Oikawa?"

If Kenzo's hand felt nice, Iwaizumi's palm is heaven against Tooru's flushed cheek. Reaching out, Tooru grabs Iwaizumi's other hand and puts that one on him too, cupping his face with Iwaizumi's hands.

"Feel good, Iwa-chan," Tooru sighs into the touch. "Fuck, your hands."

"Oi—Oikawa, what are you—"

Gripping Iwaizumi's wrists, Tooru moves his friend's hands against him. In a replay of moments before, Tooru slides Iwaizumi's hands down from his face to his neck, pressing the inside of Iwaizumi's wrists against the scent glands beside his throat. It's nothing that they haven't done before, but for some reason, this feels nothing like the platonic scenting they did as kids. Maybe it's just been too long since they've scented each other, but this feels so much more intimate that Tooru can't imagine doing it with someone other than Iwaizumi — the person he trusts most in this world.

The relief of releasing some of his pheromones is instant. However, instead of calming him like usual, soaking in some of Iwaizumi's has the opposite effect from what he's used to. As Iwaizumi's pheromones mingle with his own, it feels like lightning shocking through his veins, igniting every ember in his body. There's none of the claustrophobia that came with Kenzo being so close; instead, this just feels right—as if Iwaizumi's hands were designed to caress Tooru's skin.  

Iwaizumi gasps at the touch, his voice rough and strained the next time he speaks.

"Shit, I’m can't be in here, I—”

This time, Iwaizumi’s voice is cut off by Tooru launching himself at his friend. He doesn’t even mean to do it. Never mind that he was just trying to kick Iwaizumi out — right now, the idea of being parted from him feels obscene in its wrongness. 

“Wait!” Tooru breathes, pressing his face against his friend’s neck and breathing in. "Don't leave me, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi’s normally light scent, seems stronger right now for some reason, but no less appealing. It’s nothing like the overpowering odors that have made Tooru nauseous all day or the asshole who just left; Iwaizumi smells like pine and the first rays of sunshine after rain, like comfort instilled into a scent. It’s good and feels like salvation from the flames that lick their way through Tooru’s whole being. Tooru wants to bathe in these pheromones, luxuriate in their warmth, and never come out. He can't let Iwaizumi leave, not when having him here feels so damn good that Tooru can feel his knees giving out.

“Fuck, Tooru, what’s going on? Are you—” Iwaizumi sounds almost strangled as if he’s trying not to breathe. It's as if he's as affected by Tooru's scent as Tooru is by his, and for some reason, that makes Tooru want to purr with pleasure.

“Iwa-chan, please!” Tooru leans in and plasters his body against Iwaizumi's, and somehow, it's still not as close as he needs.

They’re near enough in height that Tooru doesn’t often really notice the difference, despite how much he likes to tease his friend about it. Right now, though, he’s taking full advantage of the three-centimeter difference, baring down against his friend.

"I need you," Tooru mumbles, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi. "Don't leave me, Iwa-chan. Hajime."

“Fuck!” Iwaizumi hisses as if hearing his name caused some sort of physical pain.

“Please, Hajime!”

“Stay here, I’ll get the nurse—“

“Hajime,” Tooru’s voice has long since dipped into the tones of begging, but he doesn’t care. He’ll get on his knees and pray if that will keep the other boy in here with him. “I want you. Please. Help me. ” 

"Hey, hey, listen to me," Iwaizumi says, pulling back a little and trying to get Tooru to look at him. “I think you’re going through a heat. You can’t just stay here. You need to let me get someone to help.”

“Not a heat,” Tooru insists. “Not an omega. Can’t be!”

"You're going to be fine, I just—"

"No!" Tooru snaps, squeezing harder.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi mutters, sounding increasingly choked as if there’s something wrong with the air that makes him afraid to breathe it. “Hold on.”

Suddenly, Tooru feels himself being held at arm’s length by Iwaizumi — a horrible distance put between them. Before Tooru can protest, Iwaizumi is stripping off his jersey, leaving himself shirtless. It’s a bizarre enough move that for a second, Tooru can only blink at his now bare-chested friend, completely forgetting his need to be closer.

“Can you walk?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“I don’t…” Tooru trails off, unable to tear his eyes away from Iwaizumi’s chest. They’re only fifteen, both lanky and barely starting to fill out, but for some reason, Iwaizumi’s chest looks like the best thing Tooru has ever seen. 

“Don’t hate me for this,” Iwaizumi says. Before Tooru can puzzle out what the hell that means, Iwaizumi is throwing his jersey over Tooru’s head and scooping Tooru up is a damn princess carry. 

“What the hell?” Tooru flails, very reasonably confused by the turn of events. The strangeness of the last few seconds is almost enough to knock Tooru out of the weird trance he's been in since Iwaizumi entered the equipment closet. Almost — held in Iwaizumi's arms and with his jersey draped over his head, Tooru is surrounded by his friend's pheromones.

“I’m taking you to the nurse. Cover your head with that if you don’t want everyone to see you or smell your pheromones.”

“Nothing to smell,” Tooru insists. “No pheromones.”

Still, though, he doesn’t toss Iwaizumi’s shirt away. Instead, he nudges the cloth to the side enough to reach Iwaizumi's familiar soft skin. Wrapping his arms around his friend’s neck, Tooru seeks comfort in his friend's familiar warm scent. His face flush against the bare skin of Iwaizumi’s throat, Tooru breathes deep and hopes harder than he’s ever hoped for anything — even harder than he hopes to finally get to nationals — that somehow in the safety of Iwaizumi’s arms, he’ll be able to escape this nightmare.

Because he knows, deep down, that Iwaizumi is right. And if Iwaizumi is right and this is a heat, then the nightmare is only just beginning.

Chapter Text

Momo comes over about an hour after Tooru is picked up from school. Her knock on his bedroom door is a little hesitant, but she still enters a minute later despite him not responding. When she opens the door, it's to find Tooru curled up on his bed, his comforter wrapped around himself in an unsuccessful attempt at comfort.

"Hey," she says, her voice soft, as if she's talking to a small, scared animal instead of a teenage boy taller than she is. "How are you holding up?"

"Will it always be like this?" Tooru asks in lieu of a proper greeting, his knuckles white around the hot pad clutched to his stomach. It's the same one Tomoyo used for period cramps as a teenager, and Tooru finds himself suddenly sympathizing with her in a way that revolts him.

"No," Momo answers immediately. "They'll be intense, but the nature of the feeling will be different. The first one is always the most painful as the body undergoes its final changes. It's supposed to be worse for male omegas. After this, it won't be so bad. There will still be cramping and discomfort, but you shouldn't ever be in pain like the first one ever again."

She doesn't add the 'also you'll be unbearably horny' part that is the focus of so much locker room talk between boys going through puberty. She doesn't need to. Tooru finds himself glad to be spared that embarrassing comment.

Right now, he feels far too sick to feel anything like aroused. Those symptoms will become more prominent as he gets older; he knows that intellectually, but right now, he can't imagine feeling anything other than miserable. He's closer to vomiting from the discomfort than he is to doing something like masturbating.

Later ones will be accompanied by the unbearable arousal that Hollywood loves to exaggerate in its movies. He's never looked forward to anything less. That includes the award ceremonies of teams that beat them. 

It's almost funny that he finally finds something that can beat out his own pettiness, and it's his own damn body. Because of course it is.

"Do you want me to bring you some nesting clothes?" Momo asks and just the idea of it has Tooru's stomach churning.

Nesting clothes—specially made omega clothes that are supposed to make them feel safe and comfortable during heats. Tooru knows that many omegas have closets full of them, and some even choose to wear them as daily wear.

"No," Tooru says and hopes it comes out more tired than it does disgusted. "Thanks, but no."

He's fucking Oikawa Tooru; he didn't need something as trivial as a special little outfit for the most embarrassing moments of his existence because of his biology.

He doesn't need a crutch like that. He doesn't need expensive silk and cashmere padding wrapped around himself like some breakable vase being stuffed in a box. Fragile is the last thing he is, and he'll be damned if the world tries to convince him otherwise.

I'm Oikawa Tooru. I'm not going to let anything get the better of me, even if it's my own stupid body. I'm the only thing that can change me, nothing else.

That night, Tooru does something that he hasn't done in years—not since he was eight when he and Iwaizumi watched too many horror movies during what was supposed to be a sleepover, except they had found Iwaizumi's dad's secret stash of chocolate. Tooru ate so much that he threw up and then pretended to have a fever to avoid getting in trouble over the stolen sweets. Which was an excellent plan except for the part where it left him alone in his bedroom with no Iwa-chan to sacrifice to zombies while he made his own escape.

Just like that night, practically half his life ago, Tooru takes his blankets and pillow and knocks on his parents' bedroom door. It's late, and his parents are already dressed for bed, though thankfully not asleep yet.

He's fifteen and usually feels way too old to be babied, but right now he just wants the comfort. He'd never even think about this if he was actually experiencing the full symptoms of a heat, but it's the first one, and there's no arousal within him—only suffering.

Lying beside the sleeping forms of his mom and dad, he feels something settle. The pain is still there, as well as the unbearable heat from within that really does just feel like the worst fever he's ever had, but a discomfort in his heart quiets slightly.

He feels safe enough to fall asleep.

A naive, childish part of him hopes that he'll wake up and find that his heat is just as real as the zombies that terrified him seven years ago.

The rest of him knows better.

The next day, Tooru goes to the doctor, determined to leave with a prescription for hormone inhibitors. His parents try to convince him to wait another day, maybe even two, and go on Monday instead, but Tooru has never been good at waiting. Push through, ignore the pain, grab what he wants, and refuse to give it up—that's the way he's always lived life.

So, less than twenty-four hours after his first heat starts, Tooru is sitting in an uncomfortable chair, listening to his pediatrition congratulate him on presenting. His skin still itches like it's a new uniform with too much starch that hasn't settled against his body yet, the ache in his abdomen has only partially subsided, and is still sending shocks through him every so often.

Frankly, Tooru finds the doctor's enthusiasm patronizing at best. There's nothing to celebrate here, and pretending otherwise makes him want to roll his eyes. Still, he smiles politely through it, nodding along as the doctor describes the usual heat suppressants most newly presented omegas are prescribed. They're fairly mild, Tooru is reassured, and will ease the symptoms of a heat while still allowing his omega pheromones to be released in polite, manageable quantities.

There's another kind, though—one that the doctors don't even mention, but Tooru has read about online. It's the kind that omega athletes in other countries—countries where there even are professional omega athletes—use. They block scent production almost entirely, neutralizing it to the point that someone would never be able to tell his secondary sex, even if they're practically pressing up against his scent gland. It's ideal—the perfect solution, with the only minor downside being that, apparently, there's a slight increase in some of the more uncomfortable heat symptoms. 

Whatever, Tooru has never been the type to shy away from discomfort, not when it's all that stands between him and what he wants.

"I want inhibitors," Tooru states. It's not quite as rude as a demand, but it also isn't particularly polite. He doesn't care; not right now. "Not just heat suppressants; I want the full hormone inhibitors."

"Oh." The doctor's surprise at Tooru's vehemence is obvious, and it takes her a second to shake. "Well, that's an option we can consider, but I don't know if it's the best first thing to try. We can discuss various—"

"I know what I want. It's the only option I'm interested in."

She's skeptical at first, even when both Tooru's parents shrug and state that they won't argue with Tooru's decision, so long as it's safe. This leads the doctor to rattle on about the various side effects of not only the inhibitors themselves, but of long-term hormone suppression in general, especially at such a young age.

According to her, it's not just that heat symptoms might be slightly more intense, but can also cause mood swings, an increase in irritability, migraines, lethargy, nausea, and the suppression of some of the more omega-like physical changes. Tooru knows about all that, of course; he'd scrolled past the potential (and, according to the internet, unlikely) side effects when he was looking up potential solutions to the hell he'd been thrust into. In fact, he's banking on the last one.

Male omegas don't exactly grow boobs the way females do, but there often is some sort of slight growth in breast tissue. This sudden influx of hormones, making his chest tender, is the last thing he needs, especially considering that he's throwing himself onto the ground multiple times a day during practice. He also sure as hell doesn't need his scent glands softening and readying themselves to be bitten and mated. Sure, it might mean that if he were to be bitten, it would hurt like a bitch, but he's only fifteen; he's not going to mate with someone any time soon, if ever. Maybe—maybe—he might consider doing that someday, but that's a decision he can make later. Right now, there's nothing more important than remaining on the court.

"Also," the doctor continues, "unlike other birth control methods that can be used with typical heat suppressants, hormone inhibitors can lead to a potential decrease in long-term fertility. You wouldn't just be making a decision for today Tooru, but future you as well."

The mention of the last potential side effect has Tooru's cheeks aflame.

The idea of him needing birth-control settles uneasily in a mortified Tooru's gut. In all the talk over the years about what he could be, it's not until he's sitting in the doctor's office that the reality that someday an alien could grow inside of him really sinks in. 

The sudden attention brought to his body with that statement makes his stomach turn sour and twist, as if he's going to be sick. It's humiliating, thinking about the fact that a womb exists inside of him, let alone the fact that now everyone in the room is thinking about it too. Like he's an empty walking incubator waiting to be filled. He's fifteen and might be cocky and prideful in some areas, but this is all new territory. Besides, what pride is he supposed to take in something as humiliating as this?

It's not just the embarrassment, though.

Watching Momo's pregnancy was enough for Tooru to know that he has no desire to do the same. The adults might have tried to sanitize it and dress the whole thing up as being part of the "miracle of life," but all Tooru saw was an invader. Never mind that he actually quite likes Takeru—pregnancy is something out of a horror movie and no amount of adorable nephew can change that.

The very nature of pregnancy terrifies him; he can't imagine anything more disturbing than something going on in his body that he has no control over. An alien that would leach the calcium from his bones and swell his ankles and make it impossible for him to play. It feels wrong, the very idea that such a thing could happen to him. He's always been in control, always been the one with the answers. 

Absolutely not, Tooru decides. No way, no how. If these inhibitors can kill that possibility for good, then all the better. I'll never go through that indignity.

The doctor might have her opinions and recommendations, but ultimately, she concedes that despite everything, there's nothing inherently dangerous about Tooru taking the hormone inhibitors. They're usually only used by adults, but they're approved for omegas as young as thirteen.

Ultimately, the decision is left to Tooru. He can either let everyone find out he's an omega or have unbearable heats and risk a plethora of potential side effects. The answer is obvious. Tooru has never been one to fear pain. 

Next Monday, Tooru shows up to school smelling like his usual light, vaguely floral, unpresented self. He's still a little stiff from spending days curled into a ball and gets random twinges of pain in his stomach, but those are purely internal symptoms—nothing that will give him away.

No, to the outside world, his secondary sex is just as ambiguous as it's always been, which is exactly as he plans on keeping it.

There's a rumor going around about the gallant Iwaizumi who carried a poor, anonymous omega in heat to the nurse's office. Everyone is talking about Iwaizumi, who was so gentlemanly to have done all of that shirtless so that he could protect the omegas' privacy by shielding them with his jersey. By lunch, Iwaizumi is being hailed as a hero, receiving high-fives from random guys and curious looks from girls and a few of the out omegas.

Somewhere along the way, Tooru has been roped into the story as well. At first, when Tooru hears the mention of his name alongside the other details, his instinct is to panic. Then, he hears the rest of the story. 

According to the rumor mills, the situation went like this: Tooru happened upon a helpless omega in heat, but being an alpha himself, was unable to help the poor boy. So, Tooru stood guard until Iwaizumi arrived, who, as a beta, was able to take the omega to the nurse with little trouble. Then, Tooru, who was so overcome by the omega's pheromones, had to take the day off from practice. 

Tooru doesn't even have to seed any mistruths; the entire fabricated story is born and circulated entirely on its own, courtesy of young teens and their insatiable love of gossip.

It should be comforting that, apparently, everyone in school is so confident in the idea that Tooru must be an alpha that they don't even second-guess the completely bullshit story. Even Kageyama, who was there and really should know better than to believe such an obvious bit of fiction, just accepts the story with a simple, "Oh, I didn't realize that's what was happening. Sorry, I must not have seen whoever you were protecting."

The boy might be a genius setter, but Tooru is pretty sure that he's met crows smarter than that kid. He almost wants to confront Kageyama about how he could believe such a blatant lie, but decides to just leave it. It's not his job to babysit the kid or try to drill common sense into him. 

It's the best outcome — Tooru gets to continue with everyone assuming he's an alpha while maintaining deniability in the misunderstanding. He doesn't lie and confirm the story, but he also doesn't do anything to argue against it. 

Everything works out perfectly in his favor without him even lifting a finger; it's an unusual stroke of luck for Tooru. For some reason, though, the whole thing sits weird with him. Like a fingernail down his spine, it makes him itch all over. It's not quite the same as the vines that like to constrict his breathing sometimes, but it's unpleasant just the same.

It's during lunch, on his way to buy a soda from a vending machine, that Kenzo approaches him, asking to talk. Tooru really doesn't want to be near the kid right now, but he can't really refuse such a simple request from his boyfriend in the middle of a crowded hall. They end up behind the gym, the same place the younger boy confessed, and not too far off from the storage locker where Tooru headbutted him in the face two days ago.

"I'm sorry," Kenzo says as soon as they're alone. "I didn't realize that it'd be like that — your heat, I mean. It seems like it triggered my rut, which would explain why I couldn't stop myself — not that it's any excuse, I just—"

For just a moment, the idea of Kenzo turning out to be an alpha when his chances were so slim makes Tooru's heart beat faster in anticipatory excitement. Someone else beat the odds, so surely he can—   

Then he remembers. He won't be beating any odds. Tooru has already presented. Nothing left to hope for—his losing hand has already been dealt and revealed to the table. 

“Kenzo-kun,” Tooru interupts. It's the first time he's ever called the other boy by his actual name and not a nickname. Kenzo seems to notice, glancing up at Tooru with wide, terrified eyes. Damn, Tooru is really not in the mood to comfort this kid. Still, though, Tooru is the older one here, and he's willing to at least pretend to be a nice person. "Is your nose okay?"

"Yeah, just a bit sore." Almost absentmindedly, Kenzo reaches up and touches his nose. It looks surprisingly fine, considering the last time Tooru saw it, it was covered in blood. "It wasn't broken or anything. My sister helped me cover the bruise with some concealer."

Ah, that explained it. Tooru has seen faces smashed in from a hard spike to the face; a broken nose tends to lead to swollen black eyes from the pooling blood, something nearly impossible to cover with makeup.

Now is where Tooru should apologize, as well, for headbutting and yelling at the kid. It's where he'd usually apologize. Normally, Tooru would flash his princely, perfect smile and say something that was just the right combination of chagrined and concerned that Kenzo would forgive him entirely.

Right now, though, he just can't bring himself to do it. To the outside world, Tooru might seem like the perfect prince, but inside, he's petty and ugly down to his core—that's something he has always been honest about with himself, if not to the world at large.

"Well, that was very nice of her," Tooru says, a smile on his face that he's not even trying to make look genuine. "I hope it heals soon, Kenzo-kun." 

With that, Tooru takes a step to the side, making to go around the other boy. 

Before he can leave, though, Kenzo's hand reaches out to grab him. Tooru's reaction is instant and instinctual — slapping the boy's hand away and letting out a primal growl. 

"Don't touch me," Tooru snaps, his voice quiet but far from soft. "Don't even think about putting your hands on me."

Even to his own ears, Tooru sounds dangerous. Kenzo might be the alpha between them, but Tooru is still taller and stronger than the other boy—he's still the one who's a real threat here. Gender be damned, Tooru could rip this boy apart before Kenzo managed to get anywhere near Tooru's neck.

"I'm sorry! I just — I wanted to tell you that I won't tell anyone, I swear! You know, about what actually happened. That you're a—"

"That I'm what?" Tooru asks, trying to calm the spiking adrenaline in his veins. They're outside and there is nothing that Kenzo can actually do to him. Yet that feeling from the encounter in the shed, of being so utterly helpless against a foe he should be able to easily outpower, sticks with him.

Tooru is so tired of fighting against giants, against what the rest of the world has deemed above him.

"What might you say that I am?" Tooru pushes. "An asshole? A terrible boyfriend who dumped you as soon as you presented as an alpha? That I was mean to you? That the thought of you being near me repulses me? Shout it from the rooftops, I don't care. Those things are true."

Tilting his head back just a little, Tooru looks down his nose at Kenzo, exaggerating the difference in their height. Fuck gender and society, Tooru will always be the one with power in every situation, even if he has to wrestle it out of others' hands.

"I—"

"However," Tooru continues, uninterested in whatever the other boy has to say, "if you were to start spreading lies about me—lies such as… I don't know—that I was the one in heat that Iwa-chan needed to help, just as an example—then we'd have a problem. Got that? Because that would just be horrible, don't you think?"

There's an audible swallowing noise before Kenzo lets out a quiet, "Got it."

"Good. I'm glad you're able to at least understand that much," Tooru says, his usual smiling mask sliding easily back into place. Suddenly, he's all bright smiles and adorable dimples again. "Now, you'll have to excuse me; I need to get to practice. It was nice talking, Kenzo-kun."

Tooru leaves Kenzo there, alone behind the gym. He doesn't bother to look back, even when he hears a sniffle.

He can pull himself together, Tooru tells himself and goes into the gym. Not my boyfriend, not my problem.

Pulling out his phone, he changes his screen saver from the picture of him and Kenzo to one of himself and Iwaizumi when they were seven, both grinning ear to ear with a crouching Jose Blanco between them. Just looking at it makes Tooru smile.

And with that, Tooru's first experience having a boyfriend is over. 

Iwaizumi doesn't bring it up that morning as they walk to school together, or at lunch, or at practice. Instead, he just acts normally, ribbing Tooru about not paying enough attention in class and paying too much attention during practice. He laughs and jokes and shoves Tooru in the side when Tooru says something specifically designed to annoy his best friend. Iwaizumi doesn't avoid him; he doesn't acknowledge that anything happened that might affect their friendship.

Tooru is almost convinced that Iwaizumi won't mention it at all and that they'll be able to pretend the whole thing never happened. Almost. Iwaizumi has never been one for letting Tooru avoid thinking about things he wishes he could ignore.

So it's really no surprise when, on the way home, Iwaizumi asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Aw, is Iwa-chan worried about me?" Tooru teases and immediately braces himself for a kick. Instead, Iwaizumi just knocks his shoulder against him—proof he actually is worried. 

"Was that the first time?"

Tooru considers playing dumb or denying it or just straight up changing the subject. There's no point, though—what happened is obvious to even the most scent-dead beta or unpresented kid on earth. Iwaizumi knows, and there's nothing that can change that.

It's time Tooru stops lying, at least to himself. At least to Iwaizumi. Because Iwaizumi has always been more of an extension of himself than he has ever been anything as simple as a friend. Iwaizumi has always been special.

"Yeah," Tooru says, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. "I knew my chances were high — apparently really high — but I always thought… I thought I'd get lucky." Tooru's laugh sounds dark even to his own ears. "Should have known better; when have I ever been able to rely on luck?"

Iwaizumi shoves Tooru in the side, but doesn't argue the point.

"Are you going to tell people?" Iwaizumi asks, as if it's even a possibility.

"What? Absolutely not." Tooru can feel his face twisting up in horror. "Why the hell would I do something like that? Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"What's wrong with telling people?" Again, Iwaizumi asks it like he doesn't already know the answer. Like he genuinely sees nothing wrong with what Tooru is. "People are probably gonna figure it out anyway."

"I'm taking hormone inhibitors—no one's going to figure anything out. Covers it all up, like I never presented in the first place."

"Does it?" Iwaizumi looks unconvinced. "I mean, it's not strong, and maybe if I didn't know you, I might assume you're a beta because it's light, but your scent has changed."

"No, it hasn't." Instinctively, Tooru twists his head, trying ineffectively to scent his own neck.

In response, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and grabs Tooru's wrist and holds it close to his face. The scent glands on the wrists are the smallest on the body and excrete the least amount of pheromones compared to those on the neck or thighs, making them convenient for platonic scenting. So, it shouldn't be affecting Tooru as much as it does to see Iwaizumi hold his wrist up, his nose barely brushing the sensitive skin of Tooru's scent gland.

He's being ridiculous, letting this make him feel... something when Tooru had been rubbing his wrists against Iwaizumi's throat just two days before in something that could only barely be considered platonic. And that was in a heat daze while in an enclosed storage room together as well, not just standing casually on the sidewalk.

"Definitely different," Iwaizumi confirms, his breath ghosting over Tooru's skin. "More floral. Reminds me of that garden we went to in Kyoto earlier this year during our class field trip."

Tooru brings his wrist up to his own nose, sniffing causiously. He's done his best to ignore any potential omega sign so far, but he can't deny that he is curious. To his surprise, he recognizes the scent, the image of bushes of blue flowers popping up in his mind.

"Hydrangea?" Tooru says.

"Maybe? Like I said, it's different from before."

"Well, a floral scent doesn't necessarily scream omega," Tooru reasons. "My mom smells similar, and she's beta through and through. And I'm sure I've even met alphas with the occasional flowery pheromones."

Iwaizumi shrugs in the way that means he's conceding a point.

"Aren't hormone inhibitors dangerous, though? Isn't there anything less intense you can take?"

"Nothing that will block my scent enough to pass," Tooru gives a fake little smile. "I'm not so lucky to be an alpha and have specially made scent blockers to take with my zero-side effects rut suppressants."

"I mean, there are like three times as many alphas than omegas—"

"Yeah, yeah," Tooru interrupts. "I'm something rare and beautiful, whatever. I'd rather be rare in the 'super talented genius volleyball player' way instead of 'my ass gets wet way.'"

It's only when Iwaizumi doesn't respond right away that Tooru looks over. Iwaizumi hasn't frozen on the spot or something dramatic like that (that's really Tooru's style, not Iwaizumi's), but there is a distinct blush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Tooru has a distinct and cherished memory of being thirteen and teasing Iwaizumi for waking up with morning wood and making his friend turn almost purple.

Commenting on how his body reacts to being turned on was probably not the best thing for preserving his dignity or respecting Iwaizumi's random streaks of prudishness. Still, Tooru can't really find it in himself to care. Sure, the thought of it disgusts him and is a little embarrassing to think about, but the reward of an awkward blushing Iwaizumi makes up for it.

"Iwa-chan, are you thinking about something dirty?" Tooru asks, for the first time that conversation, feeling something other than annoyance at his circumstances.

"No!" Iwaizumi snaps, which is followed by a swift kick in the ass that almost has Tooru toppling over. "Don't be gross, Shittykawa."

"Oh sure, because pure little Iwa-chan would never think something dirty in his life." Tooru laughs as he stumbles, taking a few steps to steady himself. "What was so distracting then?"

"Just," Iwaizumi scowls, pausing as he obviously tries to find something else to talk about, "what about collars?"

"What about them?"

"Most omegas wear them."

"Stupid isn't very becoming, my friend," Tooru says with a sniff. "I might as well hang a sign over my head if I did that."

"They have their uses, though. Protection as well as scent blocking. Most omega athletes wear them."

"Yeah, well, most omega athletes never get to see any time in play, if they ever make it onto a team at all. In any sport."

That's not just Tooru being pessimistic, either; that's the plain truth of it. Despite approximately 7% of the world's population being omega, less than 1% of professional athletes are, and almost all of them are in individual sports or those that emphasize flexibility and style over sheer athleticism. Gymnastics and ice skating are fun to watch during the Olympics, but Tooru has no interest in putting on a leotard or strapping knives to his feet. It's not like he has any interest in swinging a bat or getting in a pool or any of the other alpha-dominated sports either.

Honestly, he doesn't really give a shit what's going on in any other sport. He just wants to play volleyball.

"They'll find out eventually," Iwaizumi tells him. "Obviously, you're an omega."

"Obviously? What do you mean, obviously?"

"I mean, look at you." Iwaizumi gestures at him. 

Tooru can feel his face getting hot at that, the vines in his gut that he's become familiar with these past few years twisting painfully. Because what the hell does that mean?

Is Iwaizumi calling him pretty? Not likely—Iwaizumi might be his best friend, but Tooru also knows the other boy would rather lick the bottom of his shoe than call Tooru pretty.

If not that, then what? Is his friend telling him that he looks weak and like he'll never make it on the same stages as people like Ushijima?

The reasonable part of Tooru's brain says that's not true either; Iwaizumi is his best friend and believes in him, he'd never say something so shitty as that. Another, deeper, bitter part doesn't want to ask for clarity, though. He trusts Iwaizumi, but on the slimmest, tiniest chance it's something unflattering, Tooru doesn't want to hear it.

"Shut up," Tooru says. It comes out quietly, probably a little more hurt than he means for it to. He doesn't want to deal with this, doesn't want to think about how this might change how Iwaizumi looks at him.

Surprisingly, Iwaizumi does. Trips home aren't always filled with conversation; half the time, they're both so exhausted from practice that even Tooru doesn't bother filling the space between them. It's usually a comfortable silence, though, the type of quiet that comes from spending all their time at each other's side and already knowing everything that happened to the other that day.

Tooru is fine with the silences between them when they come naturally.

This silence isn't like that, though. This silence is long and heavy and twists around them like a bandage wrapped incorrectly—simultaneously too tight and too loose in all the wrong places. Every step they take, Tooru can feel Iwaizumi getting further away, this change pushing them apart like he's been afraid it would since the very beginning.

"I broke up with Kenzo," Tooru says after a while, less because he wants to talk about it and more because he needs to say something.

"Yeah? Make him cry?"

"Why do you always assume the worst of me?" 

"Because you're the worst," Iwaizumi replies without missing a beat.

"So mean!" Tooru complains right back, smacking Iwaizumi on the arm. The ease and familiarity of the banter loosen a little of the tightness in his chest; the twisting vines that threaten to choke him are almost bearable.

"Does that mean you admit to making him cry?"

"It wasn't on purpose." Tooru pauses. "Mostly, anyway. Besides, why do you care? You never even liked him!"

"You still shouldn't go around making kids cry," Iwaizumi says, not even denying his dislike for Kenzo anymore.

"I can't help it if I'm a natural born heart breaker," Tooru says with a flip of his hair. Unfortunately, just as he does so, something falls on top of his head, sending panic through him and completely ruining his cool guy image. "Oh my god, what fell on me? Did a bird just shit on me?"

Usually, Tooru would be more careful about messing up his typically carefully styled hair. Still, they're almost home anyway, and the horror of what disgusting thing could be touching him is too much. Too scared to touch whatever it is with his hands, Tooru resorts to shaking his head violently.

"It's a twig, dumbass," Iwaizumi says with a laugh.

"Whatever it is, get it off!" Tooru demands, refusing to do it himself. Iwaizumi once tricked Tooru into picking up a slug with his bare hands, and he's never trusted him since. The fact that they were seven at the time and it was payback for the day before when Tooru had put a stinkbug on the back of Iwaizumi's shirt is completely irrelevant.

"Hold still."

Tooru pauses long enough to tilt his head down, giving his friend full access to the top of his head. It only takes a moment for Iwaizumi to fish out the offending piece of nature, lightly tugging on a lock of Tooru's hair once he's taken it out.

His attention drawn by the tug, Tooru flicks his eyes up through his lashes. Iwaizumi is close, closer than he usually ever is. Over the years, Tooru has seen his best friend up close like this countless times, yet he can't remember the last time. Or no, maybe he can.

The last time they were like this, Tooru was waking up to the sound of a camera and a pair of warm hands wrapped around his own.

No—that's not right. The last time they were this close, Tooru was trying to get closer, begging Iwaizumi to help him with the unbearable need his heat brought on. Which, now that Tooru understood what was happening that day, the implications of what kind of help he was asking for, has him feeling... some sort of way.

"See?" Iwaizumi asks, holding up the twig. "What a wimp, getting freaked out by a twig."

"Yeah, well, I have to protect the merchandise," Tooru defends, shoving his friend away and feeling suddenly a little hot under the collar. "I'm making up for your ugliness, so it's extra important I remain perfect."

"You're a dick," Iwaizumi says, shoving Tooru back even harder, making Tooru stumble for a moment. "I don't want to hear any comments on my looks from the likes of you, pretty boy."

The words 'pretty boy' make something shift in Tooru's chest. Not bad exactly, just unsettled. It's as if Tooru's body has decided that it feels something about those words, but hasn't yet decided what that something is.

There's been a lot of that recently, a lot of something—confusing and undefined—when it comes to Iwaizumi.

He doesn't like it; Tooru has never liked that which he didn't understand.

They're almost home by now, about to turn onto their street, and it's comfortable enough to let the conversation lull for now. It's only when they reach Iwaizumi's house that his friend says anything.

"Wait," Iwaizumi says when Tooru turns to say goodbye. He's holding his bag up, digging around like he's looking for something. "Before you go… I have something."

"Did the vending machine give you extra snacks or something?" Tooru asks, craning his neck to look. "You have all the luck, I swear. I've never seen it drop extras for anyone, and yet it drops doubles for you almost every time, I swear." Tooru's never seen it, but he's been on the receiving end of Iwaizumi's free snacks plenty.

"No, it's... here." Iwaizumi finally finds what he's looking for and thrusts out a handful of cloth. His ears are such a bright red that Tooru would almost be worried about his friend having a fever if Iwaizumi weren't seemingly immune to colds.

Curious, Tooru takes the offered object—a messily folded sweater, the silky fabric instantly slipping out of whatever square Iwaizumi might try to fold it into. 

It's light blue—a beautiful, almost white color that reminds Tooru of cloudless days. It's the color of the sky in the middle of the day, so perfectly brilliant that it feels a million light-years away and like it's just within reach. It's a color that makes Tooru think of opportunities, of the impossible becoming possible, of jumping and being able to fly.

The sweater is Tooru's favorite color. Favorite, other than the specific shade of red Iwaizumi's ears are right now, though Tooru has never shared that particular detail with his friend.

It looks like a normal sweater, but the lush material makes it clear what it is: a nesting sweater, the same kind he'd rejected from Momo just a few days before. It should annoy him to no end, just being handed something like this, and yet Tooru can feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes as he strokes the cloth. It's softer than anything he's ever owned, possibly softer than anything he's ever touched, and he knows it couldn't have been cheap.

"You might as well have something," Iwaizumi tells him, gaze averted and cheeks pink. "And I know you're not the type to buy something like this for yourself."

"What are you talking about?" Tooru teases, pleased that his voice sounds unaffected by the thoughtful gesture. "You know as well as anyone that I love treating myself."

"Not when it comes to things that matter."

"Aw, Iwa-chan is such a sap!" Tooru says, even though he's the one whose eyes are filling with tears. "What a mom."

"Shut up."

He brings the sweater to his face, allowing himself to briefly indulge in rubbing the fluffy fabric against his cheek. It's so soft that it almost has him purring, and it smells like Iwaizumi in a way that makes his toes curl and the unsettled feeling in his chest grow.

It reminds Tooru of the knee pads Iwaizumi got him for his birthday, though this sweater is no doubt way more expensive than his birthday present. Again, Iwaizumi saw something Tooru might need and got it for him without even asking.

If it were anyone else, a present like this would feel incredibly invasive. It would feel like such a perverted violation of Tooru's privacy, the idea of someone thinking about him in heat and forcing a personal gift—the kind usually only given by family or mates—on him like this.

It's not someone else, though; it's Iwaizumi Hajime, who doesn't need to break down the walls Tooru builds around himself because he's always had the keys anyway. 

Tooru doesn't know how he feels about the sweater, the way it sparks all of his omega instincts to lavish in the softness, but he does know that he appreciates the gesture. Even if he's always known that Iwaizumi wouldn't care what Tooru presented as, this present feels like a tangible reassurance of that.

Part of him wants to chuck it in the trash, while another part wants nothing more than to strip off all his clothes and put it on right there in the street.

"Thanks," he says, opening his bag and shoving it in, not caring about wrinkles. No one will ever see him wear it anyway.

"We should probably have a talk," his mom says, and Tooru already wants to crawl under his bed. "The talk."

"No, we don't," Tooru immediately replies. They're in his room, Tooru sitting against his headboard while his mom sits at the foot of the bed, his dad standing next to her. Tooru has only been home for half an hour and still hasn't completely recovered from the events of the day, let alone the weekend; he doesn't need to be traumatized all over again.

"Your mother is right," his dad oh so helpfully adds, nodding along and looking very serious in a way that's so obviously an act that Tooru would laugh if he weren't currently wishing a black hole would spawn in his bedroom and swallow him whole.

"No, she's not." Tooru buries his face in his hands, lamenting that spontaneous human combustion never happens when people could really use it. "We already did this! It was horrible then; we don't need a repeat."

"I know you already know about the birds and the bees," his mom continues undeterred, "but with your presenting as an omega, you might have a few questions and—"

"Stop, please stop."

"And with Iwaizumi-kun—"

"I'm going to die."

"It's not that we don't trust you—"

"I'm actually going to die."

"Your mom is just concerned about the two of you—"

"Give me the knife. I'm gonna do it right here."

"Don't be so dramatic, Tooru," his mom chastises. "I don't care if it's awkward; now that we know that you could be on either end of a pregnancy, you need to be extra—"

Abruptly, Tooru gets up from the bed.

"I'll get the knife myself. You two can meet me in the kitchen if you want to witness my final moments."

"You know that your mother and I would never prevent you from spending time with Iwaizumi—we know how special he is to you—but we think it's important—"

"Never mind," Tooru decides. "The kitchen is too far. I'm going out the window instead. Head first."

"Tooru!"

"The talk" ends up going for a full hour, which is so unnecessary, especially considering that Tooru is fifteen. He's not some innocent little kid who doesn't understand where babies come from anymore. Hell, he's watched porn before! Not that he'd admit as much to his parents, obviously, but still! He understands the ins and outs.

Somewhere between his dad bringing out the condoms and bananas and his mom talking about the difficulties a teen pregnancy might cause him, Tooru thoroughly checks out of the conversation. He loves his parents, he really does, but this truly is overkill.

He's in the middle of replaying last week's practice game, looking for holes in their defense and opportunities he should have taken, when he's pulled abruptly back into the conversation.

"Now, I know Iwaizumi hasn't presented and there's a good chance he stays a beta, but even though you can't mate with a beta, it's still possible to—"

"Nothing is possible," Tooru cuts in, interrupting his father. "Nothing is going to happen because Iwa-chan and I aren't like that. He's my friend."

His parents exchange a truly infuriatingly knowing look.

"Okay," his mom says. "I just want you to remember that it's not just dating alphas you have to be careful with. It's not as likely, but being with a beta can also lead to... events down the road. It's something to be mindful of."

"Just like you need to remember that just because you're significantly less likely to get someone else pregnant," his dad chimes in, "doesn't mean it's impossible. No matter what side you're on or who you're with, you need to wrap it up, got it?"

This time when Tooru tunes out of the conversation, he doesn't tune back in until his parents are patting each other on the back, proud of their throughly successful job they've done at humiliating their child.

After they finally leave him alone, Tooru flops onto his bed, pulling out the new sweater and draping it over his face. It smells like Iwaizumi's bedroom—like pine and warmth and comfort. It reminds him of the last time Iwaizumi hugged him, right after losing to that damned Ushiwaka last year.

Tooru had waited with clenched teeth and aching eyes through their captain thanking the team, telling them they did a good job. He'd waited until his coach was done telling the team he was proud of them, until he could finally get off that damned court and away from the smug, unaffected gaze of fucking Ushiwaka.

Iwaizumi had chased after him until the pair were behind the gym, and let Tooru rant about how unfair life was, how much he hated Ushiwaka, about how much he hated being lied to and told he did a good job because if he had done a good job then they wouldn't have lost. Then, when Tooru's anger turned to tears, Iwaizumi hugged him. It didn't last long—the rare hugs between them never did—but Tooru remembers it being warm and soothing in a way that was almost startling.

The sweater feels almost as nice. Unlike the hug that only lasted a handful of seconds before Iwaizumi smacked him in the back of the head and told him to stop being such a self-important idiot, Tooru can cuddle up to the sweater as long as he wants.

Tooru grabs his phone and opens a message to his sister.

Tooru:

Did mom and dad go insane when you presented?

Tomoyo:

You mean "the talk"?

Tooru:

Yeah

Tomoyo:

I think they spent like an hour lecturing me about not accidentally knocking up someone, and that if I did, I would be disowned if I abandoned them

Which... oops

Not that I was gonna skip out on Momo if they hadn't

You?

Tooru:

Dad brought out the banana and Mom started freaking out about teen pregnancy

Why was the first one i got so much more normal?

Tomoyo:

I think they're panicking over not covering everything the first time and wanna be extra thorough

You'd think they'd learn after me presenting

lol

Good luck kiddo

Later that night, because he's curious and Tooru has never been good at stifling his curiosity, he looks up the meaning of hydrangea flowers. Lying on his bed, his phone screen the only light in the dark room, Tooru's fingers play idly with the hem of his new sweater. He's not wearing it—it feels too much like admitting defeat to put the thing on, but he has it resting against his chest where he can pet it. The faint scent of Iwaizumi's light beta pheromones is already fading fast, and something about it makes Tooru want to absorb any lingering amount he can.

A laugh almost escapes him when the answer comes up.

Pride.

Tooru smells like pride.

How fitting.

He falls asleep like that, Iwaizumi's present pressed against his cheek. In the morning, takes the sweater and shoves it into the back of his closet. And that's where it sits for a solid two months before he digs it out in the throes of his second heat. It still smells just the faintest like Iwaizumi, and Tooru finds himself burying his face into the lush fabric, hoping to soak up every ounce of his best friend's soothing pheromones.

Tooru does his best not to think too much about it.