Work Text:
Tooru always thought that winning an Olympic-medal game would be more impactful. Of course, he’d played volleyball long enough to know that not every game ended with a bang, not always some grand spike at the end of a grueling rally. Sometimes, they ended with a serve-miss, a bad toss, an out of bounds hit. He knew that.
And yet, when Argentina beat Japan in their final match of the Olympic tournament and secured a bronze medal due to a simple missed receive, he couldn’t help but feel a little caught off guard by the end of the game. He supposed the entire set had been build up enough, but the exact moment of victory came so suddenly and quietly that it almost didn’t feel real.
Once the realization from the surrounding world hit, he could feel all the emotions around him. The clenched fists of Sakusa Kiyoomi, the frustrated cries from Shouyou and Miya Atsumu. His coach, grinning with satisfaction and shaking one of the managers in his exuberance. His own teammates screaming and hugging in wild excitement and disbelief. All with a background of cacophonous cheers from the crowd. He knew he was probably in a small state of shock, and these emotions would come later, hitting with a vengeance.
But in the moment of victory, all Tooru could think about was: Hajime.
Iwaizumi Hajime, athletic trainer, who was beaming at him, not even trying to hide the tears slipping down his cheeks. Tears for Tooru, joy for his best friend’s victory after so much time spent pursuing his dream. Pride in his accomplishment, even when it meant a loss for Iwaizumi’s own team.
Tooru could feel nothing else but a burning desire to run over and embrace him. It was all-consuming, and it took his last shred of self-restraint to stay on his team’s side of the net. Instead, he shot Iwaizumi a double thumbs up and his biggest, happiest smile. Hajime’s returned smile was watery and radiant.
Even as it slowly sunk in and he was flooded with the excitement, the pride, the relief, the giddiness of winning an Olympic medal, proving himself to his home country and his series of rivals, still Tooru thought of Hajime. As his team lined up and shook hands with Japan, as they bowed to the crowd, throughout the shuffle off the court, the post-game team discussion with the coaches, while his team showered and packed up to leave the stadium.
Hajime. I won a bronze medal at the Olympics. WE won a bronze medal. My team is amazing. Hajime. Tómas should really get his shoulder looked at. Hajime would know what to do about it. I can’t believe we just won against Japan. Take THAT, Ushiwaka! Shoulda come to Argentina! Hajime. My family will be so proud. I can’t wait to see Takeru and let him try on that medal. Hajime, Hajime, Hajime.
He wasn’t actually able to SEE Iwaizumi for the rest of the night, as his professional obligation kept him with Team Japan while they licked their wounds (treated by Iwa-chan) and drowned their disappointment in a post-Olympic alcohol binge. And Tooru celebrated with his teammates, crying and laughing and drinking, but unable to control his thoughts of Hajime every moment, even when his mind turned hazy from drink.
Hajime, as he helped drag his drunk libero, Luciano, back from the bar and delivered him to his room.
Hajime, as he finally made it to his own room and fell into bed.
Hajime, as he answered congratulatory texts from family and friends. He was so lucky to have so much support, near and far, old and new. Iwaizumi’s read: “Couldn’t be prouder of you. See you tomorrow?”
Dreaming of Iwaizumi Hajime as he drifted to sleep and into dreams.
———------------------------------------------------------------
“Oi, Shittykawa!”
Iwaizumi waved him over to the bench where he was sitting, two cups in his hands.
Hajime.
“Iwa-chan, that better not be coffee,” he said, after jogging over to meet him.
Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Come on, you’re a fancy Olympic medalist and still can’t handle coffee? Haven’t your tastes matured in the last twelve hours?” He handed him one of the cups, which turned out to be green tea.
Oikawa sat down beside him and took a sip. “Well, I don’t have the medal yet. Maybe once I do, it will magically make me able to withstand that horrid bean juice.”
Iwaizumi laughed, then turned to face him fully, grinning. “Shittykawa. You won an Olympic medal.”
Oikawa was too giddy to even chastise Iwaizumi for calling him by his crass nickname. “I did, didn’t I? I still can’t believe it.”
“I can,” Iwaizumi replied. “I’ve been around Olympic-level volleyball players for years now, and I’ve still never seen anyone who’s worked as hard as you have.” He smirked. “Whether that’s to your benefit or detriment is still up for debate, though I guess it worked out in your favor this time.”
Oikawa stuck his tongue out at the last comment. “No matter how hard I work, it’s still the strongest six that win, not just me. And I have a great team,” he said with pride.
Iwaizumi bumped their shoulders together. “Your team has a great setter. They couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, not an ounce of teasing.
Oikawa couldn’t help but flush, not used to such direct praise from his brute of a best friend.
“How’s Team Japan taking it?” He asked. He hoped they were all doing okay and weren’t too depressed. He had long since stopped harboring any ill will toward his old rivals.
“They’ll be fine. No one is taking it too hard, they’re mostly just fired up and ready to get back to practice. There was a lot of discussion about how to counteract your strategies last night, actually.”
They slipped easily into a conversation about yesterday’s game, their predictions for the gold medal match, and even what was happening in other parts of the Olympics.
It felt normal to talk with him like this. Even on opposite sides of the world, they texted daily and videochatted at least once a week. But he enjoyed the added bonus of Iwaizumi’s warmth beside him, the smell of his cologne, the details clear on his face as he talked and laughed and teased.
Hajime.
“And I really didn’t think I’d be so invested in table tennis,” Iwaizumi was saying. “But it’s just so fast, and I was seriously rooting for Romania to kick Egypt’s ass-“
“I love you.” Tooru’s mouth moved without him thinking, unable to contain it any longer.
Iwaizumi cut off mid-sentence, mouth hanging open.
They stayed frozen for a moment, just staring at each other, before their brains caught up, both blushing furiously and sputtering.
“S-sorry, I didn’t- that just slipped out!”
”What- Shittykawa, you can’t- you can’t just say- right now?!” Iwaizumi was bright red.
“Aghhhh, I’m sorry!” Oikawa buried his face in his hands, embarrassed.
“It’s not- I mean, you don’t have to be sorry…” Hajime trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing sideways at Tooru.
Tooru looked at him through his fingers, eyes wide.
“Oh my god, you’re so embarrassing. Move your hands, you child,” He said, gruffly, pulling Oikawa’s hand away from his face. Iwaizumi’s cheeks burned and he looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.
Tooru knew the tendency to revert to insults was Hajime’s natural response to embarrassment. Still, he elbowed him in the side. “You’re the child! Can’t even look at me!”
“Oi, don’t be reckless, you’ll spill my coffee!” He shouted, but did turn to meet Tooru’s eyes.
Tooru huffed. “Says the brute.”
Iwaizumi glared at him, but his face quickly softened. “You…really?”
There was no judgment, no note of disgust or teasing.
Oikawa Tooru, bronze medal winner, decided to push his luck a little more.
“Really… what, Iwa-chan?” He said with a tiny smirk.
“God, you truly are such a shitty guy, “ Iwaizumi replied, flushing.
“No idea what you mean! You’ll have to spell it out for me, Iwa-sensei.”
Iwaizumi looked like he wanted to punch the false-innocence right off Oikawa’s face.
But instead he sighed, pulling from a sense of self-control one can only achieve from a lifetime of being best friends with Oikawa Tooru. Iwaizumi set his coffee on the ground before facing him.
“Shittykawa… do you love me?”
Oikawa jutted his lip out, petulant. “Must you call me that? You’re really ruining the moment, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi wasn’t phased anymore. “Alright… Tooru, do. You. Love. Me?”
Now it was Oikawa’s turn to flush, caught in the bluntness of Hajime’s question. “Y-yeah…Hajime…yes, I… I love you.”
Hajime’s eyebrows shot up, perhaps not expecting such a sincere answer. His eyes fell to Tooru’s hands, twisting and fiddling his fingers in his lap. He reached out and pulled one of Tooru’s hands into his own. Without looking up, he said, softly: “That’s good. I…I love you too.”
Silence. Iwaizumi’s gaze moved up and locked on Tooru’s.
A beat passed, and then they both burst out laughing.
“S-sorry,” Iwaizumi choked through his laughter. “It’s not funny, I just-“
“I know, I know,” gasped Tooru, unable to repress his laughs.
For he understood exactly what Hajime was feeling. Yes, he loved him. He wanted more than friendship, he wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and cuddle him to sleep. He was so attracted to this man, so in love, but this was also his childhood best friend. The boy he’d grown up with, who had seen him cry when he scraped his knee, who he caught bugs with. His best friend, who used to wet the bed, who had braces for a year longer than his classmates, who laughed when Tooru got dumped by his first girlfriend because he spent too much time on volleyball. They’d watched each other grow up through every single awkward phase since they were six years old.
Little Hajime and little Tooru would have been appalled at this turn of events. He could practically hear six-year old Hajime screeching “YUCK!” at the thought of kissing Tooru.
But now, 26-year old Hajime looked at him with soft eyes, the last of his laughter dying down enough to reach out and run his hand through Tooru’s hair, cup the back of his head, and pull him into a kiss.
Tooru sighed in satisfaction against his lips. Hajime, Hajime, Hajime.
“You taste like coffee,” Tooru said, after they broke apart.
Hajime laughed. “Sorry.”
“You know, I didn’t mind it. Maybe winning really did make me more mature.”
“Good. No way I can give up coffee, so you’ll have to get used to that.”
“Hmm, no time like the present,” Tooru said, and pulled him back in.
There would be much to figure out, like the logistics of a long-distance relationship, or the sudden jump from two decades of friendship to something more.
But for now, all that mattered was Hajime.
Hajime and Tooru.