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Hajime has a problem.
As per usual, the problem is Oikawa-related, because in the 17 short years of Hajime’s life, about 95% of his problems were somehow tied to his dumbass best friend. But this is a bigger problem than anything their six year old selves had ever stumbled on in a creek or their 13 year old selves had struggled over in school.
“I think Oikawa has a crush on me,” Iwaizumi announces matter-of-factly to Hanamaki and Matsukawa over lunch. Oikawa is running late, held up by his fan club in the corridor outside their last class.
His best friends (in a tier below Oikawa, mind, because he’s already had enough dealing with Oikawa’s plaintive whining on the rare occasions someone implies Tooru isn’t his number one super ultra childhood best friend) glanced at each other, then stared back at him impassively.
“Right,” Hanamaki said.
“Yeah,” said Matsukawa.
Iwaizumi squinted at them. “Is that sarcasm?”
“Nope,” Matsukawa said.
“Of course not,” said Hanamaki.
“You guys are useless,” Iwaizumi informed them, and then Oikawa returned to the classroom in a flurry of pink hearts and laughter, and the topic was dropped.
Iwaizumi was certain the other two noticed how Oikawa’s eyes lingered on his arms as he reached over the table to steal some of Hanamaki’s tamagoyaki, or how his cheeks went a soft pink when Iwaizumi poked his forehead to scold him. They were probably just being unhelpful dicks for the hell of it.
Iwaizumi was a little fascinated by Oikawa’s crush on him. He’d never seen Oikawa with a serious crush before, not really. There was a cute girl in their primary school who he’d blush around, but he got bored of her when she didn’t like going on the monkey bars at recess. There was their seventh grade English teacher with the nice shoulders and firm voice, but he was much too old for Oikawa, so it was more of a puppy crush anyway. (A really funny one— Iwaizumi had never seen him stutter as much as he did the first time Haku-Sensei called on him to speak.)
But there were just all these things he could do. He could ruffle Oikawa’s hair and make his cheeks go pink. He could sit close next to him while they played video games, pressing together shoulder to hip, and a tiny wobbly smile would slowly bite at Oikawa’s cheeks. Oikawa had always listened to him more than anyone else, but now when Iwaizumi berated him it put a sparkle of what Iwaizumi could almost label as awe in his eyes, adoring and grateful and soft, and he listened with only a show of resistance. Iwaizumi even experimented with complimenting him:
“Hey, idiotkawa,” Iwaizumi said on the way to the clubroom after school one day, “Did you do something to your hair this morning?”
“Huh?” Oikawa turned to him with wide, hopeful eyes.
“Seems different,” Iwaizumi said, tugging gently on an errant strand over Oikawa’s ear.
Oikawa swallowed visibly. “Uh, yeah, I… I tried a new conditioner my sister got me.” He raised a hand to his head almost self-consciously, except Oikawa Tooru didn’t do self-conscious, so it dropped back to his side.
“Hm,” Iwaizumi said, tilting his head to give Oikawa’s newly extra-soft hair a once-over, “Looks nice.” He faced forward again, set on watching Oikawa out of his periphery.
Only there was no one in his periphery. Iwaizumi spun around to find Oikawa stopped in his tracks, blushing furiously. The other boy shoved his face in his hands as soon as Iwaizumi turned, but Hajime still caught it– his impossibly wide eyes, bright red cheeks, wobbly chin. His flushed ears peeked out from his hair, and Iwaizumi bit back a smile.
“Oi. What’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing,” Oikawa grumbled into his palms. “Stupid Iwa-chan.”
“Oi.” He was trying to be nice here. “You wanna say that again?”
Oikawa’s head shot up, still red but slowly fading. “Stupid Iwa-chan!!” He cried defiantly, and ran towards the clubroom before Iwaiziumi could grab him, eyes squinted in mirth. But he also couldn’t meet Iwaizumi’s eyes on their walk home after practice, pinking every time they accidentally made eye contact, and covered it up with increasingly ridiculous nonsense until Iwaizumi had to chase him home with threats of violence.
So he quickly gave up on that approach.
But it was so interesting, how Iwaizumi could just – be slow to put his shirt on after practice, or shoulder-shove Oikawa in the halls, or look directly at him in a group conversation, and every time Oikawa’s eyes would go a little brighter, face lighting up from some gentle thing within. It didn’t look intentional, or even like Oikawa was aware of it. So different from his usual flair, more honest. Quieter and sweeter.
Hell, he could just let Oikawa do things and sit back to watch the impact. When Oikawa laid his head in his lap or on his shoulder, there would be a weighted minute where he clearly waited to be pushed off. If Iwaizumi simply didn’t shove him away, Oikawa would puff up a little, and Iwaizumi didn’t have to look to know he was smiling giddily to himself. It was obvious, like the thrill made him float a little, his body emitting joy in silent soundwaves. And then an invisible tension would leak out of his muscles, body relaxing into Hajime, contentment so obvious he might have purred if he were a hint more feline. Iwaizumi carried his weight easily, and it was incredible how that was all he had to do to get him like this, boneless and happy against him.
Hajime would feel worse about it if Oikawa didn’t look so goddamn content all the time. Happy just to be beside him. Letting it show when he thought Iwaizumi wasn’t looking, smiling sweetly to himself.
Annoying and dramatic as ever, never once doubting the sanctity of their friendship, their perfect trust on and off the court.
“You gotta do something about this,” Matsukawa informed him eventually, months after Iwaizumi’s declaration at lunch. Oikawa was on the other side of the court, patiently guiding Yahaba and Kyoutani through a new play, glancing back at the other third years every so often. He’d been worse than usual that day, eyes lingering almost shamelessly on Iwaizumi when he landed from a spike, or high-fived him after a good play, or lifted his shirt to wipe his face.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s not usually this bad,” Iwaizumi muttered, running a hand through his wet hair. He passed a ball to Matsukawa, who bumped it back, falling into rhythm.
“You do look slightly more delicious than usual today, Iwaizumi-kun,” Hanamaki jutted in, having sent Kindaichi to the other side of the gym to fetch their own passing ball after it went flying. “Did you have more protein than usual last night? Wrestle a bear on the way to school?”
“Fuck off,” Iwaizumi grumbled, but he thought about it. “I added a few more sets to my morning workout last week, actually. You can tell?” Matsukawa held their ball as Iwaizumi shoved a sleeve up, looking down at his (admittedly sweaty) arm and flexing. “Nice.”
Hanamaki gave a low whistle while Matsukawa swooned. “Have mercy on us.”
There was a cry from the other side of the court, and they all whipped their heads over. Their captain was, inexplicably, sprawled on the floor, with Kyoutani staring down at him disapprovingly.
“What happened?” Iwaizumi asked, crouching near Oikawa’s head. Yahaba sighed.
“He —”
“He fucking brained himself with his own volleyball,” Kyoutani spat, sounding more judgmental than usual, “and then he fell like a dumbass little princess.”
“10 laps,” said the heap on the floor, firmly, and Kyoutani blanched.
“What—”
“Around the gym. Now, Mad-Dog-chan,” Oikawa repeated sweetly, eyes still closed, and Kyoutani pouted something furious as he took off obediently.
Iwaizumi shook his head, barely holding back his own sigh. “Get up. You are so embarrassing.”
Oikawa’s eyes flew open in protest. “Iwa-chan, I’m wounded! Be more gentle with me!”
“Up, before I send you through the floor.”
Oikawa fucking batted his eyelashes, still flushed from the fall. “Prom–”
“Up, shittykawa.”
Matsukawa patted him on the shoulder as Oikawa flounced away, critiquing Kyoutani’s jogging form cheerily and dragging Yahaba into serving drills. “And that’ll be your lesson on the consequences of flexing during practice.”
Iwaizumi stared at him incredulously. “You think he… seriously?”
Matsukawa nodded solemnly. “I’m telling you, dude, you gotta do something about this.”
Iwaizumi sighed for real this time. “I know.”
Hanamaki patted his other shoulder. “You don’t have to reject him completely, you know? Don’t break his heart or Issei and I will have to pick up the pieces. Of both of you. And also try and fail to beat you up,” he added consideringly.
“What?” Iwaizumi said. “Why would we both be in pieces?”
“Because it would break your heart to see him heartbroken,” Hanamaki said matter-of-factly. Matsukawa made a hum of agreement.
Iwaizumi couldn’t argue with that. He could never knowingly hurt Oikawa. Maybe that was why he was putting this off so much, analyzing his best friend’s crush on him and rationalizing it all as if Oikawa was happy like this. Maybe that was why he found it so fascinating, to distract him from the inevitable: he would have to let Oikawa down, and it would crush him. Crush them both.
Although, maybe… no. Iwaizumi shook his head at himself, ignoring his friends’ amused looks. He was kidding himself. Oikawa’s feelings were getting to his head.
Wow. Oikawa really had a crush on him. Like, really, truly, actually wanted him romantically and physically. Iwaizumi felt his cheeks burn. Holy shit. That was so insane.
Iwaizumi couldn’t keep his eyes off Oikawa on their walk home that day. It was visibly putting his best friend on edge.
“What,” Oikawa asked, a little nervously. “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”
Iwaizumi scoffed. “Guilty conscience, much?” He forced himself to drag his gaze away from the way Oikawa’s eyelashes fluttered when he looked at him. Dammit.
Oikawa pouted. “Iwa-chaaaaan. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Iwaizumi said. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Just thinking.”
“About me?” Oikawa joked. His grin faded when Iwaizumi didn’t answer. “Wait. About me? What about me?” He shook Iwaizumi’s arm. “Iwa-chan! Answer me!”
“Oh my god, nothing, idiot, get off,” Iwaizumi grouched, then felt a little bad when Oikawa pulled away and crossed his arms. He was pouting like a kicked puppy. Iwaizumi threw an arm over his shoulders and messed up his hair, ignoring his protests. “Seriously, stop worrying.”
He peered down at Oikawa. The brunette was blushing a little, a tiny, private smile on his face, the same one he always wore when Iwaizumi paid him even more attention than usual. Oikawa glanced up, and his eyes were so gentle on him. Iwaizumi didn’t know what to do with something that soft, something that could break in his hands.
He didn’t know why Tooru looked at him with something like gratitude, like he was happy with whatever Iwaizumi gave him, happy just to be with him in any capacity, happy just to feel for him this way. Fuck. Oikawa really liked him like that. He wanted him. He wanted him? He wanted him.
Iwaizumi’s parents were away for the weekend, so they went to his house, where they could game late into the night with no fear of reprimand.
“Line your shoes up,” Iwaizumi instructed on instinct when Oikawa kicked his off carelessly in the genkan, and the other boy rolled his eyes.
“I know, I know.”
“You know, but if I trip over your shoes one more time I’ll–” Iwaizumi cursed under his breath as his own shoe got stuck on his foot, and he tripped a little as it came off. He looked up to muffled giggles.
Oikawa had a hand over his mouth, shaking with barely restrained mirth. He was looking at him with that soft thing in his eyes again.
Iwaizumi couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed Tooru’s big stupid head and crushed their lips together.
The world jolted out of misalignment. Oikawa made a muffled noise of shock, immediately kissing back like he needed Hajime to breathe. Iwaizumi felt like he was on fire. Oikawa let out a moan as his back hit the wall, letting Hajime angle their heads.
"Iwa-chan," Oikawa managed, hushed and vulnerable, and Iwaizumi kissed him quiet.
“You really like me?” he mumbled against Oikawa’s lips. Oikawa nodded desperately, little breathless sounds escaping him. “Yeah?” Iwaizumi said. He could feel his lips pulling up unbidden, and pressed them against Oikawa’s mouth to smother his smile.
“Yeah,” Oikawa whispered, and he sounded terrified, but he was gripping Iwaizumi so tightly he couldn’t have pulled away if he wanted to.
“Fuck,” Iwaizumi breathed in between kisses. He couldn’t stop kissing Tooru, couldn’t stop the sun rising in his chest. “Fuck,” he whispered, awed, elated, complete. Oikawa had his arms around his neck and his smile pressed to Hajime’s. Hajime swallowed the noises from Tooru’s mouth like there was no telling where one ended and the other began.
God. He could have this. He could have his best friend like this and keep him. He could make Tooru like this, melting under him and blinking up at him, for the rest of their lives. Get to see him blush at Hajime in adoration, radiant with happiness, all for him, because of him. Hajime tried not to be a selfish person, as a rule, but he would allow himself selfishness here, keep Tooru to himself and relish it for the privilege it was. Tooru whimpered into his mouth and Hajime kissed him slow. This, he thought, this is the part I was missing.
Later, they laid in bed on their sides, their kisses having slowed to gentle pecks every so often, as if their lips couldn’t go more than a minute without touching.
“So you have a crush on me,” Tooru said, sly.
“Mm,” said Hajime, eloquently. He snuck another kiss in. The feeling of Tooru’s mouth stretching into a smile under his was revolutionary, every single time.
“That’s so embarrassing!” Tooru giggled, and Hajime scooped him fully into his arms, “I bet everyone knew but me, huh? Poor Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi wisely kept his mouth shut. It was preoccupied, anyways.