Work Text:
Boom, Boom, Fire Power
This begins with a question.
‘Dude, are you okay?’
Iwaizumi winces, trying to paste on a smile just for the boys.
Damnit Hanamaki.
He turns around, half his shirt off, before he realises he has the team in a frozen state, the cool locker room full of his team, sweaty, tired, but still so concerned for him. They’ve only just come back from call, having put out a rather vicious fire today, but he’s already somehow seemed to mess with his team already. He feels vaguely guilty as he pulls the rest of his shirt off, mock sternly placing his hands on his hips with playful growl.
‘What’s wrong with me, huh?’
There’s a beat of silence, and then Kindaichi pipes up, his quiet only emphasising his bravery to speak up to his senior. The worried voice causes Iwaizumi to raise a brow. ‘…While you usually live in the gym, you’ve not… been there at all this week.’
‘Today’s a Thursday,’ Kunimi adds bluntly, ‘and you were slow during today’s operation.’
His face, blank, doesn’t even flinch when Kindaichi turns around with a gasp and smacks him for his cheek.
Matsukawa snickers, lids drooping lazily as he quickly changes out of his uniform, ‘they get sassier every year.’
‘Team captain’s getting schooled by his minions,’ Hanamaki teases lowly, and Iwaizumi deftly kicks off a shoe in his direction, ignoring the squawk he gets in return.
Iwaizumi turns back to his juniors, so young, soot contouring their faces and ash steaming off them. He needn’t worry the youth, he guesses, they’re already doing so much.
‘I’m alright guys, I appreciate the concern,’ most of the boys turn back to undressing but Kindaichi stays, wide eyed, and Kunimi watches him out of the corner of his eye. Iwaizumi lets him think he doesn’t know he’s concerned, so focuses purely on the personified puppy, his matted hair from the helmet, wiggling like a tail.
It’s a strange sight to see on a nearly grown man.
Fondly, gruffly, Iwaizumi ruffles the boy’s head, earning a shout and there’s laughter tossed around. The atmosphere lightens and he can only grin at this.
His family, his team, his pride.
‘Thank you, but really, don’t worry about it,’ the younger boy nods, eyes wide from the affection, ‘and guys!’ he lets himself roar over the banter, ‘Let’s have barbecue tonight! My treat!’
‘Awh, captain, d’you really have the check for that?’
The other shoe goes flying off, but when he turns back to his juniors, their eyes are shining (even Kunimi’s, damn), so it’s all worth it in the end.
It’s cosy and it’s hot, the warm red wall paper reflecting steam with its golden accents. It’s Hanamaki’s parent’s place, and while they’re used to the rowdy hoard of men occasionally crashing their restaurant, welcoming, even, Hanamaki never seems to appreciate the dough Iwaizumi unloads onto their family at the end of the night.(‘Just take the money, holy shit; it’s not even for you.’ ‘My parents see you as their son more than they think of me as their son, how can they accept your money.’ ‘They fed us, go the fuck away, Hanamaki, and finish helping up so we can relax.’) Yachi, their little waiter for that evening, had been terrified at the multiple men several heads taller than her.
It’s nearing one, but the barbecue’s heady smell still wafts heavy over their heads, and while most of the team has had their meal, draining Iwaizumi of his pay for that month, those that remain, sprawled across the seats, are Matsukawa, flicking through Neko Atsume, Hanamaki, who’s still running around chasing the last orders of the night, a very drunk Kyoutani, and Iwaizumi himself. There aren’t many people left Hana’s BBQ, but the place retains its familial, chatty setting with ease.
It’s a peaceful kind of night, the ones Iwaizumi enjoys, and his eyes grow tired with the weight of the day finally setting in. Today’s electrical fire had been a rough one, having been near a forest and the family having four children. Careless kitchen top, an old oven mitt having caught fire before everything else had come tumbling down. It’d taken the whole team’s effort to bring out all the children, their ages ranging from twenty down to a month old. They’d been stubborn in getting each other out too. The teenage twins had aggressively refused to leave until their baby brother had been brought out first, and Iwaizumi, in that moment, had panicked in his inability to save their lives. Kindaichi had gotten the baby though, so they’d left quickly, luckily getting all four out safe. The oldest had been so responsible, accounting for everything they had and needed, briefly and quickly firing (hah) off all the necessary information.
The memory makes his lips quirk and he pushes Kyoutani, drooling, off his shoulder, before leaning forward lazily, his chin in a hand, his eyes trailing over the hard lines of the wooden furniture that sweep the restaurant.
The mother hadn’t been so lucky, though. The fire had consumed half her body in blisters, and she was currently recovering in hospital. The father hadn’t been home and was lucky enough to get his family together to recuperate, managing housing and their belongings.
‘Bro though,’ Matsukawa hums, and Iwaizumi starts, fingers slowing over the rim of his can, ‘what’s up?’
Iwaizumi takes a swig of his beer, briefly wondering how Kyoutani, for all his bravado, could be such a lightweight. Everything was managed, he needn’t worry.
‘Why does everyone think there’s something’s wrong with me?’
Matsukawa mirrors this, and Iwaizumi can only watch him with a raised eye, and as Matsukawa gracelessly wipes his mouth with the back of hand and burps. ‘There’s something up though, right? Both our juniors are right, and it’s not like we didn’t notice. We have known you, for a god forsaken ten years.’
‘We weren’t going to say anything, we figured that if you needed anything you’d come talk to us,’ Hanamaki comes up from behind them, dragging the chair out from next to Matsukawa to raise his eyes to Iwaizumi’s, ‘but clearly, you didn’t. He counts off Iwaizumi’s flaws on his fingers; ‘You’re competitive as fuck and you’ve not been in the gym for a while, trying to break whatever record it is. You were the last one out of that house today, and while that’s not unusual, your pace was much slower than what we know.’
Matsukawa pulls up another finger, ‘you bought us all barbeque. As a diversion. So it’s probably serious,’ he paws at Hanamaki’s hand, and another finger rises; ‘and your posture sucks, so I’m guessing it’s a physical problem, and if that’s so, we can fix that easily.’
Iwaizumi winces. Speculations, speculations.
But they were right.
‘Physical,’ he confirms, shrugging, ‘my back’s been giving my some grief recently, so I’m just resting up so I don’t tear something.’
The eyebrows of both the men opposite him quickly jump up, before they glance at each other with alarm. Iwaizumi knows what’s coming, but he dreads it anyway. Both his mates are cool people, but their kind of nagging stings a little more somehow.
‘Dude, you know that’s not cool. As our captain, no, as a fire man, you have the responsibility to keep yourself in top shape.’
‘How are you going to save other people when you can’t even save yourself?’
He clicks his tongue and smiles ruefully at his friends, grateful, but at the same time, very sulky.
Kyoutani, to his side, unconscious, jerks his foot, roughly kicking Matsukawa under the table.
‘Kyoutani has the right idea.’
‘Oh, shut up, you idiot,’ Matsukawa leans back, folding his arms leisurely but never losing the sharp, but level edge in his eyes, ‘how long has your back been bothering you?’
Iwaizumi shrugs again, not quite sure but he’s receiving the Hanamaki glare both to his face; and from his parents to the back of his head. He scratches the back of his neck before smiling wanly, ‘about a month?’
Matsukawa rolls his eyes. Hanamaki’s face hits the tabletop.
Iwaizumi groans on their behalf.
There’s a yell from the kitchen telling Hanamaki to buss the tables, and the boy obediently drags himself up, digging a glare into his friend before whispering, ‘this conversation is not over.’ He slowly points his index and middle fingers at each of his eyes, then whipping them around to aggressively jab in Iwaizumi’s direction. ‘We’re not done here.’
They watch him go, and Matsukawa begins digging in his wallet, flashing the purikura photos they’d taken as a joke from their graduating year of high school. Iwaizumi can only watch him apprehensively, wrinkling his nose at the thought of Matsukawa trying to pay him back for the meal when he pulls out a smooth, clean card, neat words printed on it.
‘What this?’
‘Something you should have found ages ago,’ Matsukawa throws a dirty look at him, ‘a damn physio.’
Pinching the card between two fingers, he peers at it, beer goggles briefly blurring and wiggling the letters in front of him.
‘Oikawa… Tooru?’
‘Is that Oikawa?’ Hanamaki (back again) wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist, peeking over Iwaizumi’s head, ‘he’s good, right?’
‘You both went to him?’
‘He’s got magic hands, I swear,’ Hanamaki jazz fingers at them before noticing a suspicious splatter and aggressively scrubbing the edge of the table. Iwaizumi ignores the faint curses he calls upon Kunimi’s messy eating.
Matsukawa stretches across the table, resting his cheeks across his arms and fiddling idly with the menus lined neatly against the wall, ‘I messed up my knee during volleyball in uni, remember? I did the thing with common sense,’ he narrows his eyes at Iwaizumi, who raises his hands in surrender, ‘and my GP recommended him. Though she was slightly smitten with him for some reason, he was really good; fixed my knee and was actually pretty empathetic.’
‘He played volleyball in high school, didn’t he? He was aiming for national rep, but screwed up his own knee,’ Hanamaki wanders over to buff another table, ‘so then dedicated his life to making sure other people weren’t ruining their lives,’ he whips his head in Iwaizumi’s direction, and the accused boy feels so attacked right now, ‘through the mistreatment of their body.’
Iwaizumi leans against the wall, cocking his head in Hanamaki’s direction, ‘how’d you know him?’
Said boy halts, before rolling his eyes. ‘When Kyoutani first got that neck problem, he dragged me with him,’ he says slowly, ‘something about not wanting to show you any weaknesses,’ then sternly glaring at the stubborn stain that wouldn’t come off.
Both men nod fondly at the unconscious man spread clumsily across several seats.
‘He’s quite a loser though,’ Matsukawa snorts as Iwaizumi polishes off his beer, ‘I can’t wait til you see his room. A space freak to the end.’
‘Who says I’ll be seeing him?’
Iwaizumi, for the first time in his life, receives a wet, dirty rag, smothered in crumbs and unknown substances to the back of his head. He closes his eyes and prays for patience. A thorough wash would be in order tonight.
‘You will. It’s not a choice you have,’ Hanamaki’s voice curls around the corner, ‘If you don’t go on our own, we’ll be going with you.’
‘Which will be more embarrassing than if you go on your own,’ Matsukawa’s drawl is hardly encouraging. ‘Because we will be embarrassing. So embarrassing.’
‘But nothing will be more embarrassing’ Hanamaki squints at his partner in crime, ‘than the captain who tears himself apart in front of his team.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Iwaizumi’s not sure if he gives in because his back is killing him, because the guilt tripping might be stronger than his pain, or because he’s slightly drunk. ‘I’ll go. I’ll be responsible.’
‘Why are you so hesitant to take care of yourself? I can’t wait ‘til you report everything he says. And even if you don’t, he’ll tell me,’ Matsukawa wiggles his eyebrows, ‘he’s gonna wreck you.’
Iwaizumi runs his finger tip over the edges of the card, the black print with neat, decorative lining engaging him with this character as much as his friends’ story does. He flips the card over, and there’s a cute little alien etched into the bottom right of the card; ‘Take care, Matsun!’
It’s sweet.
Oikawa Tooru, huh…
He belches loudly, stuffing the card into his back pocket and relishing in his friend’s badly disguised disgust.
‘You’re lucky you live five minutes from here.’
‘Don’t I know it.’
Kyoutani snores.
When Iwaizumi calls this Oikawa Tooru for the first time a week later, the physio doesn’t even pick up the damn phone.
Iwaizumi’s not disheartened though, (he leaves a message with his details) Oikawa was probably just busy or even attending another patient at the time, but it was his voicemail that, for some reason, pissed him off.
‘Oikawa Tooru speaking; sorry I’m busy right now; please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you soon!’
Irrational, silly, he told himself, he was being ridiculous. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with his words, oh no, taking them out of context, the words sounded perfectly sincere and professional. Iwaizumi thinks it might have been the lilt of his voice, but he could have only been imagining that too.
He calls an hour later, but still doesn’t get a reply, the singing voice slightly taunting before he violently clicks the call off.
He admires his own ability to not throw his phone across the room.
He hates days off; he hates the days where he’s not busy enough to stay out of his home. He lives with Kyoutani, the boy, something like a cat, wandering in and out, but he’d probably engaged himself online for the day, locking himself in several games of Fallout. The mess that piles around in corners of the rooms are a compilation of both of their stuff, but Kyoutani’s easy to live with. The boy’s somewhat embarrassing in his passion and irrationality, but he’s alright in that he’s a good roommate. Quiet and reasonable in his fair share of responsibilities. There are muffled noises from Kyoutani’s room, heavy beats resonating throughout the apartment.
Kyoutani has a hobby, he thinks dumbly, eyes on the slowly rotating fan above him, something to be entertained with, and he has a purposes. (Even if that purpose is consuming as many games as possible.) There’s nothing to do, if not his job, he supposes, slouching further down and dragging his feet out across the wooden floors. It’s so bloody boring if you're not risking your life.
Irihata, having heard of the mess that his team had cleaned up had offered them a week off to recuperate. He honestly couldn’t say no to the exhaustion of his team, for his own selfish reasons.
He’d complained to his boys once, both snorting at his junkie like addiction to adrenaline.
The laze of the day is hard to fall out of, and he spends most of his time at home, if not filling the mandatory paperwork of reports, feet up and predominantly unproductive. He guesses this is the price of a high risk job that is in the moment, but Home itself is actually just a shelter; a place to keep his amount of junk while he goes out and works. It’s comfortable, everything in just in reach while having its own little stylistic charm of a mess.
A run, he closes his eyes, it’d be a good idea to go for a run.
He slouches further.
Routine exercise is good for you, he thinks lazily, spreading his arms and scratching the edges of the couch, it would be good to move.
‘Kyoutani,’ he calls, and at the lack of response, he tries again, ‘Ken..tarou?’
The boy’s room door smashes open, and Kyoutani lands, foot first, in a rather ridiculous and dynamic pose, face steaming at the embarrassment of being infantilised.
‘What.’
‘I’m going out,’ Iwaizumi sluggishly stretches with a slow grin, he enjoys ruffling the boys’ feathers, ‘just so you know, okay?’
The blonde nods resolutely and retreats again, the door shutting with a final click. He rolls his eyes, grabbing his keys and gracelessly shoves his feet into his shoes.
It’s muggy, and he regrets his decision to go out for a run when he gets to the oval five minutes away from his apartment and is already sweating in the most disgusting way. He scrubs at a few beads on his cheek, subtly trying to air out his pits as he slows his run down to a slow walk. There are a few other crazy people out, a couple laughing and playfully pushing at each other as they chase the track, a few dogs on the loose, a tall man surrounded by children as he seems to instruct them with a ball.
Volley ball, he realises as the man volunteers a kid to clumsily set, he’s teaching volleyball.
There are a few other people surrounding the seemingly enigmatic man, stretching above the children but not quite ever towering. They swing around him enchanted and Iwaizumi can't help but draw himself towards them.
There are a few older kids hanging around, a boy with a shock of orange hair and a gangly tall boy with an impressive pout. They seem to quite personify the opposites attract, but they comfortably seemed to fit together. The brightly coloured hair earns a wave from one of the younger kids playing, also.... With a shock of bright orange hair, to which even the pouty one shyly waves back.
Cute, Iwaizumi thinks as he joins them, splaying himself beside the two.
He's not sure if he's talking about the instructor or the kids family dynamics.
He's pretty, there's not even any arguing with that; what with his eyes squeezed in playful laughter and the skilful hands that seem the set the ball perfectly to the little children.
'Sir? Which one's yours?'
The orange haired one is now turned to him with a bright smile, same with his friend but his intimidation is curbed by vague curiosity. They can't be older than twenty.
'Sorry?'
'Which child is yours?'
'Oh,' he scratches his head, before stretching his arm across his chest, 'I don't have a kid.' He realises only now that it must be very strange and also very creepy for a grow man to join some kids in waiting for some younger kids.
It doesn't seem to deter either of them though, the give each other a glance, and the disgruntled looking one blurts out, 'what are you doing here then?'
Iwaizumi's sheepish in that he feels guilty. For some horrifying reason (they probably suspect he's a paedophile), he feels the need to explain himself. 'I used to play volleyball in high school and uni, so I guess nostalgia brings me back. You don't often see volleyball nowadays, usually it's basketball or soccer, but to see volleyball still being taught and learnt so enthusiastically,' he gestures towards the screeching kids running around, 'it makes me pretty happy.'
The young adults seem to have remedied their first impression, the smaller one returning with a full frontal, and if possible, an even brighter smile while the other had taken on an adorable eagerness. 'My names Hinata, and this is Kageyama!' Kageyama awkwardly waves; making a face that may have meant nerves or constipation, 'We're national reps for Japan's volleyball team!' Hinata has taken Iwaizumi's hand and while he enthusiastically shakes, he prods further; 'What position did you play? How long have you played for? You should teach with Oikawa!'
Iwaizumi's torn between feeling shocked at the fact that he just so happened to meet two national players or wondering if Oikawa is a common family name or not.
'Excuse me?'
'Ah, Oikawa's the teacher over there,' Hinata flops his hand toward the children, 'he was scouted for nationals too, but now he’s our physio and we trust him more than our assigned team one!'
Familiar story…
'Hinata...'
'... Did I say too much...?'
'D-don't worry, kid-'
'Hinata!'
'Kid,' he says more firmly, even though he can't be too many years older than this oddball duo, ‘It’s okay. I'll be waiting for him to finish the day. He's my physio too.'
They hum simultaneously, and while Hinata leans back on his hands, Kageyama leans in, curiosity clear on his face.
‘Sir?’
‘Iwaizumi’s fine.’
‘You played volleyball?’
He nods, almost warily.
Kageyama’s eyes shine.
‘What position did you play?’
The sun’s only begun to set, but as the children scatter towards their respective parents and groups to walk home, Iwaizumi notices that the last tucker to run back towards what would be home, is Hinata’s younger sister. Neither boys to his side look concerned, and Oikawa looks thrilled at the child’s enthusiasm. There’s another boy, who waits close to Oikawa and Natsu, but he doesn’t join and leaves only when another mother comes running in.
…Said mother gives Oikawa the strongest noogie that Iwaizumi’s ever seen [and he’s in the fire department, damn it], before kissing his forehead and taking the hand of the young boy.
‘Oikawa’s big sister,’ Hinata mumbles, picking that the grass. ‘She’s the only person Oikawa thinks is prettier than he is.’
Iwaizumi squints as Oikawa blows a kiss to his nephew, who cringes into his mother, before the mother pulls him along with a laugh. They wave their farewells, leaving Oikawa to run a few more drills with Natsu. He meticulously picks apart her technique, making sure she can receive solidly before they finish their session with a fist bump.
It’s adorable, and Iwaizumi can help but try to stifle his smile.
‘Natsu! Over here!’
‘I see you, you don’t exactly blend, Shou,’ she’s a tiny tucker too, a head smaller than her brother but she grips his middle like a vice. Kageyama ruffles her hair and she smiles up to him before turning to Iwaizumi.
‘Who are you?’
‘Natsu!’ Hinata almost wails, but Iwaizumi finds himself charmed by this kid he’s only watched perfectly set a ball.
‘Yes, who’s this?’ Oikawa’s voice is smoother than Iwaizumi could have imagined, and his throat closes at the easy smile that is sent his way. The man, tall, graceful, charismatic, has his attention on him, and Iwaizumi, oh, he can’t even speak.
‘You don’t know him? He said he was your client…’ The older Hinata suddenly holds Natsu closer to him, furrowing his brow at the older man. Even Kageyama leans forward with a confused glance, but his face says anyone who plays volleyball can’t possibly be bad.
Iwaizumi’s not sure how to defend himself, but when he opens his mouth to say—
‘Clearly, I was talking about Tobio-chan’ Oikawa snaps and twists his face into a nasty glare, and the taller boy, quickly shrinks behind Hinata, ducks his head in apology.
Oh wow.
Rude.
Oikawa offers a hand to Iwaizumi, the easy smile back as fast as it had left; ‘Shall we? Thank you for waiting for me, we’ve got lots to talk about.’
Oikawa winks at him, and Iwaizumi blinks blearily but can’t help but go with his flow. ‘Bye Natsu! Bye Shouyou! Bye Tobio-chan!’ he slings his arm through Iwaizumi’s and tugs him back towards the centre of the oval.
It’s then that Iwaizumi actually really gets to look this man.
With the setting sun blinking on the first of the street lights, and even though he’s a confirmed asshole, Oikawa Tooru looks like poetry. It’s not even in how the shadows curl gently around his neck, or how his hair, after an humid afternoon full of sweaty kids and chasing a ball, falls curved around his face in a mess. The lights and purple sky shift the colour of his hair and eyes, but it only makes him look ethereal in his grace. It’s not in how his smile slowly fades as he turns towards the stranger he’s linked arms with, or even how the sun behind him seems to make him…
Something beautiful, man, Iwaizumi doesn’t know.
He doesn’t think the education system gave him enough of a vocabulary for this.
‘Stretch with me? The shrimp and Tobio are still watching.’
He nods dumbly, and follows Oikawa’s retreat to the grass, fluidly placing feet together in the butterfly stretch.
‘Oikawa Tooru. Pleasure to meet you.’
‘Iwaizumi Hajime. I would say the same, except I’m the client you ignored for the past few calls.’
Oikawa pales, immediately patting himself down, first his jersey pockets, then the pockets of his shorts; front and back. He whips out his phone, quickly swiping the password through his caller history, his eyes widening at the missed calls; ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t have any clients today, so I took the volleyball class and I just—wait, how did you find me?’
Iwaizumi shrugged. ‘I didn’t really find you. I live a few blocks away, and when I got here, I saw the volleyball and came to check it out, is all. Nice technique, by the way.’
Oikawa flushes, his lips twitching into a smile, ‘so you saw the kids playing, and that was enough to ignite some sort of passion—‘
‘Don’t say it like that!’
‘—That conveniently brought you to your physio that you’ve never met before?’
Iwaizumi can’t meet his eye, as ridiculous as it sounds.
‘Small world, huh?’ Oikawa hums and turns to glance behind him, checking that the trio had gone home, before flinging his legs out and standing, ‘so how’d you find me?’
‘I just told you— ’
‘No, no,’ there’s ringing laughter, short and breathy, as he turns back to Iwaizumi, trying to control his smile, ‘did anyone recommend me? Was it a GP or…?’
‘A friend actually,’ Iwaizumi dusts off his hands, and to his surprise, Oikawa tugs his arm towards him to hoop them together, ‘Matsukawa?’
He doesn’t try to shake off his new acquaintance.
‘Matsun? Do you work in the fire department too?’
He nods, and Oikawa smiles. ‘You must know Makki, too, then, they’re always together.’
He can’t help but nod, archiving ‘Matsun’ and ‘Makki’ away to tease them later.
But then Oikawa tugs him towards the carpark, and ultimately further away from his house, ‘Come home with me?’
‘What?’ Iwaizumi’s poor heart stutters before suddenly beating very hard.
‘I feel so guilty!’ Oikawa whines, almost like a child, ‘I ignored my clients in favour of teaching the kids volleyball!’
Oh, of course. Silly Iwaizumi, what could he have been thinking?
‘That’s not a bad compromise, honestly…?’
‘But still! I can fix you up right now!’
Iwaizumi halts, raising a brow and rooting himself in the gravel, Oikawa weakly tugging at their linked arms, ‘You must be tired from running after the kids the whole day. I’m alright if we just schedule a time?’
Oikawa gives the brightest smile of the evening, and Iwaizumi feels it somewhere deep in his belly.
He swallows hard.
‘Iwaizumi, thank you, you’re kind.’
He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, the warmth of Oikawa’s fingers pressed firmly against his arms. ‘W-well, it’s not a worry, dumbass, clearly you’re tired—’
‘Please let me repay you by fixing you up now!’
‘…Did you not hear a word I just said,’ Iwaizumi can’t help but groan, at least trying to keep the fondness out of his voice.
Honestly, what a character this Oikawa Tooru is turning out to be.
‘It’s getting late.’
‘It’s only dinner time!’
‘I don’t have my wallet.’
‘First session free!’
‘As if, you’re only ripping yourself off.’
‘I owe it to you!’
‘Uh, no, you do not.’
Oikawa pauses, before directly looking Iwaizumi in the eye. He then opens his mouth and rapid fires; ‘You’re in the emergency department? When’s the next time you’ll be on call?’
‘Coming Monday.’
‘Scaled one to ten; your pain is…?’
‘Seven?’
‘Do you have other responsibilities besides your missions?’
‘I manage the team and paperwork.’
‘Are you free tonight?’
Iwaizumi opens his mouth, and then closes it. Good save. ‘What?’
Oikawa’s phone screen lights up, and he quickly flicks through the calendar. ‘My weekend is completely booked. Unless I slot you in for lunch,’ He takes Iwaizumi’s glare as a no, ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to take you before your next shift.’
‘That’s fine, I can wait?’
‘Sir, with all—’
‘I cannot be older than you,’ Iwaizumi mutters.
‘With all due respect,’ he continues loudly, his voice echoing in what is now an empty park. His hands slide from Iwaizumi’s arm, and as the warmth fades, Oikawa’s eyes steadily grow sharp. He stands to face him directly, and though Oikawa’s already taller than him, his chin tips up in pride. ‘Your health, like all others, is important, if not more so because you do emergency work. As a health professional, it is not within my parameters to allow you to walk around and continue such high risk missions when you’re only furthering the danger you’ll experience.
‘Smoke inhalation, muscle strain and inflammation, excessive cramping,’ Oikawa ticks off on his fingers in a habit that suddenly is very familiar, ‘I can help with three out of four of the circumstances you’re exposed to, and because it’s within my power, as a physical therapist, as a doctor, I’m responsible in that I’ll do everything I can to assist you in your work.’
‘Did… someone coach you?’
Oikawa beams, ‘no, these are my research prerequisites that I do for each of my patients. And because you’re in the fire department, I’ll assume you’re experiencing the same situations that Matsun is in. You probably have posture issues too, since you’re in paper work and team management. It’s also part of my job,’ his eyes narrow at Iwaizumi, ‘to convince my patients to take care of themselves. I’m somewhat of a professional.’
Iwaizumi shrugs, and while he knows that Oikawa will direct the same amount of attention to all his patients, he can’t help but feel slightly flattered at how urgently and seriously Oikawa is taking his case. ‘I-Is your clinic even open at this time of night?’
Oikawa shakes his head, ‘I’ve got you covered though, I take some of my patients home because they’re uncomfortable in how sterile the clinic is, and so I’ve got my materials there too.’
‘Alright,’ Iwaizumi averts his eyes, ‘What time is a good time tonight?’
Oikawa chin dips back to his phone and scrolls through his schedule. Iwaizumi can’t help but trace the shadows of his Adam’s apple and how the screen shines lights in his eyes. ‘Show up any time before nine thirty and it should be fine. I only have one client tonight, at ten, and each session lasts for half an hour.’
Iwaizumi watches him pocket his phone before another very distracting smile is sent his way, ‘let me drive you home?’
Space aliens. Everywhere.
From his little perch on the medical bed, he can see everything.
A human sized poster with the planets aligned, lined neatly next to another with a cute little alien (the one Oikawa had drawn on Matsukawa’s card, Iwaizumi realises) in a UFO; stamped with a bright yellow ‘I BELIEVE!!’ Various stuffed toys of different shapes and sizes (was that a neuron or deep sea monster, Iwaizumi couldn’t tell) and oh, how quaint, a little dangle above the table bed with floating cows. There are so many files, shelved meticulously away, each with stickers of galaxies on their spines. There’s a little rug on the floor; a carpet like mat with bright trails of stardust that he could imagine Oikawa setting toddlers on with trains to trace over.
Or UFO’s.
That’d be more applicable.
The kids must love it here.
‘…I see what Matsukawa meant,’ he mutters under his breath.
‘What does that mean?’
Oikawa steps into the room, drying his hands off on a paper towel, and toeing the door shut behind him. He’d changed out of the jersey and shorts, into something a little more comfortable and probably a little more appropriate for assisting a patient.
Also something a little more snug, but hey, Iwaizumi’s allowed to look.
For all his professionalism, all stark white button up and dressed down jeans, Oikawa, Iwaizumi notices while he’s looking, is wearing bright blue socks, with stars on them.
He suits this room, Iwaizumi realises, and he can’t hold in his laugh, he suits it so perfectly. ‘Matsukawa warned me about your room. He also called you a space freak, by the way.’
Oikawa looks mock miserable, withholding a wail before he tugs at the hem Iwaizumi’s tee, insinuating that he should take it off. ‘How mean! Is there anything else mean that Matsun or Makki said about me that I should know about?’ he steps behind the bed to fuss with a few of the bottles, clicking at lids of a few and mumbling that he’d need refills.
Iwaizumi shrugs, and pretends he doesn’t notice Oikawa’s sharp inhale when his shirt comes off.
‘Hanamaki said you have ‘magic hands’, if I do recall,’ he copies the jazz hands, ‘exactly like this.’
It makes Oikawa laugh, but at the cool hands on his shoulders, Iwaizumi stops talking.
‘Have there been any problem areas in particular?’ Oikawa murmurs, and suddenly the room is too quiet and the alien posters are oh so interesting.
‘Between the shoulder blades, mainly,’ he’s proud he doesn’t end up stuttering, ‘sometimes my neck and sometimes my lower back, but the main problem has been my shoulders and upper back.’
‘So, your whole back huh,’ Oikawa hums, and his fingers run down his spine, pressing all these points Iwaizumi didn’t know he’d go weak for, ‘this looks painful. Without even trying to find it, I can already see where there are a lot of knots.’
Firm, confident, those cool fingertips work from the sore spot right under the bottom of his skull to that problem area he really couldn’t reach behind his shoulder blade. Iwaizumi’s not too sure how comfortable he is, he can’t remember the last time he’d let someone so easily touch his back before, especially in such an intimate way.
‘Lie down for me, please?’
Oikawa’s fingers lift and they tap the head of the bed. He obliges, hearing the click of a bottle and when he lies down stomach first, he feels Oikawa lean over him. Without warning, there’s a spurt of hot substance (???) over his back and he can’t help the obscenity that pops out of his mouth.
‘Relax, Iwa-chan! I can’t help you if you end up spending the whole night tensed. It’s just oil; it’s warmer because it loosens muscles up faster that way! See, does it feel better now?’
Well, he’s not wrong.
It’s sticky, but it’s smooth, and Oikawa’s hands glide fluidly over his muscles, quickly finding the knots and working to remove them.
‘Tell me about yourself, Iwa-chan?’
‘Okay, first of all, who’s Iwa-chan,’ he can’t help but playfully growl at the man working on his back, and Oikawa laughs focusing on a particular muscle right above his shoulder blade.
‘Obviously you,’ Oikawa teases back, ‘You thought you could escape my endearments? You should have known than to assume, especially since you know Matsun and Makki.’
‘Do you talk to all of your clients like this?’
‘Nah, you’re easy to talk to, but I do often make friends with my clients. It’s easier to nag them into taking care of themselves afterwards.’
‘There’s not a particular rule with how you behave with your clients?’
‘Oh, of course there are professional boundaries, but I do what’s necessary and within bounds, don’t you worry, Iwa-chan. And don’t change the question. Tell me about you?’
He sighs, the hands on his back comforting, calming. Oikawa’s already managed to loosen him up so quickly; he’s more than a little shocked, honestly. ‘Twenty four, fire man, bachelor?’
‘Ehh, bachelor? You would have thought with these muscles, you could have snagged a lady by now.’
‘I’m gay.’
‘A man then,’ Oikawa counters, without even missing a beat.
Without even missing a beat.
‘Do your parents hound you into getting married?’
Iwaizumi’s grateful that his face is buried into the safety cushions of the bed. ‘Yeah. Since. They don’t know yet.’
‘Well, thank you for telling me,’ Oikawa hums gently, pressing a groan from Iwaizumi as he rubs a particularly tender spot, ‘I really appreciate it. Is this a really bad spot for you?’
‘That’s where it’s been hurting the most,’ Iwaizumi grits out, hands balling up the fabric beneath him.
‘Okay, okay, I’m gonna work it out now. Keep talking? It might help you take your mind off the pain. How long has this been bothering you for?’
He mumbles his answer, almost embarrassed, almost shy at how he feels bad for not finding Oikawa, ah, a physio, earlier.
‘Sorry, Iwa-chan, I didn’t catch that. How long?’
‘A month,’ he clears his throat, already knowing what the reaction will be, ‘and a bit.’
The calloused hands stop moving.
‘Would you,’ Oikawa seems to be grinding his teeth, but Iwaizumi thanks fuck that he can’t really tell because he’s staring at the bright blue starry socks, ‘please repeat that.’
‘A month and a bit.’
‘Haven’t you been on duty the whole month? Why did you leave it for so long? D’you know what caused it?’
The questions, though, maybe from a stranger, riddle Iwaizumi with a kind of guilt that lies under his ribs. He would prefer ‘Matsun’ and ‘Makki’s nagging to this, any day.
‘There was a particular incident;’ he thinks back, aloud, ‘maybe Matsukawa or Hanamaki told you about it. The one with the unknown starter. It ate most of the house, and one of our men got stuck under there.’
There are many risks you take as an emergency worker, and your life is one of them. When you work in such a profession, every time you get that call from 000, you are preparing to die that day. You are ready to sacrifice everything, you are ready to not be able to breathe for the next god knows how long, and you are ready to go into a house blind, to find someone you’ve never met before, because every life is sanctified. You are ready to go down with that house. You are ready to die.
And that’s what he’d prepared himself and his team for when Kindaichi, Matsukawa and he had gone inside to make sure there wasn’t anyone in there. It was strange case, freaky; an empty house, a five bedroom, two floor house, completely empty at 3am on a weekday? Kindaichi had been convinced that there had to have been someone in there, having rummaged through all cupboards, under all beds, in all nooks and crannies, just searching for someone. Iwaizumi had ordered Matsukawa out, and though he hadn’t wanted too, the crew outside would have needed help taming this one. Iwaizumi and Kindaichi had checked every last room, and really, it had been bad judgement on Iwaizumi, by that point, because most of the structure was too weak to keep holding them. One wrong step and Kindaichi’s foot had lodged straight through the wooden floors.
The sight of one of his youngest team members caught in the rut of this unknown house, tired sore, ready to give up, hyperventilating in his terror, but bravely begging for his captain to save himself, had left Iwaizumi tearing at the floor boards. He’d snatched the measly fire extinguisher that had long been emptied and smashed it, and with the aid of the fire that’d been weakening the whole house already, he’d been able to drag Kindaichi out of the mess that he should never have been in, in the first place.
That house had burnt down, regardless of how much water had been pumped into it. It’d been contained, no casualties were suffered. Although they were safe, Kindaichi suffering minor sprains in his ankle and a fracture in his foot, it had prompted so many questions: how had the fire started? What had the fire consumed? Why had it happened?
‘I know the story,’ Oikawa’s voice is soft.
‘I think it was from there,’ Iwaizumi is gruff.
‘And you didn’t come and find someone to help take care of you because you thought your injuries were so much less important that your younger team mate.’
There’s a pause.
Because Oikawa, the sly bastard, is right.
Oikawa’s fingers start moving again, much more gently this time, but just as firmly.
‘Iwaizumi…’
‘Ah, so you’re capable of using my real name.’
‘Of course I am. Matsun and Makki came and talked to me about it. They brought Kindaichi, and I helped him with that ankle.’
It’s a small world starts playing somewhere in the back of Iwaizumi’s head.
‘You did the right thing, you know? A-ah! No! Don’T TENSE UP.’
‘I didn’t mean to! W-what about you?’
‘Oho, Iwa-chan’s interested in me?’
‘Asskawa,’ he grumbles, ‘Usually you trade information about each other when you first meet,’ he says wryly. ‘Customary courtesy. So tell me about you.’
Oikawa looks scandalised at his nickname. ‘I give you something cute like Iwa-chan, and you repay me with Asskawa?’ Iwaizumi tilts his head up to give him a stern look; stern enough that Oikawa quickly clears his throat. ‘Twenty four, physio, bachelor.’
Iwaizumi reaches up and smacks his thigh.
‘I’m trading information! I traded the exact information you’ve given me!’
‘Tell me more,’ Iwaizumi lilts his voice like Oikawa’s, mocking him and Oikawa? He quickly leans forward, pressing suddenly, firmly in the middle of his back, and then there’s a sharp crack, and Iwaizumi can’t restrain a shocked howl.
‘What the fuck?!’
‘How uncouth,’ Oikawa laughs, ‘Calm down, Iwa-chan, I just realigned your back, Jesus. You’ve sworn twice already since coming in this room, and we’ve only gone through two thirds of our time.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to warn your patients before you do these things?’
‘I don’t need to for you!’
Matsukawa: I heard you went to the physio today.
Hanamaki: i heard you had fun today (◉◞౪◟◉ )
Matsukawa: you know what I also heard
Hanamaki: what did you hear
Matsukawa: that Iwaizumi was super fun to be around.
Hanamaki: what where
Hanamaki: When is Iwaizumi fun
Hanamaki: You mean our Iwaizumi with the workaholic and the permanent furrow between his brows
Hanamaki: Who has he become
Hanamaki: where did he come from
Matsukawa: where did he go
Hanamaki: COTTON EYED IWA
Iwaizumi: what the fuck guys.
Iwaizumi: I am fun
Hanamaki: you didn’t even acknowledge we turned you into a meme
Iwaizumi changed Matsukawa to Matsun
Iwaizumi changed Hanamaki to Makki
Iwaizumi: I don’t want to hear anything from you guys
Makki: jokes on you, fucker
Makki changed Iwaizumi to Iwa-chan!!!
Matsun: we don’t really give a shit
‘So when are you next seeing him?’
‘What?’
They’ve been on standby the whole day today, and it’s nearing the end of their shift. No calls have come in today, to which Iwaizumi honestly doesn’t know if it’s a blessing in disguise or not. He… just got to be bored in an office rather than home. There’s still a stack load of reports that he needs to fill in, though. Hanamaki and Matsukawa both offered to help him, so they companionably sift through the paper work. The boys are in their stations, and he’s sure that they’ll be responsible enough to manage themselves for a little.
‘Oikawa.’
‘Well,’ Iwaizumi neglects his sheets and rolls his shoulders back, ‘I don’t really think I need to? My back’s been alright since I last saw him, and that was, say a week ago?’
Honestly, he’d like to see him again, regardless is he needed to or not.
Hanamaki cocks his head; ‘hasn’t he been talking to you?’
‘No?’ Iwaizumi furrows his brow, ‘does he keep in touch with clients, usually?’
‘He usually does,’ Matsukawa fills in generously, sticking an alligator clip on a particularly thick pile, ‘to check in on how they’re doing and different exercises that can help you relieve pain. Kyoutani can vouch for it too.’
Iwaizumi shakes his head, ignoring how he suddenly needs to swallow before turning back to his work, ‘maybe he’s just super busy. I went on a Friday night, and he said his weekend was super booked. I’m sure he’s exhausted, and he’s still got his own job to hold onto too. No worries.’
There’s a pause stagnant enough for him to look up again, to his friends who are both giving him the flattest look that can muster.
‘Iwa-chan,’ Matsukawa slowly purrs, and Iwaizumi flicks a paper clip at him, ‘he gave me Matsun after three visits.’
‘Makki after five, I think. I wasn’t counting, but it wasn’t so early on,’ Hanamaki chimes.
‘Kyoutani’s nickname is ‘Mad-dog’ and he got that on the first visit, apparently,’ Iwaizumi says slowly, ‘What are you implying.’
‘Iwa-chan—’
‘Oh my god, no.’
‘You should at least keep in touch with him!!’
‘Don’t call me Iwa-chan. Why does this matter so much.’
‘It matters because-!’
There’s a quiet ping that disrupts his speech, and Makki and Matsun share a look that makes Iwaizumi feel very excluded. Makki nudges Matsun with his phone, and Iwaizumi reigns in the urge to demand whatever it is to be shown to him too.
Matsun snickers. And then; ‘Iwaizumi,’ he reaches above him and stretches like a cat, ‘What do you think of Oikawa?’
It’s easy, almost ridiculously easy. How Iwaizumi remembers how pretty Oikawa is, and how easy it had been to talk everything out. How natural and warm Oikawa’s hands had felt, hooked onto his elbow, how this stranger’s bright eyes were so familiar. What a character he’d thought Oikawa had been when he’d treated a national Japanese representative with such a cold shoulder. How gentle but enthusiastic he’d been with the children. How understanding Oikawa had been, health professional or no, reading straight through his emotions like they were a storybook.
He shuffles through a few more sheets and coughs, feeling his neck flush with the attention of his friends. ‘I’d like to get to know him a bit more,’ he says after a pause, ‘He seems like an interesting person.’
‘Then keep this Friday night free,’ Makki dips his head toward his phone and taps a few things before throwing his phone towards Iwaizumi like it isn’t an expensive item. ‘You’ll be hanging out with us, that night. It’ll… be fun.’
Iwaizumi fumbles, nearly locking the screen before focusing on the conversation he thinks he probably shouldn’t know about.
(2342)
Trashkawa: Bless your soul for referring such a stud to me
Trashkawa: You work in the same department and do the same operations but for some reason Iwa-chan’s so much more buff than you
Trashkawa: have you SEEN those arms
Trashkawa: Has he talked about me?
Trashkawa: Did he ask about me???
Trashkawa: Makki!! D’you think he’ll come see me again, he hasn’t contacted me
Trashkawa: omg should I contact him first
Trashkawa: but what if he thinks im desperate
Me: do you need some water
Me: to quench your thirst
Me: aren’t you the Professional? aren’t you supposed to contact him first
Me: just treat him as a client
(0637)
Trashkawa: I can’t help it!
Trashkawa: he’s sooo loovelyyy toooo
(1912)
Me: you talking about my boss like this makes me nauseous
Trashkawa: Can we meet to talk about this? Bring Matsun too!!
Trashkawa: Friday night???
Me: Sure, at that hole in a wall café you love so much.
Me: I’ll bring Matsun too.
Me: while I’m at it, if we’re talking about your love life, I’ll bring ‘Iwa-chan’ too
Trashkawa: Makki, noooo!
‘I think you should call him,’ Matsun’s smile looks so sleazy. Iwaizumi ignores him in favour of taking screenshots of the conversation and sends it over to himself.
It’s crazy. He’s met the guy once, spent some time and had a few conversations.
But still, Iwaizumi can’t help himself, grinning at the conversation in his palms
Has he talked about me? Has he asked about me?
Imagine Oikawa, stretched out along his bed after his last appointment, long legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Quickly typing each of the words, his eyes wide in anticipation. Would his tongue be out? It’d probably be completely dark, the light of the phone screen keeping him awake as much as his thoughts. Oikawa rolling around in worry as their mutual doesn’t even try to soothe his new curiosity. He can hear their voices, Oikawa childish whining, Makki’s deadpan teasing too.
‘Iwaizumi, you look like an idiot.’
He grunts in response, eyes still on these small words, not even for him. His palm rises to his lips, trying, in some semblance, to rub the smile away.
It goes on until Friday, and it becomes a whole mess because Hanamaki continues to receive messages on Oikawa’s pining, and each time, Iwaizumi can’t will that dumb smile away when it comes up every time Hanamaki makes the effort to show him.
He’d thought he’d been prepared for this; chosen what he’d wear the night before so he could just go home from his shift and change without thinking; busted out that old cologne his mum had bought for him eons ago, charged his phone to a hundred per cent before he’d left the apartment. He’d felt like a kid again, with a crush as he’d googled conversation starters (as if he’d need them with Oikawa) in case the conversation died, and remembered exactly seven to go off on, just in case.
He’d left early even, to take the early train so he definitely wouldn’t be late. He’d walked past the numerous gatchapon machines, spotted a new, and conveniently space themed one and spent a dollar on the plastic eggs. He holds the little green ball in one hand, turning it over and denying to himself, that it was for Oikawa. The alien keychain inside is the cute 3D version of the mascot poster glued to Oikawa’s wall. How lucky.
But after that, on reflection, Iwaizumi realises that it was ridiculous to think this would go smoothly.
Thanks to his foresight in trying to get there early but foiled by little detour and pondering, he arrives to Hanamaki and Matsukawa already seated at one of the bigger tables, engaged in what looks like a playful conversation. While they don’t touch above the table, Matsukawa’s fingers playing with a hoop of keys, and Hanamaki scratching the back of his phone case, Iwaizumi can see their ankles comfortably looped together.
Their love is a quiet one, Iwaizumi thinks as they wave toward him, noticing how their ankles shift a little more closely together.
He feels like he’s intruding when he joins them, but if anything, the two just lean their heads together conspiratorially and grin at Iwaizumi like this is some elaborate plan and not just supper.
It’s indeed is a ‘hole in the wall’ café; everything served in mason jars and rimmed with chocolate and sprinkles, bloody Sugawara off to the side and making these hell concoctions himself. It’s a lovely evening planned in a lovely café with a lovely boy and the friends he’s somehow been stuck with for a decade, now.
Hanging out, Hanamaki had said.
It’d be fun, he’d said.
And Iwaizumi tries. He really does.
But when Oikawa walks in barely late, with an apologetic smile and a laugh on his lips, Kyoutani, for some reason, is right on his heel and Iwaizumi remembers that oh, yeah. Kyoutani had scheduled an appointment right after their shift. He hadn’t known it was with Oikawa, but it still doesn’t reason why he’s here.
Kyoutani doesn’t even give a reason, but Iwaizumi squashes the small buzz of irritation because now he’s stuck here, in what could have been a double date, but no. He is one of three third wheelers to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s date and he can’t for the life of him remember how he got here. Oh, did he mention? No time to ogle Oikawa either, because since Kyoutani has joined them, and he makes it indelibly clear he doesn’t want to be there. He makes it ridiculously obvious; what with the crossed his arms and impressive glare. Given the chance, maybe Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s idea of a double date would have worked. But with his roommate here, Oikawa can’t even so much say a single word without getting growled at.
He sighs and sips whatever hipster shit he’d mindlessly ordered, but keeps his eyes dutifully on Oikawa; having ordered one of those diabetes inducing drink topped with whipped cream and ice cream and what not. Grown ass man that he is; he looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying it. His cheeks are a soft pink with the laughter he generously gives at Hanamaki’s snide jokes at his own expense, and he somehow seems like he’s having the time of his life.
Kyoutani’s arms are still crossed, and he looks like an adult rendition of a four year old throwing a tantrum.
The evening’s rounding up, but for all his preparations, Iwaizumi’s been as quiet as his roommate. He doesn’t want to waste this opportunity. So he clears his throat, catching Matsukawa’s suggestive eyebrow, before he does Oikawa’s eyes. ‘When are you next free?’ Iwaizumi says gruffly, shifting to look more at his eyebrows than those eyes. He’d forgotten all those conversation starters, and had reached for the next best thing.
He ignores how Oikawa’s perking up lifts his heart a bit, but then; ‘H-has your back been hurting again?’
And though Iwaizumi has barrelled through doors on fire before, thrown babies out of windows before and embodied brave in every necessary way, he considers himself the biggest coward when he lies, ‘yes.’
Something flickers in Oikawa’s eyes. They cloud a little bit, and Iwaizumi watches him bite his lip and school his face back into a professional smile that he hadn’t seen before. It doesn’t look real. As Oikawa pulls out his phone and scrolls through his schedule shooting out dates and slots that he’s free, but over his head, Matsukawa and Hanamaki both carry faces slathered with disturbing levels of equanimity. He gets the most withering stare from Kyoutani.
The egg in his pocket is cool plastic.
The next time he even sees Oikawa is in his room that’s now somewhat familiar when he walks in. Oikawa seems a little bit more distant, unexpected, since it’s just the two of them, but also very expected considering he couldn’t say anything in that café. He’d brought the small egg in his pocket, warming it with his fingers as he steps through Oikawa’s home, maybe it’d give him some kind of good luck or something.
‘How can I help you, Iwaizumi?’
No such luck
Iwaizumi regrets that Oikawa’s still amicable in that he’s clearly drawn that professional line now, but still keeps that questionably friendly but definitely… guarded smile.
The half hour that goes by is filled with a silence that would have been between strangers, and Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’s ever been more bitter about the use of his full name. The egg stays in his pocket.
Again.
Matsukawa might say otherwise, but Iwaizumi doesn’t blame Kyoutani for that night either.
Kyoutani had grunted his apologies the next morning, stubbornly scowling at the corner of the room like he was back in high school again, and Iwaizumi, honestly, isn’t sure what to do but make him tea and try to convince him that he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Because he hasn’t.
Iwaizumi thinks about Oikawa and his sugared drink a lot, thinks about how quickly those eyes, wide and shining, had morphed into those blank eyes that he couldn’t read at all.
Because now that he thinks about it, Iwaizumi doesn’t know the first thing about Oikawa. He knows his name, how it rolls so easily off his tongue, knows how sweet he is to children, knows how comfortable he is with his friends, double date or no. He knows he likes the sugary shit that can’t be good for him. But that’s the thing; he only knows this basic stuff that anyone with eyes would be able to pick up in a heartbeat.
He thumbs through his contacts, and he lands on Oikawa’s.
Tooru, he mouths, and he wonders how Oikawa would respond if he called him that.
He thinks back to how Oikawa had frantically messaged Hanamaki on if he should contact Iwaizumi, and he realises that he hadn’t ever even shot a text.
What the hell, he thinks and he presses the call button, even though it’s the middle of the day and Oikawa probably has a client right now.
It goes straight to voicemail, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he expected. He hears Oikawa’s voice, sees it in his mind the smile he must have had when he was playfully recording it, sees how he would have held the phone to his lips to speak into it like he was in a conversation.
He feels sick, but doesn’t leave a message after Oikawa’s tuned voice, either.
Kyoutani joins him in the living room, balancing his laptop on his legs and doing whatever, but Iwaizumi, lying on the floor with his legs up on the couch, he spends his hours scrolling through the compiled screenshots (again), and thanks fuck that Makki and Matsun haven’t said anything to the rest of the team. He’d never hear the end of it.
What he doesn’t expect though, is Oikawa calling him back. He nearly drops the phone on his face before and fumbles with the screen, resisting the urge to not answer, like a kid. Iwaizumi’s a little breathless, even though the greeting he hears is, ‘Oikawa Tooru, physiotherapy, sorry I missed your call; how may I help you?’
‘Oikawa.’
‘Iwa-chan?’ he squeaks, and for some reason, the quick reversion to Iwa-chan loosens the ache around his ribs, ‘I-I mean, Iwaizumi, hello!’
‘Hi,’ he breathes, and begins to get up and leave so he won’t disturb Kyoutani, but the man gives him a glare that tells him to sit the fuck down. He clears his throat. ‘Oikawa, hi. Is this a bad time right now?’
‘A client cancelled on me so I have half an hour. What did you need?’
Iwaizumi pauses because, what did he need?
You, his brain uselessly replies, but his mouth says, ‘I just wanted to talk.’
And so they do. Oikawa’s laughter slowly melts into the open tones Iwaizumi is so familiar with, and he suddenly learns all this information about meteors and their gravitational force with Oikawa so earnest and excited. They stay like that, comfortable and just talking, just going back and forth, and Iwaizumi learns that Oikawa shares this passion most often with Makki, who conspires with him about the government theories on aliens. He learns that Star Wars is apparently so much better than Star Trek, the bane of his childhood (‘you haven’t watched Star Wars? Next time you come over, we’re going to, okay?!’ Iwaizumi pretends his heart doesn’t stutter when Oikawa says ‘next time’). He learns, when Oikawa reportedly finishes his cup, that Oikawa makes his own coffee black, but indulges himself on sugar when he eats out.
It definitely doesn’t feel like half an hour when the doorbell, static and faint, rings on Oikawa’s end, and Oikawa whines.
‘Back to it then, huh?’ Iwaizumi hadn’t noticed when his voice had gone low, but he rolls over to his side, trying to preserve how warm and content he’d felt. It slowly evaporates as Oikawa slides on that professional façade again.
‘Back to it,’ Oikawa hums, and Iwaizumi can hear the slight ruffles of the papers he’d undoubtedly written up on his client, ‘see you later, Iwa-chan?’
‘Later,’ Iwaizumi hadn’t meant for it to come out as a promise, but Oikawa’s laugh is consolation enough and he hangs up.
He just lays there for a few minutes, and starts to remember that he’s in the living room with Kyoutani in the corner and probably the most lovesick expression on his face.
‘Iwaizumi.’
He wills down whatever’s on his face, before he cranes his head up to try and catch his eye. Though Kyoutani was the one who called him, he still seems immersed in whatever he’s doing online. ‘What’s up?’
‘I have a boyfriend.’
Iwaizumi rides on the high that Oikawa had just left him. ‘Oh! Congrats! Since when?’
Kyoutani flushes, his eyes still on his laptop. Iwaizumi watches his roommate shift from mortified, to uncomfortable, to steely. ‘A few weeks? Thank… you. I just wanted to tell you.’
Iwaizumi, after offering a weak smile, tips his head back to the ground, thinks: I am surrounded by gays. I might be one of the oldest, but I am, for some reason, the only one who is just picking up their game to go after someone I know is into me.
‘I also wanted to tell you,’ Kyoutani’s coughs a little before his voice becomes resolute this time, and Iwaizumi rolls over so he can properly look at the younger man, ‘I think you should go for it.’
‘What.’
‘Oikawa.’
‘I thought you didn’t like him?’
‘I wouldn’t keep him as my physio if I didn’t, would I?’
He makes a valid argument.
‘And it’s not up to me if you want to date someone,’ his eyes aggressively remain trained on his laptop. ‘and you seem to like him very much.’
Very good points.
A slow smile pulls at his cheeks, and he can’t help the smile that comes at Kyoutani’s cute little refusal to admit he cares. ‘I’d never thought I’d have this conversation with you,’ Iwaizumi says as he rests his hands behind his head. Kyoutani doesn’t say another word until dinner time.
One more time, Iwaizumi thinks to himself as he picks up the alien keychain, locked in its plastic egg of a cage. One more time.
He’d lost it for a while, forgotten about it, even, but in that time he’d watched all seven movies of Star Wars with Oikawa, his camera roll in his phone had filled with Oikawa’s selfies and screenshots of their snapchats and their text history had grown longer than Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s chat for banter. Oikawa has left bits of him all over his apartment, the jacket that he’d forgotten to bring home last time, his galaxy themed chargers, a tub of raspberry and white chocolate ice cream half-finished in the freezer. Each time Oikawa comes over, Kyoutani gets progressively more disgusted with the both of them.
‘Are you guys even a thing yet?’ he asks one night after Oikawa leaves, having walked into Oikawa curling into himself into Iwaizumi’s lap, the pair watching some UFO documentary that Oikawa had been so excited about. Iwaizumi confirms Kyoutani’s suspicions, blushing a little ruefully up to his ears at the pointed look he receives from his junior.
You sicken me, Kyoutani’s blank eyes say with no venom.
Iwaizumi’s inability to meet them says he agrees.
He’s actually on the phone with Oikawa, when the gatchapon ball is found again. He has the phone nestled between his ear and shoulder as he cleans up after Oikawa slept over; having stayed the night to marathon the many seasons of The Truth is Out There, its main selling point; evidence of aliens. It had definitely sold to Oikawa. The man had rushed home to prepare for his first client of the day, resulting in the room pretty much being trashed with Oikawa’s shit, and now Oikawa has called to apologise and complain that his first client is ten minutes late (and counting!!!). The ball rolls out from under coffee table, when Oikawa says something sassy about his patient, and Iwaizumi’s breath hitches when he picks it up.
‘Iwa-chan? What’s wrong?’
I’ll give it to him today, he thinks, eyeing the little alien trapped, and he hopes he keeps his word to himself. He doesn’t like that even after all this time of knowing the man, his voice still shakes a little, ‘Are you busy?’
‘I just told you that my client’s late, Iwa-chan, would I be on the phone with you if I wasn’t?’
‘Right, Asskawa. I’m bringing your shit over right now.’
‘What?’ he squawks, and Iwaizumi can’t help but grin at his voice, ‘Iwa-chan, don’t you have work? Why do you have so many days off? Shouldn’t the team leader be the busiest?’
‘I don’t procrastinate,’ Iwaizumi shrugs, throwing Oikawa’s shit into a box. He then picks it up, neatly stacking the DVDs and folding the jersey, ‘so I don’t have much to do. My shift’s from lunch onwards, so I won’t see you for the rest of today.’
Kyoutani swings out of his room, just to make kissy noises at him. Iwaizumi flips him the finger.
‘I’ll come right now, just to drop your stuff off. I’m sure you’ll be needing the neuron you left over here.’
‘That plushie is a collectable, okay? See you in a bit, the damn client’s here.’
As Iwaizumi stows his phone away, Kyoutani crosses his arms, looking a little bit smug. ‘I won’t see you for the rest of today. How domestic of you.’
He hikes the box up onto his hip, dropping the egg into the box. He slowly meets his eye. ‘I’m gonna do it today,’ Iwaizumi tries to say conversationally.
‘Fuck?’
‘Why are you like this.’
Kyoutani smirks, retreating back to his room and then Iwaizumi receives three texts, almost simultaneously.
The first one from Matsukawa; ‘I heard you’re gonna score today. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Hanamaki; ‘GET IT IWACHAN!!’ // ‘I mean GLHF wooing the idiot (y)’
The last, Kyoutani, ‘I’ll restock ice cream, so if you’re bawling after our shift [please don’t, idk how to handle my cap crying, I’ll probably just call M+H], we’ll be prepared.’
Strangely, for all of Kyoutani’s teasing, he appreciates Kyoutani’s the most.
The walk to Oikawa’s is half an hour, but it’s a trek that he’s willing to make. If Oikawa says yes, he won’t have to walk back, but if he doesn’t, Iwaizumi will just have that walk to free his mind up and mull over things. The box is light, and the green ball rolls around on the jacket.
He’s only just gotten close to Oikawa. They hadn’t known each other for very long, no, but the comfort that Iwaizumi feels is something very different to the type his mother offers and the laid back reassurance that his friends give. It’s something that he wants all the time; he doesn’t mind being wrapped up in Oikawa’s long limbs, doesn’t mind the sharp tongue that comes with the playfulness, doesn’t mind, in fact, loves, the sweetest smile that Oikawa will give to him first thing in the morning, raw, open and so happy. He loves how Oikawa is gentle to all (even the legendary Tobio-chan, Iwaizumi having heard Oikawa lavishly but grudgingly praise the boy one night, watching the live broadcast of the Olympic Games), loves watching Oikawa passionate, hands gesticulating wildly as he goes breathless over a new star discovered, loves tucking Oikawa safely into the home that Iwaizumi creates with his own soul.
His head is so full of Oikawa that he’s rendered motionless in front of Oikawa’s door.
And then it happens so quickly.
The man opens the door before Iwaizumi even rings, and for some reason, even though Oikawa’s job is predominantly stationary; his breathing’s a little uneven. He beams at Iwaizumi, and asks him to leave the box anywhere. But then Iwaizumi notices everything, the slight pink flush on Oikawa’s cheeks, how Oikawa’s eyes trace him as he drops the box beside the welcome desk of his home, a framed photo of them brightly greeting anyone who cared to look notice.
‘Thank you!’ is all Oikawa says and he’s about to power walk back into the therapy room, when Iwaizumi, oh, he can’t help himself. He reaches for Oikawa’s wrist, pulls him gently, and watches this man, taller than him by half a head, beautiful and such a loser, fall back into him.
‘Can I speak to you for a minute?’ he murmurs when their eyes meet, inches apart.
‘I have a client right now, Iwa-chan,’ Oikawa squirms, eyes suddenly snapping to anywhere but Iwaizumi, ‘can it wait?’
Iwaizumi looks at this man, wants to run his hands through this unruly hair, wants to hold him tightly and never let go, wants to kiss him silly. Remembers all the times he’d gotten a line of coffee above his lip, all the times they’d fallen asleep next to each other but all those times he’d woken up with Oikawa latched around his middle. ‘Oikawa,’ he breathes like he’s whispering a secret, ‘I love you.’
He feels the shiver that runs up Oikawa’s spine, watches as Oikawa completely freezes, before gradually, slowly, those pink cheeks darken a little more and—
‘Oh, Iwa-chan!’
He has to remind himself that the calloused hands, slick with whatever oil that Oikawa is using on this patient that he really needs to attend to right now, those hands that cup his face are real, just like the man in his arms, and it feels a lot less like kissing and a lot more like coming home.
This ends with a question.
‘Captain, are you okay?’
It’s Kindaichi this time, all wide eyes and looking slightly terrified that his very serious captain is exuding… happiness? Excitement?
Iwaizumi turns to face his boys, and grins widely, boyishly.
They all look mildly horrified, the juniors especially, and though they’d just come back from their last call, a small fire, easily controllable with not too many items lost, they don’t look bothered by that at all.
‘I’m good, thanks Kindaichi. Great work, team, we wrapped that up really nicely!’
The locker room slowly builds upon its own murmurs, but Iwaizumi can hear Kunimi’s quiet, blunt voice, though it doesn’t have any bite. ‘Captain… you’re giddy.’
‘Am I?’ Iwaizumi’s not sure if this is a bad thing or not.
‘Yes, Cap’n,’ calls Matsukawa from behind his locker, ‘but you should hurry, because if you take too long, your other half’s not going to be.’
‘Other ha—’ Kindaichi gasps as if it’s the most profound thing he’s ever heard, and Kunimi smacks him for his overreaction. There are several hoots of ‘congrats, cap!’, ‘knew you couldn’t be single forever!’ and ‘damn, our captain’s got game’, and Iwaizumi can’t help but grin in the wake of his supportive team.
Matsukawa shoots a lazy grin at Iwaizumi, and he quickly salutes back, and bounces.
Because Iwaizumi knows his rush to get out of the locker room won’t end in disappointment. When he’s finished packing away his uniform, collecting paperwork, signing out, he shoves his hands deep into his pockets before walking out to the front reception. He schools that ‘giddy’ grin down into his usual scowl, though he knows it won’t stay down for long.
Iwaizumi knows that outside, by reception, Oikawa’s waiting for them to have lunch, and though Oikawa’s going to choose the place, he’s going to complain and whine the whole way. He knows the familiar hold of Oikawa’s hands, how soft they are under all those callouses from soothing the aches away to teaching volleyball, knows the teasing laughter that’s bound to come.
So when he sees Oikawa, head tipped down toward his phone with a little alien dangling off it, can’t help how his scowl dissipates. Oikawa’s eyes blink up to meet his, suddenly grinning, arms stretching out just for him. He steps into this embrace, running his hands through Oikawa’s hair, smoothing his thumbs across Oikawa’s cheeks, pressing his lips against Oikawa’s.
‘Ya~hoo, Iwa-chan!’