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Iwaizumi Hajime has never been one to run away from a challenge.
Ever since he can remember, he has always stood up to whatever has come his way, regardless of how scary life had progressively become as he grew up. The change from middle to high school, the end of his time at Seijoh’s volleyball club and his round trip from California to the JNT and back—all of it had required a great amount of courage, something Hajime has never been short of. Except for, precisely, when it comes down to the one person he used to know best in the whole entire world.
The celebration hall is bursting at the seams with people dressed up in their best clothes. Hajime’s own black tie feels too tight around his neck, and he’s been debating on whether or not to take off his suit jacket for the best part of the past hour.
Congratulations ricochet between the walls, shining golden under the bright lights in the aftermath of the National Sports Gala of Japan hosted by one of the most prominent sports publications in the country. At eighteen, Hajime would’ve doubled over in laughter at the mere suggestion of making it here.
That’s not a place for me, Shittykawa, he would’ve probably said, like he always used to. You’re the one who’s good at talking people up, aren’t you?
At thirty-one, having made it to the Olympics as the National Volleyball Team’s athletic trainer, he’s almost grown used to attending events as part of the team’s coaching staff—never backing down from a challenge, wondering just how lucky he’s been to make it to where he is while he gets lost in the back of the crowd, content and yet still not full.
It had all required a great amount of courage, the journey to the Olympics and back, with everything it had entailed—something that is inevitably drained from Hajime’s body when he first catches sight of Oikawa Tooru’s blinding smile right across the room.
Clad in a navy blue suit tailored to fit his broad body like a glove, Oikawa looks everything Hajime remembers him to: bright like a star, drawing stares from everyone around him with his light, invisible honey dripping from his lips with every careful word that leaves his mouth. He’s been the main topic of every conversation ever since he walked into the hall, murmurs of how the invitation had been sent out to him without hope of him actually attending mixing in with hushed whispers gossiping about his potential return to Japan and the hypothetical existence of a mysterious romantic partner everyone wants to find out about.
The words ring like white noise inside Hajime’s head, buzzing rapidly as they intertwine themselves in between his ribs to squeeze at his heart. It starts to become a bit too much a little too quickly. Then, Oikawa raises a hand to push his now much shorter hair away from his face, and for a brief moment, Hajime can almost feel the brush of his calloused fingers against his own skin, faint like the touch of a ghost or the memory of the summer breeze.
It leaves him breathless, how twelve years without feeling Oikawa’s touch are reduced to dust by a mere gesture. Hajime doesn’t notice when his hands close into tight fists, or when he retreats further back into the room and away from him, desperately searching for his bravery in the raided drawers of his ribcage.
When Hajime thinks about it, what he remembers the most is the way in which regret slowly drowned out the love.
He remembers Tooru talking to him about Argentina, and feeling as if he’d already known all along. A planet orbiting in a galaxy too far for Hajime to ever reach, a bird too wild to be caught inside a cage of nothing more. Remembers how Tooru had kissed him afterwards, like an apology he never quite felt, and telling him, “You’re going to go no matter what I say”. Remembers the quick flash of guilt in Tooru’s eyes being washed away by his unwavering pride, his confident smile. “You’re going to miss me, aren’t you, Iwa-chan?” Loss before the match had even started off.
He remembers standing at the airport with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, watching Oikawa head towards the security control with a straight back and his head held high. “We’ll be better off as just friends. I don’t want to hold you back.” Remembers wanting to scream, to punch him in the face for being so stubborn and to run after him so he could keep basking in his light. “Of course. If that’s what you want, Iwa-chan.” Remembers Tooru not looking back, full of the courage Hajime never really had.
He remembers the daily texts and weekly calls dwindling down to stray messages in their group chat. Remembers the echoes of a Japanese setter thriving overseas and the potential of the future National Team. Remembers the announcement of Oikawa representing Argentina, and some of their former teammates asking him if he’d already known, and having to tell them no. No, I no longer know him. I did once, but not anymore. Remembers having to let go of the little sliver of childish hope he’d been still clinging to, and finding himself lost and lost and lost.
Hajime remembers, remembers, remembers, and wishes he could go back every time. It still hurts all the same when he realises he can’t, no matter how much he’d love to.
Ushijima finds him with an empty beer bottle in his hand and his lips pressed into a tight line.
“Iwaizumi,” he says flatly, and the familiarity isn’t unwelcome to Hajime at all. “Hinata told me to come find you and say that you ‘need to lock the fuck in’. Whatever that means.”
“I’m not in the mood for this,” Hajime says, mouth twisting into a scoff. “I’m going to head home.”
“But you haven’t said hello to him yet, have you?” Wakatoshi blinks. “To Oikawa-san, I mean. It’s what Hinata said.”
“And what does he care?” Hajime’s fingers tighten around the empty bottle, and he has to take in a deep breath to make sure to keep his voice down. “What does it matter?”
“I don’t know,” Wakatoshi shrugs. “I just thought you would. I guess he did, too.”
Hajime does not stop to ask him who he’s referring to. It’s probably Hinata, his brain supplies, but his traitorous feet are already moving before he can think better of it, carrying him towards the opposite corner of the hall, where Oikawa’s deep brown eyes still reflect the shining overhead lights like a mirrorball, like a metaphor of all the times he’s broken down and put himself back together in all the ways Hajime never could.
The flash of surprise that Oikawa quickly schools back into a practiced smile when he turns around to face him makes Hajime’s stomach turn on itself.
“Iwa-chan,” he says, gently like he used to, and yet more muscle memory than tenderness in his voice. “I hadn’t seen you around. How is it going?”
“Oikawa.” Hajime swallows past the knot in his throat. It feels like swallowing a handful of broken glass. “Good, I’m… good. I’m glad to see you here. I didn’t know you came back to Japan.”
“I didn’t.” Oikawa is quick to clarify, with a tight smile that is almost enough to make Hajime turn around and leave. Almost. “I’m only here for a couple of weeks, that’s all.”
Twelve years ago, Hajime would’ve been the first one to know if Tooru was planning on visiting. Today, he’s known for long enough already that he never stood a chance at getting in Oikawa’s way. And yet.
“Well, yeah. I figured,” Hajime shrugs. “I still didn’t know you would be here. It’s kind of weird, isn’t it.”
“What, that I’m here?” Oikawa frowns, because the two of them have changed so much but he’s still the same he’s always been. Hajime knew him best once. Somehow, it’s comforting to still find pieces of his Oikawa so far away from where they started.
An involuntary chuckle makes its way out of Hajime’s mouth. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “That I didn’t know. We used to know everything about each other, and now,” he makes a vague gesture with his hands, his eyes fixed on Oikawa’s face. “Now there’s this. We don’t talk anymore.”
“This,” Oikawa repeats, and his perfect façade breaks a little. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.”
“Me either,” Hajime shrugs. “But you’re the same you’ve always been, so. I suppose it’s fine.”
Oikawa frowns again, his eyebrows furrowing. “What does that mean?”
“That you haven’t changed much.” A small smile pulls at the corner of Hajime’s lips, sadness sliding down the slope like a waterdrop. “Still thinking everything is about you.”
“Hey!” Oikawa’s lips press together in a pout for a moment—muscle memory, the ghost of a tenderness once had and then lost, familiarity that burns at the bottom of Hajime’s lungs and chokes him out. “I have changed! Just look at me!”
“I’m looking at you,” Hajime hums. It comes out more earnest than he’d intended. “You look good, by the way. Broader. Still training like a man obsessed, aren’t you?”
“I have to stay in top condition,” Oikawa retorts, and it feels like home. “Gotta beat you at the next Olympics, no?”
“As long as you take care of yourself.” Hajime’s smile falters, sick with nostalgia. Drowning in regret. Way too far from where he once was. “You were never really good at that, you know. I hope you are now.” Another punch to the gut. “Or that someone is there to do it for you.”
Oikawa hesitates for a moment. It’s subtle enough that it would’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else, but not to Hajime. He watches Oikawa breathe in, and thinks, this is it. This is the moment that breaks everything one more time, perhaps for the last time.
For a second, Hajime is overcome by a fierce desire to stop time from moving forward. He wants nothing but to close his eyes and beg for them to stay still, as if stuck inside a picture frame forever, before things inevitably end one more time. Before that little sliver of childish hope finishes dimming down to nothing.
Hajime opens his mouth to speak again and say something stupid. Something like, “Please don’t say anything.” “I get it.” “It’s fine as long as you’re happy, Oikawa. Tooru. If I can still call you that.” Something that doesn’t sound as pathetic as he feels, standing there after twelve years, hoping against hope for Oikawa to still be the same boy he fell in love with.
But it doesn’t happen. Instead, Oikawa’s gaze moves away from him, and Hajime finds him looking at the ground with a faint blush starting to tint the top of his cheekbones.
“No,” Oikawa says. He pauses for a moment, looking back up into Hajime’s eyes, and he is reminded of how scared he’d been when Oikawa had first told him he’d be leaving for a different continent, and how scared Oikawa had been when he’d believed it all to be over, and how being scared had made them mask their own recklessness with an armor made out of bravery. “There isn’t anyone like that. Hasn’t in a long, long time.”
“Oh.” Hajime blinks. “Okay.”
“And I,” Oikawa adds, then, “I didn’t think you’d care.” It’s too quiet to be heard properly in the crowded room, but Hajime gets it all the same, like a knife straight to the chest. “After, you know. Everything. Sometimes I even thought you wouldn’t ever want to see me again.”
Everything, Hajime finds now, is nothing but the way in which time and distance swirled together with simply not knowing better—with being scared of losing exactly what they lost, and trying to pick up the pieces without ever allowing themselves to go back.
He looks right back into Tooru’s eyes, aware of the way in which Tooru is biting at the skin on his bottom lip just like he always would when he was nervous back in high school.
And he is scared. Terrified, even, because courage is not something Hajime has ever had when it comes down to Oikawa Tooru, the one person who used to know him the most in the whole world.
But Iwaizumi Hajime has never been one to run away from a challenge.
“And you?” He asks, his gaze unwavering. “Do you still care?”
The way a small, shy smile draws itself over the plump curve of Tooru’s mouth tells him more than a thousand words ever could.