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Meeting Ushijima Wakatoshi across the world in California had felt like lightning striking. His father being Takashi Utsui, and Ushijima introducing them, had felt like trapping that lightning in a bottle. Spending that afternoon with him had felt like letting that lightning go, unable to be trapped for much longer lest it shatter the glass in your hand.
He’d left that afternoon having exchanged numbers with Wakatoshi, not expecting to hear from him again, which is why he didn’t believe the text he got the next morning:
Would you like to train together sometime?
I will be in California for some time. I need to keep up my fitness regimen.
💪
The use of a singular, flexed muscle emoji is what really throws him off. Is Wakatoshi an emoji guy? Iwa asks himself while brushing his teeth and holding his phone in his left hand. There’s no reason to say no. If Wakatoshi is in California, why can’t they meet up again? But the idea that their serendipitous encounter can extend beyond yesterday is...weird. Iwa can’t put a finger on why. Maybe it’s some old instinct inside of him, loyal to Oikawa’s rivalry with the old Shiratorizawa ace, but Oikawa isn’t here right now.
Toothbrush held between pursed lips, toothpaste dribbling down his chin, he responds.
Sure, although you’re probably in better shape than me.
Trying to put my sports science classes to use?
🤓
Oh god, the emoji feels so stupid. Iwa wants to unsend it as soon as it’s out of his hands, but his panic is soon redirected when he sees Ushijima starting to type out his response.
No, I already have a trainer. Additionally, you are not yet certified.
Iwa snorts, reading the message with Wakatoshi’s dry humor. They were never anything more than rivals in high school, but yesterday had felt like they could be friends.
All right. Entirely unsanctioned and casual training. What’s your usual regimen?
They spend the rest of the morning texting back and forth, talking shop and making plans to meet up again, sharing sentences that make Iwa smile and hope that Wakatoshi is doing the same.
Wakatoshi has some time before he has to go back to Japan, so he’ll be staying in California for at least some of the summer. That’s what he says to Iwa the first time they meet up for their so-called training, a jog around campus in the early dawn hours.
“I find the dry climate interesting,” Wakatoshi says. He keeps pace with Iwa even though he is confident that Wakatoshi can run faster. “It is more pleasant than the humidity of monsoon season.”
“Yeah,” Iwa agrees, but he’s always struggled with conversation on a run. “Beaches are different, too.”
“We should go then,” Wakatoshi offers. “I wonder if the Pacific looks different from this coast.”
It’s a charming thought, that the ocean that surrounds the island of their birth can take on a different shape on the California coast. Iwa finds himself struck by the way Wakatoshi sees the world, his observations spilling from his mouth before any sort of filter can stop them.
Iwa is once again spending his summer on-campus, left to fill the lonely void left by his roommate and most other students returning home. Wakatoshi feels like a gift from the universe, an apology for the lonely hours he spent waiting for his friends back home to respond, their lives separate, the time zones making it worse.
They go jogging most mornings and spend some afternoons in the gym weight training. Utsui is kind enough to give them pointers, praising Iwa even though his son is the Ushijima Wakatoshi.
When they aren’t training, Iwa shows Wakatoshi the California that he knows. He takes him to the Costco that blew his mind the first time he came out here.
“This much protein powder seems...impractical,” Wakatoshi is standing in the middle of the aisle, people moving around him as he holds out the large plastic bottle that’s bigger than his head.
“It’s a really good price,” Iwa says, as if that explains the sheer concept of American excess. “It’s nice to buy it once, and my roommate uses it, too.”
Wakatoshi shakes his head and puts it in the cart that Iwa has commandeered. “How you can have room for this many large things in your dorm is...also impractical.”
Iwa laughs and Wakatoshi seems to prickle slightly. He pushes the cart forward, stopping beside Wakatoshi and touching his bicep lightly. “It is. You’ve got a point. But I kind of like it.”
Wakatoshi seems to deflate and offers what seems like an earnest smile. “I suppose there is a certain appeal to it.”
Iwa takes him to the restaurants that have had him spending the little money he has: Mexican, Italian, Japanese, tastes both foreign and familiar.
“I haven’t had udon this delicious in a long time,” Wakatoshi offers up that smile again and Iwa smiles back.
“It definitely helped with the homesickness,” Iwa slurps at his own noodles. “Made it worse at the same time, too? But at least I had a good meal.”
“It’s nice meeting friends so far away from home,” Wakatoshi nods sagely, meeting Iwa’s gaze seriously. “I would not be having fun in California if it wasn’t for you, Iwaizumi.”
The words bring a flush to Iwa’s cheeks that he will blame on the spice in his soup. He smiles and looks down at his meal, wondering how the hell he can blame the way his heart skips a beat when those brown eyes look at him.
When they walk down the sidewalk together after dinner, Wakatoshi stays close to him, their arms brushing against each other. Iwa pretends it's a coincidence, but the sidewalk is wide, and there is no one else walking beside them.
Iwa’s roommate texts him one day that he’s going to be seeing a concert with friends in Los Angeles and if he wants to join them.
“Would you want to meet my roommate and his friends?” Iwa asks Wakatoshi while they’re sitting in the on-campus cafeteria, eating lunch after an afternoon of strength conditioning.
“Your roommate is American,” Wakatoshi wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Is he familiar with Los Angeles?”
“He’s from further north, San Francisco,” Iwa explains. “But one of his friends is in a band, so he plays shows in LA and invites a lot of people.”
Wakatoshi nods sagely and those big brown eyes make him feel like he’s the only person in this room. “Are they any good?”
Iwa hums. “I think so, but I’m not a musician,” he flexes his hands, suddenly uncertain. “I mean, you don’t have to go. I don’t have to go either. It’s no big deal.”
“Why wouldn’t you go? He is your friend,” Wakatoshi leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “You do not have to keep me company all the time, Iwaizumi.”
The words hit harder than Iwa expects. He swallows hard and laughs nervously, scratching at the back of his head, as if all the time they’ve been spending together is suddenly too much and Wakatoshi has been pitying him. “No, of course not,” Iwa says. “I know that.”
“I would like to go see your friend and assess the skills of this band,” Wakatoshi declares. He straightens up in his seat, oblivious to Iwa’s internal crisis. “Will I need to wear anything specific? What is the typical attire for this venue?”
All of the tension that had flooded Iwa’s chest is suddenly gone, flushed out in a burst of laughter that Wakatoshi returns with one of his little smiles.
The club attire, Iwa had told Wakatoshi, was casual. When they arrive at the dorm parking lot, Wakatoshi is wearing a navy polo shirt and khaki pants.
“I do not own denim,” Wakatoshi says in lieu of a greeting. He gestures down towards his pants. “Satori also suggested a more casual t-shirt, but I was unable to do my laundry this afternoon.”
“I don’t think anyone will care,” Iwa offers, but he is in fact wearing a t-shirt and jeans, washed out and with rips in the knees because his roommate told him that’s what’s cool. “Do you usually consult Tendou for fashion advice?”
Wakatoshi nods sagely. “Yes. Satori is my best friend.”
Iwa can’t put a name to the twinge in his stomach at that statement, that Satori Tendou, the Shiratorizawa Guess Monster, is still so close with Wakatoshi all these years later.
A car engine interrupts his thoughts as his roommate's Jeep pulls into the parking lot. He honks on the horn, windows rolled down and grinning at them as he pulls up to the curb.
“Hajime! I can’t believe you made a friend this summer,” the man parks the SUV and leans over the console, looking towards Wakatoshi. “Ethan Sano, nice to meet you, man.”
Wakatoshi bows slightly. “Ushijima Wakatoshi. Thank you for offering your vehicle to take us to the concert.”
“Haji said you were formal,” Ethan quips as Iwa and Wakatoshi climb into the SUV, Wakatoshi in the back and Iwa riding shotgun. Ethan turns around, his arm braced against the chair. “You’re like some volleyball superstar, right? I Googled you.”
Wakatoshi nods, putting on his seatbelt. “Yes. I did not Google you. Iwaizumi says that you are studying political science.”
Ethan nods. “Yeah, I kinda wanna be a diplomat,” he turns back around and puts the car into drive. “Enough small talk. I wanna know how you guys are friends.”
Iwa shakes his head and smiles, because it’s a good question, isn’t it? How are they friends?
The concert venue is a glorified bar with a sticky floor and neon lights that threaten to blind you. Ethan and his friends have carved out a spot in the middle of the dance floor, standing room only for the band that Ethan described as “indie electric funk”. Iwa isn’t sure what those words mean strung together, but he likes the way it feels deep in his chest and how the drink that someone else bought him lets his body move in a way it normally doesn’t.
He bumps against Wakatoshi, the lights casting him in an interesting shadow. Iwa gestures for him to bend down. “Are you having fun?”
Wakatoshi nods, placing his hand in the space between Iwa’s shoulders. “It is very loud, but they are good.”
The crowd thrums with life, pressing Iwa and Wakatoshi even closer together. Iwa feels his face flush as he’s pressed against Wakatoshi’s chest, one that he has caught glimpses of bare in the gym, or when Wakatoshi wipes his face after a run. Iwa looks up and he sees Wakatoshi looking down at him, that hand still at his back but moving down now, holding him by his waist. Iwa feels like he’s about to explode.
Iwa opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He can barely string together a coherent thought that isn’t just big warm beautiful man, but the trance is broken by someone bumping into Iwa’s back, the drink in his hand splashing against Wakatoshi’s stupidly sensible polo shirt.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Iwa says, and his instinct is to touch his chest, which doesn’t help his train of thought at all.
“It isn’t your fault,” Wakatoshi says. He grabs Iwa’s wrist gently and looks at him. “I can clean up in the restroom.”
Wakatoshi doesn’t let him go as he begins to walk backwards off the dance floor, his hand slipping into Iwa’s own, sticky with liquor and sweat.
In the bathroom, the floor is equally sticky but the lights are much dimmer. The door closes and the bass is muted in these four walls. Iwa sets his drink glass on the sink while Wakatoshi grabs some paper towels.
“I’m sorry. That's probably a nice shirt,” Iwa offers, unsure of how to help because his brain keeps supplying him with images of Wakatoshi just taking it off instead.
“I own many polo shirts,” Wakatoshi wets one of the paper towels and holds it out towards Iwa. “I cannot see the stain. Can you help?”
Iwa blinks stupidly because is Wakatoshi seriously asking him for help? Iwa doesn’t question it, just takes the cheap paper and starts dabbing at the cotton fabric. “It’s less about the stain then the fact that you’re gonna reek like a bar.”
“I would pass any sobriety tests,” Wakatoshi is looking at Iwa again like he’s the only thing in the world. Iwa starts doing a very poor job of cleaning his shirt and loses himself in those eyes.
One drink doesn’t make him drunk, but Iwa’s body feels looser, lighter, and he presses himself up on his toes and kisses Wakatoshi square on the mouth. He doesn’t get the chance to fall back on his heels because Wakatoshi is holding him up, guiding him gently back against the bathroom door and kissing him back.
Iwa doesn’t really care if it’s a good kiss or not because he’s kissing Ushijima Wakatoshi. He gasps against the taller man’s mouth, paper towel falling to the floor as he holds onto the collar of his shirt. Wakatoshi caresses Iwa’s face like he’s something precious to behold. Iwa isn’t sure how much time passes, their kiss is something heated and unhurried, hot breath and sweet syrup and a sturdy body against his own. But they are in a club bathroom, so their kiss is interrupted by someone knocking at the door.
Wakatoshi pulls back and Iwa feels himself land back on the floor, dizzier now than he was before. “We should go back,” Wakatoshi declares, holding Iwa’s hand again.
They leave the bathroom, nodding apologetically to the man who had been waiting, and go back to the dance floor.
They don’t talk about the kiss again, but Iwa knows something has shifted between them. They touch more casually now, legs brushing beneath a table, hands resting on shoulders and arms, hands held gently in guidance. They don’t kiss again, and as much as Iwa craves a repeat performance, he’s so happy with this, the kind of intimacy that comes easily without explanation.
The real problem is that he knows it can’t last.
Wakatoshi announces he will be returning to Japan. He has purchased a plane ticket and will not be in California for much longer. Iwa, however, is bound here. His school year will start again soon and he will go back to the life he had before this. They’re sitting in Iwa’s dorm room, sitting in matching desk chairs across from one another, Iwa with his legs splayed out and Wakatoshi sitting as straight as one can in a chair that tips back if you lean too far in any direction.
“I’ll miss hanging out with you,” Iwa says, feeling vulnerable. Wakatoshi nods and Iwa can see his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.
“I will miss you,” Wakatoshi brings his hands together in his lap. A nervous habit? Iwa feels like he’s gotten to know Wakatoshi so well but there’s still so much he wants to learn. “I can visit again.”
Iwa smiles because it’s a nice offer, but he’s not going to hold Wakatoshi to that kind of promise. A guy like him, his star on the rise, can’t promise where in the world he’ll be. “I’d like that,” he says, because at least that’s true.
They don’t talk about the expiration date on their time together, but Iwa starts to memorize all that he can: the crinkle in Wakatoshi’s brow when he concentrates, the touch of his hand on the small of Iwa’s back so that he is the first to go through a doorway, the scent of his shampoo fresh from the gym shower.
On the morning of his flight, Iwa stands in the doorway of his dorm room, looking up at Wakatoshi who is standing there with a duffel bag and a suitcase.
“Goodbye, Iwaizumi,” Wakatoshi says. Iwa thinks Wakatoshi might kiss him, but all he does is bow slightly before walking down the hall, the wheels of his suitcase clicking behind him.
Iwa considers that summer with Wakatoshi one of the most interesting ones in his life. He misses the other man desperately, wonders what would have happened if they actually talked about their kiss, if they had the chance to kiss again, but he knows that their lives were on different paths either way. Iwa knows what it means to love someone and let them go because they’re not yours to keep. He doesn’t know if he loved Wakatoshi, but he thinks they might have gotten there.
Time moves forward in the way it's supposed to. California became, despite all odds, a second home to him. He becomes an athletic trainer, working sometimes alongside Utsui who talks about his son like he hung the stars.
Utsui tells him about some sort of networking event at a hotel bar. He can’t make it, but he can give his ticket to Iwa, because there’s no reason a young guy like him can’t take advantage of an open bar and make a few new connections.
That’s how Iwa ends up in a nice shirt and slacks, nursing a drink that’s more bitter than he likes, when he sees Satori Tendou waving him down.
“Iwaizumi Hajime, athletic trainer,” Tendou grins at him like they are old friends. “Man, what a coincidence seeing you here.”
“Yeah,” Iwa says, because he feels like this has to be leading somewhere. “I thought you were in...Paris?”
Tendou nods, settling next to Iwa at the bar top table he had claimed. “I’m in town for a bit, thought I’d grab a drink. Buncha buff guys in suits, huh?”
“It’s a networking event,” Iwa says, pointing to the sticker on his chest that says his name. Is that how Tendou recognized him?
“Isn’t networking just another word for speed dating? Tendou asks, eyebrow quirked. Iwa finds himself laughing. Is he drunk? He didn’t think so, but maybe the bartender pours heavy.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t flirt much,” Iwa admits. It’s not for lack of wanting, but life is busy and he feels busier. Who has time for dating?
Tendou smirks in a way that makes Iwa straighten up a little bit. “Well, I flirt a lot. You’re telling me you wouldn’t be interested in someone if they came up to you, all big arms in that fitted shirt, telling you they’d like to see what you looked like with it off?”
Iwa sputters into his drink, setting it down hard on the table in front of him as he coughs. Tendou only laughs, high and bright.
“That’s not even my best work, y’know,” Tendou muses, resting his chin on his hand. “But whatever works. You fill out that shirt very nicely. I would like to see what you look like without it.”
Iwa is certain he must be at least a little drunk. How else could this make sense? Tendou is looking at him with hooded eyes with a wolfish grin that makes Iwa think maybe a little flirting can ease the ache of loneliness he doesn’t like to acknowledge inside of him.
“I’ve got a room upstairs if you want,” Tendou rests a key card on the table, avoiding the sticky spot where Iwa had coughed up his drink. “No pressure, but I promise it’ll be a good time.”
Tendou slips away from the table as quick as he came up to it, his fingers ghosting along Iwa’s arm. When Iwa turns around, he’s somehow already gone. If it weren’t for the key card in his hand, Iwa is certain he imagined it all.
It takes him another drink and an hour and a half to build up his nerve to go to the room. He’s convinced himself that it’s not going to be sex even though Tendou was very clear about his intentions. Iwa is lonely and more desperate than he’d like to admit, but he can be normal about this, right? Maybe he and Tendou could just catch up like old friends, talk about the old days of volleyball. Iwa would like to learn about the Paris patisserie scene. Maybe Tendou would find his thoughts on physical therapy interesting. He thinks about Tendou’s eyes focused on him and wonders how they would look hovering over him.
Iwa shakes his head and fumbles with the key card. He can leave at any time. Being drunk and horny isn’t a crime.
Click. The keypad on the door glows green and Iwa twists the door knob.
It isn’t lost on him that Tendou might be as close as he can get to Wakatoshi these days. Are they best friends still? Will something of Wakatoshi linger on Tendou’s skin that he could taste?
Iwa pushes the door open, his tongue like cotton in his mouth. He sees Tendou standing there, the black button down he was wearing now exposing the pale, long line of his throat. Behind him, sitting in a chair in the corner, is Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Iwa feels that lightning again, from the crown of his head through the tips of his toes. He opens his mouth but something like a confused gurgle comes out of him.
“I didn’t expect you to come up,” Tendou crosses the carpeted floor and takes Iwa by the wrist, pulling him deeper into the room.
“I...you...he,” Iwa has never been at such a loss for words before. Tendou’s skin feels so warm against his, his nerves singing, and his heart pounding at the sight of Wakatoshi here again in front of him.
“Hello, Iwaizumi.” Is his voice deeper now? Surely not, but the rumble of it sends a shiver down Iwa’s spine.
Tendou laughs behind him. “Oh, you’re cute. I knew this was a good idea.”
“This,” Iwa manages to say, licking his lips and looking between them. “You invited me up here to see him?”
“See us,” Tendou coos, reaching up and stroking a finger beneath Iwa’s chin. “I wasn’t lying, you’re hot as fuck. But I wanted Ushi to be a little selfish tonight, too.”
Iwa smiles nervously. He is on vastly uneven footing but he thinks he likes where he is. Tendou looks like he wants to devour him and Wakatoshi looks like he wants something similar. He rises from the chair and Iwa thinks he can see an indent in the arms where his hands were gripping them.
“I hope this is okay,” Wakatoshi says, moving to stand behind Tendou. “This plan was rather...hasty.”
Iwa knows Wakatoshi well enough that he knows he isn’t often at a loss for words. But he also doesn’t know what this is between him and Tendou, the way Wakatoshi puts his hand on the small of his back in the way he did with Iwa all those years ago.
“You two are...” Iwa cannot find the words himself, but he thinks he knows the answer.
“Together,” Wakatoshi nods, looking at Tendou with fondness in his eyes. “Satori is my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend hits him in a way that Iwa doesn’t expect. He opens his mouth to say something normal like Congratulations! or That’s great! but what comes out instead is “Sounds interesting.”
Tendou smiles in a way that makes Iwa nervous. “We’re open,” he reaches out and plays with the collar of Iwa’s polo shirt. “Ushi’s sex drive is categorically gray, and I am someone who needs dick to survive.”
Tendou’s fingers brush against his skin, sending electricity down his spine. “Gray?” Iwa manages to squeak out, his eyes focused on the dimple in Tendou’s cheek.
“Asexual,” Wakatoshi nods and tilts his head. “Tendou seeks sexual fulfillment in other partners, but we are romantically monogamous.”
Iwa’s mind is spinning with the explanation as he tries to apply it to his own situation. “So you want to...hook up with me?” his eyes drag from Tendou’s face to Wakatoshi’s. “And you’ll...watch?”
“Full transparency, this was Ushijima’s idea,” Tendou presses his body against Iwa’s, his hands up on his shoulder as he looks back at Wakatoshi. “He said he had some rather fond memories of a summer in California he’d like to re-live.”
Oh yeah, Iwa remembers that summer in California. He remembers tan skin and warm lips and some of the happiest memories he had ever made since leaving Japan. He just didn’t think he’d get those moments again.
“I will be participating,” Wakatoshi declares, closing the distance between them and coming to stand beside Tendou. He brings his hand, broad and warm the way Iwa remembers it, and rests it against his cheek. “But your consent is important. This is not a trivial night for us. Your participation is meaningful.”
Iwa nods but he knows the words are important. He fights for control of his limbs, wrapping one arm around Tendou’s waist and bringing the other hand up to Wakatoshi’s cheek in a mirror of his own. “Yeah,” Iwa breathes. “It’s been yes for a long time.”
Iwa wakes slowly in the morning, tangled in the nice bed sheets of a hotel room that aren’t the discount cotton sheets of his own bedroom. He inhales deeply and smells Wakatoshi’s shampoo, his nose pressed against the back of his neck. He feels Tendou’s arms tighten around his waist.
“Don’t move, I don’t want to get up to pee yet,” Tendou mumbles into his hair. Iwa obeys because he doesn’t want to leave the press of their bodies, not when he gets to be this close to Wakatoshi without any sort of excuse. Not when the sex last night was actually really good.
“It isn’t healthy to hold in your urine, Satori,” Wakatoshi mumbles, his voice rough with sleep. “Go to the bathroom.”
Tendou groans but begins to roll off the bed. “Ugh, you won’t let me destroy my kidneys in peace.”
As Tendou pads across the carpet to the bathroom, Wakatoshi turns to face Iwa, his warm hand resting on Iwa’s waist. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’,” Iwa says, because he can’t really believe he’s here, that Wakatoshi is next to him. “How’d you sleep?”
“Wonderfully,” Wakatoshi closes the distance between them, his touch affectionate in a way that has Iwa’s heart in his throat. “And you?”
Iwa nods because he’s afraid of using his voice again. He doesn’t want the spell of whatever this is to break, because it means Wakatoshi will be out of his world again.
“Hajime,” Wakatoshi brings his hand to Iwa’s face, regarding him carefully. “Was last night too much?”
Too much? Yes, but not in the way he thinks. Iwa shakes his head and rolls onto his back, laughing up at the ceiling. “No, it was fine. I just didn’t really expect...” You. Tendou. A threesome.
“Satori was telling the truth last night,” Wakatoshi stays on his side, staring at Iwa in a way that makes him feel raw and exposed. “We were in town to visit my father, and Satori saw you at the hotel bar. He knows about my feelings for you.”
Iwa blinks hard and turns to look at Wakatoshi. “Feelings?”
Wakatoshi manages to look bashful, turning his face slightly away. “That summer we spent together was very important to me.”
“It meant a lot to me, too,” Iwa replies, because what else is he supposed to say? “It felt a little too good to be true.”
“I never thought I would have you again,” Wakatoshi says and it makes Iwa’s heart jump inside of his throat.
The toilet flushes and Iwa listens as Tendou washes his hands. “And you and...Satori...”
Wakatoshi smiles. “I love him, but human hearts are full of love for more than one person. I know that our relationship is unconventional, but our hearts would be open for you as well.”
Iwa pushes himself up on his elbows, looking down at Ushijima with wide eyes. “What?”
“He’s asking you if you want to be in a relationship with us,” Tendou says, standing naked at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips. “We planned on talking about it with you over breakfast, but I guess we kind of already skipped a few steps with the sex last night.”
Ushijima sits up, nodding. “You will have time to consider your feelings, Hajime, but-”
“Yes,” Iwa doesn’t know why he says it with such certainty, but he knows it to be true. “I mean, I want to consider it. Last night was...interesting.”
“We can define our relationship however we want to,” Tendou says, crawling onto the bed gently pushing Wakatoshi onto his back. “But this big guy is all sentimental, and he wants to call the two of us his boyfriends.”
“Satori and I have discussed what our relationship would look like with a third person,” Wakatoshi says. “But I was only interested in it if it was you.”
Iwa shakes his head, laughing, unable to fathom it. “After one summer?” he asks, even though he knows he was in the same boat.
“After one summer,” Wakatoshi echos, reaching out to Iwa. “Will you have us?”
Iwa looks at Tendou who smiles up at him. “You’ve always seemed like a very cool guy, and Wakatoshi talks about you like you could paint the Mona Lisa. Plus, you’re very sexy, and I would love to do what we did last night again.”
Iwa cannot fathom how we ended up here. He can’t really be upset about it, because the universe gave him what he’d never thought he’d have again: the lightning strike that is Ushijima Wakatoshi in his life. Maybe the universe just wanted to wait until Tendou was in the picture to give him everyone he was supposed to have.
“Yeah, Iwa says, looking at the two of them with an honest smile. “I think it’s been yes for a long time.”