Chapter Text
Iwaizumi Hajime had never spent Christmas alone before.
He stared at the empty living room, decorated with the same ornaments his family had used for the past eighteen years. The crooked paper star he'd made in kindergarten still sat at the top of the tree; Oikawa had helped him glue it together, getting more glitter on himself than on the craft. The porcelain nativity scene his grandmother had brought from Osaka occupied its usual spot on the mantle. Stockings hung from hooks his father had installed when Iwaizumi was three, back when he still believed in Santa and would wake up at 4 AM to check if they were filled.
Everything was exactly as it should be for Christmas Eve.
Except his parents weren't here.
His mom had apologized at least fifty times before leaving but his grandmother in Osaka had fallen and broken her hip three days ago, and someone needed to be there to help her through surgery and recovery. His father had left immediately, and his mom had held out as long as she could, insisting she'd stay until Christmas Eve at least, that she couldn't possibly leave her son alone for the holidays.
"Go," Iwaizumi had told her firmly that morning, helping her pack her suitcase. "Grandma needs you more than I need someone to cook me a fancy dinner. I can handle myself."
"But it's Christmas, Hajime. You shouldn't be alone–"
"I'm eighteen, Mom. I'm not going to burn the house down because you're gone for a few days." He'd zipped up her suitcase with finality. "Besides, I've got leftovers in the fridge, and I know how to use a microwave. Revolutionary technology."
She'd laughed at that, watery and worried, and pulled him into a tight hug. "You call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
"I will."
"And lock the doors at night."
"I know."
"And don't stay up too late playing video games."
"Mom."
"And maybe Tooru could come over? So you're not completely alone?"
"I'll figure it out. Just go take care of Grandma."
That had been seven hours ago. His mom had texted when she arrived at the station, then again when she got on the train, then again with a crying emoji and a heart when the train left. His dad had called to make sure he was okay and to tell him where the emergency cash was hidden (behind the rice cooker, as if Iwaizumi hadn't known since he was twelve).
Now it was 2 PM on Christmas Eve. Snow was starting to fall outside in lazy, fat flakes that stuck to the windows. The house was warm with the heater humming steadily, but it felt too big. Too quiet. The silence had weight to it, pressing down on his shoulders.
Iwaizumi had never realized how much noise his parents made just by existing. His mom humming while she cooked. His dad's terrible dad jokes at the dinner table. The TV always on in the background, playing news or cooking shows or period dramas his mom loved.
Without them, the house felt like a museum. Like he was a visitor in his own home.
He sighed and flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. He should probably do something productive. Clean his room. Study for the entrance exams that were looming in January. Prep vegetables for dinner.
Instead, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through it without really seeing any of it. Pictures of his classmates with their families, posing in front of Christmas trees and elaborate holiday meals. Matsukawa had posted a photo of the ugliest Christmas sweater Iwaizumi had ever seen with the caption "mom's revenge for forgetting to call last week."
Hanamaki had replied with three crying-laughing emojis.
His thumb hovered over Oikawa's profile, but he didn't click it. Oikawa was probably busy with his own family stuff. His mom went all-out for Christmas; a full turkey dinner, presents stacked under the tree, matching pajamas she made everyone wear for photos. His older sister always came home from university for the holidays, and the Oikawa household became a whirlwind of activity and noise and warmth.
The last thing Oikawa needed was Iwaizumi texting him like some pathetic—
His phone buzzed.
Shittykawa: iwa-channnnn are you wallowing in loneliness yet
Iwaizumi snorted despite himself.
Iwaizumi: It's been four hours
Shittykawa: that's not a no
Shittykawa: i'm coming over
Iwaizumi: Don't you have family stuff
Shittykawa: finished early! my mom's already crying over photo albums from when we were babies
Shittykawa: she pulled out the one where you peed in my sandbox
Shittykawa: I was TRAUMATIZED iwa-chan
Shittykawa: anyway my sister's hogging the tv and being annoying
Shittykawa: and you're ALONE on CHRISTMAS EVE
Shittykawa: that's illegal i think
Shittykawa: i checked with the authorities (me) (i'm the authorities)
Iwaizumi: You're an idiot
Shittykawa: a CARING idiot
Shittykawa: so i'm coming over and you can't stop me
Iwaizumi: Fine. Bring food.
Shittykawa: aye aye not captain!! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
Shittykawa: see you in 30!
Iwaizumi tossed his phone onto the couch and felt something in his chest unclench. He wouldn't admit it—would rather eat his own volleyball shoes than admit it out loud—but the thought of Oikawa's particular brand of chaos filling up the empty house made everything feel a little less heavy.
He should've known Oikawa wouldn't let him spend Christmas alone. They'd been doing this for eighteen years, every single Christmas Eve since they were babies. Trading off whose house they'd have dinner at, opening one present before midnight, staying up too late watching bad holiday movies and arguing about which one was the worst. It was tradition. Routine. As much a part of Christmas as the tree and the stockings and the terrible sweaters.
This was their last Christmas before graduation. Their last Christmas before everything changed, before entrance exams and university and adult life pulled them in different directions. Before "see you tomorrow" might turn into "see you next month" or "see you when you visit."
Iwaizumi stood up and stretched, joints popping. He should probably make the place look less pathetic before Oikawa arrived. Not that Oikawa would judge—this was the same guy who'd seen Iwaizumi throw up after eating too much candy when they were seven, who'd helped him through his awkward braces phase in middle school, who knew exactly how many times he'd watched Godzilla movies and cried at the end.
Still. Pride was a thing.
He tidied up the living room, tossing his jacket over the back of a chair and straightening the couch cushions. He checked the fridge, there were plenty of leftovers from yesterday, some vegetables, eggs, rice. Enough to make something decent if they got hungry. The Christmas cake his mom had ordered was in there too, white cream with strawberries, untouched. She'd insisted on getting it even though she wouldn't be here to eat it.
"For you and Tooru-kun," she'd said knowingly, and Iwaizumi had rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.
The doorbell rang exactly thirty minutes later, because of course Oikawa was punctual when it came to inserting himself into Iwaizumi's business.
Iwaizumi opened the door and immediately regretted it.
Oikawa Tooru stood there in the ugliest Christmas sweater known to mankind, bright, almost offensively red, with a light-up Rudolph nose that was already blinking and tinsel that appeared to be literally sewn into the fabric. The whole thing sparkled like a disco ball had a baby with a Christmas tree. Snow dusted his brown hair and shoulders, melting into his ridiculous bangs. His cheeks were pink from the cold, and he was grinning like he'd just won the lottery.
He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and was carrying two convenience store bags that looked ready to burst.
"I brought supplies!" Oikawa announced at full volume, pushing past Iwaizumi into the house without waiting for an invitation. He kicked off his boots, they were light blue with white snowflakes, because of course they were—and padded into the kitchen in his socks. "We've got instant ramen, three different flavors because I couldn't decide. Chips, both regular and the weird seaweed ones you like even though they're gross. Christmas cake that was on sale—don't look at me like that, it's perfectly good cake, it just has a little dent in the frosting. And–" He pulled out a bottle with a flourish that would've been more impressive if he hadn't almost dropped it. "Sparkling cider because we're classy adults now, Iwa-chan!"
"We're eighteen."
"Exactly! Adults!" Oikawa dumped everything on the kitchen counter in a chaotic pile. "Oh, and I brought my Switch because your game selection is tragic. And my laptop because I downloaded three new Christmas movies last week that we haven't seen yet. And—" He unzipped his backpack and pulled out a container. "My mom sent cookies. The good ones with the chocolate chips."
"Your mom's cookies are the only reason I tolerate you."
"Rude! I'm a delight and you know it!" Oikawa spun around, making the tinsel on his sweater shimmer and cast weird reflections on the kitchen walls. "Also, this sweater is art, Iwa-chan, before you say anything mean about it."
"That sweater should be illegal. It's a crime against eyes everywhere."
"This sweater is a masterpiece. My mom made it for me three years ago. I wear it every Christmas. It's tradition."
"I'm aware. I've been trying to forget."
"Mean!" But Oikawa was grinning, bright and familiar, and the kitchen suddenly felt warmer.
He paused, looking around at the empty house, the too-quiet rooms. His expression softened—that rare look he got sometimes when he dropped all the dramatics and was just Tooru, just his best friend who'd known him since they were in diapers. "It's weird, huh? Being here with no one else home."
"Yeah." Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. "It's... quiet."
"Well, not anymore!" Oikawa's grin was back at full wattage. He threw his arms out dramatically, nearly knocking over the sparkling cider. "I'm here now, so obviously it's going to be extremely loud and fun and the BEST CHRISTMAS EVE EVER!"
"Obviously," Iwaizumi said dryly, but he couldn't help smiling. "You want to help put this stuff away, or are you just going to stand there looking like a human Christmas decoration?"
"I can multitask, Iwa-chan. Watch me be helpful and beautiful at the same time."
"I'd settle for just helpful."
"Again, mean!"
But Oikawa was already pulling items out of the bags, organizing them with surprising efficiency. He knew where everything went in Iwaizumi's kitchen—had known for years. Cups in the cabinet by the sink. Snacks in the pantry, second shelf. Cider in the fridge, bottom shelf so it didn't get knocked over.
They moved around each other easily, a familiar dance they'd perfected over nearly two decades of friendship. Oikawa chattered the whole time about his morning—his mom's crying over baby photos, his sister's terrible taste in TV shows, the weird guy at the convenience store who'd tried to sell him on some protein powder supplement.
"Like I need supplements, Iwa-chan. Look at this physique." He gestured to himself with both hands. "Peak athletic performance."
"You tripped over your own feet at practice yesterday."
"That was tactical. In a sense. I was testing the floor's grip."
"You landed on your face."
"Strategically! On my face strategically!"
Iwaizumi threw a dish towel at him, and Oikawa caught it with a laugh that echoed through the house, filling up all the empty spaces.
—-
"I'm destroying you."
"You got lucky!"
"Three times in a row? That's not luck, Shittykawa. That's skill."
"The controller's broken. Obviously. This controller is defective and—OI, THAT'S CHEATING!"
Iwaizumi smirked as his character launched Oikawa's off the stage for the fourth time. "How is that cheating? I literally just pressed buttons."
"Evil buttons! Betrayal buttons!" Oikawa jabbed frantically at his controller, but it was too late—his character exploded in a shower of pixels and the victory screen appeared. "NO! REMATCH! IMMEDIATE REMATCH!"
"That's what you said three matches ago."
"And I mean it more now!"
They were sprawled on the living room floor, controllers in hand, snack wrappers scattered around them like some kind of junk food graveyard. They'd started playing Super Smash Bros around 4 PM with the intention of just "one quick match" and that had been two hours ago. The Christmas tree lights cast a soft glow over everything, and snow continued to fall outside the windows, heavier now than it had been when Oikawa arrived.
Iwaizumi was winning 4-1, and Oikawa was being an increasingly sore loser about it.
"Face it," Iwaizumi said, reaching for another chip. "You're trash at this game."
"I am a master at this game! You're just—you're—" Oikawa flailed his controller accusingly. "—using some kind of dark Iwa-chan magic! Volleyball reflexes shouldn't work in video games!"
"They do if you're good at both."
"I'm excellent at both!"
"You're excellent at being annoying."
"RUDE!" Oikawa threw a pillow at him, which Iwaizumi caught easily with one hand without looking away from the character select screen. "See?! dark magic! No one has reflexes like that!"
"I do. That's literally why I'm ace."
"You're ace because I set to you perfectly."
"I'm ace because I'm good."
"You're ace because of my genius setting—"
Iwaizumi threw the pillow back, hitting Oikawa square in the face. Oikawa squawked indignantly, his hair floofing up in about twelve different directions. He looked like he'd been electrocuted.
"Your hair's stupid," Iwaizumi said.
"YOUR FACE IS STUPID!"
"Wow. Great comeback. Really mature."
"I don’t need maturity,, I need victory!" Oikawa jabbed his finger at the TV screen. "One more match! If I win, you have to admit I'm the better player."
"And when I win?"
"If you win—"
"When."
"—you get... um..." Oikawa's eyes darted around the room, landing on his own ridiculous sweater. "You have to wear a matching ugly Christmas sweater next year!"
"Absolutely not."
"Then you better let me win!"
"Not happening."
They were halfway through the fifth match—Oikawa was actually putting up a decent fight this time, their characters locked in a frantic battle at the edge of the stage—when the TV suddenly cut to black.
"What—" Oikawa started.
Then came the sound.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
The emergency broadcast signal screeched through the speakers, harsh and jarring. Both of them froze. The screen flickered, and instead of their game, a weather alert appeared in stark white text on a red background.
EMERGENCY WEATHER ALERT BLIZZARD WARNING IN EFFECT
"What the hell?" Iwaizumi grabbed the remote, turning up the volume.
A weather reporter appeared on screen, a middle aged woman with sharp eyes and an unusually serious expression. She was in a studio, but behind her through the windows, snow was falling so thick it looked like static.
"—repeating this emergency alert for all residents of Miyagi Prefecture. The Japan Meteorological Agency has upgraded the winter storm warning to a blizzard warning, Category 4 conditions. This storm has intensified far more rapidly than initial models predicted. Category 4 blizzard conditions are expected to begin within the next two hours and will continue through Christmas Day."
The screen split to show a weather map. A massive swirl of white covered most of their region, pulsing with angry reds and oranges that Iwaizumi had never seen on a weather report before.
"Holy shit," Oikawa breathed, leaning forward. "That's... that's big."
“ —wind speeds exceeding 60 kilometers per hour with gusts up to 90. Visibility will be reduced to near zero. Snowfall rates of 10 to 15 centimeters per hour are expected. All residents are advised to remain indoors. Do not attempt to travel under any circumstances. If you are not currently at home, seek shelter immediately at the nearest safe location."
The reporter's expression grew even more grave. "I cannot stress this enough—this is an extremely dangerous storm system. Stock up on emergency supplies if you haven't already. Keep flashlights and batteries accessible in case of power outages. Stay away from windows. Do not go outside for any reason. The prefectural government has issued a mandatory shelter-in-place order effective 8 PM tonight through noon on December 26th."
"Category 4?" Oikawa turned to look at Iwaizumi, his usual brightness dimmed by concern. "That's... that's really bad, right?"
"That's really bad," Iwaizumi confirmed, already standing up and moving to the window. He pulled back the curtain.
In the two hours since Oikawa had arrived, the snow had transformed from lazy, pretty flakes into something else entirely. It was falling fast and thick, already covering the ground in a layer that had to be at least fifteen centimeters deep. The streetlights were starting to come on early, their glow diffused into useless halos by the white-out conditions. He could barely see the house across the street.
"The weather report this morning said light snow," Iwaizumi muttered. "Maybe five centimeters total."
"Well, clearly the weather report lied." Oikawa had pulled out his phone, already scrolling frantically. "It's all over the news. Look–they're saying it's the worst storm in like, thirty years. Something about polar vortex winds colliding with moisture from the ocean and—I don't know, I'm not a meteorologist, Iwa-chan, but everyone's freaking out."
He kept scrolling, his thumb moving faster. "The trains are stopped. All the buses are cancelled. They're closing the highways. There's already been three accidents because people didn't get home fast enough and—" He stopped, his face going pale. "Oh no."
"What?"
"I need to go home." Oikawa was already standing, shoving his phone in his pocket and looking around for his jacket. "Like, right now. If they're closing everything down, I need to get back before—"
"You're not going anywhere."
"Iwa-chan, I can't stay here! My mom will freak out if I'm not home, and it's Christmas Eve, and—"
"Oikawa." Iwaizumi turned from the window, crossing his arms. "Look outside. Actually look."
Oikawa moved to stand beside him, peering through the glass. The wind had picked up just in the last few minutes, sending snow swirling in chaotic patterns. A trash can from someone's yard tumbled down the street, blown by the gusts. The snow was already halfway up the tires of the cars parked along the road.
"You can't walk in that," Iwaizumi said flatly. "You'll get lost before you make it to the corner. It's a twelve-minute walk to your house in normal weather. In this?" He shook his head. "No way."
"But—"
"And even if you somehow made it without dying of hypothermia or getting lost, you'd be putting yourself in danger. You heard what they said. Mandatory shelter-in-place. You're already somewhere safe." He met Oikawa's eyes. "You're staying here."
For a moment, Oikawa looked like he wanted to argue. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Then he deflated, shoulders slumping. "My mom's going to kill me."
"Your mom's going to be glad you're safe and not out in a blizzard." Iwaizumi pulled out his own phone and handed it to Oikawa. "Here. Call her. Tell her what's happening."
Oikawa took the phone with shaking hands, whether from cold or nerves, Iwaizumi couldn't tell. He dialed and lifted it to his ear, biting his lip. After three rings, someone picked up.
"Mom? Yeah, it's me. No, I'm at Hajime's house. I know, but—Mom, listen, have you seen the news? The weather alert?" A pause. Oikawa's face cycled through several expressions: worry, relief, exasperation. "I know! I didn't know it was going to get this bad! The report this morning said—yes, I saw the emergency broadcast. That's why I'm calling."
Iwaizumi moved back to the TV, where the weather reporter was still detailing the storm's progression. Red warnings scrolled across the bottom of the screen: BLIZZARD WARNING - SHELTER IN PLACE - AVOID ALL TRAVEL.
"—no, Mom, I can't walk home in this. It's not safe. The visibility is already terrible and it's only going to get worse." Oikawa's voice had taken on that patient tone he used when he was trying very hard not to sound frustrated. "Yes, Hajime's here. No, his parents aren't home, they're in Osaka with his grandma. Mom. Mom. I'm eighteen, we're not going to burn the house down."
Iwaizumi snorted. That was basically exactly what he'd told his own mother this morning.
"I have my phone charger. Yes, I'll keep you updated. Yes, I'll be careful. Yes, I'll make sure we have food." Oikawa rolled his eyes so hard Iwaizumi could practically hear it. "Mom, I have to go, the signal might get worse if the storm gets bad. I love you too. Tell Dad and nee-san I'm fine. Okay. Okay. Yes. I promise. Bye."
He hung up and handed the phone back to Iwaizumi, letting out a long breath. "Well. Looks like I'm spending Christmas here."
"Looks like it."
They stood there for a moment in the glow of the Christmas tree, the sound of wind beginning to howl outside. The house creaked and settled. On TV, the weather reporter was now showing footage of the snow already accumulating in other parts of the prefecture, cars buried to their windows, trees bending under the weight, streets completely impassable.
"Your mom okay with it?" Iwaizumi asked.
"She's not thrilled, but she's relieved I'm somewhere safe. She made me promise to text her every hour." Oikawa managed a weak smile. "She also said to tell your mom thank you for raising such a 'responsible young man' and that she's sorry I'm imposing on your holiday."
"You're not imposing."
"I'm literally stranded at your house on Christmas Eve."
"Yeah, well." Iwaizumi shrugged, feeling heat creep up his neck. "It's not like I was doing anything important. And this way I don't have to spend Christmas alone. So. It works out."
Oikawa's expression softened into something warm and fond. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Don't make it weird."
"I'm not making it weird! You're making it weird by saying 'don't make it weird'!"
"You're an idiot."
"A stranded idiot. Your stranded idiot. For Christmas." Oikawa grinned, some of his usual energy returning. "This is kind of perfect, actually. Our last Christmas before graduation, and we get to spend it together. Just the two of us. No parents, no interruptions, no schedules. We can do whatever we want!"
"We're literally trapped inside because of a deadly blizzard."
"Exactly! It's like a movie! Snowed in on Christmas Eve! This is prime holiday film material, Iwa-chan!" He spun around, arms spread wide, his ridiculous sweater sparkling. "We can stay up all night! Watch movies! Eat junk food! Make questionable life choices!"
"We're not making questionable life choices."
"We're teenagers, that's literally our job description."
Outside, the wind picked up again, rattling the windows. Snow was falling so thick now that the streetlights were barely visible, just faint glows in the white. The weather report had moved on to showing emergency shelter locations and safety tips,how to recognize hypothermia, what to do if you lost power, how to conserve heat.
Iwaizumi moved away from the window and started checking their supplies. "Okay. If we're going to be stuck here through Christmas, we need to be smart about this. Let's see what we're working with."
"Ooh, practical Iwa-chan. I love it when you get all responsible."
"Someone has to be."
They moved through the house together, taking inventory. Iwaizumi's mom had gone grocery shopping two days ago, so the fridge was well-stocked—rice, vegetables, eggs, meat in the freezer, plenty of leftovers. The pantry had instant ramen, pasta, canned goods, snacks. Oikawa's convenience store haul added to their collection.
"We're not going to starve," Iwaizumi concluded.
"What about fun? Will we starve for fun?"
"You brought your Switch and laptop. I think we'll survive."
They checked flashlights, there were two in the kitchen drawer, batteries still good. Candles in the cabinet under the sink. The landline phone still worked if the cell towers went down. The heater was running fine, and they had plenty of blankets.
"We should probably fill up some containers with water," Iwaizumi said. "Just in case the pipes freeze or something."
"Look at you being all prepared! This is why you have the brain cell most of the time."
"Most of the time?"
"I have it occasionally! Like 10% of the time! That's basically half!"
"That's literally not even close to half."
"Math is fake, Iwa-chan. Made up. A social construct."
Iwaizumi threw a dish towel at him again, and Oikawa cackled as he dodged it.
They filled up several large pots and bottles with water, stacking them in the kitchen. Then Iwaizumi went around the house, closing curtains and checking that all the windows were properly locked. The temperature was already starting to drop—he could feel cold air seeping in around the edges of the glass.
When he came back downstairs, Oikawa was standing in front of the TV, arms crossed, watching the continuing weather coverage with an unreadable expression.
"You okay?" Iwaizumi asked.
"Yeah. Just..." Oikawa gestured vaguely at the screen. "It's weird, right? How fast everything changed. This morning it was just normal snow. Now it's a whole disaster."
"Yeah. It's weird."
"Makes you think about how fast things can change." Oikawa's voice was quieter now, thoughtful. "Like, we were just playing video games and arguing about who's better—"
"Me. I'm better."
"—and now we're preparing for a potentially deadly storm and rationing water and checking emergency supplies." He turned to look at Iwaizumi. "Kind of puts things in perspective, huh?"
Iwaizumi knew what he meant. Their last year of high school. Their last Christmas before everything scattered them in different directions. How quickly normal could become something else entirely.
"Hey," he said, moving to stand next to Oikawa. "We're going to be fine. It's just snow."
"Category 4 blizzard snow."
"Still just snow. We have food, water, heat, and shelter. And—" He bumped Oikawa's shoulder with his own. "—we have each other. So stop looking so tragic. You're ruining the sparkle of your ugly sweater."
Oikawa let out a surprised laugh, bright and genuine. "You're right. You're absolutely right. We've got this!" The drama was back in his voice, theatrical and over-the-top. "We're going to survive this storm with style and grace and—"
The lights flickered.
Both of them froze.
The lights flickered again, dimmed, then came back to full brightness.
"—okay that was ominous," Oikawa finished.
"Yeah." Iwaizumi grabbed his phone and quickly plugged it into a charger. "We should charge everything now while we have power. Just in case."
They scrambled around collecting devices, phones, the Switch, Oikawa's laptop, even the portable battery pack Iwaizumi kept in his school bag. Everything went on a charger.
Outside, the wind was really howling now, a low sound that vibrated through the walls. Snow pelted against the windows like someone throwing rice at a wedding, sharp and relentless. The temperature had dropped noticeably even in the last fifteen minutes.
The storm had arrived.
"Well," Oikawa said, settling back onto the floor with his controller. "Since we're officially stranded... want to finish our match?"
Iwaizumi looked at him; at his stupid sparkling sweater and his windswept hair and his bright eyes, at his best friend who'd shown up without being asked because he knew Iwaizumi shouldn't be alone on Christmas, who was now stuck here through a blizzard and somehow treating it like an adventure instead of a disaster.
"Yeah," Iwaizumi said, grabbing his own controller and dropping down next to him. "Let's finish it."
"Prepare to be destroyed."
"You've lost four times already."
"THAT WAS PRACTICE! THIS TIME I'M SERIOUS!"
The game loaded back up, their characters appearing on screen. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the Christmas tree lights twinkled, the heater hummed, and Oikawa's ridiculous trash talk filled the house with noise and warmth and life.
Iwaizumi couldn't think of anyone else he'd rather be snowed in with.
—
Iwaizumi won the fifth match.
"THAT'S IT!" Oikawa threw his controller onto the couch with theatrical despair. "This game is rigged! The universe hates me! Technology has betrayed me!"
"Or you're just bad at this."
"I am not bad, I am sabotaged by—" Oikawa paused mid-rant, his attention suddenly caught by something on TV. The game's menu screen had timed out and switched back to regular programming, a cheesy Christmas movie where a family was building an elaborate blanket fort in their living room. "Wait. Iwa-chan. IWA-CHAN!"
"What," Iwaizumi said flatly, already knowing he wasn't going to like where this was going.
"We should build a blanket fort."
"No."
"Yes!" Oikawa was already on his feet, pointing at the TV like it was delivering a divine message. "Look at them! They're having the time of their lives! And we're just, just sitting here on the floor like peasants when we could be in a fortress of comfort!"
"We're eighteen."
"So? Blanket forts don't have an age limit, Iwa-chan! That's ageist! You're being ageist against blanket forts!"
"That's not what ageist means."
"We're stuck inside during a blizzard on Christmas Eve! If there was ever a time for a blanket fort, its now!" Oikawa was getting that manic gleam in his eyes, the one he got when he was about to commit fully to a ridiculous idea. "Come on! When's the last time we built one?"
Iwaizumi thought about it. "We were... what, twelve?"
"Exactly! Six years! That's way too long! We're practically blanket fort deprived!" Oikawa grabbed his arm and tugged. "Please? Please please please? I'll let you win the next three games—"
"I'd win anyway."
"—and I'll stop complaining about how you hog the brain cell—"
"Also a lie."
"—and I'll admit you're the better ace—"
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. "Really."
"—for the next ten minutes. But come ON, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa's voice shifted from whining to something softer, more genuine. "It'll be fun. Like when we were kids. One last time before we graduate and become boring adults who are too dignified for blanket forts."
And damn it, that got him. Because Oikawa was right, this was their last Christmas before everything changed. Their last chance to do stupid kid things before real life swallowed them whole.
"Fine," Iwaizumi sighed. "But I'm in charge of structural integrity. Your forts always collapse."
"That was one time—"
"Three times."
"—and we were seven and you pushed the support beam!"
"You used a pool noodle as a support beam, Shittykawa. That's not engineering, that's wishful thinking."
But Oikawa was already racing around the living room, gathering supplies with the focus he usually reserved for volleyball. "Okay! Okay okay okay, we need blankets. Lots of blankets. And pillows! All the pillows! And something for the frame, do you have chairs we can use? Or maybe those tension rods from the bathroom?"
"We're not taking apart the bathroom."
"fine, chairs then! Go get chairs!"
Despite himself, Iwaizumi felt something spark in his chest, excitement, maybe, or nostalgia, or just the simple pleasure of doing something completely pointless and fun. He headed upstairs to the linen closet, grabbing every spare blanket and comforter he could find. His mom always kept extras for guests, soft and clean and smelling like fabric softener.
When he came back down with an armful of blankets, Oikawa had already cleared the coffee table to the side and was dragging the armchairs into position. He'd taken off his ridiculous Christmas sweater—too hot for manual labor, apparently—and was just in a plain white t-shirt that was somehow already askew. His hair was even more chaotic than usual, sticking up where he'd run his hands through it.
"Perfect!" Oikawa said, seeing the blankets. "Okay, so I'm thinking we use the couch as the back wall, then build out from there. We can use these chairs as the corners, and drape the blankets over—wait, we need something to hold them up in the middle. Something tall."
Iwaizumi surveyed the room. "The floor lamp?"
"Yes! Genius! This is why you're the ace!" Oikawa was already unplugging the lamp and carefully moving it to the center of their planned fort space. "Okay, and we can use—oh! Do you have clips? Binder clips or clothespins or something?"
"Kitchen drawer. Left of the sink."
"On it!" Oikawa bounded off toward the kitchen, socks sliding on the hardwood floor. He nearly crashed into the wall, caught himself at the last second, and kept going without missing a beat.
Iwaizumi shook his head, but he was smiling. This was so stupid. They were literally building a blanket fort during a blizzard instead of doing anything productive. They should be studying or meal planning or doing any number of responsible adult things.
But when Oikawa came back with a handful of clips and that bright, excited grin on his face, Iwaizumi couldn't bring himself to care about being responsible.
"Alright," Iwaizumi said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's build the best damn blanket fort this house has ever seen."
"That’s the spirit!"
They started with the frame. The couch became the back wall, exactly as Oikawa suggested. They positioned two armchairs on either side as corner posts, angling them slightly inward to create a rounded shape. The floor lamp went in the center, its long pole perfect for height.
"This is already better than any fort we made as kids," Oikawa declared, standing back to admire their work. "We're like... blanket fort architects now. Fort-chitects. That's our new career."
"That's not a word."
"It is now! I just made it one."
Then came the actual blanket part. They started with the largest comforter, a heavy blue one that Iwaizumi's grandmother had given them years ago. They draped it over the floor lamp and stretched it out to the armchairs, using binder clips to secure it to the chair backs and the lamp's shade.
"Clip it tighter on that side," Iwaizumi directed. "It's sagging."
"I am clipping it tight! Maybe your chairs are uneven!"
"The chairs are fine. Your technique is bad."
"My technique is perfect—oh wait, you're right, it was sagging. Fixed it!"
They layered more blankets on top—a green fleece that Oikawa declared was too thin to be useful on its own ("This blanket is an insult to blankets, Iwa-chan!"), a thick quilt with a geometric pattern, a fuzzy white throw that looked like someone had skinned a very soft sheep. Each layer added stability and insulation.
For the entrance, they used a lighter blanket they could push aside, securing it at the top with clips and letting it drape down.
"We need to test structural integrity," Iwaizumi said seriously.
"Oh my god, you're such a nerd."
"Says the guy who watches volleyball matches from the 1980s for fun."
"That's research! completely different too!"
Iwaizumi crawled inside the fort, checking for weak points. The ceiling was high enough that he could sit up comfortably—not quite stand, but close. The blankets blocked out most of the light from the room, creating a cozy dimness. The floor lamp inside gave off a soft glow through the layers of fabric, almost like a campfire.
"Well?" Oikawa's head popped through the entrance. "How is it?"
"It's... actually pretty solid." Iwaizumi tested one of the corners, tugging gently. The clips held. The blankets didn't shift. "I think it'll hold."
"YES! Fort-chitect success!" Oikawa crawled in next to him, looking around with obvious pride. "Okay, but it needs more. It's structurally sound but aesthetically lacking."
"Aesthetically lacking?"
"It needs to be cozy, Iwa-chan! Keep up!" Oikawa crawled back out, and Iwaizumi heard him rummaging around the room. "We need pillows! And the good blankets for the floor! And—ooh, do you have fairy lights? Christmas lights we can string up inside?"
"There might be some extra ones in the decoration box."
"Perfect!"
For the next twenty minutes, they worked on making the inside of the fort as comfortable as possible. Oikawa found the extra string of warm white Christmas lights and wove them along the inside perimeter, clipping them to the blanket walls. They created a floor of folded blankets and comforters, layered thick enough to be genuinely comfortable. Every pillow in the house—couch pillows, bed pillows, decorative pillows that Iwaizumi's mom kept for "aesthetic purposes"—got tossed inside.
"Snack transportation!" Oikawa announced, army-crawling back into the fort with a bag of chips in his teeth and a bottle of the sparkling cider tucked under one arm. He had his phone in his free hand, already queuing up a playlist. "Can't have a proper fort without provisions."
"You look ridiculous."
"You look jealous of my efficiency!"
Iwaizumi grabbed the bag of cookies from the kitchen and his own phone, plus two mugs for the cider because they were civilized fort-dwellers, apparently. When he crawled back inside, Oikawa had arranged all the pillows into an elaborate seating area that looked like something out of a interior design magazine.
"How did you—"
"I have vision, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa patted the pillow pile next to him. "Come on, sit! Experience my genius!"
Iwaizumi had to admit, it was genuinely comfortable. The pillows supported his back perfectly, and the layered blankets on the floor were soft without being too squishy. The fairy lights cast everything in a warm, golden glow. It smelled like laundry detergent and Christmas and, faintly, like the chips Oikawa was already eating.
Outside, they could hear the wind howling, the storm raging in full force now. Inside their blanket fort, it felt like a completely different world—safe and warm and separate from everything else.
"See?" Oikawa said smugly, munching on a chip. "Told you this was a good idea."
"It's not bad," Iwaizumi conceded.
"Not bad?! IWA-CHAN! This is perfect! This is the pinnacle of blanket fort construction! This is—"
The lights in the house flickered again.
They both stopped, looking up at the blanket ceiling as if they could see through it to the actual lights. For a moment, everything was silent except for the wind.
The lights steadied.
"That's the third time," Oikawa said quietly.
"Yeah." Iwaizumi pulled out his phone to check the battery—87%. Good enough. "We should probably save our phone batteries. Just in case the power goes out for real."
"Way to kill the vibe, Iwa-chan."
"I'm being practical."
"You're being a mood killer!" But Oikawa was also checking his phone battery. 72%. He dimmed the screen. "Fine. But if the power goes out, we're staying in the fort. It'll be warmer in here with all the blankets."
"That was the plan."
"Was it? Or did you just now realize my genius?"
"I've never realized your genius because it doesn't exist."
"Rude!" Oikawa threw a pillow at him, but there wasn't much force behind it. They were too comfortable, too settled into their nest of blankets and pillows.
Iwaizumi poured them both some sparkling cider into the mugs. It fizzed and popped, golden and festive. He handed one to Oikawa, who accepted it with both hands like it was something precious.
"To getting stranded," Oikawa said, raising his mug.
"To not dying in a blizzard," Iwaizumi countered.
"To blanket forts!"
"To Christmas."
"To us!" Oikawa's eyes were bright in the fairy light glow. "To our last Christmas before graduation. May it be memorable and warm and full of terrible decisions!"
"We're not making terrible decisions."
"We built a blanket fort instead of studying for entrance exams. That's already questionable judgment!"
"That's just prioritizing correctly."
They clinked their mugs together, the sound soft and muted in their fort. The cider was sweet and bubbly, tasting like apples and celebration. Outside, the storm continued its assault on the world. Inside, they were safe and warm and together.
Oikawa leaned back against the pillow pile with a satisfied sigh. "You know what? This is actually perfect. Like, I know we're technically stuck here because of a dangerous weather situation—"
"Very dangerous."
"—but this is kind of the best Christmas Eve ever? No schedule, no rushing around, no parents asking when we're going to apply to universities—"
"Did your mom ask again?"
"Three times this week! And my sister keeps sending me brochures for schools near hers like I want to follow her around like a puppy!" Oikawa took another sip of cider. "It's just... nice. Being here. Doing stupid stuff like building forts and eating junk food and not having to think about the future for a few hours."
Iwaizumi understood exactly what he meant. The pressure of their third year had been mounting for months—entrance exams looming, university decisions hanging over their heads, the constant question of "what comes next?" It was exhausting. This felt like stepping out of time for a little while, back into something simpler.
"Yeah," he said. "It's nice."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the storm and the soft hum of the heater. The fairy lights twinkled. The fort held steady.
"Oh!" Oikawa suddenly sat up, nearly spilling his cider. "We should watch a movie! We have my laptop, and the fort has perfect movie-watching ambiance!"
"What kind of movie?"
"Christmas movie, obviously! It's Christmas Eve!" Oikawa was already pulling his laptop out of his backpack, which he'd dragged into the fort at some point. "I downloaded a bunch of new ones. There's this one about a guy who gets snowed in at an airport, and this one about a bakery competition, and—oh! There's a really terrible one about Santa's elves going on strike that has like, 2 stars on every review site. We HAVE to watch that one."
"Why would we watch a bad movie on purpose?"
"Because bad Christmas movies are a tradition, Iwa-chan! The worse it is, the more fun we have making fun of it!" Oikawa's fingers were already flying across the keyboard. "Plus, it's got that actor you hate. You know, the one with the weird face."
"They all have weird faces in bad movies."
"Exactly!"
Oikawa set up the laptop on a pillow between them, angling it so they could both see. The battery was at 68%—enough for a movie if they were careful. He queued up the terrible elf movie, the title screen showing what looked like the world's most budget CGI North Pole.
"This is going to be awful," Iwaizumi predicted.
"That's the spirit!" Oikawa pressed play and immediately started narrating. "Okay, so apparently Santa is a CEO now? And the elves are unionizing? I already love this."
"The animation looks like it's from 2003."
"The animation looks like someone's first week learning Blender!"
"What's Blender?"
"I don't know, but I've heard people complain about it"
They settled in, shoulders pressed together in the limited space, sharing the bag of chips and providing running commentary on every terrible decision the filmmakers had made. The acting was wooden, the plot made no sense, and the special effects were genuinely painful to watch.
It was perfect.
"Why is that elf wearing a suit?" Oikawa demanded. "He's an elf! In the north pole! Why does he need business casual?"
"Maybe elves have a dress code."
"That's the saddesr thing I've ever heard! Elves should wear fun clothes! Jingly clothes! Not—not slacks and a button-down!"
"Maybe he's going through something."
"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa dissolved into laughter, nearly dropping his mug. "You can't just—you can't give the elf an emotional backstory! He's not real!"
"Neither is Santa but this movie wants us to care about his profit margins."
They laughed until their sides hurt, until tears gathered in the corners of their eyes, until the fort felt even warmer with the sound of it. The movie continued to be spectacularly bad—Santa fired all the elves and tried to replace them with robots, which immediately went haywire. There was a romantic subplot that came out of nowhere. Someone sang an original song that sounded like it had been written in fifteen minutes.
"This is the worst movie I've ever seen," Iwaizumi said.
"This is the best worst movie ever!" Oikawa corrected. "I'm having the time of my life! Look at that CGI sleigh! It looks like a cube with runners!"
"Pretty sure that elf just walked through that wall."
"Continuity is for cowards, Iwa-chan"
Halfway through the movie, Oikawa shifted to get more comfortable, ending up somehow even closer than before. Their shoulders were pressed together, Oikawa's arm warm against his. The fort felt smaller suddenly, more intimate. Iwaizumi was hyperaware of every point of contact—shoulder, elbow, the way their knees bumped when Oikawa laughed.
He tried to focus on the movie. An elf was giving a dramatic speech about workers' rights while standing on a pile of toys. It should have been easy to focus on how ridiculous it was.
But instead, he kept noticing things. The way Oikawa's hair fell across his forehead. The way he bit his lip when he was trying not to laugh. The way his eyes reflected the fairy lights, making them look almost golden.
This was stupid. This was Oikawa. His best friend since they were in diapers. The guy who'd given him a bloody nose when they were six because Iwaizumi said his volleyball serve was weak. The guy who cried during Godzilla movies and hogged the brain cell the 10% of the time he actually had it and wore the ugliest Christmas sweaters known to mankind.
This was just Oikawa.
So why did Iwaizumi's chest feel tight? Why was his heart doing weird things?
"Iwa-chan?" Oikawa had paused the movie and was looking at him with concern. "You okay? You got all quiet."
"Yeah." Iwaizumi cleared his throat. "Just... thinking."
"About?"
"How bad this movie is."
"Right?" Oikawa's face brightened immediately. "It's spectacularly terrible! Want to finish it, or should we watch something else?"
"Let's finish it. We've come this far."
"Commit to the bit! I like it!"
Oikawa pressed play again, and the movie continued its chaotic descent into madness. But Iwaizumi couldn't quite shake the weird feeling in his chest, couldn't quite ignore the warmth where they were pressed together, couldn't quite stop himself from thinking that maybe—just maybe—this Christmas was going to change something.
Outside, the blizzard raged on. Inside their blanket fort, lit by fairy lights and laptop glow,
Iwaizumi Hajime sat next to his best friend and tried very hard not to think about what that tightness in his chest might mean.