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Summary
There wasn’t really venom in anybody's tones. It was just a harsh reality. Soldiers did not get to fall in love.
Because at the end of the day, that was all they’d ever been allowed to be. Princes or otherwise. Iwaizumi watched Oikawa lean forward to grab his drink. The lines of him were almost blurred. He was as beautiful as all the history Iwaizumi had learned about. He’d never been tangible either. Iwaizumi would make himself a killer if it meant he got Oikawa. He would be any sort of bloody, prophetic weapon. Each and every time, he would choose a drawn sword if it meant he could keep his heart.
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the fic in which Oikawa is a magical prince and Iwaizumi is his ever-dutiful solider