Work Text:
There was no screaming match, no slammed doors, and no lingering resentment over a lost match. In fact, that was the problem. Everything was perfectly normal until Oikawa Tooru opened his mouth. It started on a Tuesday afternoon during practice. Iwaizumi was adjusting his knee pads when Oikawa approached him, clipboard in hand. Usually, this was the moment for an annoying poke to the ribs or a sing-song "Iwa-chan, look at this!" or something like that.
"Iwaizumi-san,"
Oikawa said, his voice level and professional. "The coach wants to discuss the setter-heavy rotation for the next set. Are you ready?" Iwaizumi froze. He didn't look up immediately, convinced he had misheard. Iwaizumi-san? The honorific felt like a bucket of ice water down his back. "What did you just call me?" Iwaizumi asked, standing up slowly. Oikawa blinked, his expression unreadably calm. As an Omega, Oikawa’s scent was usually bright that signaled his moods clearly. Today, it was muted, tucked behind a polite wall of scent blockers. "I called you by your name. Is there a problem?"
"You called me Iwaizumi-san," Iwaizumi barked, his Alpha instincts bristling at the sudden unnatural distance. "We’ve known each other since we were four. Since when am I 'Iwaizumi-san'?"
"We are in a gym, and you are the Vice Captain," Oikawa replied with a breezy, dismissive smile. "It seems more appropriate for the team environment. Anyway, don't keep Coach waiting."
---
By Wednesday, it had evolved. "Iwa-chan" was dead. In its place was a rotation of "Iwaizumi," "Hajime-kun," or simply a nod of the head. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were lounging by the water fountain when they witnessed the nickname tragedy. Iwaizumi had just spiked a particularly difficult toss, and instinctively turned to Oikawa for their usual celebratory banter. "Nice kill, Iwaizumi," Oikawa said, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. He didn't linger. He didn't tease. He just turned to talk to a first-year. Hanamaki dropped his water bottle. Matsukawa’s eyebrows even disappeared into his hairline.
"Did... did the world end?" Makki whispered. "Is this a glitch in the simulation? Are we in a simulation right now? " "He didn't even call him 'Iwa'," Mattsun noted, looking genuinely unsettled. "That’s the sound of a decade-long friendship just evaporating in real-time." They cornered Iwaizumi during the break.
"Okay, spill," Mattsun demanded. "What did you do? Did you eat his last milk bread? Did you tell him his hair looks flat?" "I didn't do anything!" Iwaizumi snapped, his scent spiking with frustration and a hint of genuine hurt. "He just woke up and decided I’m a stranger. He’s being... polite and It’s disgusting."
---
It came to a head on Friday evening. They were walking home, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows over the pavement. Usually, this was the time for "Iwa-chan" to complain about his knees or "Iwa-chan" to beg for a trip to the convenience store. "Iwaizumi," Oikawa said softly, stopping at the fork in the road where they usually parted. "I’ll see you tomorrow for the practice match."
Iwaizumi lost it. He reached out, grabbing Oikawa’s jacket and pulling him close enough to smell the faint, suppressed sweetness of his scent. "Stop it," Iwaizumi growled. "Enough with the 'Iwaizumi' crap. You’re making my skin crawl. What is this? If you’re mad, just hit me." Oikawa didn't flinch. He looked at Iwaizumi with wide, honest eyes. "I'm not mad, Hajime. I just... I’m seventeen. We’re going to university soon. I thought I should start practicing being more... dignified. Omegas are expected to be composed, and I realized I’ve been clinging to childhood nicknames for too long." Iwaizumi felt a physical ache in his chest. It wasn't about maturity; it was about the wall Oikawa was building to protect himself from the transition into adulthood.
"You think 'Iwa-chan' isn't dignified?" Iwaizumi’s voice dropped, thick with emotion. "Tooru, listen to me. I don't give a damn about 'expected' behavior. When you call me that, I know exactly where I stand with you. When you call me 'Iwaizumi-san,' it feels like you're moving to another planet."
"It sounds wrong?" Oikawa whispered innocently.
---
The realization hit Iwaizumi like a stray volleyball to the face. It wasn’t that Oikawa had suddenly matured; it was that Iwaizumi had accidentally broken him three days prior. He remembered now. The one he had in a fit of pure, hot-faced embarrassment after History class. The Incident, the day before this-cold-nickname-tragedy began. Sensei Takagi, the history teacher handing back mid-term papers. When he reached Iwaizumi’s desk, he smiled warmly and said,
"Excellent work on the Edo period essay, Iwa-chan."
The classroom had gone silent. Then, a slow, rolling tide of snickers broke out from the back row where Hanamaki and Matsukawa sat. Iwaizumi had turned every shade of red possible. The nickname had become so synonymous with his existence. Now shouted across the courtyard, whined in the hallways, cheered from the stands that even the teachers had subconsciously adopted it.
"Tooru, you have to stop," Iwaizumi had hissed after school, clutching his bag so hard the straps creaked. "It’s sticking like bubblegum residue on the bottom of a shoe. Even Takagi-sensei is saying it. Just... drop it when people are around. Seriously." What Iwaizumi meant was ‘stop saying it in front of people-who-didn’t-know-our-closeness so I can keep a shred of my dignity.’ But, Oikawa being the dramatic all-or-nothing Omega, he interpreted that as ‘exile that name to the shadow realm and never come back.’
---
Back in the present, under the glow of the streetlights, Iwaizumi realized his mistake. He looked down at the top of Oikawa’s head, still resting against his shoulder. "Wait," Iwaizumi muttered. "Is this because of what I said about Takagi-sensei?” Oikawa peeked up, his eyes narrowed. "You told me it was embarrassing. You said I had to 'drop it.' I was just being a very good, very obedient best friend. I even used honorifics for you!”
"You were a nightmare!" Iwaizumi retorted. "I didn't mean you should call me 'Iwaizumi-san' like we’re strangers meeting at a business meeting! I mean don't scream that nickname when there are people who don’t know our closeness around!"
"Well, you weren't specific," Oikawa sniffed, finally stepping back and crossing his arms. "And now it's awkward. I’ve spent three days training my brain to say 'Iwaizumi.' If I go back now, it'll feel weird."
"It's already weird!"
---
The next morning at practice, the atmosphere was tense. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were hovering near the clubroom door, placing bets on whether the "Cold War" was still in effect. "Ten yen says Oikawa calls him 'Sir' today," Makki whispered. "Twenty says he just points at him and grunts," Mattsun replied. "Iwaizumi-san, your form was slightly off on the last spike. Please focus," Oikawa said, his voice as crisp as his jersey. Iwaizumi shuddered. It had been four days. Four days of "Iwaizumi-san" and "Hajime-kun" and "Vice Captain."
"I told you to drop it just when other people are around," Iwaizumi hissed, cornering Oikawa near the equipment locker. "Not when it’s just us. And definitely not with that... that polite tone. You sound like a bank teller." Oikawa blinked innocently, tilting his head. "But Iwaizumi-san, consistency is key to breaking a habit. If I call you that in private, I might slip up in front of the teachers again. And we wouldn't want you to be embarrassed, would we?"
"You're doing this on purpose," Iwaizumi growled, his Alpha pheromones flaring with irritation. "I have no idea what you mean," Oikawa hummed, stepping around him. "Mattsun! Could you help Iwaizumi-san with the net? I have to go check my charts." Hanamaki and Matsukawa now were watching from the sidelines, leaning against the wall like two vultures. "It’s getting worse," Hanamaki whispered, chewing on a piece of gum. "He called him 'Iwaizumi-san' while handing him a water bottle."
"It's more horror than any horror movie I’ve watched," Matsukawa agreed. "Look at Iwaizumi. He looks like his soul is literally trying to leave his body." Indeed, Iwaizumi looked miserable. Every time Oikawa addressed him with cold, perfect etiquette, it was like a physical slap. The lack of "Iwa-chan" felt like a rejection of their entire history.
"I can't take it," Iwaizumi muttered, grabbing a volleyball and spiking it so hard it sounded like a gunshot.
"It feels like we're divorced."
---
The finale came during the Friday cleanup. The gym was quiet, and the sun was setting, casting a deep orange glow over the floorboards. "Iwaizumi-kun, if you're finished with the bins, I'll head out first," Oikawa said, reaching for his bag. He didn't look back. He didn't wait. Iwaizumi snapped. He crossed the gym in four strides, catching Oikawa by the arm and spinning him around. "Stop it! Seriously, stop it. I’m sorry, okay? I was an idiot. I don't care if the Principal calls me Iwa-chan. Just stop calling me that." Oikawa’s eyes sparkled with a dangerous, triumphant light. "Stop calling you what, Iwaizumi-san?"
"That! The honorifics! The distance!" Iwaizumi’s voice was strained. He leaned into Oikawa’s space, his Alpha instincts demanding the return of their familiar bond. "You’re my Omega. You’ve been calling me Iwa-chan since you could talk. Hearing you say 'Iwaizumi-san' feels like you’re erasing me." Oikawa let out a long, dramatic sigh, finally letting a bit of his smug, sweet scent bleed through. "Oh, so now you want to be Iwa-chan? Even if it's 'childish' and 'annoying'?"
"I'll endure it," Iwaizumi groaned, closing his eyes. "Just... give it back. Please." Oikawa smirked, leaning in close to Iwaizumi’s ear. "Fine. But you have to buy me three milk breads for the emotional trauma of being silenced." Iwaizumi felt the familiar weight of the world settle back into place. "Deal. Just say it." Oikawa grinned, loud and obnoxious, just the way Iwaizumi liked it. "Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan! Oh You’re so needy, it’s honestly pathetic!" Hanamaki and Matsukawa let out a synchronized sigh of relief. "Finally!" Makki said, jumping with Mattsun in unison.
---
The victory Iwaizumi thought he had won on Friday evening was short-lived. He had expected to wake up Saturday morning to the usual barrage of annoying "Iwa-chan!" texts. Instead, his phone was silent.
The reason? A third-year girl from the student council on Friday after the cleanup thought she was being cute and familiar. She walked up to Iwaizumi and chirped, "Oh, Iwa-chan! Can you help me move these boxes?" Oikawa, who was standing three feet away, burning in a jealousy fire. If Iwaizumi was her Iwa-chan, then Oikawa didn't want the name anymore.
---
At Monday’s practice, the atmosphere was even bleaker than before.
"Iwaizumi-senpai,"
Oikawa said, his voice dripping with so much formal politeness it felt like a funeral for Iwaizumi. "Please adjust your block. You're leaving the line open." Iwaizumi’s heart hit the floor. Senpai? He had been demoted from "San" to "Senpai." It was a declaration of war. "Tooru," Iwaizumi growled, catching him by the net. "We talked about this. I said I was sorry. I bought the milk bread!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Iwaizumi-senpai," Oikawa said, eyes cold and fixed on his clipboard. "If 'Iwa-chan' is a name that just anyone can use, then it clearly has no value. I prefer to use titles that reflect our professional standing as teammates." Hanamaki and Matsukawa were sitting on the bench, sharing a bag of chips and watching the tragedy unfold. "He used the 'S-word'," Hanamaki whispered, horrified. "Senpai. That’s a level of petty I didn't think even Oikawa could reach."
"It’s because of that girl from the council," Matsukawa noted, watching Oikawa aggressively dribbling a volleyball. "Oikawa’s Omega instincts are in 'Burn Everything Down' mode. If he can't be the only one using the nickname, he’ll kill the nickname entirely so nobody can have it." "Iwaizumi looks like he’s going to cry," Makki said. "Look at him."
By the end of practice, Iwaizumi was at his wits' end. He didn't care about the girl. He didn't care about his dignity. He just wanted his best friend back. As they were locking up, Iwaizumi blocked the exit to the clubroom. "Out of my way, Iwaizumi-senpai," Oikawa muttered.
"No," Iwaizumi said, his Alpha aura thick and commanding, pinning Oikawa in place. "Listen to me. I don't care if the whole school calls me that. I don't care if the Prime Minister calls me that. It only means something when you say it." Oikawa’s eyes flickered. His grip on his sports bag tightened. "She called you by that name. She smiled at you. You didn't even tell her to stop."
"Because I was too busy looking at you!" Iwaizumi stepped closer, dropping his voice. "I don't want to be 'Iwaizumi-senpai.' I want to be your Iwa-chan. Only yours. I'll go tell her right now that she's not allowed to say it. I'll tell the teachers. I'll put it on the school intercom." Oikawa looked up, his lip curling into a small, wobbly pout. The "polite" mask was finally crumbling. "You'll look like a weirdo."
"I'm already a weirdo for being best friends with you," Iwaizumi countered. "Just say it. Once. Properly." Oikawa took a shaky breath, his scent finally softening, turning sweet and needy again. He reached out and fisted his hands in Iwaizumi’s shirt, pulling him down until their foreheads touched. "...Iwa-chan," he whispered, the name sounding like a prayer and a possession all at once. "Again," Iwaizumi breathed, closing his eyes.
"Iwa-chan. My Iwa-chan."
The end