Chapter Text
The Buenos Aires Sun had begun to set, painting the room in soft hues of warmth. It was a true sight of ephemeral beauty and bliss, just like the relationship of Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime.
From afar, one would have called them lovers if they weren't well acquainted with them. In Oikawa's eyes, the line between platonic and romantic was absent in their relationship. But only if poor Oikawa had seen their relationship from the eyes of the latter, he would have been spared a heartbreak.
Or perhaps not? Some things are written in the stars, but eventually stars too die, so who can we trust in this fleeting world?
That question, at the moment, was of the most irrelevance to Oikawa, who now lays in his apartment's bed, mindlessly scrolling on his phone.
His thumb stopped halfway, eyes widening in response to what he had just seen.
"Iwaizumi Hajime appointed as the new trainer of the Japan's National Volleyball Team."
Shouldn't he be happy for his 'friend'? He truly tried, but how could he be?
Why had Oikawa learned of it through headlines and reporters instead of a late-night phone call from the person who once knew him better than anyone else?
An ache settled deep in his chest, but curiosity got the better of him as he instinctively opened the article with a click of the finger.
All the information was pointless to Oikawa. He never loved unnecessarily long descriptions of ordinary matters.
A fortuitous glace of his eye left him in an even more miserable condition than before.
"You may be interested in: Iwaizumi Hajime and his partner spotted at a small cafe at the outskirts of Tokyo city. "
Oh, oh, Partner?
That is one way to add salt to the wound, but nothing could have prepared Oikawa for the name of the cafe.
The name of the cafe brought memories rushing back even if that wasn't what Oikawa wanted. They used to go there after practice. It wasn't something extraordinary but was more of a sacred ritual just between the two of them.
Him getting scolded for not properly performing stretches, or was it for him overworking his body? He couldn't remember. The only thing burned into his mind with painful clarity was the one time Iwaizumi absentmindedly called him pretty for a guy.
He laughed it off as something casual. But was it really casual when Iwaizumi had stayed beside him after their loss to Karasuno, even though he was much disappointed himself?
Was it casual when Iwaizumi showed up to see Shiratorizawa and Karasuno play knowing damn well Oikawa would be there to even after he swore not to see even a glimpse of their match?
Was it casual when Oikawa could point blindly from out of bounds and know with absolute certainty that Iwaizumi would be there waiting for his set?
Or when years of habits made tiny cafe meetups routine when someone else might have called it a date?
Perhaps the cruelest thing of all was that none of it had ever seemed extraordinary to them.
If at first it was a just a tablespoon of salt, now consider it a bucket full.
The threshold broke, the first tear fell and, the others followed. Oikawa didn't realize when his hoodie was wet due to simultaneously wiping his tears.
Maybe it was time to pay his ace a visit.
To see whether Iwaizumi still trusted him enough to swing at a set tossed blindly in his direction, without another thought, just like he always had.
But before giving his at the moment idea a second thought, he closed his eyes, hoping to catch a blink of sleep before talking to Iwaizumi.
...
Things are easier said than done. He realized that when he couldn't sleep.
Oikawa had been blankly starring at Iwaizumi's contact on his phone for the past hour. This was meant to be easy, pathetically easy, so why was Oikawa treating it as one of the greatest strategical choices known to mankind? Oikawa Tooru had made split-second decisions against national-level opponents. He had crafted plays under impossible pressure and trusted instincts sharper than most people’s logic, so it should've been a piece of cake.
And yet calling Iwaizumi Hajime felt infinitely more terrifying.
Because nothing involving him had ever been a piece of cake.
'Oh god this was meant to be simple. Wait, what if I send a voice message? Oh my god, yes. I'm such a fucking genius.'
So, without giving a single shit to his absolutely brilliant and foolproof idea, he opened his and Iwaizumi's texts and immediately pressed the record button.
"Yahho, Iwa-chan~."
He instantly hit delete.
Iwaizumi had a partner now, so using pet names would probably be inappropriate. Those kinds of names were meant for the person standing beside Iwaizumi now, not someone oceans away who had walked out of his life with little more than a half-hearted warning and a plane ticket.
Still, the thought left a bitter taste in Oikawa’s mouth.
After all, Iwa-chan had once fallen so carelessly from Oikawa’s lips, unbidden and unashamed, as though the very heavens had ordained Hajime Iwaizumi as a constant within his grasp.
Once again, Oikawa held the record button.
"Hey, you finally made it big huh? I always knew you would end up terrifying others on court and not only me."
There was a long stretch of silence as if Oikawa was contemplating whether to say it or not.
"Would have preferred hearing it from you though... Guess I’m not really the first person you tell things to anymore.” Oikawa hurriedly mumbled the last part. The words may have been spoken with bitterness, but they lacked any true form of malice.
Oikawa pressed sent before the cowardice within him could react, causing the message to stay unsent forever.
Seen.
Oikawa stared at the word for exactly three seconds before panic began settling into his bones.
Then his phone rang.
Of course, Iwaizumi would call instead of text.
Some things between them had always belonged to the sound of the other’s voice.
Oikawa picked up. Why wouldn't he?
“Hey.”
Iwaizumi’s voice came through like it had always existed somewhere just, out of reach.
“Wow,” Oikawa said lightly, a little too quickly. “Did I just get a direct call from Japan’s most terrifying trainer? I feel so honored.”
“It’s late,” Iwaizumi replied.
“No it's not." Oikawa said playfully into the phone. "It's afternoon, right?"
"Choose someone else to fool, it's two in the morning there. Shouldn't you be asleep?"
But how could Oikawa fool anyone else, when he was the only fool left to bear the wreckage of his own feelings - loving a friend who would never be anything more?
"Whatever," countered Oikawa, "but that's not the point."
"So, what is Tooru?"
Tooru, the name felt so close but so far from home.
"You can't call me that." Oikawa said too hastily, "Anyways, with the Olympics around the corner, our team wanted to come over for practice."
First names were supposed to mean something in Japanese. Intimacy, familiarity, closeness. But was there anything like that left between them? If there was, to Oikawa it was indistinct.
"First of why can't I call you Tooru? Second of all, that's not the point, why did you send a voice message?"
"You know why." retorted Oikawa. "And can't I just normally congratulate my ace on his big achievement?"
"Oikawa please, don't give me this bullshit. You sounded off."
"Haha. That's funny. It's late I should sleep. See you in a few days!"
"Oikawa-"
And just like that before Iwaizumi could finish his sentence, Oikawa hung up.
The irony of this interaction was in the fact that Oikawa hadn't uttered Iwaizumi's name once. And yet it used to be the one word that lived most easily on his tongue.
Now it felt like a distant memory. Estranged in a way.
...
“So let me get this straight,” Iwaizumi said slowly, faint disbelief bleeding into his voice. “You want me to get engaged to Shinomiya Airi. For PR.” He was ever so slightly offended at the absurdity of the request.
“It’s for public image,” his manager replied smoothly. “Your rise in popularity was sudden, and the association would help maintain a stable narrative. People trust polished stories, Iwaizumi-san.” Iwaizumi just got to know him yesterday. He seemed like an apt fit for his role, but right now he was acting rather irritable.
This entire situation seemed senseless to Iwaizumi. It wasn't where his heart wanted to be but, it would just be for the screens right? So, could there be any real harm?
He understood his manager's concerns but at the same time he didn't. Afterall who was he to trust the judgement of the heart but not the brain? In the end it was just and organ responsible for pumping blood to all the organ to ensure their proper functioning. A mere organ cannot decide his fate.
Well in biology, that's it's job. But what about in the case of longing? Wait, was longing even the right word to use for someone who was meant to be just a friend?
“Do we have to do public appearances or whatever it is couples do?” Iwaizumi asked, already exhausted by the conversation. Still, he would rather play the role than waste time questioning the logic behind it.
“Ah, right. I was just getting to that,” his manager replied. “You’ll need to be seen together occasionally. Cafés, restaurants, somewhere intimate enough to feel authentic, but not private enough to raise suspicion.”
The man glanced down at his schedule.
“Actually, your first outing is this afternoon. There’s this café in Tokyo we would like to try.”
Authentic.
It was strange, really, how easily people could manufacture something that was meant to come naturally, something that should have been built slowly through years of trust, quiet habit, and the sort of familiarity that settled into a person so deeply it no longer felt learned, but instinctive. Just like how it used to be with Oikawa.
How painfully satire it was of Iwaizumi to use Oikawa as the epitome of authenticity and something real, and that too only moments after he merely dismissed the thought of him as nothing more than just a friend.
“In any case,” his manager continued, “you should head home and get ready. Shinomiya-san will meet you directly at the café. I've messaged you the details.”
Iwaizumi couldn't help but roll his eyes. He never remembered sharing his number. But the guy is meant to be his manager, so it's expected of him to have his number beforehand.
Glancing at his phone, he saw a notification from and unknown number and opened it. It included the location, time and press arrangements.
Wait press arrangements?
His earlier question faded into background noise when he saw that even the seating arrangement had already been decided on their behalf.
Was this the casual outing of a newly engaged couple or an FBI operation to secure a stable position in PR?
"Wow, didn't know you considered us incapable of deciding where to sit." said Iwaizumi,
“Image management leaves very little to chance,” his manager replied calmly. “The café has already been informed beforehand, so don’t worry about privacy concerns. A few photographers will ‘coincidentally’ be nearby.”
Coincidentally.
Of course this would be documented to post on the newest news forum.
“You don’t need to act overly affectionate,” the manager continued. “In fact, restraint would suit your image better. Subtle gestures are enough. Hold the door open for her, walk beside her, maintain eye contact when she speaks. Natural chemistry photographs better than excessive intimacy.”
Has his manager considered even once that Iwaizumi is now a fully functioning adult with a completely developed frontal lobe?
“And please,” the manager added as an afterthought, “try to smile at least once. You’re being marketed as dependable, not emotionally unavailable.”
Iwaizumi let out a tired exhale and stood from his chair.
“Anything else?” he asked which he later on regretted asking.
“Yes,” the man replied, adjusting his overly expensive dress shirt. “Shinomiya-san is aware of the arrangement, so this should proceed smoothly.”
One would rather find it astonishing how this individual had forged an entirely authentic relationship to form a façade of stability of love.
Well, if this was love indeed, then Iwaizumi had misunderstood for his entire life until now.