Chapter Text
It's hot and humid outside, his A/C is broken, and Oikawa is sorting through the mail that had arrived at his apartment yesterday, throwing everything he'd come across so far into the trash. He hasn't done this in about two weeks and things are really starting to get messy.
One envelope, in particular, stands out to him. It's handwritten and, dear god, the shapes of the letters look so familiar and just when he's thinking that it's maybe from someone whose handwriting resembles a friend, the answer hits him. It's Iwaizumi's. He hasn't had contact with the man for about two and a half years, and now, seeing his handwriting for the first time in what feels like absolutely forever makes all the hurt and emotions and feelings of the day they'd gone separate ways come back.
With trembling fingers, he carefully opens the letter, trying as quickly as possible to see its contents. Oikawa tries not to damage it but the seal is too sticky and he ends up ripping the fragile paper because of how clumsily he's moving. As long as the letter isn't damaged, he's fine.
The paper is folded into three parts and Oikawa takes the utmost care in opening it. His eyes fall on the neatly slanted letters and his heart almost melts right then, right there. He's missed this.
Dear Shittykawa,
Are you still okay with being called that? Whatever. I don't really care, actually.
I miss you. Do you know the hell it took to get your address? Lemme tell you, it wasn't easy. I'm sorry for suddenly sending this to you, and honestly, I don't even know if you'll write back. I know we weren't supposed to talk to each other anymore, you know, attachment, all that shit.
It really hurt. I wonder if you felt the same way when we promised to cut contact. But one day I got to thinking, why'd we do that? At the time it sounded okay. Focus on school and volleyball without any long-distance relationship bullshit to distract us.
I don't play anymore. Volleyball isn't the same without you and I really wasn't feeling it.
Please write back to me. I want to hear your voice in my head and see your messy handwriting and imagine what it would be like to have you sitting right next to me, laughing with me, and enjoying my company.
I miss you so much and I'm scared you won't even read this and I just need to talk to you really badly. I'm sorry.
Can I tell you about what happened while you were gone? Well, you can just ignore it. I'm going to tell you because it feels like you're listening to me.
Kuroo and Kenma are engaged. Cool, right? Or maybe you'd say 'finally'. Daichi and Suga are fucking married, can you believe it? They're such a nice couple.
Nothing else important has happened and I'm trying to find things to say because I'd feel bad for sending such a short letter after such a long time. I hope you don't get mad at me. I hope you haven't moved on from me.
I've been wracking my brain for five minutes now but all I can think about is you, so I guess this is the end of it.
I love you.
— Iwa-chan
Oikawa smiles at the nicknames used in the letter and it isn't until he brings his hand up to rub his eyes that he feels hot tears running down his face.
"I've missed you that much, huh?" Tooru's smile holds and then wobbles because he's trying to lie to himself that everything's fine and he doesn't actually miss Iwaizumi that much and that it'll be fine if he ignores the letter and just gets on with his life, but after a few seconds of pressing his eyes to his hands and letting out ironic laughter he breaks down and faces how he really feels. He lets all the tears that he thought had dried up years ago out and sits there in the dining room shaking and sobbing for a few minutes.
It really hurts, but Oikawa's just going to wait it out and let the tears run down his arms until they get itchy because the liquid's dried on them and he knows his eyes are going to hurt and turn puffy after this but he just sits there, not even trying to stop crying. He's giggling slightly, too, just taking in how damn happy he was that Hajime has contacted him.
Fuck promises, he thinks, and takes his hands off his closed-shut eyes. Oikawa wipes them on his shirt (who knew one person could cry so much?) and takes a deep, shuddering breath. His chair screeches along the vinyl floor as he pushes it out and shuffles over to his writing desk. He touches the metal back of his desk chair and it shocks him because he has socks on, but Oikawa quickly brushes it off in favor of plopping himself down in the seat and reaching for a pen and paper.
It's a while before he can come up with a response, and he sits there, head empty, trying not to cry again because he's had enough for one night, searching himself for a proper letter to write.
He looks outside the window at the wall of the apartment building next to his, stares back at that tantalizing piece of paper, and gets to work.