Archive of Our Own

When Iwaizumi wakes up in the middle of the night, he never expected it to be to the sound of music reverberating through his bedroom ceiling. There’s a low thumping bass coming from above, mixed with the melodies of something from today’s Top 40 hits, and for a moment his mind is too sleep-addled to register what exactly is happening. He scrubs his eyes and smashes a pillow over his ears — though that doesn’t really help — and suddenly every passing second of the noise begins to sound more and more like nails on a chalkboard.

A quick glance to the clock on his bedside table shows the time to be a little past two in the morning. Iwaizumi growls low in his throat, frustration building in the way his shoulders tense, in the twist of his fingers into the cotton fabric of his pillowcase. Another minute passes by, timed to the beat of the music above, before he finally flings his covers off. Sitting up in the darkness of his bedroom, Iwaizumi sighs.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he grunts as he swings his legs over the side of his bed. The floor is cold underneath his feet and Iwaizumi hisses at the sting of it, quickly reaching for a pair of socks in a dresser by the door. From somewhere above, a voice howls along to the music, horribly off-tune and loud, and that’s incentive enough for Iwaizumi to stop it before the racket gets any worse. He nearly falls over in his rush to get the socks on, muttering a string of expletives under his breath as he stomps out of his apartment and up the stairs to the next floor.

Funnily enough, the music isn’t quite as loud when Iwaizumi is standing outside the offending neighbor’s apartment than it is when he’s sitting in his own bedroom. There must be flaws in the construction of this building, something Iwaizumi might plan on bringing up later with the landlord, but for now he settles on shutting his neighbor up with three loud raps against the polished wood of his front door.

Miraculously, it works. As soon as Iwaizumi knocks, the singing stops and the music dies down seconds later, melting away into a blissful silence.

The door swings open to a man with wispy brown curls, eyes wide as if he knew he’d gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. Iwaizumi notes with displeasure how the other man is holding a hairbrush in one hand, gripped tightly like one would a microphone. Jeez.

“Can I help you?”

Iwaizumi sweeps his gaze over his neighbor. The man is conventionally attractive — pretty, even — and on any other day Iwaizumi would have taken a few extra moments to appreciate someone as good-looking as he is. But tonight, he’s there on a mission, standing at this stranger’s front door, eyes steeled in an attempt to intimidate him from ever committing this heinous act again.

“So,” Iwaizumi starts, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you always play loud trashy pop music at unholy hours or is this just a one-time thing?”

A blush quickly spreads across the man’s cheeks and he straightens up, hiding the hairbrush behind his back. “Was my music bothering you?” he asks as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about that — I didn’t know someone’s already moved into the flat below me.” To his credit, he seems genuinely apologetic, though his bashful smile does nothing to help with Iwaizumi’s temper now. Maybe he should have had the foresight to not play music at ass o’clock in the morning — then they wouldn’t even be having this conversation.

Iwaizumi shifts his weight onto one foot, feeling his impatience slowly manifest into an ache at his temples. “Whatever, it’s fine.” (No, it’s not — but it doesn’t really matter now anyway.) “Can you just listen to music at regular hours? Some of us would like to get a decent amount of sleep.”

The man nods his head vigorously. “Yeah, sorry,” he says sheepishly, flushing a deeper red. It’s almost endearing, how his blush sits high on his cheeks, embarrassed grin a shade short of shy. He’d look almost like an overgrown kid if it weren’t for those strong shoulders barely hidden under his cotton tee sloping down to lithe, muscular arms —

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen and he halts the thought before it progresses even further. Scowling, he flaps his hand around his head as if to brush away the momentary lapse of judgment that had just crossed his mind. It’s really not the time to have fucked up his priorities, but it’s a little too late for that now. His neighbor is staring at him, large eyes almost comical at how perplexed he looks, and it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to feel the burn of a flush creeping up his face.

“Ugh,” he grunts under his breath, turning on his heel to stomp away before his mind could spiral away from him again. “Just — whatever. Good night.”

And it’s not until Iwaizumi is at the stairs about to head down to his own floor that he hears the other say good night cheerfully, shutting his door with a gentle click. Iwaizumi turns the corner and buries his face in his hands, letting out a quiet embarrassed gurgle. Tonight is a bad night to get soft over pretty boys. God, does he need some sleep.

The sun flickers like dying embers burning the edge of the horizon when it sets at half past five in the afternoon. Iwaizumi hangs his blazer on a peg by the door and toes off his shoes, tired after a busy day at work. Loosening his tie from around his neck, he feels the weight of the day finally lift off his shoulders, and he sets towards the kitchen to cook dinner for himself. It’s nice, he thinks, how his new apartment is laid out — the light filters in through the window by the dining room, casting the area in a pleasant orange glow, a cozy sight to come home to. He definitely struck it lucky with this place.

Instant ramen is his dinner for tonight, a meal that Iwaizumi probably should have left behind along with his old college habits. He hasn’t had a chance to go grocery shopping yet, having been too busy unpacking all his belongings to care very much about healthy living. As such, he puts a pot of water on the stove to boil and takes a moment to glance through the day’s newspaper.

(Though — really — all Iwaizumi ever looks at is the sports section, a habit he never kicked from when he still played volleyball in school.)

He’s halfway through an article about competitive figure skating when a knock on the front door startles Iwaizumi. He’s not expecting anyone to come by, not being a particular fan of inviting people over, so it’s a puzzle to him on who would come knocking at this time of day. Still, it’s rude to keep people waiting, and he moves for the door, dropping the newspaper onto the couch as he goes.

To Iwaizumi’s surprise, it’s his neighbor from upstairs standing at the threshold, a large grin on his face and both hands behind his back. Iwaizumi’s seen enough thriller movies to be suspicious of an image like this; immediately, he is wary, and he takes a step backwards, fighting the urge to slam the door in the other man’s face.

“Knock, knock!” his neighbor sing-songs in a voice just as bright as his smile. “Remember me?” He laughs at this, a rather fake-sounding titter that all-too-easily grates on Iwaizumi’s nerves. “Oh — I’m sure you do — I’m Oikawa Tooru, I live above you… did the whole loud-music-at-two-am thing?”

Iwaizumi frowns. It’s not very easy to forget a face like that, especially if it had been a recent source of irritation for him. “Yeah,” he says, more out of a loss for anything else to say. He tries to look at what Oikawa’s hiding behind his back, but the other man shifts to keep it from his line of sight. Squinting, growing even more suspicious, Iwaizumi presses his lips into a tight line. “Did you need something?”

Oikawa shakes his head in a flagrant show of mock-innocence. “Nothing, really,” he replies, stepping confidently past Iwaizumi to let himself into the apartment. His eyes are wide with wonder as he scans the place, and for a moment Iwaizumi feels self-conscious over the current state of his belongings being mostly in disarray after the recent move. “I just thought I’d pay you a visit, maybe give you a housewarming gift and all since I so rudely interrupted your beauty sleep last night.”

Iwaizumi’s thoughts go from indignance at Oikawa inviting himself inside to horror as his brain thinks up the different ways in which the ‘housewarming gift’ could manifest itself. None of the possibilities are looking to come out very pleasant in his mind’s eye. God only knows what Oikawa is hiding behind himself but Iwaizumi figures that it can’t be anything good, not with his shoddy first (or would this be the second?) impression of being intrusive and mildly annoying.

His present contemplation and growing horror must be showing on his face because suddenly Iwaizumi hears a stifled snort. He looks up to meet Oikawa’s eyes and notices that his neighbor seems to be holding back a laugh, his shoulders shaking in an effort to keep it in. Feeling even more self-conscious at this, Iwaizumi scowls.

“What are you looking at me for?” he snaps.

Oikawa pouts, wiggling his shoulders this way and that. “Oh, don’t be so mean!” he says, voice playful but scolding. “Aren’t you going to thank me for the present?”

Iwaizumi crosses his arms over his chest with a scoff. “I’m not gonna thank you until you show me, idiot.” Then, taken aback, he looks away.

It’s surprising to Iwaizumi that he’s managed to sneak an insult at someone he’s barely known for five minutes. Maybe it’s the casual almost-too-familiar air Oikawa’s giving off that’s getting him into this weird bantering vibe because he doesn’t regularly do this — not with strangers, at least. Still, the insult doesn’t seem to bother Oikawa anyway. If anything, Iwaizumi’s more shocked at how well he reacts, laughing good-naturedly at the response. 

“Of course,” Oikawa chuckles as he finally moves his arms from behind his back. He brings them forward to where Iwaizumi can see them, an expectant smile settling on his lips. Sitting on his palms is a meatball of a cactus, short and fat in its brown clay pot and far less harmful than whatever housewarming gifts Iwaizumi had thought his neighbor would bring.

Iwaizumi stares at it for a moment, dumbfounded at the unexpected present. “You,” he flounders for words. “You got me a cactus?”

Oikawa nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I kinda figured you lived by yourself and you’re probably all lonely here, so I brought you a pet cactus to keep you company.” He looks down at the plant fondly then back up at Iwaizumi. “I didn’t get a very clear look at you last night, but I thought this little guy looked the most like you.”

It takes a minute for Iwaizumi to process those words. A pet cactus is fine — people give weird gifts out more often than not — but comparing him to one? What kind of thinly-veiled insult is that?

“Uh,” Iwaizumi says dumbly, taking the cactus from Oikawa’s hands and gingerly setting it atop his coffee table. “You didn’t have to get me anything, but thanks.” He pauses, feeling a bit awkward now that it’s come down to this. Iwaizumi is genuinely thankful for the gift, odd as it may be. Oikawa may be weirdly intrusive and have trash taste in music, but Iwaizumi appreciates his thoughtfulness, at the very least.

Oikawa’s eyes turn into little crescents when he grins, and this time his smile holds none of that forced, fake quality his previous ones seemed to have. “You’re very welcome, neighbor,” he hums, pulling briefly at Iwaizumi’s hand to give it a friendly shake. At this, Iwaizumi’s stomach does a sudden flip, surprised at how warm Oikawa’s hands are. But just as quickly as he took it, Oikawa lets go and takes a step towards the door, waving almost shyly as he goes. “Anyway, I should get going. It looks like that pot’s going to boil over any time now, so I’ll leave you to it. 

“Oh—” Iwaizumi glances at the kitchen. Sure enough, the pot of water he’d left on the stove is boiling angrily at this point. He turns back to Oikawa, feeling torn at what to do. “Well — thanks again for the gift,” he says quickly before the other can get away. “I’m Iwaizumi, by the way. Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Oikawa pauses at the doorway. Again, his smile is warm. Golden. “Iwaizumi,” he murmurs contemplatively, rolling the name around in his mouth as if trying to see how it would fit on his tongue. Iwaizumi feels himself grow warm.

“Well, Iwaizumi-san, I promise I won’t be holding any late-night dance parties anymore. Cross my heart and all that jazz,” Oikawa laughs softly. He’s walking backwards, eyes never leaving Iwaizumi’s as he slowly exits. Then, once he’s just past the threshold of the apartment, he turns on his heel and makes his way down the corridor, humming a random pleasant tune with each step.

For a few seconds, Iwaizumi watches him go, disappear around the corner to the staircase that leads to the next floor. The moment Oikawa is out of sight, he shuts the door and locks it, thankfully alone. The ensuing silence seems deafening, broken only by the loud rumble of his stomach reminding him of the initial task at hand. Dinner beckons, and Iwaizumi — though delayed — answers its call.

Later on in the evening when his stomach is full and the dishes are all washed and put away, Iwaizumi remembers the little cactus sitting on his coffee table, waiting to be noticed. He puts his hands on his hips and heaves a sigh, eyeing it with slight disdain. A pet cactus is such a silly notion to entertain, but he guesses that it wouldn’t hurt to at least try and keep it alive.

Marching forward to the living room, Iwaizumi takes the plant and relocates it to the dining table where it could get a bit of sun from the window running along the wall. He stares at it momentarily, thinking back to Oikawa’s passing mention of the cactus looking like him. He scowls and runs a hand through his spiky hair, and for a fleeting instance the acute sense of self-consciousness he felt earlier returns.

Whatever, Iwaizumi grumbles, taking his eyes off the plant. Maybe it’s only fair for good-looking people to have less-than-stellar personalities. You just can’t have it all.

Spending a half-hour scrubbing week-old coffee stains out of his dress shirts is not Iwaizumi’s idea of a perfect Saturday morning. Then again, making every other Saturday laundry day really doesn’t fit into the category of best life decisions he’s ever made either.

Iwaizumi stares at the stubborn stain he’s been trying to get out of his favorite shirt, feeling the beginnings of a headache budding at his temples. The stain is slowly fading with each soak-through and scrub, but that doesn’t mean that his patience isn’t wearing thin. Maybe if he glares at it long enough, it’ll disappear. That strategy seems to work well enough with most things (people) but he supposes life isn’t easy that way when it comes to dealing with regular house chores.

“Are you trying to scare your clothes into being clean, Iwa-chan? Because I think laundry detergent would do a much better job at it.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t even have to look to know who the newcomer is. Not that he has to, anyway. There’s only one person who’s gotten into the habit of calling him by that absurd nickname, and that one person is currently setting a basket of laundry down next to Iwaizumi with an obnoxiously loud plunk. How Oikawa came to the conclusion that calling him Iwa-chan right after their official introduction is acceptable is beyond Iwaizumi’s comprehension. The first time he used it in passing, he’d argued that the nickname “just felt right” and ever since then he can’t help but call Iwaizumi that, much to his chagrin.

It doesn’t really bother Iwaizumi anymore, as he’d chalked it up to one of Oikawa’s potentially numerous idiosyncrasies. What’s more of a concern now is: what in the world is Oikawa doing over here? They only ever see each other now and then when they bump into each other in the staircase going up and down the building. The short hi’s and hello’s are normal enough to be routine, but to be around Oikawa for longer than it takes to say a quick greeting feels almost odd.

Iwaizumi fixes the other man with a puzzled stare, noting with brief displeasure that their close proximity only serves to exaggerate the few inches Oikawa has over him. Feeling a bit miffed at this fact, he turns away and begins to toss his clothes into a washer, forgetting all about the coffee stain he’d been so fixated on earlier.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have a laundry room on your floor?”

Oikawa hums in quiet acknowledgment as he begins to pull out articles of clothing from his basket, sorting the darks from the whites. “Yes, we do, and normally I use that one but —” he heaves a dramatic sigh, “The family down the hall from me is hogging the room and I desperately need to get my clothes clean.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, not knowing what else to say after that.  He takes a quick peek over at Oikawa who, at this point, has paused his ministrations to perch his hip against the washer. He’s wearing a pair of athletic shorts that come down mid-thigh, and from Iwaizumi’s angle, he is all long legs and lean muscle and much too close for comfort. Pretty all over, isn’t he? Iwaizumi thinks to himself, letting his gaze linger a little longer on all that smooth skin before he brings it back up to meet the knowing twinkle of Oikawa’s eyes. Shit.

“What’s the rush for?” Iwaizumi mumbles, feeling himself burn with the embarrassment of getting caught staring. He hastily turns his focus back onto his own laundry, popping the cap off the detergent bottle with a lot more force than was needed.

“I was hoping you’d help me, actually,” Oikawa replies, not missing a beat. He doesn’t wait for an acknowledgment and instead plucks out a sweater from his pile of clothes, holding it up between them with a smile. “Do you think this brings out my eyes?”

Iwaizumi is thrown off-guard at the random question, and he stares at his neighbor in disbelief. Oikawa doesn’t falter, however, merely batting his eyelashes obnoxiously as if urging Iwaizumi on for an answer. Sighing, knowing he’s already fighting a losing battle, Iwaizumi scowls and rises to the challenge, bending forward to inspect the article of clothing in question.

The sweater is a vibrant teal made from what looks like pure cashmere. Iwaizumi’s no fashion expert by any means, but there’s no doubt that its rich color contrasts well with the warm honey brown of Oikawa’s eyes and hair. It would, without question, look even more flattering on his lithe frame. But why Oikawa would need confirmation of this, Iwaizumi wouldn’t know, as it seems the other man seems like he’d be perfectly capable of knowing what looks good on him or not.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi begrudgingly admits after giving the sweater some consideration, straightening up to fold his arms across his chest. “It would look good.” And it probably doesn’t even matter what Oikawa’s wearing — he could have a garbage bag on and all he’d need to do is just flash that stupidly charming smile. Then, anything else about him would likely be overlooked.

Still, Oikawa practically glows at the confirmation. He excitedly drops the sweater into his laundry basket and swings around to face Iwaizumi again, clapping their hands together and squeezing them as he speaks. “Oh, I’m so glad you think so, Iwa-chan,” he says in a saccharine tone. “You see, I’ve got a Big Date tonight and I want to impress the lucky girl. I wasn’t sure about wearing this, but now I think I definitely will.”

Iwaizumi frowns and drops his hands, feeling Oikawa’s grip loosen to finally let him rest his fists at his sides. Well, that answers the question, he thinks to himself. I should’ve figured he’d be straight. He tries to ignore the disappointment growing like a cold sweat on the back of his neck as he turns his attention back to his laundry. “Geez,” he huffs, laughing weakly under his breath and hoping his tone doesn’t give away the sour turn of his mood. He pushes some change into the coinslot and presses a button to get the load started. “You had me thinking it was an actual emergency or something. It’s just a date; you’ll be fine.”

Oikawa lets out a soft tittering laugh. “You’re right,” he says, sticking his tongue out and thumping his palm against his forehead in a classic show of airheadedness. At any other time, Iwaizumi would think him cute, but now he just feels the burn of irritation ignite in his chest, painfully present and unrelenting. “I just get worried sometimes, I guess.”

“Yeah, don’t we all,” Iwaizumi mutters as he lifts his now-empty laundry basket from the washer and balances it against his hip. He glances at his wristwatch to check the time. There’s a good thirty minutes before he needs to transfer his clothes to the dryer. Maybe he can use this as an excuse to leave — suddenly he doesn’t feel like being in the same room as Oikawa any longer than necessary.

“Um, well — I have other stuff to do,” Iwaizumi says lamely as he shuffles around Oikawa to get to the exit. “Good luck with that date, alright? I’ll see you around.”

Oikawa shoots him a cheerful grin. “See you, Iwa-chan!” he sing-songs, “and thank you so much for your input. I really appreciate it. If you need help with a date or anything — and I’m sure you will — you know how to find me! I’ll definitely make sure you’ll knock their socks off.”

At this point, Iwaizumi wishes he and Oikawa were on a close enough basis of friendship for him to call the other out on his bullshit sincerity. It’s infuriating to see how easily Oikawa can switch from sweet to insulting, from one side of a coin to another, and it’s even worse to be at the receiving end of that plastic smile, tugged around like a puppet on strings. If Iwaizumi could — if manners would only permit — he’d reach a hand out and slap Oikawa upside the head and tell him to stop being such an asshole with his honey-laced insults. But since that would probably create a rift between them that would be too much trouble to repair, Iwaizumi chooses instead to smile tersely and nod his head in agreement.

How odd, Iwaizumi thinks as he makes his way back to his apartment. He unlocks his front door and sets his things down by the entryway, kicking his shoes off and falling onto his couch with a loud exhale.

He’s not going to deny to himself the attraction he feels for Oikawa. Why would he when he’s lying on his couch feeling completely deflated and discouraged?  Before today, Oikawa never confirmed if he were straight or not — not that they ever even had a chance to discuss such a thing — but it wasn’t so much a problem. Over the course of their acquaintance, Iwaizumi had been sure that there were some points during their meager interactions when Oikawa was quite obviously flirting with him. It’s not much grounds to base any judgments off of, but Iwaizumi always thought he’d been pretty good at reading other people’s signals. Now, however, it feels like he’d been thrown completely off the radar.

Maybe Iwaizumi’s just getting too ahead of himself. In the first place, he shouldn’t feel so disappointed over someone he barely knows. He chalks it all up to false hope. After all, it’s been a while since he’s dated anyone, so a crush like this (and he admits it’s a crush) could easily be blown out of proportion. Feelings are messy like that, he tells himself, turning over onto his side with a grumble, you should stop psyching yourself out.

With a sigh, Iwaizumi closes his eyes. If only it weren’t easier said than done.

Getting over a straight boy is surprisingly easy. Iwaizumi’s had to deal with it a few times before, and this time shouldn’t be any different. Once you learn that someone is literally out of your league, it’s easy to knock that into your head, to dismiss any attraction to them as merely a wall you cannot climb over. This time around, it's lucky that Iwaizumi found out before he could really develop any further feelings for Oikawa past the initial stage of holy shit this boy is unbelievably hot.

But getting over a straight boy is also one hell of a challenge. Iwaizumi forgets that — unlike his past unrequited crushes — he can’t just reroute his entire life to avoid Oikawa, at least not when they’re living in the same building. They run into each other too often for that. It also doesn’t help that their own daily routines somehow match up. When Iwaizumi is coming back from a day at work, Oikawa is running down the stairs two steps at a time, chirping about being late for a shoot or just going out for an evening jog. Sometimes when he has the time, Oikawa will catch Iwaizumi’s sleeve and insist that they go down to the coffee shop around the block for a quick catch-up session.

That’s the problem with knowing Oikawa, Iwaizumi thinks. He’s friendly, straightforward, and tends to talk too much about himself. And for some reason, he sees a friend in Iwaizumi, so oftentimes these so-called catch-up sessions end up with Iwaizumi drowning himself in a cup of coffee while Oikawa drones on and on about his own life. This is how Iwaizumi eventually learns that Oikawa has a nephew named Takeru, that he is a model for a relatively big agency, and that his sweet tooth is a monster that knows no bounds. 

(Half the time, it’s not like Iwaizumi’s even listening to Oikawa blabber on about some kid named Tobio-chan who is amazingly good at modeling even with that grumpy resting-bitchface he always has, I mean what’s up with that? What’s his appeal when that’s literally the only face he can make? His smile is scary! In some cases, Iwaizumi tunes Oikawa out, focus lost to the shape of his lips when he speaks, on the way his collarbones sometimes peek up past the edge of his sweater, how a small dimple makes itself known on his right cheek when he laughs.)

This all returns to the first problem of getting over straight boys — or anyone, really. When you see them constantly, when you get to know them as an actual person and not just as a cute face, you end up getting attached. The niggling feeling of maybe hiding in the back of Iwaizumi’s mind never disappears, not when he’s constantly subjected to Oikawa, from his sunshine-bright smiles to his occasional terrible roiling competitive moods. Suddenly, he’s not just Iwaizumi’s upstairs neighbor anymore; somewhere along the way, they’ve become friends.

Today it seems that Oikawa’s idea of being friends means dragging Iwaizumi out on a Saturday to go shopping for his nephew’s birthday gift.

(He’d been woken up by the incessant buzzing of his cellphone, by Oikawa making repeated calls and leaving several annoying messages on his voicemail. Once Iwaizumi had gathered his thoughts enough to remember that he did promise Oikawa that they’d go today, another thought crosses his mind: How did Oikawa even get his phone number in the first place?)

Iwaizumi lets out a long-suffering sigh, watching his breath condense into a white cloud before him. The December air is a painful sting in his lungs today, and it’s only getting colder. “And you couldn’t ask any of your other friends to go with you because why, again?” he grumbles as he follows Oikawa across the street to a large electronics store. The neon signs displaying its numerous deals blink down at them, inviting them in to explore what the store has to offer.

“Because!” Oikawa says, pausing to usher Iwaizumi into the store. The warmth of the shop is a relief from the biting cold of winter, making Iwaizumi feel less like a frozen popsicle and more like a human being again. “All my friends are busy bees who party hard on Fridays and end up being too hungover to make good decisions when I need them to!” He unwinds the thick red scarf from around his neck. “Meanwhile, Iwa-chan is a salaryman who has no social life because all he does is stay in and marathon The Twilight Zone!” Oikawa shoots him a patronizing smile. "You should be thanking me, Iwa-chan, for dragging you out of your dreadful mancave."

Iwaizumi scowls and half-heartedly throws a punch at Oikawa’s shoulder, feeling too cold to put enough strength into it. Kicking snow off his boots, he follows the other deeper into the store. “I do have a life, you dumbass!” he snaps. “Also, I’ve never marathoned The Twilight Zone; I don't know what you're talking about.”

Oikawa tuts in disapproval. “Lying isn’t your best point, Iwa-chan,” he sighs. “Remember how we met? Thin ceilings?” A gloating smile spreads across his face once he sees Iwaizumi’s ears burn red in realization. “Well, it goes both ways and I’m pretty sure what I heard coming from your bedroom last night sounded very much like The Twilight Zone theme song.”

Defeated, Iwaizumi nuzzles his nose deeper into his scarf. So what if he likes to stay in sometimes? That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a social life. Some people just don’t know how to appreciate a quiet night in after a long day of work. He glares at the back of Oikawa’s head, though it goes mostly unnoticed now that his friend is bent over a display of gaming consoles. 

“So the eternal question is: Nintendo or Sony?” Oikawa asks, peering down at the consoles in question. The light from the display frames his face in a sharp white light, and Iwaizumi has to turn his eyes away to keep the butterflies in his stomach down.

“Sounds like a bad idea either way,” Iwaizumi murmurs. He stifles a cough behind his fist. “How about you get him into sports instead of video games, maybe?” he suggests. 

Oikawa straightens up to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes with an astonished gaze. “And have him lead a healthy active lifestyle? God forbid!” He turns back down to look at a Playstation with renewed interest, a smirk crossing his features. “That’s my sister’s responsibility, not mine, Iwa-chan. I merely play the devil’s advocate!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t even think twice about shoving Oikawa’s head into the case. At this point in their friendship, he’s realized that sometimes the only way to appeal to Oikawa’s logic to quite literally beat it into him. “Then why are you asking me for my opinion, you dumbass?” he grits out, continuing to grind Oikawa’s cheek against the glass surface and ignoring the loud yelps of protest coming from the other man.

Their rough-housing does get cut short, however, when Iwaizumi hears a soft voice coming from their left. Two girls in high school uniform stand a couple feet away, looking very uncertain at the two men before them. Immediately, Iwaizumi lets go of Oikawa’s head and quickly shoves his hands into his pockets, as if to seem like he had not just gotten caught manhandling his friend only seconds ago.

“Um,” one of the girls says, peering curiously up at Oikawa. She’s clutching a magazine and a pen in her hands and her friend standing beside her looks awfully starstruck. Iwaizumi tries not to stare too much as he glances between the girls and Oikawa. It’s become obvious who they’re here for, anyway.

“Oikawa-san,” the girl says, thrusting the magazine forward into Oikawa’s hands. It’s turned to a spread that features him and a couple of other male models. “Can we please get your signature? And — and photos, if you’re okay with it?”

Oikawa smiles pleasantly down at the girls, eyes curving up into crescents. He takes the magazine and signs his autograph over another model’s face (Iwaizumi tries not to snort at how petty he can be) before handing it back with a grin. “Of course I don’t mind!” he says, beckoning them to stand closer. “Iwa-chan, will you take the picture for these lovely ladies?”

Iwaizumi nods. Even if he did mind, it’s not like he really has a choice. He takes one of the girls’ phones and opens the camera application, watching thru the lens as Oikawa chats with the girls before they pose for the picture. He’s smiling, arms on either of their shoulders, and he looks so natural, so comfortable under the spotlight of their attention that Iwaizumi can’t help but be even more taken with him.

Goddamnit, Iwaizumi thinks as he snaps a few pictures of the three before him. I’m really in deep, huh?

Later, when the girls have stuttered their thanks and goodbyes, Oikawa finally turns his attention back to Iwaizumi. He breathes out a sigh and leans on the glass display, tracing invisible letters into the surface with his finger. For a few seconds they stay like this, and despite being only inches apart Iwaizumi has never felt the distance between them be as wide as it is now.

“I didn’t know you were actually famous,” Iwaizumi breaks the silence with a brittle laugh.

Oikawa shakes his head, brown hair bouncing as he does so. “I’m only well-known to people who keep up with that scene, Iwa-chan. To anyone else, I’m just another random model in a magazine,” he replies in a rare show of modesty. He scratches his nose. “Still, it’s nice, y’know. Being recognized. I can’t say I don’t like the attention. 

Iwaizumi snorts. “I’d honestly be pretty worried if you didn’t.”

At this, Oikawa smiles, soft and easy. “That’s why I keep you around, Iwa-chan. To keep me in check.” He straightens up and gestures towards the gaming consoles. “So — how about it? Sony or Nintendo?”

Iwaizumi sighs and steps closer to look down at the display, ignoring the nervous buzzing in his stomach. Oikawa’s warm beside him, comfortable, and Iwaizumi admits to himself that maybe if he’d ever be given a choice, he wouldn’t dare leave Oikawa’s side. Not when he fits so well next to Iwaizumi, not in a million years.

When mid-December rolls around, Iwaizumi finds himself increasingly buried under his workload. The new year is approaching fast, and the firm he’s working for is requiring each department to submit comprehensive end-of-the-year reports. It’s a task that requires a large amount of effort, resulting very often in late nights at the office up until the deadline. Because of this, Iwaizumi has practically been living at his office for the past week, only running home for a quick shower and a change of clothes.

Iwaizumi rubs his eyes and slumps over his desk. His share of the department report is almost done, and all he really needs to do is work out a few more kinks and add in some last-minute figures. But with the way all the numbers have started swimming before his eyes every time he glances at his spreadsheet, he thinks it’s about time he snuck back home to get a bit of rest.

His colleague Matsukawa stretches in the cubicle right across from him, a large yawn coming unbidden as he does so. “We’re this close to being done, man,” he groans, every other word accented with the audible pop of his unused joints.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Yeah, I have a little bit more to do,” he mumbles into the paperwork laid out across his desk. He can feel his eyes slowly shutting, heavy under the weight of his exhaustion. “I think I’ll just bounce home for the night, though… Get an actual night of sleep and come back tomorrow.”

At the corner of Iwaizumi’s vision, Matsukawa barely nods. “Sounds good,” he says, sounding more unfocused as each word leaves him mouth. “I just brewed some coffee so I think I’ll be good for another two hours. I’ll head home when I run out.”

Coffee. At this point, Iwaizumi’s certain coffee’s replaced all the blood in his veins from how much he’s consumed in the last few days. He lets out a snort and gets up from his chair, and he hardly winces anymore at sound of his knees cracking under the sudden movement. If anything else, the satisfying feeling of stretching out his back and limbs never felt so good as it does now.

He grabs the blazer draped across the back of his chair, sliding his arms easily into the sleeves. Then, just in case he gets hit by a sudden bout of motivation while he’s at home (he highly doubts it), Iwaizumi sweeps the rest of his paperwork into a folder and slips a back-up USB copy of his report into his pocket.

“Don’t stay too late, man,” Iwaizumi calls out to Matsukawa as he quickly strides over to the elevator, stuffing all his belongings into his briefcase with little care for organization. When all he hears back from his coworker is a muffled groan, Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh. He knows exactly how it feels, but at least they’ve got most of the work done. With the deadline in a couple of days, he might even dare to say that they’re ahead. He can only imagine how the other departments are faring — probably just as badly, anyway.

The trip home passes by in a blink of an eye, thanks to Iwaizumi passing out in the cab on the way to his apartment. It’s a quick nap but it does the job, and when the cab stops in front of his building he feels more awake and less like a sleep-deprived raisin. He climbs out of the taxi, briefcase in hand, and now he’s only four floors closer to a cold beer and a warm bed.

Even with almost all his energy sapped out of him from work, Iwaizumi still opts to take the stairs by twos. It’s a habit he doesn’t care to kick, but it’s also his excitement to get home that’s partially to blame. Heart pumping hard at the sudden exertion, he’s practically sprinting up the last flight of stairs when he suddenly knocks into another person heading down just as fast in the other direction.

Iwaizumi feels the wind get knocked out of him before he even realizes what’s happening, and his arm automatically shoots out to grab the banister and stabilize his balance.

“Shit, ow,” he hears the other person curse. Iwaizumi looks up to the man sitting on the stairs a couple steps higher, and he’s not even the least bit surprised that it would be Oikawa half-sprawled on the cement, rubbing his behind and looking extremely sore from the collision.

Iwaizumi feels the apology die on his lips when he realizes that Oikawa looks just as tired as he is. In fact, he looks markedly different compared to all the other times that Iwaizumi’s seen him. Regardless of what they did or where they went, Iwaizumi’s rarely ever seen Oikawa look anything less than well-dressed. So of course it comes as a pleasant surprise when he finds Oikawa like this now, dressed in a pair of sweats and a loose hoodie, hair messy and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says once Oikawa’s finished cussing up a melodramatic storm over falling on his ass. He stretches out a hand to help the other get back up on his feet. “You okay?”

Oikawa dusts himself off. “I was better before you practically body-slammed me into the floor,” he sniffs, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, “but I’m sure I’ll be fine, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi snorts at that. It’s just like Oikawa to exaggerate these things. “Good. Getting a friend hurt is the last thing I need to top my week off.”

“Hm,” Oikawa picks his satchel up from the floor and slings the strap over his shoulder. The dark circles under his eyes are noticeable now that he’s standing much closer. “Busy week?”

Busy is an understatement, Iwaizumi thinks. “Hectic,” he confirms. “I haven’t had a proper shower all week.”

Oikawa makes a face at this but says nothing more about it. “Me too,” he says instead. “I’ve a big exam this Friday but I had a couple promotions to do at work that have kept me from studying for it.” He takes a glance at his cellphone, probably to check the time. “I’m just heading out to the library to review; if I stay at home I probably won’t get any studying done.”

Iwaizumi frowns, leaning against the handrail. “You’re in school?” he asks, puzzled. This is a new piece of information he hasn’t heard about.

“I’m taking online classes part-time for now, but I want to get my degree,” Oikawa replies. “It’s a back-up plan in case modelling falls through for me. Maybe something I can fall back on if I need to.”

Iwaizumi considers it for a moment. It’s good Oikawa is keeping his options open, even if he’s doing rather well now. No wonder he looks so tired; Iwaizumi’s heard too many times from Oikawa himself how some shoots can drag on for long hours with breaks coming few and far between. “That’s really smart of you,” he says, biting back the need to add I’m proud onto the last statement. There’s no need to look like a mother hen now, lest Oikawa regain his playful mood and tease him about it later on.

Then, as if he wasn’t tired and raring to take a long nap in his own bed for the first time in days, Iwaizumi blurts out an invitation. “I’ve actually got a bit of work left to do for the night, if you want to come over and study at my place.” He tries not to meet Oikawa’s surprised gaze because of course he knows this is the first time he’s ever asked Oikawa to do anything with him. “There’s less of an excuse for me to get distracted if someone else if there working beside me, anyway…” he mutters under his breath, feeling himself grow redder with each word.

Oikawa is quiet for a few seconds, but in the end he agrees. “Alright,” he says, a smile spreading on his face once Iwaizumi gains the guts to look at his face again. “Sure, why not? It’s not everyday that Iwa-chan invites me over to his place, so of course I’ll go.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and aims a punch at Oikawa’s arm. He misses terribly, but he doesn’t care. His mind is a little too preoccupied with a mild state of panic, wondering how much of a mess his apartment is right now since he hasn’t cleaned it in the last week since he’s been at work. Oh well, he tells himself as he leads the both of them to his front door. There’s no going back now.

He lets Oikawa into the living room and directs him to set up at the dining table. It’s the only space Iwaizumi has available for more than one person to work at, and thankfully the dining table’s clean of any old crusted-up dishes that he might have forgotten to put away in the past few days.

“Do you want tea?” Iwaizumi asks as he fills a kettle up with water. He’s tired of coffee but maybe some tea will help keep him up. After setting the kettle onto the stove, he looks around his cupboards for tea. He spots a tin of green tea and a box of oolong, and after a bit more searching he finds a few packets of instant hot chocolate. A glance over to the left finds Oikawa’s busy pulling his study materials out of his bag. Iwaizumi doesn’t bother asking, taking out two mugs and up-ending a sachet of hot chocolate into one of them. He knows enough about Oikawa’s sweet tooth to predict what drink he’ll want.

Oikawa pulls a chair back and sits down once he’s all set up. “I’m surprised you kept the cactus I gave you, Iwa-chan!” he says with delight, and the sound of a clay pot sliding against wood fills the air as he pulls it towards him. “I thought you would’ve thrown it away or killed it by now.”

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi says, setting his own laptop and paperwork on his allocated side of the dining table. “I’m not that incompetent when it comes to taking care of a plant. You don’t have enough trust in me.”

“You’d be surprised, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hums, eyes still gazing down fondly at the cactus in front of him. “I trust you a lot more than you think.”

Iwaizumi immediately feels a blush grow hot on his face, and he walks back to the kitchen to avoid having to deal with such an open admission from his friend. It’s always weird when Oikawa makes such bold statements like that. It never fails to catch Iwaizumi off-guard and unable to return a proper reply, so oftentimes he responds with violence. A well-placed kick at Oikawa’s backside or a slap to the back of his head usually does the trick. This time around, Iwaizumi can’t muster the strength to do any of that and instead pretends to fuss over their drinks, at least to escape the pressure of needing to say anything in return.

“Don’t say such ridiculous things, you dumbass,” he still ends up grumbling, and when Oikawa smiles brightly at him in response Iwaizumi’s stomach lurches (and it’s almost as if he were falling).

After a few minutes, Iwaizumi finishes up with making their drinks. He sets a steaming mug of hot chocolate down by Oikawa’s laptop and places his tea at his side, taking careful mind not to spill on any of their papers. By now, Oikawa’s already gotten into the groove of his studying, eyes trained on the notes in front of him, the glint of his computer screen reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. He barely even looks up to thank the other when his drink is placed in front of him.

Iwaizumi sits down and shuffles his papers around, sorting them into the proper order before he gets started. He’s about to power up his computer when he remembers something randomly, something from a couple of months back that’s suddenly all-too-present at the forefront of his mind. He opens his mouth to ask.

“Hey,” he starts, “you know, you never told me how that date went back then.” When Oikawa looks up, confusion marring his features, Iwaizumi blushes and flounders for words to further elaborate. “That date? You asked me about that one sweater — the teal one — if it looked good on you.” Why am I doing this to myself? Iwaizumi thinks for a passing moment, but it’s not like he can stop now. “How’d it go with her? Did you ever score a second date?”

Oikawa stares at Iwaizumi, an unreadable expression on his face overtaking his previous confusion. His eyes are large and his mouth is hanging open slightly, eyebrows furrowed with a look that Iwaizumi can’t seem to place. Even after the questions, he doesn’t answer, merely looking on speechless at the man across from him.

After a few seconds of silence, Iwaizumi feels irritation quickly arise, and suddenly he doesn’t know if he’s angry at himself for asking or angry at Oikawa for not replying. He huffs and looks away, knowing very well how red his face probably is. Why did he even bother asking a question whose answer he doesn’t care for? It’s only going to remind him that Oikawa’s off-limits and out of his league. “Jeez, stop looking at me like that, will you?” he snaps.

That seems to shake Oikawa out of his trance. He pulls back and shakes his head, an apology twisting the ends of his lips into a tiny smile. “Sorry, I just — that was a really random question!” he finally says with a laugh. “The date went okay, I guess. We didn’t really click so I didn’t end up asking her out for a second date.”

Iwaizumi nods. His ears are still hot with embarrassment, but he tries to play it off with a casual shrug. “Didn’t click?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” Oikawa smiles. “You know how it just feels right with some people?” He lets out a quiet sigh. “It didn’t feel right at all with her.”

“Oh,” is all Iwaizumi can say to that. What does it mean then, if everything he does with Oikawa feels right? How would it work out then? He looks down to hide the bitter grimace surely showing on his face. “I’m sorry. Maybe the next person who comes along will be better.”

Oikawa waves his hand. “Don’t be sorry, Iwa-chan,” he says dismissively. “I’m not really looking in the first place. I’m okay with what — with who I have around me now.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Iwaizumi says absent-mindedly. He’s not really listening at all. Now he just wishes this conversation would end.

Oikawa lets out a hum, signalling what Iwaizumi is guessing is the end of the exchange. He picks up his mug and takes a sip and says something stupid about Iwaizumi’s skills at making instant hot chocolate. To please him, Iwaizumi laughs half-heartedly at that, and eventually the weird mood dissipates, settling down into a relative quiet as they work on their own respective projects.

They work for hours, and it’s mostly in silence. It’s odd spending so much time with Oikawa with barely any words spoken between them, but Iwaizumi assumes this must be what it’s like when the other focuses his concentration completely to one task. For Iwaizumi, it’s different. He gets his work done in short bursts, but he often gets distracted when he looks up, attention caught by odd things. Like the way Oikawa absent-mindedly chews on his pencil when he studies, or the way he jiggles his legs every now and then when he gets caught with a hard problem. And Iwaizumi is hard-pressed to admit this later on, but right now every single thing about Oikawa is captivating and he’s starting to look so easy to lo—

“Oh, wow,” Oikawa’s voice breaks through Iwaizumi’s thoughts, startling him out of his thoughts. He looks up from where he’d been staring (Oikawa’s fingers, this time but he doesn’t need to admit that to anyone) and fixes the other with a confused stare.

“What?” he asks.

Oikawa lifts up his phone and shoves the bright screen in front of Iwaizumi’s eyes. Oh god, it burns. “Do you know how long we’ve been working for?” he says, amazement tingeing his voice. “It’s been like three hours at least! It’s almost one in the morning, can you believe that?”

Iwaizumi shoves Oikawa’s phone out of his face. “I get it, I get it!” he growls, swatting the other boy away. His head’s been throbbing with exhaustion in the first place, and now he has those weird bright spots in his vision from where the light temporarily blinded him. “Quit flashing me with your damn phone, you dumbass.”

Of course, Oikawa thinks it a good laugh. He puts his phone down, chuckling softly under his breath, and he aims a good kick at Iwaizumi’s shin under the table. “Honestly, Iwa-chan,” he says, amused. “Is dumbass the only insult you know? How uncreative.”

Iwaizumi pushes his chair back and kicks back harder, earning a satisfying yelp of pain from Oikawa. For someone who’s got a knack for provoking Iwaizumi, Oikawa doesn’t seem to care much about avoiding retaliation. “Are you really encouraging me to start calling you more names? It’s almost like you like being insulted, Trashkawa.”

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Oikawa giggles. He rests his elbow on the table and props his chin up on the palm of his hand, eyes twinkling with mirth. His smile is soft and pretty, and once again Iwaizumi is struck with the thought of how lovely he looks, how comfortable this all feels, and how underneath all his tiredness he’s happy — truly happy — to just be there in Oikawa’s company.

“Hm, Iwa-chan — can I ask you something real quick, you big dumb bully?”

Iwaizumi is drawn out of his thoughts and he lets his gaze meet Oikawa’s. He kicks at Oikawa’s shin again. “Keep calling me that and you won’t get a chance to speak, Trashkawa,” Iwaizumi smirks, though this time he doesn’t follow up with his threat. Instead, he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table. “Shoot.”

Oikawa looks down, index finger tracing the rim of his mug. A bit of dried hot chocolate gets stuck on his finger and he proceeds to rub it into the ceramic. “My agency has a holiday party coming up really soon and I haven’t found anyone to go with me.” He looks at his finger then brings it down again, this time rubbing the leftover chocolate into one of his papers. After a few more seconds of this motion, he lifts his eyes to meet Iwaizumi’s. “Will you come instead?”

Iwaizumi rocks forward to rest his elbows on the table. If he agrees to go, this will be the first time he’ll meet people from Oikawa’s line of work. He never thought Oikawa would even be open to bringing Iwaizumi into that aspect of his life, but he supposes Oikawa wouldn’t be asking Iwaizumi to go if he minded it one bit.

“It’s this Saturday, and I know it’s short notice but I really would like it if you could go,” Oikawa explains. His eyes are back on his mug and his finger is trailing along the rim of his mug once again. “It’s going to be a huge bore otherwise. I’d rather you be there to keep me company when I get tired of socializing with all the agency execs.” Then, he smiles up at Iwaizumi. “Also, if it helps, there’s going to be an open bar.”

Iwaizumi laughs. “Last time I went to a party with an open bar, it ended with a really bad hangover. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He shrugs and leans back again. “But sure, I’ll go. Do I need to dress up or anything?”

Oikawa beams. “Of course, Iwa-chan,” he says, flipping his bangs out of his eyes. “I mean, if you’re going to show up with me, you need to look your absolute best. I aim to outshine everyone there, and that means my plus-one needs to look amazing as well.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Iwaizumi waves his hand. He knows about Oikawa’s competitive side and his desire to beat everyone at the game, so this really comes as no surprise. “Come down on Saturday and help me pick out my outfit then.” He chuckles softly at that. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Playing dress-up with the most fashion-backwards person I know?” Oikawa’s eyes light up with delight, and he claps his hands together in excitement. “I’d be honored.”

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi gathers their mugs and starts placing them in the sink. “Watch it, Asskawa,” he says in warning. “Just because I acknowledge your dress-sense doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you get away with calling me a fashion disaster.”

Oikawa blinks innocently up at him, but behind his smile is the hint of mischief that Iwaizumi knows all too well. “Those are your words, Iwa-chan,” he hums, canines bared in a wolfish grin. “Not mine.”

Iwaizumi reaches out to slap the back of Oikawa’s head, laughing at how he’d definitely set himself up for that joke. Yeah, he thinks as he leans his hip against the kitchen counter, watching Oikawa rub his head and whine about rough, brutish Iwa-chan. This is nice, alright — the easy banter, the jokes and teasing insults. Sure, it might not be everything Iwaizumi wants out of their friendship, but shouldn’t this be enough? Maybe it’s about time he’s learned how to settle. Maybe it’s time he learned to let hopes go.

But feeling content is never enough. When the boy Iwaizumi wants so badly is right before him, when the boy Iwaizumi can’t have is always there, he just can’t help but want more. Greedy, greedy, but he doesn’t care. Oikawa will always make him want more.

The last half of the week flies by in a whirlwind of coffee, sleeplessness, and a beautifully-finished report. When Saturday comes around, Iwaizumi is thankful that the party they’re going to is having an open bar. He’s been itching to get his hands on some alcohol, for a few good drinks to properly ease him back into relaxation. Tonight would be a good way for him to finally let a little bit of himself go.

Now if only Oikawa would let him go.

“Get away from me, dumbass, ” Iwaizumi growls, shoving at Oikawa’s face to get away from the offending boy. The eyeliner in his hand is coming dangerously close to Iwaizumi’s face, and there’s no way in hell that he’d ever let Oikawa get anywhere near him with that. “I said you could dress me up! I didn’t say you could do my damn makeup!”

Oikawa pouts and scrambles to hold Iwaizumi still. “Oh, come on, Iwa-chan! Don’t be such a spoilsport!” he whines. One thumb is holding Iwaizumi’s eyelid open, and absolutely no way not in a million years—

Iwaizumi has no choice. He rears his head back and brings it forward with a jerk, slamming his forehead right into Oikawa’s nose. The man squeaks and falls backward, eyeliner forgotten as he clutches at his nose, and Iwaizumi takes this opportunity to kick the black pencil away just for extra measure.

“Ow, ow, ow, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sobs, voice muffled behind his hands. His eyes are screwed shut in pain as he rolls dramatically around on the bedroom floor, legs kicking out and hitting Iwaizumi in the process. “Did you just head-butt me, you fucking neanderthal!”

“Yes!” Iwaizumi yells as he picks himself up, panting hard from exertion. He can feel a throbbing in the center of his forehead, but it’s not as bad as the bright red blood slowly seeping from Oikawa’s nostrils. “I told you to quit it, didn’t I? Don’t say you didn’t see it coming.”

Oikawa half-sobs and half-laughs. Slowly, he props himself up into a sitting position, one hand still cupping his nose.  “Yes,” he cries, “but I didn’t think you’d try to bash my face in with your ugly blockhead, you freak!” He pauses to glance at the blood on his fingers and wails again. “I’m bleeding, you asshole! How am I going to show up at this party with a bloody nose!”

What a drama queen. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and grabs a hand towel from a drawer, tossing it at Oikawa’s face. “Calm down, you big baby. Just pinch it and it’ll stop,” he snaps. “And don’t worry, you didn’t get any blood on your clothes.”

Oikawa sniffs, somewhat mollified that at least his outfit didn’t get ruined. He takes the towel and wipes himself with it, then pinches the bridge of his nose to stem the flow of blood. Sulkily, he glares at Iwaizumi, though it’s hard to take him seriously when his nose is all red and his eyes are watery from the pain.

“Fine,” he groans, pout audible in his tone. “I’m sorry I tried to make you look better with makeup. I hope you stay ugly forever.”

Iwaizumi glares back at Oikawa, striding forward to flick his forehead with a finger. “I can head-butt you again if you don’t shut up, Oikawa, and this time you’ll definitely get blood on more than just your clothes. I swear to god.”

“Ugh,” Oikawa lets out a long-suffering sigh. He slumps back until he’s resting against the foot of Iwaizumi’s bed, brown hair curling up against the sheets. “Why did I even make friends with a grump like you?”

“Because,” Iwaizumi says simply as he examines himself in the mirror. “I’m the only one who can handle you and you know it.”

Another pout, another half-hearted glare. “You make me sound like a troublesome five-year-old toddler.”

“You are,” Iwaizumi shoots back. “You’re a big old man-baby. Now shut up and get ready. Doesn’t the party start at six?” The clock on his bedside table reads a quarter ‘til.

Oikawa shakes his head. “I lied,” he says, a smug smile spreading on his lips. He looks incredibly pleased with himself for someone who just got head-butted in the nose. “It started at five, but I always insist on arriving fashionably late.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes and begins to count to ten. They’re going to be over an hour late and it’s all because Oikawa is an attention-loving piece of shit. “Oh my god, I’m going to kill you,” he groans quietly, slapping a hand over his face and dragging it down in frustration. “I’m seriously going to kick you into the next century…”

“Shut up, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says lightly. He is laughing as he picks himself up from the floor. “Let me make sure my nose is done bleeding and then we’ll go, okay? Don’t worry yourself into an early death over a party.”

Iwaizumi sighs and falls back to sit on his bed. “If anything, the cause of my early death is going to be you,” he laments, flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Oikawa coos insincerely. “Oh, poor you,” he tuts in mock sympathy but some of its effects are lost to how nasally his voice sounds.  “R-I-P in pieces, you stupid fool.” And really, Iwaizumi can’t be bothered to say anything to that, so he just lays there and waits for Oikawa’s nose to stop bleeding. They shouldn’t be too late, he hopes.

They end up arriving at the party an hour and a half late. Which isn’t too bad, in this case. By the time they get there, most of the other guests had just arrived half an hour earlier. Apparently, it wasn’t all that unusual for people to show up fashionably late, especially to a party like this. Thinking back, Iwaizumi sort of feels bad — he’d knocked Oikawa around a little too much for lagging but now he realizes that maybe it wasn’t really necessary.

“Tooru!” a voice calls out right when they step into the banquet hall. Iwaizumi stops in his tracks and sees a woman striding forward, a glass of champagne held in one hand. Her hair is cropped short, dyed to a platinum blond, and her eyes are rimmed with black glitter. She is smiling widely, her free arm thrown out to envelop Oikawa in a fond hug once they meet. “Aren’t you looking like a bombshell tonight, babe?”

Oikawa pulls back and smiles down at the woman with his signature crescent-eyed grin. “I should say the same about you, Saeko-san. Looking to pick up your future husband tonight?”

The woman — Saeko — snorts loudly. “And be tied down forever? No, thank you.” She takes a generous sip from her champagne. “I’ve been waiting for you all night, you know. Have I got some news for you!” Hooking her free hand at the crook of Oikawa’s elbow, she tugs him closer and whispers, “Ushijima from Sunrise just got here with a pretty girl on his arm. I think they’re dating but we all know Sunrise’s contracts are totally against their clients being in relationships. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll find out the truth tonight, huh?”

Oikawa straightens up, his lips curling in disdain. “Ushiwaka-chan probably only showed up to see if our agency could pick him up for better management. He thinks he’s such a bigshot — ugh. How obvious can he be?” he scoffs and folds his arms across his chest, nose turning up haughtily. Then, as if finally realizing Iwaizumi’s there with him, he perks up and pushes Iwaizumi forward between himself and Saeko.

“Oh, let me introduce you, Saeko-san,” he says brightly, bringing Iwaizumi closer with a hand around his waist. “This brute over here is Iwa-chan. a very dear friend of mine. I was actually you could look after him in case I get caught up with other people tonight.” He laughs, barely apologetic at the admission. “You know how it is sometimes.”

Iwaizumi pushes back a scowl and bows to the woman before him. “It’s Iwaizumi. But nice to meet you, Saeko-san,” he murmurs, tripping over the words as he says them. He can barely concentrate, feeling his skin on fire, burning right where Oikawa’s hand is touching his waist. It feels so odd to be this close. He can’t help the sudden jittering in his nerves at such close contact, the quickening staccato of his heart.

Saeko smiles and takes Iwaizumi’s face in between her hands, red talon-like nails digging slightly into his cheeks. She turns his face one way then another, inspecting him with keen eyes before letting him go with an approving tut. “You’re pretty hot, Iwa-chan,” she says with a wolfish grin. “That resting-bitchface look is very in right now with some of our models. Maybe you should look into this type of work — I’m sure I can hook you up with something.”

“Um,” Iwaizumi flounders for words. He’s not sure if he should be flattered or appalled that Saeko’s words. “No, thank you — I’m fine where I am now,” he finally says, looking to the side at Oikawa for help. There is none to be found, however, with Oikawa’s attention held rapt by something else at the far end of the hall. His hand on Iwaizumi’s waist tightens slightly, sending jolts up Iwaizumi’s spine, before he lets it slip down back to his side.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, not sounding very sorry at all. “I just saw someone and I’d really like to say hi. I’ll be right back!” He sends a wink at Saeko before walking away, rushing off to whoever it is he had spotted with much enthusiasm.

Iwaizumi frowns. “Heh,” he says to no one in particular. “Y’know, I expected this, but I didn’t think he’d leave me alone so early in the game.”

“Ah, don’t mind Tooru, Iwa-chan,” Saeko says, amusement sparkling in the lilting tone of her voice. Her smile is gentle as she watches Oikawa flounce away. “He’s a flighty asshole, isn’t he? How about I do you a favor and show you around the place? First stop at the bar?”

Iwaizumi turns to face the woman, a grin already growing on his face. He already knows that Saeko is a gem, and they’ve only just met. “Yes,” he breathes out a laugh. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

Saeko nods and leads him away, sashaying past several belly bar tables where other model-type people loiter to chat over their drinks. The bar is situated in the middle of the back wall of the hall, and when they get there Saeko orders two shots of whiskey from the bartender waiting at the side.

“One for you and one for me?” Iwaizumi asks, but to his surprise Saeko shakes her head.

“No, honey. Both are for you,” she chuckles, sipping on her champagne again. “Trust me, you’ll need to be at least a bit drunk to deal with the people around here, especially if it’s your first time being around something like this.”

At this, the bartender slides two shot glasses full of amber liquor in front of Iwaizumi, and he takes them with a quiet thanks. He takes both shots and lifts them up, catching Saeko’s wink before he knocks them back with a grimace. The alcohol burns as it goes down, and for a moment Iwaizumi’s head swims at the sudden intake of liquor. When he looks back up, Saeko is looking at him with curious eyes, red nails clicking rhythmically against her glass.

“You seem like a good guy, Iwaizumi-kun,” she says with a smile. “I hope Tooru’s taking care of you too. He can be a bit of a jackass but I love him to bits, and I’m glad he’s finally found someone who can treat him well like he deserves.”

Puzzled, Iwaizumi cocks his head to the side. “I —” he hesitates. “Taking care of me?”

Saeko frowns, her pretty face twisting with confusion and slowly morphing into shock. “Oh my god! Was I — I thought —” she stammers frantically. “It just seemed — aren’t you here as his date?” Her voice drops into a whisper at the end.

“Date?” Iwaizumi feels himself flush. I wish. “No, no we’re not! I-I’m not his — this — we’re just friends.”

Saeko sighs. She clicks her tongue and nods apologetically, though her eyes are still glassed over with thought. “I’m sorry, Iwaizumi-kun,” she says softly, more absent-mindedly now. She glances over to Oikawa, who is off chatting with several people near the entrance of the hall. “I guess I misunderstood… That was my mistake.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, raising his hands as if to let her know he bears no hard feelings. He can still feel the blush sitting warm on his cheeks at the thought that someone had thought he and Oikawa looked good enough together to seem like a couple. It makes him feel a bit giddy, to be honest, exaggerated now by the shots slowly loosening up his impulses. “It’s okay,” he assures her.

Saeko smiles genially at Iwaizumi before taking her champagne flute and downing the rest of its contents in one gulp. “Well, I guess I’ve embarrassed myself enough for tonight,” she laughs softly. “Now, if you excuse me, I see another one of my pretty boys — little Tobio-kun over there!” She giggles and begins to move away. “I won’t be the first one to try and get you into modeling — be careful, Iwa-chan!” And before Iwaizumi could thank her again for her kindness, Saeko was already halfway to the entrance, approaching a raven-haired grumpy-looking boy with an excitable redhead by his side.

Iwaizumi turns back to the bar and flags down the bartender for another shot — vodka, this time around. His heart’s beating fast, out of nervousness or something of the like, and he needs another drink to calm himself down. He shouldn’t let Saeko’s comments get to him — it’s easy, after all, to mistake two people coming together to a party as a couple.

Still he can’t help but feel happy, delusionally so, and when his next drink comes, he knocks it back with a smile.

Thank the gods for open bars, Iwaizumi thinks later on when he spots Oikawa flitting from his previous group of friends to another slightly off to the side. He’s going to need a lot of it if he’s going to survive a night surrounded by people he barely knows. Hopefully Oikawa won’t forget he exists that night, but Iwaizumi’s really not keeping his hopes high for that.

By the end of the night, Iwaizumi has told no less than five other people that he and Oikawa are Absolutely Not Dating. It’s a little puzzling to him why they’d think so, and receiving questions about how long they’ve been together never fails to throw him for a loop. Still, it’s flattering once again to see people thinking that they’d make a good couple, regardless of how little they know about Iwaizumi’s actual personality. They’re surprised and most of them seem to lament the fact that they’re only friends before they either quickly change the subject or just flat-out exit the conversation.

At this point, Iwaizumi’s tired of the social interaction and the small-talk with highfalutin agency employees and models at the party. Saeko was right when she said more people would proposition him to join the agency; at least two others had asked and did not back down as easily as she did. He heaves a sigh and searches the hall for Oikawa’s noticeable head of wavy brown locks, making a beeline straight to the other man when he finds Oikawa standing by a table laden with hors d’oeuvres.

“You look mad,” Iwaizumi says mildly, plucking one of the pigs in a blanket from Oikawa’s plate. He pops it into his mouth and chews loudly, not caring one bit if people thought him lacking manners for it. He’s buzzed enough off of whiskey and vodka to not give a damn anymore.

Oikawa spares him a disgruntled glance before taking a fierce bite out of the piece in his hands. “I’m fine,” he grits out, though every bit of his body language practically screams the exact opposite. “Go away.”

Iwaizumi frowns. He stares at Oikawa for a bit, wondering what’s gotten him in such a pissy mood, then he shrugs and grabs another piece of food from the plate. “Did something happen?” he asks through a mouthful of food, taking in Oikawa’s worseningly sullen pout. “I mean, you’re obviously not fine.”

“Just leave it, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa snaps. He shoves his plate into Iwaizumi’s hands then stomps off in a huff, grabbing the collar of that Tobio guy as he passes. “We need to talk, Tobio-chan!” Iwaizumi hears Oikawa hiss loudly, and he watches them disappear into the men’s bathrooms with quite a bit of protest from the other boy.

Iwaizumi looks down at the plate in his hands. He only notices now that the food on the plate had been carefully arranged to look like a sad smiley, minus the right eye and a part of its mouth. Confused, he looks back up in the direction that Oikawa disappeared off to, wondering what exactly went wrong to get him so upset.

Later, when the party is slowly drawing to a close, Iwaizumi finds Oikawa sulking again at the corner of the hall, leaning against a belly bar table with an obviously angry look on his face. Iwaizumi sighs and catches his arm.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, voice low, stepping close to gain some privacy for their conversation.

Now, Oikawa doesn’t even deny it. He tries to yank his arm out of Iwaizumi’s hold, but Iwaizumi is faster and he tightens his grip even more. “No, I’m not okay,” he spits out, jostling his arm to try and get it back. “Now can you let go of me? I don’t want to be touched by your stupid gorilla hands.”

At Oikawa’s words, Iwaizumi’s temper flares faster than it normally does, fuelled by the fading buzz left running through his veins. He growls under his breath and all but drags Oikawa to a more secluded corner of the banquet hall, rounding on him in anger.

“What the hell, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi hisses. “I spent the entire party small-talking with people I don’t give a fuck about while you went off and social-butterflied your way around the entire room, and now you don’t think I’m worth talking to?” He lets Oikawa go roughly, wiping his palms on his pant leg. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me — there’s nothing to talk about,” Oikawa insists. But his voice is quiet, shaky, and he won’t look into Iwaizumi’s eyes. It’s unnerving, to say the least.

Iwaizumi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not fooling anyone, okay,” he groans. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“And why can’t you just leave it alone?” Oikawa suddenly bursts out in a strangled half-yell and Iwaizumi jumps back in surprise. Oikawa looks almost close to tears, and Iwaizumi’s uncertain how to feel anymore — anger at being ignored or heartache for seeing Oikawa looking so vulnerable like this. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I just want to go home — I want to go home.”

It’s quiet between them when Iwaizumi backs off, slowly stepping away from the man across from him. He doesn’t know what to do anymore; dealing with this side of Oikawa is foreign territory to him, and he’s afraid that approaching him in public would only make things worse, especially if it’s in front of Oikawa’s colleagues and superiors. Maybe he’ll leave it for now until they have time to themselves, or at least until Oikawa has cooled off somewhat from this odd mood he’s in now.

Sighing, Iwaizumi nods in defeat. “Fine. Come on,” he murmurs, turning to head out of the banquet hall. He feels irritation prickling at the back of his neck but he ignores it for now. “I’ll go grab us a cab. We can ride back together if you’re okay with it.”

Oikawa is silent, but he follows Iwaizumi out into the hotel foyer, hands shoved in his pocket and head bowed down. Iwaizumi glances back at him before hailing down a taxi, and they both climb into the backseat of the car.

The entire ride back is silent, painfully so. And when they reach their apartment building, Oikawa doesn’t even bother saying his goodbye’s. He passes the cab driver a bill and rushes out of the taxi, disappearing into the stairwell before Iwaizumi could even say a word.

Peering after his friend, Iwaizumi frowns. “What is going on?” he murmurs to himself, scuffing his shoes on the cement as he slowly makes his way up the stairs to his floor. Tonight, his feet feel leaden, and making each step up is getting increasingly hard to complete as his worry for Oikawa overtakes his irritation at the other man.

Iwaizumi reaches his apartment and falls into bed with a loud exhale, not even bothering to change out of his clothes. Maybe in the morning he’ll give Oikawa a call, just to check up on him and make sure he’s okay.

Iwaizumi stares at his cellphone and watches the screen notify him that he’d just been sent to voicemail. Frustrated, he lets out a low growl and tosses his phone away, hearing it land somewhere on the floor next to his bed. He turns over to his side and buries his face in his pillows, muffling the curses that are currently spilling out from his lips. It’s the fifth time today that Oikawa has purposefully rejected his phonecalls, and in all honestly Iwaizumi’s getting more and more confused about what’s going on.

He pushes himself out of bed and begins to get dressed. Maybe running some errands will get his mind off Oikawa, but Iwaizumi doesn’t really think it’s going to be that easy. After all, it’s been over a week since the holiday party, a week after Oikawa’s odd turn of mood, and ever since then Iwaizumi’s absolutely certain that Oikawa has been trying his hardest to avoid him.

It’s not just with the phonecalls and the unreturned text messages. In the few times he’s run into Oikawa around their apartment building these past several days, Oikawa has said nothing more than the bare minimum to him. Hello, goodbye, and nothing else in between. He’s pleasant, all fake smiles that bother Iwaizumi to no end, and he’s especially curt, refusing to spend more time in Iwaizumi’s presence than necessary.

Iwaizumi tries to wrack his brain for anything that he might have done wrong to merit this strange behavior being acted out towards him. Sure, he’d been rough with Oikawa that day, but isn’t he always? It’s not like Oikawa ever minds it — he never told Iwaizumi to stop, and when they had arrived at the party, everything still had been okay. It had only been later on in the night that his attitude had suddenly soured.

In any case, Iwaizumi has been worrying himself to pieces over it for longer than he’d like to (though he probably would never admit this to anyone, ever). It’s strange, seeing Oikawa in the halls and suddenly being treated like nothing more than a stranger. Sometimes, Iwaizumi will even catch himself thinking about something to tell Oikawa the next time they meet before he is painfully reminded that Oikawa will probably just run away upon setting his sights on Iwaizumi.

It’s frustrating, to say the least, and it would be a lie to say that Iwaizumi’s mood has not also been affected by the abrupt disappearance of Oikawa from his normal day-to-day routine. In fact, he’s been feeling increasingly rotten and cranky, as if a large thunder cloud is constantly following him everywhere he goes.

Iwaizumi just hates being stuck in the dark, not knowing if all of this is even his fault to begin with. And thinking about it only gets him more upset.

When he’s pulling his jeans on, Iwaizumi feels himself getting angrier at the situation. Oikawa is seriously the biggest manchild he’s ever had the misfortune to deal with because — seriously — what person at their age avoids confrontation like the plague? Surely the most rational conclusion would be to confront someone instead of running away every chance you get, right?

Iwaizumi buckles his belt, feeling his fingers tingling with the rising anger and frustration that has accumulated for the past few days. He’s finally decided what he’s going to do: he’s going to corner Oikawa somehow, some way, and they’re going to talk whatever this is out like actual adults. Oikawa can try to run away all he wants, but you can only try so many times before you get caught. Iwaizumi doesn’t care what it takes. He’s going to do it.

All he wants — all he really cares for now — is simply getting his friend back.

Iwaizumi finds himself in front of Oikawa’s door, hand hovering over the wood with slight hesitation. It’s five in the morning — way too early for most people to even consider waking — but Iwaizumi’s been up since three trying to figure out the best way to get Oikawa alone so they can talk. The idea hit him only fifteen minutes ago to just go and find the man at his home, and so Iwaizumi is there, about to wake his friend and neighbor up at this ungodly hour in the morning.

Here’s to hoping the other neighbors don’t hate him for all the noise he’s about to make, Iwaizumi thinks as he closes his eyes and sighs.

He pulls his hand back and knocks loudly on the door three times, fist slamming into the wood with tremendous force. Then, while one hand is constantly knocking on the door, he rings the doorbell several times. The shrill sound of the bell can be heard trilling throughout Oikawa’s apartment, an obvious nuisance in tandem with Iwaizumi’s furious knocking.

He continues on like this for what seems like a minute or more, when suddenly a voice calls out from inside the flat: “I’m coming — what the hell — quiet down!” At this, Iwaizumi ceases his knocking, and his hands fall to his sides clenched loosely in fists.

The door swings open to reveal Oikawa looking severely disheveled and sleepy. He blinks blearily down at Iwaizumi, rubbing one eye, before his gaze registers who’s standing before him. Squeaking in surprise, he quickly moves to shut the door, Iwaizumi beats him to it. Throwing all his body weight against the wood, he blocks the door with his shoulder, wrestling his way inside despite Oikawa’s loud protests.

“Oh no, you don’t get to close this door on me!” Iwaizumi snarls, pushing forward with all his might. He knows he must look like a mad man right now but he doesn’t care, much too concentrated on getting past the door to see his friend face-to-face. “Let me in, you piece of shit Asskawa!” he yells.

“No, no, no!” Oikawa cries as he pushes back with surprising strength. However, having just woken up from sleep, his stability might not be as good as Iwaizumi’s. After a few more seconds of struggling, Oikawa seems to give up trying to close the door and he loses his balance, stumbling backwards and away from it. Iwaizumi lets out a surprised yelp when he feels all resistance give way and suddenly he is flying forward, landing on Oikawa in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Immediately, Iwaizumi curls his fingers into Oikawa’s collar and wrenches him up until their faces are only inches apart. Seeing Oikawa’s face up close after so long sends anger rising through Iwaizumi, and the next thing he does is more out of impulse than anything else. He pulls back and head-butts Oikawa’s nose, sending the other man sprawling back.

“What the hell!” Oikawa cries out, clutching his nose and curling into a ball at the intense pain. “Oh my god, you — you fucker, I’m bleeding! What are you, a goddamn neanderthal?”

Iwaizumi laughs breathlessly, falling back on his ass and feeling incredibly boneless after that sudden match of strength moments earlier. “Hah,” he snorts without much humor in his voice, “you asked me that the first time I did this to you, too.”

Oikawa groans, eyes screwed shut from discomfort. “That’s because you act like a caveman — why do you go headbutting people like it’s going out of fashion?” he wails. Already, there is blood trickling from his left nostril and following the curve of his upper lip.

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow when he remembers what he’s there for, and suddenly his anger comes back full force. “I don’t know!” he yells back. “What are you doing ignoring people for no goddamn reason, huh?” He crawls forward on his hands and knees until he’s kneeling over Oikawa again. “Do you think being ignored by someone you thought was a friend doesn’t hurt just as much as getting punched in the nose? Well — newsflash to you, buddy — it fucking does!”

Oikawa is quiet after Iwaizumi’s outburst, staring blankly at him before he lets his gaze fall away to the side. A frown still graces his face but he says nothing in reply, and Iwaizumi sighs in defeat. He rubs his forehead and sits back to rest against the back of Oikawa’s couch, watching his friend wordlessly with a scowl.

“What do you want me to say?” Oikawa mutters. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and sits up. “I’m sorry?”

Iwaizumi snorts, and he shakes his head. “I don’t even want an apology anymore, man,” he says, a small smile twisting his lips. “I just,” he sighs. “I just want to have my friend back.”

Oikawa lets out a sardonic laugh at Iwaizumi’s admission. “Friend,” he murmurs. “Right. Of course. That’s all you ever want, huh?”

“What?” Iwaizumi sits up slowly. “What do you mean that’s all I ever want?”

“I don’t know!” Oikawa snaps. There is a little dab of blood still oozing from his nose, and he furiously rubs it off. “You’re the one who kept saying it, right? Just friends? Like that’s all we’ll ever be!”

Iwaizumi reels, Oikawa’s words resounding in his head like a broken record. All we’ll ever be. They’re so familiar to Iwaizumi, burned into his mind from all these months of yearning for something else. And the way Oikawa says it, it sounds exactly like that — as if he wants more. As if Oikawa feels just as Iwaizumi does.

“Isn’t….” he swallows, feeling a lump form in his throat. He looks up to meet Oikawa’s sullen gaze, voice weak when he speaks. “Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place? To be friends?”

Oikawa stares at Iwaizumi, a dumbfounded look on his face. He laughs, disbelieving. “Of course not, you idiot!” he says. “Would I really have brought you to that party if I didn’t want to make a date out of it?”

“A date?” Iwaizumi’s voice pitches higher with each word. “It was supposed to be a date?!” He must be dreaming.

“Yes!” Oikawa yells back. He scrubs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I thought you knew! I thought that was why you agreed! I wanted to show you off so badly to everyone, but every time one of my friends kept coming back to me telling me that all I was to you was just a friend, I couldn’t — I couldn’t face it.” He grows quiet, looking down at his palms.

“I couldn’t bear to think that all I’d ever be to you was just as a friend,” he admits, voice small and so insecure, so unlike how he always is. “That’s why I was so mad. I wanted to blame you.”

Iwaizumi nods dumbly. He feels numb now, unsure exactly what to think of this situation. “I thought — I thought you were straight.... You went on a date with a girl and — ” he says slowly. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. “You’re not?”

Oikawa shakes his head, a smile spreading slowly on his face. “I only said that to you so you could keep looking at me,” he laughs softly. “You were kind of distant and I just wanted your attention so badly, Iwa-chan. I don’t think I even thought about dating anyone else after meeting you, honestly.”

Suddenly, Iwaizumi feels like crying. Laughing. He doesn’t even know anymore. All he knows is that this just feels so unreal, how stupid both of them were — are — and how long they must have danced around their feelings, not knowing the other reciprocated them just as strongly. He shakes his head over and over, feeling a sick sort of humorless laugh bubbling up in his chest.

Then, he stops himself and looks Oikawa squarely in the eye.

“Date?” he asks, astounded. “You want us to date?”

Oikawa growls under his breath, and he sounds absolutely frustrated. “Yes, okay?” he huffs and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. Pink makes its way onto his face, tingeing him a shade of embarrassed, and on his lips is a surly pout. “Now just turn me down already so I can get over this crush and move on.”

Iwaizumi laughs breathlessly. He crawls forward, inching closer to Oikawa. “And —” he swallows down his nervousness. His hands are shaking so he closes them into fists on his lap. “And what if I wanted to date you too? What will you do then?”

The look on Oikawa’s face when he registers Iwaizumi’s words morphs from confusion, to shock, then to elation. A grin spreads wide on his face and he scrambles forward, hands landing to steady himself on Iwaizumi’’s shoulders. “Are you… are you serious?” he breathes, hope rising in the tone of his voice. And like this, so close to Iwaizumi that he could count Oikawa’s eyelashes, something glows in Iwaizumi’s chest.

“Yeah,” he says shakily. One hand comes up to stroke the bangs away from Oikawa’s face before tracing the curve of his jaw with fond gentleness. He smiles. “We’re both kinda stupid, aren’t we?”

Oikawa’s eyes twinkle with happiness. “I don’t care,” he chuckles, delighted. “Can you please just kiss me now, Iwa-chan, you big dumb meanie?”

And in any other case, Iwaizumi would have resisted, parrying with a threat to counter Oikawa’s insults. But this time — he’s missed this so much, missed just being with Oikawa, and to feel the other man so warm and so familiar above him, Iwaizumi’s head swims. He inches closer, relishing the feel of Oikawa’s fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck, nudging playfully at the boy’s cheek with his nose.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, lips brushing against Oikawa’s as he speaks. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.” And Iwaizumi does exactly so, closing the gap between them to seal their lips together into a sweet kiss — the first of what he hopes will be many more to come.