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The final whistle blow. The final call. The final moments. The seconds in which there had been nothing but silence, bated breath and thin, fragile hope. He'd read the spike, had thought he knew exactly where that ball would have gone. He'd put everything into that last rally especially. And yet. The ball had gone back, and not forward. Backwards where there had been nobody left to save it. Nothing but empty air. It had fallen to the floor with a dull, distant thud. And that torturous silence where he had known— he had even watched it— it was over.
And yet, still there had been hope, somehow, that they wouldn't lose. They were the stronger six. They had practiced over and over. They had worked for this, honed their abilities. He had worked so damn hard. He had been so sure. Still, the whistle blew. The last call made. It was over and they had lost.
What had happened next was a blur. Somewhere far away, he had heard cheering. Like it had come from some other room and not from a mere few feet ahead of him. His focus had remained on the spot where the ball had landed. He had stared intently, as though it could offer some explanation for how this had happened.
Slowly, he had begun to regain his composure. He had woken from the stunned blankness that had overcome him in those few moments. Enough to appear more like himself. As though the loss wasn't tearing him up inside.
As he had followed his team to greet the people in the stands, his brown eyes had caught on Iwaizumi. Without even needing to see his face, Oikawa had read how hard he was taking it. The tenseness in his shoulders, the minor tremble coursing through his body betrayed him. These telltale signs which only those who knew him like Oikawa did could ever possibly pick up on. It wasn't as though he had been the only one struggling. Oikawa had merely steeled his composure in a way Iwaizumi just hadn't been able to right then. He had watched as his childhood friend began to break down. Bitter, regretful tears won out against his struggle to keep them in check. And Oikawa had read all this from simply watching his back.
Without a word, without even a passing glance, he had moved past him. He had known what Iwaizumi needed. Not words, not too much attention. Those tears were not meant to be seen. Not meant to be commented on. They had simply overwhelmed him, taking over. And Oikawa had understood better than anyone. A firm smack on the back as he had passed, a silent reminder that he was there. That he understood. And it had done the trick in a way nothing else would have right then.
Even now, a few hours later, these memories replayed in his mind as though he were still in that room. They'd arrived back to school in a fog of bitter disappointment. Grief weighing heavy throughout the entire trip. For some, there would always be next year. And yet that wasn't enough to truly ease that sense of loss from any of them. Especially not the third years.
Iwaizumi was silent the entire way. No tears fell, but Oikawa knew they still lingered somewhere near the surface. He said nothing, giving him the space he knew he still needed. Even if he wanted nothing more than to reach for him. To find comfort in his arms. It wasn't the time yet.
It wasn't until the coaches excused them to head home that he even tried to speak to him. Once it was just them finally. They stood just outside the gym where they'd spent countless hours practicing. Going over plays, perfecting serves and spikes. All those hours that now felt as though it was for nothing.
“'Night,” Iwaizumi muttered, turning away to walk home. All before Oikawa had managed to find the words to say to him. The words that, though they would never make it right, could at least ease some of their pain.
“Iwa-chan, wait,” Oikawa exclaimed, his hand reaching out to catch Iwaizumi's. His fingers closed around the sleeve of his jacket, gripping tight. He could feel resistance, Iwaizumi seeming to pull his hand back and keep walking. However, he stopped instead. Once again, he was staring at the shorter male's back, watching as the familiar tension rose up into his shoulders. That tremble seemed to start again. While there was no response, he knew Iwaizumi was waiting. Waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Oikawa wasn't stupid. There was nothing he could say. He knew that himself. The coaches had tried, and failed, to comfort them. But they had known, too. What could anyone say to a team that had worked so hard? Fought so fiercely against a team they had once beaten so easily? They had played their hardest, perhaps, but in the end it hadn't been enough. The disappointment so powerful it weighed heavily on them. Each feeling their own share of the guilt they put on themselves. Unspoken, but they both knew it was there. Sharp enough that they could almost taste it in the air.
Instead of speaking useless words, his grip merely dropped. Long fingers slid along the fabric of his jacket, trailing a soft line until they found bare skin. So slowly, they found Iwaizumi's, linking between them. For a moment he was sure Iwaizumi wouldn't move. Wouldn't reciprocate that briefest of affections. Yet, after a moment, he felt the other's grip tighten. He felt a squeeze from Iwaizumi's hand, growing tighter until it almost hurt.
Oikawa squeezed back, giving Iwaizumi's hand a light tug. All this before, finally, he gave in to what he needed. He pulled harder, drawing Iwaizumi to his chest. The lack of resistance almost surprised him. He hardly paid it any attention as his arms slid around Iwaizumi's waist. Moving out of instinct and need rather than actual thought, his lips found Iwaizumi's. They were soft, inviting. As though Iwaizumi had been waiting for this long before Oikawa had even considered it.
He could taste salt on his lips. Betraying the fresh tears Iwaizumi was shedding— or, more honestly, that they were both shedding. Only in the safety of his most trusted friend's arms, in the darkness of the night, did he allow his composure to crumble completely.
Iwaizumi's arms had remained at his sides. Fingers curled tight into fists, nails biting hard into his skin. The brunet's gentle touch, the warmth of his lips moving against his, had worn away at the control he had regained since the moment of weakness on the court. The tears had begun again before he could help himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt embarrassed by his own lack of control. At least, until he realized he wasn't the only one. Against his chest, he felt the brunet trembling, his grip around his waist tight. He felt fingers against his back gripping at his jacket. It was only then that it truly reached him how much the loss destroyed them. How much they both needed this.
His hands found the front of Oikawa's jacket, tugging the taller male down closer to his height. It allowed for him to deepen the kiss. Encouraged by the soft gasp from Oikawa's lips, Iwaizumi moved his arms around his neck. He felt his own need grow, a desperation he hadn't noticed at first. A comfort in the other's embrace, far more significant than words could ever be. His fingers made their way into his soft brown locks.
With each passing second of the kiss, the memories faded slowly to the back of Oikawa's head. Not gone, far from erased, but eased. His body was tired from the match. Still ached from when he'd crashed into the table. And yet, more than that, he felt a longing for more. He drew Iwaizumi nearer, pressing their bodies against one another. It might have only been his mind playing tricks, but he thought he could almost feel Iwaizumi's heart pounding just as quickly as his own was.
Iwaizumi's fingers in his hair had his breath catching in his throat. A light tug earning Iwaizumi another gasp. Their hands gripping tighter, wanting to be closer even though they were already pressed right against each other.
It was Iwaizumi who ended it. He drew away, his expression settled back into the seriousness Oikawa was used to. In the faint light, Oikawa thought he saw the flush across the other's cheeks. As flustered, perhaps, as the kiss had made Oikawa.
“Don't look so offended,” Iwaizumi chastised. He sounded a little out of breath, which Oikawa noted with immense pleasure. “It's getting late. We should go.”
Oikawa noticed, too, that Iwaizumi's gaze wasn't quite reaching him. It remained slightly to the left, almost like he was too embarrassed to look him in the eye after that kiss. He could see a faint curve of Iwaizumi's lips; a tiny smile he hadn't noticed at first. That just made it easier for Oikawa's mouth to twist into a grin.
“You're right, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa singsonged, far too pleased by the state the kiss had left Iwaizumi in. He reached for Iwaizumi's hand again. “Let’s go~”
Iwaizumi felt Oikawa's fingers brush against his hand. Instead of reciprocating this time, he turned and started to walk. He needed a minute to compose himself again. His heart still raced, his face still burning red. All he wanted was to pull that smug brunet back into another kiss. But he wouldn't give him the satisfaction until he was ready.
He heard Oikawa's protests behind him, but he knew that the brunet would follow him anyway. True to his assumption, he heard Oikawa hurry to catch up. He kept walking in the direction of home, however, letting Oikawa complain for a while longer. At least until his heart rate had returned to normal. Only then, and without comment, did he reach for Oikawa's hand. His palm fit perfectly in Oikawa's. As though they were made to fit together. His fingers slipped between Oikawa's, intertwining. The action seemed to stun the brunet, silencing him immediately. But he could see, out of the corner of his eye, the way the taller male smiled. A genuine smile, for once. And, though he turned his head away just enough to hide it, that made Iwaizumi smile too. A feat he'd thought impossible after that loss.
They walked in silence, hand in hand. Enjoying one another's company and finding comfort in the other's presence. Once again they needed no words. Just each other's company. And, of course, a stop along the way for another kiss before they parted for the night.