Archive of Our Own ^beta

The week that her son was set to leave, Iwaizumi Yuina spent her free time copying out old family recipes to paper for the first time in generations. The tradition was to pass down the methods in the kitchen with guiding hands and words so well ingrained into memory they were spoken like a mantra- not as a book.

Her son had spent his childhood in the kitchen. He had always been a helpful boy even if he wasn’t a kind one. There was a roughness to his compassion but when he arrived home from school every day, still sweating from practice, and began the process of chopping vegetables and preparing meat without complaint- Yuina knew she was blessed. 

He had probably already committed the recipes to memory yet on the off chance he somehow forgot, Yuina found comfort in ensuring he would have a paper copy. Even if there was an ocean between them she would sleep better at night knowing that Hajime, her only son, was at the very least eating well. 

“You don’t need to do this, ma.” Hajime would say when he walked in on her ritual but there were no true complaints in his tone. “I know how to cook.” 

They had had this conversation many times. Hajime had always been hyper aware of his mother overworking herself, a fear from childhood he seemed to still carry. Sometimes it made Yuina sad that her son cared so deeply but was so inept at expressing it without a scowl. 

Oikawa had stuck with him, though, so maybe she was the only one that noticed her son’s struggles with social interactions. 

“I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t want to.” She would respond every time. He would place a kiss to her cheek and then there would be no further discussion about the looming reality that soon he would be leaving. 

The Iwaizumi family was not one that communicated naturally. Emotions weren’t to be avoided but neither were they to be shared. Yuina was aware that it wasn’t the healthiest system. Hajime and his sister both had short tempers and every couple of months an explosive argument would break out. 

They would hurl insults and scream until their voices were hoarse and the next day they would cook together as if nothing had ever happened. The kitchen was neutral territory, no man’s land; the instant the hob was on and sounds of cooking filled the house any arguments dissipated. 

So, even if it broke tradition, Yuina couldn’t bring herself to regret slipping the recipes into her son’s suitcase. Regret was not an emotion to linger on, not when the time she had with her son was so fleeting. 

Yuuki was like her brother Hajime in far too many ways. They shared the same dark hair, though where his was spiky hers was curly. They shared the same green eyes, quick to turn to anger and slow to turn fond. 

The most striking similarity was their temper. It was a vice that had been passed down the Iwaizumi family for generations. Coming home with a bloody nose and a new tally mark in the mental list of won fights was commonplace in their household, and always had been. 

Sometimes, Yuuki disliked that side of herself. The side that would sneer at boys and scare away cute girls, but then she would look to her brother, much the same as her but so much more. He was easy to annoy and fast to yell but it was born from a passion that seemed so powerful to Yuuki. 

He cared so much and though it was concealed behind glares when he took the time to communicate in stilted, hesitant sentences it was obvious that his love for the people around him never faltered, never faded with time. 

So why was it then, if he cared so much, that he was leaving? 

They weren’t enough for him. She wasn’t enough for him. And now he was leaving. 

Addressing the bone deep sadness would be too painful so instead Yuuki took the emotions and sharpened them into rage, into poisonous words and accusations. The months after Hajime announced he was leaving were some of the worst in terms of arguments. 

Yuuki would scream from the diaphragm until all the air was pushed out of her lungs, taking all her vitriol as well. Hajime would yell back, accuse her of being unfair, call her selfish and controlling; Which, when she lay awake in her room in her night, she realised was probably true; but that realisation wasn’t enough for her to bury the sense of betrayal. 

The siblings hadn’t spoken in three days. Hajime had been out of the house often in the week leading up to his departure. He was probably spending the remaining time he had with Oikawa. He would rather spend his time with a friend than his family. 

The bitterness grew. 

Yuuki had taken to pacing the small corridors of the house, a kind of self-flagellation as she was reminded of the times when she was a toddler and Hajime had seemed so big, helping her clean up pencil marks she had scribbled on the wall, guiding her through her early steps until she was able to run. 

The nostalgia was choking but maybe if she could get used to it now by the time he was gone and the house was truly empty it would be tolerable. 

It was due to this newfound habit that one night Yuuki found herself outside of her brother’s room. Waiting. What she was waiting for she didn’t know and time seemed like jelly stood in front of the cream door. There was a dent in the doorframe where Hajime had slammed it after an argument, there was a smear of green paint near the bottom and the paint was peeling at the top. 

“-then fold the top in half at this angle and flip. Repeat the fold and it should look something like this.” It was a woman's voice, clinical and detached and not one Yukki recognised. 

A moment of silence and then Hajime swore under his breath. Yuuki swallowed deeply, steeled herself and knocked. If she wasn’t going to see her brother in three years then they were going to part on good terms. 

She tapped the door lightly. It was late and her mother had had an all day shift at work. She listened as her brother plodded over to the door and finally yanked it open. He was still in his clothes from the day and his face was weary, eyebags deep and mouth set in a frustrated frown. 

“Look, Yuuki, I’m really not in the mood for another argument right now. I’ve got to pack.” He rubbed a hand across his brow, massaging away a headache. 

“I’m not here to argue. I just want to talk.” She tried not to be offended at the accusation, although inaccurate it was fair. “Besides, I can fold better than you so my help might be useful to you for once.” 

Hajime narrowed his eyes before finally relenting, moving his body aside to allow his sister to slip though. His room was pristine as always, school supplies piled neatly, bed made and sports equipment set in the corner out of the way. 

On his bed were two piles of clothes. One looked as if it had been folded poorly and the other was yet to undergo the process though the difference was so minute that Yuuki wondered if folding the clothes was even worth it if this was the end result. 

Iwaizumi sat on the edge of his bed and tapped beside him, inviting her to sit as well. His face was set in the way it always was when he wanted to have a serious discussion, eyebrows furrowed and eyes shining. 

Yuuki complied and made herself at home next to him. 

Silence reigned for a moment before Yuuki broke it. “You’re really shit at folding clothes.” 

She poked the pile with a grimace to prove her point. Iwaizumi didn’t respond for a while and Yuuki briefly worried she had somehow offended him already but then he huffed a laugh and all was well again. 

“Yeah,” He exhaled heavily, rubbing the palm of his hand across his eyes as if to wipe away tears. “I tried to watch a video but I guess I’m doomed to be shit at folding T-shirts my entire life.” 

His lip quirked up as he made eye contact with Yuuki. His eyes were unbelievably sad. The edges were red rimmed and there was a quiver to his chin that made Yuuki worry he was on the verge of tears. He had always been a cry baby, as quick to tears as he was yelling. 

He felt all emotions to their extreme. 

“I’m going to miss you so much.” Yuuki found herself saying and was surprised by the tightness to her own voice. 

Then his face crumpled. His hands came up to hide it fast but the brief second that she could see was enough to haunt her. It didn’t take him long to regain control. Yuuki tried to comfort him whilst he did, a hesitant hand on his shoulder and whispered reassurances. 

He took a shuddering breath, heaving and heavy. Then, he looked up and smiled again. It wasn’t fake but it was certainly faltering. 

“I’m going to miss you guys. I’m going to miss Japan. I’m going to miss cooking with you.” His voice shook and for the first time Yuuki considered just how much Hajime was saying farewell to. 

She was losing her brother but he was losing it all. 

“I’m going to miss walking home with you. I’m going to miss seeing the cherry blossoms. I’m going to miss it all but, Yuuki, I need this. I can’t stay here; I need to improve, I need to be someone I can respect again. If I stay here I’ll grow stagnant. “

He had always placed so much pressure on himself. Pressure to perform as others wanted him to and how he wanted himself to. He was Atlas, the weight of the world balanced on his shoulders and if he let it drop he would be the one to suffer. 

“I need this.” 

Yuuki felt her own lip begin to tremble, her nose fizzed and her vision grew blurry. 

“You’re already the best.” She choked out, tears now flowing freely. 

Hajime shook his head sadly “I need to leave. Even if it’s not to study, Yuuki, I can’t stay in Japan any longer. I need time.” 

It didn’t make sense to her then and it wouldn’t for many years what he had meant by needing time but she had accepted it, burying her face in his shoulder as they both shook with sobs they had been saving for months. 

“You're my little sister and I love you. Please don’t forget that.” He muttered. His voice was wet with tears and snot. 

Iwaizumi had never bothered to imagine a life without Oikawa by his side. Such a thought was so outlandish that it was futile to even consider. They were going to rule the world together, hand in hand. But then he had grown up and even as the distance between them grew shorter until they were joined at the hip, the future became murkier. 

The truth was Oikawa Tooru was destined for greatness and Iwaizumi Hajime was destined to watch. 

It was a fact Iwaizumi had accepted years ago but one Oikawa seemed yet to come to terms with. When Iwaizumi had told him about studying in California, about leaving Japan, leaving him , OIkawa had gone still. 

He was never still. His fingers were always fluttering, his face always testing in response to snippets of conversation he was eavesdropping on, his eyes always shining. But when Iwaizumi had confessed to his plans OIkawa had gone as still as a dead man. 

His smile was frozen in place even as he spoke “Wow! That’s such a big decision. I’m so happy for you, Iwa-chan.” 

It wasn’t real. 

“Yeah. I just need to try something new, you know? I’m never going to play professional volleyball, maybe this way I can still help you even if it isn’t by scoring points.” He laughed.

It wasn’t real. 

And that was it. They didn’t talk about it again. In fact they didn’t talk about much of anything anymore. Iwaizumi tried to make it work but Oikawa was annoyed and Iwaizumi couldn’t blame him. They were supposed to do this together and Iwaizumi wasn’t good enough to make it. 

He had been scrambling up the ladder behind Oikawa for years, trying to keep pace but mostly content to watch Oikawa soar but now he was too far behind to ever dream of catching up so he had given in. He had accepted defeat. 

But he wasn’t going to just curl into a ball and allow this to stop him helping Oikawa. He would study and he would train and he would find a way to make himself count again, make himself matter within the sport he loved so much. 

Except now Oikawa was ignoring his messages. He was leaving tomorrow morning for the airport and Oikawa had left him on read for the past five days. 

It was getting late, Iwaizumi noted as he checked his messages one final time before going to sleep. Still no response. Frustration built in his stomach, hot and acidic. Oikawa was being childish, of course Iwaizumi wasn’t going to become an olympic athlete like Oikawa was. 

He plugged his phone into the charging port and tucked himself into bed. His suitcase was standing waiting for him by his door. With a slowly growing pit in his stomach, Iwaiumi turned to his side and clenched his eyes shut to try to force sleep. 

Clink . 

His eyes shot open. 

Something had just hit his window. He slowly sat up in bed, wiping sleep from his eyes. He stared for a moment and then another.

Clink.  

He definitely hadn’t imagined it. Someone was throwing something at his window. He stood on weary legs, and made his way to the window. He pulled it open with one yank and slowly stuck his head out. He had expected an axe murderer or a neighbourhood kid playing a distinctly unfunny prank. 

“Yo, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whispered from his garden. He was wrapped up in his coat despite it being a cool summer night. “Come outside.” 

His voice was quiet but it boomed in the silence of the night, filling the streets and the gardens. Iwaizumi hesitated, grip tightening on the windowsill before it loosened completely. 

“I’ll be down in a second.” Iwaizumi relented and Oikawa flashed a thumbs up. Even in the dark and at a distance, his smile was visibly false. It was the smile of a statue, carved perfectly into pristine marble but so still that it was uncanny, inhuman in it’s perfection.

Iwaizumi didn’t bother with a jacket, merely toed on his trainers and left the house. His mum and sister had gone to sleep hours ago so he had to tiptoe. His mother didn’t deserve to lose sleep over his inability to communicate with Oikawa, his closest friend. 

When he finally made it outside, slowed by caution, Oikawa was leaning against the tree on the path just outside their garden. He looked like he was trying to be casual but there was a set to his shoulder that implied tension. 

“What are you doing here?” Iwaizumi asked as Oikawa looked up to acknowledge him. 

Oikawa laughed. As far as Iwaizumi could tell, it was genuine. 

“Never one to beat around the bush were you?” His voice was nostalgic, so deeply melancholic that Iwaizumi was forced to address exactly what he was saying goodbye to “I think we need to talk, Iwa-chan.” 

They did need to talk. Iwaizumi just hadn’t expected that need to be fulfilled. They had gone without the basics of communication being met before and he had thought they would do it again. Perhaps Oikawa understood the depth of this goodbye more than Iwaizumi did; he had always been better at such things. 

Iwaizumi stayed silent for a moment before relenting. “Yeah. Let’s go for a walk, okay?” 

All of the most important conversations happened on their walks around the neighbourhood. They would walk home together every day even if the route was by no means the most efficient. It allowed reflection that otherwise wouldn’t be possible, reflection upon victory and reflection upon loss. 

Oikawa nodded faintly, more of a jerky twitch than anything but Iwaizumi knew what it meant. Things would shift between them; in what direction depended on how this conversation went. Iwaizumi sucked in a breath and set off on the familiar route. 

They stayed silent for many moments before Oikawa finally spoke. They had reached Oikawa's favourite part of the walk, the small section of the river where flowers grew freely. They were weeds more than anything but Oikawa always smiled when he saw them. 

He didn’t smile that night. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” he said. His voice was small and regretful. Iwaizumi had never held any blame towards Oikawa for ignoring him. As much talent as he had with reading others, he always seemed to struggle to understand himself. 

“Yeah. I know,” Iwaizumi said. Their walk had slowed now until they were almost stationary. 

Oikawa turned to face him. His eyes were wet but no tears fell. His lips moved around words he didn’t say. Then he spoke at last. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” 

And that was it. That was the crux of the issue. Iwaizumi was leaving him, he couldn’t deny that, but when he saw how Oikawa played, graceful and powerful, he couldn’t bring himself to focus on the negative connotations of what Oikawa viewed as a betrayal. 

“I’ll come back and we can play together again,” Iwaizumi promised, but he knew as he said that both he and Oikawa knew it wasn’t true.

Oikawa sighed. “I miss you, Hajime.” 

Iwaiumi chose not to comment on the present tense. Instead, he smiled and ignored how his vision blurred with tears. 

“I miss you too, Tooru.” 

The flight from Japan to California was long. Iwaizumi had never flown before and though he wasn’t scared he had not looked forward to the experience. His mum, his sister and his team had waved goodbye to him at the airport and then he was alone.

He boarded alone. He took off alone. He landed alone. 

He wasn’t quite lonely, not yet, but when he watched his fellow passengers greeted at the gate by families and friends with open arms he was hyper aware of the absence of his loved ones. He lugged his suitcase to the bus station and finally, for the first time since he got on the plane twelve hours ago, took a deep breath. 

He was in a foreign country, of which he barely spoke the language, alone. It was scary but the sun was still shining, the wind was still blowing and his heart was still beating in his chest- it would all be alright. Even if at this moment things were a bit lopsided, his family and friends miles away, he could still contact them; this wasn’t the end. 

With that thought, Iwaizumi patted his pocket to make sure his phone was still there. Losing it would probably be the worst thing that could happen at this moment. His English was still patchy and his sense of direction near non-existent; without his phone he would be a fish out of water. 

The bus arrived late and as soon as he stepped on he was overwhelmed. It was loud and hot and tight. There were no spare seats so he stood, aware of how much room his luggage was taking up in the already crowded space. 

The journey was not a short one, nor was it pleasant, but Iwaizumi made do. He would be able to complain about it to Oikawa once he was in his dorm room. Oikawa had never liked public transport, it was one of the reasons they had walked so much. He would complain about the smell, the tightness; everything he could find fault in he would. 

And Iwaizumi would listen. 

He didn’t share the same distaste but he found himself listening to Oikawa nonetheless, nodding when was appropriate even if he wasn’t fully listening, just watching his lips move and his hands flap. When Oikawa spoke his entire body moved with the words; it was a dance as much as it was a speech. 

His gestures and motions communicated more clearly than any words out of his mouth. Maybe it was just because Iwaizumi had known him so long, maybe it was just a side Oikawa showed to him (for some reason Iwaizumi hoped that was true), but Iwaizumi had always picked up on the emotions in Oikawa’s fidgets faster than others. 

Sometimes, when people asked him how he knew Okawa so well, Iwaizumi allowed himself to feel special, special by his privy into Oikawa’s life, but then Oikawa would smile at a passing girl, or exchange numbers before names with a boy he met at a match, and any dreams Iwaizumi may have held about being special in Oikawa’s heart were crushed. 

He had his own space but that area was firmly labeled ‘childhood friend’ and  there were none of the attached feelings that Iwaizumi considered sometimes. It never went as far as a longing but when he was alone in his room at night sometimes he imagined OIkawa’s hand slipping into his and squeezing, or his lips pressed against Iwaizumi’s forehead. 

Iwaizumi didn’t like to linger on the thoughts of something more. They were futile and the bus was at his stop. 

He pulled his suitcase up and left the bus with thanks to the driver. 

Iwaizumi had seen pictures of the campus before but seeing it in person was vastly different. He hadn’t been able to visit like other students, hadn’t had the first hand experience before, but faced with red brick and green grass, cut short and lined with box hedging, it all felt more real than it had when it was only a picture on a phone screen. 

Finding his dorm wasn’t easy but he managed. People already seemed to have friends, sat in tight circles on the grass laughing and talking. Iwaizumi shook any brief insecurities from his head and pushed on. He would make friends and even if he didn’t Oikawa was only a text message away. 

“Iwaizumi!” A voice called from behind. It was so thickly accented Iwaizumi almost didn’t recognise his own name. “That’s you right?” 

The man who had called after him was everything Iwaizumi expected to find in California. His hair was blonde and curly, his face was tan, and his vest was so low cut that Iwaizumi could see the beginnings of tan lines peaking up. 

“Yeah. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.” Iwaizumi responded, offering his hand for a handshake. 

The man took it, clasping it with both hands and shaking loosely. 

“I’m your roommate. I recognise your picture. It’s good to meet you, man.”

“Yeah…” They had contacted each other some but any conversations they had managed were so painfully awkward that Iwaizumi tried not to remember them. “I’m excited to room with you.”

It wasn’t a lie, just an overstatement of the truth. He was neither dreading nor looking forward to spending time with his roommate. His accent would take a while to get used to but Iwaizumi needed to practice his English anyway. 

“I can show you to our room if you want? The layout is sorta confusing.” 

Iwaizumi accepted; even with the map he had held little hope of finding his room. Iwaizumi was tired from his flight, jet lag slowing his mind, and he wasn’t all together enthusiastic about the prospect of unpacking. 

His roommate led the way. He tried to make smalltalk and Iwaizumi tried to reciprocate but there was little common ground to allow conversation to flow. He tried to talk about surfing but Iwaizumi had never tried it before. 

There was a brief moment in which Iwaizumi thought they may have found something in sport but the conversation switched to baseball and Iwaizumi hadn’t had time for any sport apart from volleyball since he was six. 

“And here we are.” 

Iwaizumi startled at the announcement. The door was wooden and nondescript. If Iwaizumi had been trying to find it himself he would have walked straight past it and genuine gratitude bubbled. He had not tried to make friends without Oikawa being there since nursery and he had forgotten how hard it was. 

Still, he had to try. He was going to be here for a few years and he was determined not to spend those years in isolation with only the occasional message from Oikawa as company. 

“Thank you.” Iwaizumi said, trying to sound as genuine as he could. His heart was thumping uncomfortably in his chest. His hands were clammy. 

His roommate’s face twitched with uncertainty and then it faded and he was smiling again. 

“Yeah no worries, dude. Me and some friends were thinking of going out for some food in the evening if you wanna come?” He offered. 

The smile that came to Iwaizumi’s face was not forced. For the first time since he had left his family in the airport it was genuine. It was merely a twitch of the corner of his lips but it lifted all the weight from his chest. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi said “I’d like that.” 

His roommate’s grin grew, it no longer looked as pitying and began to take the shape of something friendly. 

“I’ve already unpacked, feel free to put your stuff wherever.” And then he left Iwaizumi to his own devices. The door in front of him looked so much larger now that he was alone, looming impassively. 

It reminded Iwaizumi oddly of the Date Tech blockers, unflinching and still. There was little hope for him to break through, not as he was now. Iwaizumi had never possessed a singular talent like that, never possessed one thing he outshone everyone else at. 

He was a master of none. 

But mastery wasn’t required to find purpose in a pursuit. It didn’t require mastery to find joy in volleyball nor was mastery required to open a door. He fumbled with his key and pushed the door open and finally saw where he would be staying. 

Two beds, pressed against opposite sides of the room, a small window between them and a storage unit attached to a desk each. It was a small room, but no smaller than his bedroom at home. He was used to sharing rooms with cousins on holidays, the youngest always had to share their room so even now, eighteen and the tallest of them all, Iwaizumi was still condemned to sharing his space every summer. 

He placed his suitcase on his bed and unzipped it. He hadn’t packed much, a few T-shirts, some shorts and his mother’s recipes placed carefully on the top of them all. The clothes were already folded and quick to put away, tucked into the back of one of his drawers. 

The T-shirt on top was one he had bought with Oikawa. It had been a joke at the time, Oikawa had laughed hysterically at the print on the front, and even now when Iwaizumi pictured Oikawa’s face when he had actually bought it, he was overcome with nostalgia. 

It was probably too small now but Iwaizumi couldn’t imagine parting with it, parting with the memories of high school summers, of his best friend laughing like they hadn’t missed the last train home. He shut the drawer when his eyes started to sting, embarrassingly wet and blurred with tears. 

He hadn’t cried when he had told Oikawa he was leaving and he wasn’t about to now that it was a reality. This was what he had chosen, improvement and development. He couldn’t cling to Oikawa his entire life, riding the waves of his best friend’s hard work. 

He placed his text books on his desk. He was supposed to buy stationary when he arrived but he was yet to do so. Classes didn’t start for a few days so he had time but the brief panic was undeniable. He needed to be prepared, to be organized and ready. He had to prove himself and he couldn’t exactly do that if he didn't have pens. 

It was irrational, he could acknowledge that much himself. He wasn’t about to get kicked out because he didn’t have a pen but still there was a self-set expectation for perfection. He came here for a fresh start and tarnishing the blank slate with laziness felt foolish. 

Iwaizumi straightened his pile of books until they were perfectly aligned and sat on his bed. The mattress was springy and thin, the duvet scratchy but he didn’t mind. If Oikawa were here he would never stop complaining. 

Iwaizumi huffed a laugh at the thought of Oikawa seeing this room. He had always had a routine and often it required privacy. It was with that thought that Iwaizumi messaged Oikawa, he was probably just waking up. 

Iwa

>I’ve unpacked. You want to facetime in a few hours? 

He hesitated and then, 

Iwa

>I miss you already

There wasn’t a response. Iwaizumi hadn’t expected one immediately, Oikawa wasn’t the type to wait at the phone for a message; he was probably out running or training. Still, the disappointment was there. They hadn’t promised nothing would change, it would have been a lie that this wouldn’t shift their dynamic, but Iwaizumi had hoped for some normalcy. 

He was tired. 

His eyes ached and his chest was tight. His roommate’s side of the room was slightly more decorated. There was a movie poster hung on the wall, Iwaizumi didn’t recognise it but it looked interesting. His bedding was plain but it looked softer than Iwaizumi’s. 

Iwaizumi knew next to nothing about his roommate, even his name had left his memory. His accent was hard to understand, his demeanour was shockingly casual, but he was nice. He was welcoming to a degree that Iwaizumi hadn’t been expecting. 

He plugged his phone into an outlet behind his bedside table; it was nearly out and Iwaizumi didn’t want to miss it when Oikawa responded. Iwaizumi was not used to separation. He wasn’t a social creature like Oikawa was, but undeniably there were people he would rather be with than without, beyond even Oikawa and his family. 

He would miss Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Kyoutani and Yahaba, the lady who sold dumplings and her husband who would ask him how volleyball was going. Iwaizumi was surrounded by people constantly and even if he had rarely actively interacted with them he would miss it all, the hum of gossip from his mum and her sisters downstairs, the delivery boy who always took the time to smile and say hello, the florist who would give Iwaizumi a discount for his mum and sister’s birthday every year. 

Iwaizumi had been walking home every day. He knew every crack in the cobbled street and every vendor who worked along it. Those people had seemed like such small parts of his life back in Japan, they were normal, constant pleasantries, but the normalcy was gone now. 

But change didn’t have to be a bad thing. 

He could miss them without needing to return to them. They should motivate him, rather than cause him to stagnate. They had all been so proud when the news of him attending college in America spread and he owed it to them for their kindness over the years to succeed, or at least endeavour to instead of giving up. 

His phone vibrated fifteen minutes after he put it on charge. The speed with which he went to grab it was nothing short of embarrassing. Especially when it turned out to not even be Oikawa. 

Slater

>Hey dude! We were thinking of going to a rib place not that far from campus, meet where we met earlier in 15?

Slater. Apparently past Iwaizumi had had the sense to save his contact at the time and save current Iwaizumi the embarrassing confession that he had forgotten his own roommate’s name. Slater fitted him perfectly. Neither an insult nor a complement, but now that he had remembered the name it was hard to imagine anything else fitting the bleached hair, the easy smirk. 

Iwaizumi

>Sure. 

Iwaizumi had never been fond of texting. Most of his important conversations took place face-to-face, as he believed they should, but now he almost regretted that choice because texting anyone other than those he was used to (a small circle of people) felt awkward. 

Even that one word message had been retyped several times, and as Iwaizumi stared at his phone screen after he had sent it, his stomach churned with the worry he was coming across as rude. He had always been standoffish but that had never mattered when he was friends with Oikawa. Now that he was alone, it was his responsibility to make his own friends instead of just relying on OIkawa to introduce him to people. 

He changed his shirt into something more formal. He didn’t expect it would be a fancy restaurant but going out for a meal in the same T-shirt he had been wearing for the past twenty hours was probably frowned upon. 

The shirt was one Oikawa had always complimented him on. It was dark, Iwaizumi had called it black but every time OIkawa would correct him with a smile ‘navy blue’, and tight fitting. The sleeves were short and hugged his biceps. 

There was little time to examine himself in the mirror before he left if he wanted to avoid being late but the brief period that he allowed himself made his chest ache. 

He left the dorm room with his wallet and a tightening chest. There would be people there other than Slater, people that may be less inclined to kindness. Iwaizumi still struggled with some words in English and whilst he could avoid saying them, understanding what others were saying would be more of a challenge. 

He needed to make things work with Slater’s friends or things wouldn’t work with Slater, and then he would really be all by himself with a roommate who hates him and a best friend five thousand miles away who won’t answer his phone even though he promised he would and-

“Hey! You must be Iwaizumi!” A voice called out, effectively snapping Iwaizumi violently from his train of thought. 

His feet seemed to have found their own way to the meeting place. A group of men were gathered in a huddle; there were about five of them, all blond, all tall and all smiling. Slater was among them, halfway through laughing at some joke Iwaizumi had been too distant to hear the punchline of. 

“Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” The words felt forced. English hadn’t been his best subject at school. He had never picked up languages like Oikawa could, reciting French poems in their native tongue and quoting Shakespeare. It was dramatic but Iwaizumi envied him for the talent. 

He held his hand to be shook but instead the man closest, the one that had noticed his arrival, went for a high five. It was a sharp slap, without years of hitting a volleyball Iwaizumi probably would have winced. His face wasn’t cruel though, it wasn’t some fight for top dog. 

“I’m Noah.” His hair was long, brushing his collar bone, and half of it was tied back. He had freckles dancing along the bridge of his nose. The swoop to Iwaizumi’s stomach was no longer a nervous one.

Iwaizumi’s throat went dry. 

Hanamaki had jokingly warned him about California girls before he left but he had failed to mention the boys. 

Slater came to the rescue, offering introductions for each of the other men. They were all friendly, hearts as big as their biceps and permanent smiles. They patted Iwaizumi on the back, ruffled his hair like his cousins used to when he was younger, and asked him questions about Japan. 

He had expected talking about his home to be painful but he found it wasn’t. It was a place he needed to remember, he had unkept promises to make up for waiting for him across the pacific and he wasn’t about to forget about them. 

He talked about his neighbourhood, the food, the fashion and he felt lighter. He did not mention Oikawa, or his team. They may put up with the interesting facts about Japan but a conversation about the personal things he had left behind would surely put a damper on the flow of conversation. 

Sam, one of Slater’s friends from the business course, said his grandmother was from Japan but he had never been before, didn’t even know if he had family over there, didn’t know if they knew him. It was an odd thought, such a disconnect from someone who shared your blood, but was DNA enough of a reason to love someone? To care for them beyond the typical care for your fellow man? 

Iwaizumi had lived his life by the principle that the blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb, but listening to Sam talk so wistfully about people that might not exist made Iwaizumi stop for a moment and consider the people he cared about and why. 

He loved people because they loved him, because of the shared understanding between them to be kind and to care and to listen. He had never spent much time thinking about the circumstances of love before, he had always considered it something thrust upon you rather than a choice but that seemed flippant, to deny the work that went into loving others. 

Oikawa had never been easy to take care of, so set on destroying himself. Iwaizumi had spent so many nights worried, so many evenings practicing with Oikawa even when his body had already given out just to monitor the setter, to make sure he wasn’t pushing himself too far. 

It was also the easiest thing Iwaizumi had ever done. It was almost second nature to him now, so ingrained into the fibre of his being that everything that used to be an annoyance now only brought fondness. Perhaps, distance truly does make the heart grow fonder. 

“You okay, man?” Noah asked, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He looked concerned, lips turned down into a frown. That alone was enough for Iwaizumi to snap out of it. 

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he responded. 

Noah did not look convinced but he did not press the matter and the only tell that he was still worried was the flitting of his eyes over to Iwaizumi occasionally as they made their way over to the restaurant. It was not a long walk but Iwaizumi was still tired from the early start and the plane journey. 

When they arrived, all Iwaizumi wanted was a nap, though wherever they were did not look conducive to peace and quiet. People were spilling out of the door, the lights were bright and the music booming. Oh well, Iwaizumi had survived outings he did not want to be a part of before- it was part of the deal of being friends with Oikawa and Hanamaki. 

One of the others had the good sense to reserve a table and they were shown to the back, slightly quieter part of the restaurant. Iwaizumi ended up sandwiched between Noah and Slater, bicep to bicep, knee to knee. 

Everything was hot and loud and pressing but despite it all Iwaizumi found himself having a good time. He did not know these people as well as they apparently knew each other but they talked to him like people that were genuinely interested, helped him read off the menu and explained far too many inside jokes that Iwaizumi probably did not care to know. 

His cheeks hurt from smiling, an ache so deep he could feel it in his chest. His heart pounded, but not unpleasantly- it was more exhilarated than anxious. The food was good, the music eventually quieted (or maybe Iwaizumi just grew used to it) and when the bill came and they set off back home, things felt significantly lighter than they had in the morning. 

His mind would linger on Oikawa sometimes, when Noah smirked and it looked eerily familiar, when he went to tell a story and couldn’t remember the details but had no one to turn to to remind him, when he checked his phone and saw he had not yet gotten a response from Oikawa. 

They retraced their steps back to the accommodation, laughing loudly enough to wake the unfortunate residents sleeping nearby and said their goodbyes at the meeting spot. Once they were back at their room, Iwaizumi’s bed looked a hell of a lot more comfortable than it had in the daylight. 

“Good night,” Slater mumbled, sleep seemingly having caught up with him as well. 

Iwaizumi did not have chance to respond before Slater’s breathing leveled out and it became apparent he had fallen asleep. Iwaizumi planned to follow suit, putting his phone on charge and getting into bed. As he lay for the few moments before sleep fully took him, he couldn’t help but dwell on the fact Oikawa still had not responded. 

His eyelids grew heavy and he was asleep before he could begin to rationalise. 

Iwaizumi had never been the best at studying. It’s not that he lacked the dedication, just the temperament. He would spend evenings after practice cooped up in his room, sprawling over textbooks and practice tests. 

But it had never made that much of a difference. He would get frustrated eventually and as soon as his mind became clouded with annoyance it didn’t matter how determined he was to stay sat at his desk, he would never absorb any of the material he was trying to revise. 

With each incorrect answer and misunderstood question, his annoyance with himself would grow and studying would become a counter-active cycle. He got decent grades, just never the ones he had hoped for. 

That’s why when his professor set the first graded essay of the term, Iwaizumi was determined to do well. He wasn’t some high schooler who could blame C’s and B’s on hormones. He dedicated his evenings to writing essay plans, reading research papers, perfecting his written English so he wouldn’t write the wrong thing. 

Slater had stopped asking him if he was joining them that evening. Iwaizumi was grateful for that, he didn’t need the temptation of distraction. He needed to remain focused. His mother had always scolded him for focusing too much on single things, but that’s what life was: a series of singularities, and Iwaizumi needed to focus on each one, at least for next three years until he could return to Japan with a degree under his belt. 

He typed until his fingers were numb and his eyes ached from the light of his laptop. It wasn’t until the day he hit the word count that he could begin the slightly lighter, if tedious, process of editing. He had never edited an essay before. 

Homework hadn’t mattered to him as much as study had; it certainly didn’t matter as much as volleyball training, or Oikawa. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for but he went through the process anyway, catching stray spelling mistakes and reordering awkward sentences, but not finding any major issues. 

He was proud of himself. 

It wasn’t really a feeling he had allowed himself to relish in that much, not for himself. He was proud of his sister, of his team, of his friends but when he focused on himself all he could feel was a kind of neutrality. 

The feeling was warm, it made a temporary home between his lungs, protected by his ribs and heating his heart until it felt numb. He was certain he had done well this once. He had worked hard, he had sacrificed his free time and he had gotten something worthwhile out of it. 

“You look pleased with yourself,” Noah said. 

They were sitting opposite each other in the library. Noah was one of the few people that Iwaizumi had met since coming here that could work in silence (most of the time). Whilst Iwaizumi appreciated the rowdiness of the others, it was nice sometimes to have some silent company. 

“I think I’m done.” 

“Nice!” Noah smiled, his voice was low as not to disturb others but he did sound genuinely pleased. “You’ve been writing that essay for ages. We should go out tonight to celebrate.” 

And they did. 

It was an hour into burgers and drinks that Iwaizumi realised he was exhausted. 

His muscles were so heavy with fatigue, keeping his eyelids up was a battle and any attempts at conversation came out garbled. It was on his third nodding off that he decided he was going to leave early. 

Noah had invited a few other friends so he wasn’t being left alone but when he looked at Iwaizumi, confused and strangely upset, it felt like he was. 

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi managed between yawns. “I’m just so tired.” 

Whatever sadness had possessed Noah seemed to pass as suddenly as it had come. He smiled and waved the apology away. 

“Don’t worry about it, dude. Get some sleep, you have an early class tomorrow right?”

It made Iwaizumi oddly happy that Noah knew his schedule. It’s not like it was an intimate thing, hell he knew Slater’s off by heart and Slater only attended 50% of his classes. 

Iwaizumi took his leave and started the walk back to the dorm block. 

He was so tired. 

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. It was like he was a puppet whose strings had been cut, the tension had been removed so suddenly that all he could do was flop at the whim of gravity. He slept through the night and when he woke to his alarm, he was certain he could sleep through the day as well. 

He was still too tired to comprehend what was going on around him. He pulled his T-shirt on backwards and when he realised, halfway out the door, he contemplated leaving it like that to save himself the effort. Luckily he still had some self respect and corrected it before heading to class. 

He was late and had to slip in and take a seat next to someone he had never talked to before in his life. Normally he chose the least desirable seats so as to avoid an awkward encounter, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially late beggars. 

He fumbled with the clip at the front of his backpack for a moment. Oikawa had always made fun of him for clipping it up but it was there for a reason- even if it only seemed to cause him embarrassment today. The girl next to him giggled as he struggled to unstick the clip and his face heated up. 

He was tired and burnt out and flustered. When the clip finally popped undone he nearly cried with relief. The girl next to him, dark hair and eyes and freckles all over her face, smiled teasingly. It wasn’t a cruel smile and Iwaizumi was relieved to know that at least someone got something out of the experience. 

He sat back in his seat and tucked his backpack under the table but his endeavours seemed to be fruitless because he could barely focus on the words the professor was saying. He caught stray phrases and jotted them down but his brain was fuzzed over so much that he couldn’t process their meanings. 

He didn’t even notice when the lesson was over, caught up in a debate with himself about the pros and cons of having a nap as soon as he got back to his dorm. 

The girl next to him, Mandy, he had remembered in one of his barely lucid tangents during the particularly boring parts of the lecture, stood so abruptly that it startled him. 

“Are you alright? You seem kind of out of it today.” Her accent was thicker than most and Iwaizumi struggled to decipher what she was asking for a moment. 

“Jus’ tired.” 

“Ah.” She nodded. “You should’ve just skipped. Nobody really pays attention in the morning lectures anyway.” 

Iwaizumi didn’t pay for a plane ticket, leave his family and friends, learn a new language and start a new life to just not attend lectures so he just shrugged. 

“Anyway, I wanted to give you this.” Her face had reddened slightly as she handed him a slip of paper. 

It was a phone number written in pretty handwriting with a heart at the end. 

Iwaizumi had done this a million times before, passed a girl's phone number on to Oikawa so he could deal with it. Girls had only ever really come up to him to talk about Oikawa. Not that he minded, he had never really had much interest in dating but it did become a bit monotonous after a while. 

“I’ll pass it on to him.” Was all he could think to say. 

The fact that this girl had no idea who Oikawa was hadn’t even occurred to Iwaizumi. It was a routine as mundane as breathing. Accepting a phone number on his best friend’s behalf was much more natural than accepting one for himself. 

“Him?” She blinked slowly, her flush had faded and her eyebrows furrowed. “Who’s ‘him’?” 

Iwaizumi huffed a laugh. He was too tired. No need to beat around the bush, he knew to a lot of people he was Oikawa’s best friend first and Iwaizumi Hajime second. 

“See you tomorrow,” He muttered. His eyes were growing heavy and despite the long list of cons, he needed a nap. 

“Iwaizumi, that’s for-” 

He was already gone. Desperate just to sleep some more. 

He couldn’t remember the walk back, couldn’t remember making it back to his room, couldn’t even remember falling asleep- it’s a miracle that when he woke up he was unharmed and in the right room. Sometimes, on rare occasions, luck was on his side. 

When he woke it felt like a fog had been lifted, a veil pulled from his eyes. It was Slater’s face that greeted him, hovering over him. Iwaizumi woke slowly and then with a start when he realised he wasn’t alone, shooting up so fast his head hurt. 

“Slater?” His throat was clogged with remnants of sleep. “What are you doing man? I was sleeping.” 

He tried not to sound too annoyed. The friendship he had built here in California was not yet secure and he didn’t think he would be able to handle this alone- he struggled with ordering food without their translations sometimes. 

“Mornin’.” Slater pulled back to give Iwaizumi a bit of room. He was grinning maniacally. “I heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that someone-” He looked pointedly at Iwaizumi, “rejected Mandy.” 

“We’re not in high school. What are you doing gossiping about stuff?” Iwaizumi had never risen graciously and as he flung off his duvet to realise he had never bothered getting out of his day clothes his mood worsened significantly. 

“It wasn’t gossip- it was just…” He struggled for the word for a moment before settling on a shrug. “Anyway, why on god’s green earth would you ever refuse Mandy’s phone number?” 

“Mandy? I didn’t reject her. She didn’t even ask me out. She asked me to pass her number on to-” 

His brain caught up in an instant. Previously addled with exhaustion, he was now refreshed and entirely able to feel the sudden onslaught of horror that overtook him. 

“Wait, who did she want you to give her number to?” 

Iwaizumi buried his face in his hands. “Shit shit shit. I’m so stupid.” 

His face was burning so much it felt like his eyes would melt. 

“Huh?” Slater placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright man?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine just-” He groaned again, recollecting Mandy’s confusion. “Just super dumb.” 

Slater laughed at that. Iwaizumi simultaneously wanted to push the hand of his shoulder and go back to sleep until the memory, or at least the burn of embarrassment faded, and make him laugh again. He sounded so much like his friends in Japan when he did that- laugh at Iwaizumi’s misfortune. 

Maybe it was a stupid thing to get homesick over. Things that had annoyed him at the time now brought a deep sadness to his chest when he thought of their absence; his friends’ complete lack of empathy, his sister’s yelling, his mother’s too loud music. 

If Oikawa heard about this he would talk about it for months. But he wouldn’t know unless Iwaizumi told him. They were too distant to have what they used to have in Japan, how they knew exactly what went on in the other’s life- whether they wanted them to or not. 

Now Iwaizumi had to select the highlights of his life to send to Oikawa in a manageable message. In Japan even the mundane had been shared, now it felt like even major events could be ignored if it meant a little bit longer listening to Oikawa’s voice, rather than his own.

Maybe Oikawa did the same, rescinded information because they just didn’t have the time anymore. That hurt to think about. Whoever Oikawa’s new roommate was probably knew more about his current state of affairs than Iwaizumi did. 

“Well, if you want to talk about it I’m always here for you, dude.” Slater finally took another step back, giving Iwaizumi the room to get out of bed. “It can’t be that embarrassing.”

It was. 

He used to get so annoyed at being reduced to a tag-along to Oikawa. He was Oikawa’s friend, Oikawa’s vice captain, Oikawa’s ace. He was never his own and that had frustrated him. But here he was doing the same to himself- assuming people in California saw him for his relationship to Oikawa. 

It was pathetic, but Oikawa would probably see the humour in it. 

He changed his T-shirt, glad to be rid of the stench of sleep sweat, and typed out a message to Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi 

>I just accidentally assumed a girl giving me her phone number wanted me to pass it along to you. 

>She doesn’t even know who you are. 

To Iwaizumi’s surprise, Oikawa started typing near instantly. 

Oikawa

>Iwa!!!

>That’s so embarrassing gsajhsjag

>I can’t believe you 

>Though maybe she did want you to pass it along, my reputation is world wide you know

Iwaizumi smiled. He knew the story would reach Matsukawa and Hanamaki soon enough. The thought of them all laughing, without him, was a sad one but also comforting. Maybe when he returned everything would be the same, no change. 

It wasn’t realistic but Iwaizumi could hope it was. 

Iwaizumi

>I’m a California heartthrob now.

>When I come back to Japan girls are going to ask you for my number. 

>Get ready for second place. 

It wasn’t unexpected when Oikawa didn’t read the messages immediately. He was busy and Iwaizumi had been lucky that he was probably already on his phone when he sent the first message but his breaks between working out were short and he was probably back at it.

It scared Iwaizumi to think about what damage Oikawa could inflict on himself without somewhere there to stop him. Iwaizumi was used to running interference. They had had countless arguments because Iwaizumi had tried to get him to relax. 

Oikawa didn’t respond well to what he perceived as patronisation. He couldn’t handle what he thought was an insult of his pride, but Iwaizumi would rather fight with him than watch him destroy himself. 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki weren’t useless and it was self-centered of Iwaizumi to think that without him Oikawa would crumble, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like he was being hollowed out without Oikawa and surely he mattered as much to Oikawa as Oikawa did to him. 

His message was still unread. Perhaps not. 

He turned his phone off. He had begun to hate going on it just to see the absence of notifications. Even his sister was messaging less. Maybe they had all been waiting to get rid off him, to slowly cut him off because he couldn’t take the hint that no one had ever like him and was stupid to even- 

“Want to go get a burrito?” Slater asked, not looking up from his phone. 

Oh well, he had friends here. 

“Sure,” Iwaizumi responded, voice hoarse.

3.

Iwaizumi missed a lot about Japan. It wasn’t an unexpected consequence about moving halfway round the world. He knew that America would be vastly different from his home, that he would feel out of place, that he wouldn’t have the same access to friends and family. 

He had just thought that the longing would come in bursts. That there would be moments he was alright with the unfamiliarity and moments that he wasn’t. It wasn’t quite like that. The feeling of wrongness was omnipresent. 

It waned and waxed but there was never a period in which Iwaizumi could honestly say that his homesickness was completely gone. It was unwavering and impossible to get used to, taking the forms of a million different beasts- each aching in a new way. 

Sometimes it was remarkably close to joy, or at least nostalgia, and sometimes it was the undeniable heaving form of misery. But Iwaizumi had had time to prepare, he had his mother’s cookbook and he had his friends in America. 

The one thing that he hadn’t realised he was going to miss as much as he did was volleyball. They played it in America but it was overwhelmingly women's or beach teams. He had very little time for it anyway, performing what he considered the minimum of staying in shape but maybe that was just an excuse. 

Oikawa would never be too busy for volleyball. He wasn’t exactly someone to look up to as having a healthy relationship with the sport, but Iwaizumi was jealous of the dedication. He missed volleyball so much it hurt; he missed playing with his team, he missed being Oikawa’s ace. 

But none of that was a deal breaker for him. Not like it would have been for Oikawa. Not like it would have been for Kageyama or Karasuno’s Number 10 or any of the other psychos he had encountered in his three years of high school volleyball. 

Iwaizumi just wasn’t as obsessed as others. Didn’t work as hard. 

He still missed it. 

So when Derek brought up that he had played volleyball in high school, Iwaizumi had leapt at the opportunity to play, not only on a court but with an actual friend. If he wasn’t so desperate maybe he would have had the decency to at least try to control his excitement but it was the first time in months that he had even gotten close to filling the gaping hole of homesickness. 

He talked to Derek for the remainder of the evening. What position did he play? Was his team any good? How did he serve? 

Iwaizumi felt like a starved man presented a feast. The foods were rich, they hurt his stomach and made him feel like a glutton, but he would be a fool to deny them. Derek answered happily. He seemed glad to find someone else who loved volleyball. 

“Do you want to play sometime?” Derek asked. “I mean it would just be us two so we wouldn’t be able to play a game or anything, but it’s been so long you’d probably thrash me anyway. Maybe just some drills after classes one day?” 

“Sure,” Iwaizumi said. His excitement hadn’t faded and he was still caught in the rush of finally finding someone. He would have agreed to play volleyball with anyone at that point; as long as they loved the sport then Iwaizumi would indulge himself in playing with them. 

The promise was forgotten for a while. Well, forgotten by Derek. Iwaizumi had a refreshed focus on the sport. He would rewatch his old high school matches, go down to the beach to view the beach volleyball- whoever enjoyed playing a game based around jumping on sand was insane, but it was a fun watch. 

Derek just never brought it back up again. He and Iwaizumi didn’t share classes, they were friends due to mutual friends. Iwaizumi didn’t even think he had Derek’s number- he definitely hadn’t saved it. So, the next opportunity to bring up the plan was weeks later. 

The holidays were drawing near and people were starting to relax more. Including Slater and his friends which meant spending the night huddled shoulder to shoulder in a dorm room built for two, drinking the cheapest beer they could find and watching whatever was on the TV- whether it be a video game that someone had hooked up or a TV show. 

They had started putting Japanese subtitles on when it was the latter, because actors talked fast and with a larger range of accents, which Iwaizumi appreciated, but he preferred when it was video games. He never played, never wished to. He was used to watching older cousins, watching Matsukawa and Hanamaki. He was happy to observe. 

Derek, it seemed, was the same. He sat at the back next to Iwaizumi. 

“Younger sibling too?” He asked, smiling as if he was already confident in the answer. 

“Nah.” Iwaizumi huffed a laugh. “I have a younger sister, I just have a lot of older cousins and selfish friends.” 

“Back in Japan?” 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi hardened his voice. He didn’t like to talk about it. Just thinking was hard enough. 

Derek noticed the tension and pulled back. “Sorry, I won’t bring it up again.” 

“No. It’s fine… just I miss them.” 

Derek nodded and took another sip of whatever it was he was drinking. 

“We never played volleyball together.” 

Iwaizumi’;s heart started pounding at that. He had thought Derek had forgotten, or hoped Iwaizumi had, so never brought it up. 

“No we didn’t. Do you still want to?” Iwaizumi didn’t try to hide the hope in his voice. 

Derek smiled. It was an unrestrained thing, toothy and wide. “Yeah. I’d really like that.” 

His voice had dipped into something more sincere. Iwaizumi felt his face heat. The room was crowded and small, the fan had stopped working, it probably never had and all Iwaizumi could focus on was how pretty Derek looked. 

He had hoped his attraction to Noah was an anomaly. Apparently not. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“Saturday? Meet at the gym entrance at eight?” Iwaizumi offered. 

“Early riser? Alright. I’ll see you there.” 

The thought of playing volleyball did nothing to dampen the homesickness, if anything it worsened it, but it did make it take a softer shape- less bitter and more tender. Iwaizumi smiled and then turned his attention back to the television, where Slater was getting crushed by Zach in whatever fighting game it was they were playing. 

Iwaizumi arrived at the gym on Saturday at 7:45. He had debated messaging Oikawa about what he was doing, how he was going to play volleyball again, but he had decided against it at the last minute, message already typed and thumb hovering over the send button. 

He didn’t know why he didn’t send the message. Maybe it was the shame that playing volleyball had ever become something so unusual it needed remarking upon- volleyball every day had been the norm for so long and now he was excited about doing some drills. 

Maybe it was just that he was playing with someone else. As inevitable as it was that they would eventually have to move on from their highschool team, it still felt like a betrayal. Oikawa would probably find a way to be offended by it at least. 

He had been moody lately. He was probably overworking himself again, caught up in that spiral like a snake eating its own tail. Iwaizumi had already tried to message Hanamaki and Matsukawa about it, but they said they were handling it. 

If they were, and Iwaizumi did trust them that much at least, then perhaps Oikawa was just annoyed at him. If it was him that Oikawa had taken problem with- 

“Hey!”

Iwaizumi’s thoughts were interrupted by Derek announcing his arrival. 

He had a volleyball tucked under his arm and he was wearing what must have been his highschool kit, with how ill fitting it was. 

“Have you been waiting long?” He asked when he met Iwaizumi. 

“No. Just five minutes.” 

Iwaizumi had always been early and his friends had always been late, he was used to waiting. 

“Do you want to head in?” Derek’s voice was a bundle of nervous energy. Iwaizumi was glad Derek was excited as well, it made him feel less childish. 

They navigated the gym. It was busy in the morning, at least in the fitness section. As they grew nearer to the team sports area the crowds thinned. When Iwaizumi pushed open the gymnasium doors everything felt right again. 

The floor was pristine, the air smelt crisp and clean, his footsteps echoed off the tall walls and high ceilings. When Iwaizumi stepped onto the wooden floor, his footsteps cushioned, he felt the tension in his muscles loosen slightly. 

They set up the nets together, working in a kind of comfortable silence that Iwiazumi hadn’t expected- the people here were loud and as much as Iwaizumi appreciated the distraction sometimes, he had missed the quiet comfort of year old friendship. 

The nets were older than Iwiazumi would have liked; holes were forming at the edges and the string tying it to the post was frayed and weak, but it would do. It would have to do. Iwaizumi wasn’t giving up volleyball just because it didn’t match the standards he had set- he would settle and adapt and have fun. 

Derek tightened the last string, pulling the net taught and straight. It towered over both of them, neither being particularly tall for volleyball players. 

“How do you want to start?” Derek asked. 

Time passed in a kind of frenzied blur. Iwaizumi had performed two people drills before but he had forgotten just how intense they could be. Without five other people to clean up after your slip ups, you quickly grow sweaty and frustrated at lost points. 

You have no one to blame but yourself, and perhaps the skills of your opponent- but Iwaizumi had always been of the belief that it didn’t matter how good your opponent was, as long as you were better. Responsibility fell on you to win; you can’t just count on others losing. 

Derek was a good player. He clearly hadn’t had a natural affinity for the sport. His movements spoke of trained response and patience, his eyes held the kind of annoyance at each dropped ball that was only found in the eyes of people who worked hard to get where they were. 

He was comparable to Karasuno’s captain in sturdiness, strong movements, and complete control over the ball defensively. Iwaizumi had lost some skill in the period he spent away from the sport. Saves he knew he could have gotten in the past hit the floor, and his jumps fell short of the height he used to have. 

Discipline was an easy thing to lose. It takes years to get into habits but only a day to slip out of them. Iwaizumi relaxed his shoulders and wiped the sweat from his brow. The smile that came to his face was one that he wasn’t sure he had shown since he boarded the plane in Japan- half manic in the glee of a challenge. 

They performed several drills over the course of the next couple of hours and by the end of it they were both aching heaps sitting against the far wall of the gymnasium. 

“You’re good. Way better than me,” Derek panted. His face was scarlet and tipped up. “I bet your team won a shit ton of competitions.”

“Nah. Never even made it to Nationals.” It was a bitter truth but one Iwaizumi found himself accepting more and more each day. Oikawa would probably hate to hear him say it but he could at least be content with the loss. 

He was going to crush whoever came up against him next time, however. 

Derek looked across at him, concern blatant. Maybe Iwaizumi’s tone had still held some of that bitterness. He didn’t seem to find anything to further his worry because he smiled. 

“Man, that sucks.” 

“Yeah. My friend, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi began. He hadn’t talked about Oikawa to his Californian friends before- he had always thought he would keep the two worlds separate. “He took it really hard. He never liked losing and the people we lost to- we should have defeated them 2-0.” 

Derek nodded at him to continue. 

“Oikawa had always had this complex about being the best, about his pride carrying him to the finish line. He never thought he was above the team, he was an amazing captain, just- he thought that if he wanted it hard enough he would get it. And we didn’t. “ 

He had never really talked about Oikawa before. Everyone he could have talked to about him, knew Oikawa as well. It was nice explaining it to a blank sheet- puzzling through his thoughts without having to worry about ramifications. 

“Is he-” Derek hesitated, his earlier ease had melted into something more disturbed. “Is he dead?” 

Iwaizumi blinked. 

He couldn't formulate a response that could possibly articulate his complete and utter confusion at the question. His mouth opened and closed around empty words. 

“Sorry, if that’s insensitive.” Derek immediately backtracked, words spewing out a mile a minute whilst Iwaizumi’s remained stuck in his throat. “You were just talking about him so… so mournfully like he had passed away or something.” 

“He’s-” Iwaizumi fumbled. “He’s not dead. He’s alive in Japan.”

Derek released a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God. My dad always said I let my mouth work faster than my brain but you just seemed so upset about him. I’m glad he’s alright.” 

Alright was a separate matter to alive, Iwaizumi thought, but he wasn’t going to cause Derek any further emotional strain. 

“Yeah, Oikawa’s fine.” 

“Do you miss him?” 

“Yeah, I do. He was my best friend. Before I left Japan I couldn't imagine going a week without seeing him, as pathetic as it sounds.” Iwaizumi was aware he was becoming mildly emotional, nostalgia bubbling thick and heavy in his chest. 

“Have you kept in touch?” 

“We try. Time zones are tricky and we’re both busy all the time. It’s difficult to stay as close as we were in high school but I’m sure as soon as I get back to Japan things’ll go back to normal.”

“Yeah dude!” Derek’s voice was slightly strained. Californian men, as it turned out, were not especially built for emotional conversations and comforting others. 

Iwaizumi appreciated it regardless. He had needed to talk about Oikawa with someone. The feeling of separation had grown so complete, so utterly consuming that Iwaizumi was no longer convinced he was overreacting about the number of unread messages, of missed face times and muted responses. 

It hurt and he knew Oikawa was probably hurting as well, but he needed him. He had left everything behind in Japan and he understood Oikawa probably felt abandoned but the isolation from his old life, his old friends, he could barely handle that if Oikawa was acting like he normally did. 

But he wasn’t. 

And Iwaizumi was struggling 

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Iwaizumi asked, standing on shaky legs and offering a hand out to Derek. 

Derek took it, sweaty palm clasped against sweaty palm. 

“Sure, your choice.”

California was a reckoning. Iwaizumi was forced to reconsider so much of his life. Perhaps reconsider wasn’t  the right word- just consider . He did not want to return to Japan and immediately change everything, he just noticed things about himself and his teenage years that he wouldn’t have back at home. 

For example, his complete lack of romantic experience. The closest he had come to dating a girl was listening to Oikawa complain about the woes of having a girlfriend. He had offered advice, passed on phone numbers, comforted friends after they had their hearts broken, but all that was as far as he went. 

He couldn’t remember if he had ever even had a crush. He had certainly never been consumed by the passions that Oikawa waxed poetic about. He loved his family and his friends and volleyball, he didn’t really have the room for much more. 

It was this lack of consideration that led to foolishness. Iwaizumi liked to be practised- to know exactly what he was going to be faced with. He had never thought love was on the horizon for him so he hadn’t worried about his lack of experience. 

That was until he was asked out. 

For the second time. 

This time, however, he knew exactly what was going on. He was painfully aware of the situation, and how equipped he was to deal with it. It was a man, undeniably, with cropped hair, face rough with stubble, hand large and warm as it rested on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. 

He wasn’t someone that Iwaizumi knew well; they had met twice and both times Iwaizumi had not really paid him any special attention. He was nice, quick to laugh, and loud. He was quiet now though. 

His face was red and his eyes were darting about, not settling on any particular spot. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a meal with me-” He tried to make eye contact but it was fleeting, “like on a date.” 

Iwaizumi felt like a newborn deer on ice. He had been plopped at the centre of a frozen lake, surrounded by hazards, as if one wrong step may make the surface crack and his legs were barely strong enough to support his body weight, never mind swim if he was plunged into the water. 

“I’m sorry,” He began, and the other’s face fell immediately. “I don’t like men like that. Thank you for asking me, though. I think you’re a really nice person and I would like to see you more.” 

“Yeah,” He breathed out. His eyebrows were furrowed and his gaze set on the floor, still at last. “That would be nice. Thank you, Iwa.” 

The nickname caught Iwaizumi’s breath in his throat. He hadn’t been called that since the airport. 

“See you soon,” Iwaizumi managed, choking on a wave of homesickness. 

It was different from the first confession, perhaps because he was actually awake for this one but also in the way it lingered. The other had been embarrassing, so mortifying that Iwaizumi could barely meet the girl’s eyes anymore without feeling the urge to apologise. 

This one stuck in an entirely different way. It didn’t burn his cheeks or make him bury his face in his hands; when he thought of it he almost felt light, a comfortable warmth in his chest. The flashes that came to him weren’t nightmarish. 

There was still guilt and embarrassment but there was also a sense of satisfaction. Not a cruel, sadistic satisfaction born from rejecting another. But it felt nice to be liked, to be considered worthy of affection. The boy had been pretty, he was popular as well- funny and sweet- and he had chosen Iwaizumi to confess to, to take a risk on. 

Iwaizumi had let him down but he couldn’t help the small bundle of joy at being asked out. 

He returned to his room with a smile on his face, choosing quite deliberately not to focus on how utterly different his reaction had been between the two confessions and instead focus on the fact that Slater was inviting him to the beach… again.

Iwaizumi hadn’t expected to like the beach as much as he had grown to in California. His memories of it as a child were dampened slightly by the memories of older cousins leaving him at the shore so they could go deeper into the water than his mum had allowed, sunburnt shoulders and shoes filled with scratching sand for weeks after. 

But now he actually quite liked it. He would slather suncream on his shoulders and nose, insisting Slater did the same, he had invested in a pair of flip flops since it became apparent most evenings would be spent down in the sand and he no longer had to worry about drowning in thigh deep water. 

Three of the guys had surfboards but most didn’t so Iwaizumi wasn’t alone when he sat on the sand. They would build a small fire and cook hot dogs or burgers until the sun had fully dipped below the horizon and the night wind blew over the water to send them back to their dorms. 

It was the Friday after the second confession and everyone was on the beach again for the third time in one week but the night was warm and Salter convinced him it would be a waste to stay in the library when it was supposed to start getting cold again soon. 

His swimming trunks were still wet from last time, hung over the end of his bed to be taken care of but inevitably forgotten. 

“I’ll go,” Iwaizumi acquiesced at last, slamming the textbook he hadn’t really been reading shut. “But I’m not swimming.” 

Slater smiled. 

They walked to the beach together, Slater had his surfboard tucked under his arm. It was a battered thing and the waves hadn’t been good in days yet Slater persisted in bringing it every time. The effort of lugging the extra weight only to paddle and sit on the board had never seemed worth it to Iwaizumi but the optimism of them all, not just Slater, to bring their boards every time was endearing. 

By the time they reached the beach Slater was sweating profusely and Iwaizumi had offered to carry the board three times. Each time it was refused with slightly less certainty. 

They were last to the beach. By the time they reach the bottom of the dunes that sheltered the shore from the carpark, a fire was already crackling. 

Noah stood over the flames, half heartedly tending to them with a stick. Iwaizumi’s gut clenched in a way it hadn’t since the last time Oikawa had set to him when Noah turned to look at him and his smile immediately widened. 

“Hey, Iwaizumi!” He waved. 

Slater grumbled at the lack of acknowledgment of his presence but he got over his annoyance fast when he saw that Noah had always brought his board. 

“Ah!” He clapped Noah’s shoulder “Great minds think alike!” 

He laughed, corners of his eyes crinkling and dimples showing on his cheeks. He’d had a haircut since Iwaizumi had last seen him. Iwaizumi mourned the loss of the curls but the cut brought out his cheekbones in a way that only worsened the tightening of his chest. 

The passing attraction to men had become harder to ignore since he arrived in California. They were more open here than they had been back in Japan. Guys walked around shirtless without a care in the world, people were less formal, more touchy and any politeness was forgone for a kind of casual friendliness the instant you spent more than two minutes together. 

It had been jarring at first, it still was at times, but not entirely unwelcome. The kind of chatter and play fighting that had taken Iwaizumi years to build up with his team at home had blossomed here within months. Friendship in Japan was like an orchid, you could tend to it carefully, measure the pH of the soil everyday, put it in a position with the exact right amount of sunlight, and still it might not grow. 

But maybe that was just high school, less to do with where than when. High schools, especially the athletics ones, were cesspits of hormones and inferiority complexes and at college it seemed like people relaxed a bit more, mellowed out. 

Whatever the cause was, the casualness of each interaction even with strangers had forced Iwaizumi to come to terms with his very apparent lack of romantic know-how. He had never even had a crush before and now everyone was coming to him and confessing. 

Everyone was an exaggeration. It had only been 2, a normal Tuesday for Oikawa, but it was more than Iwaizumi expected to receive and most importantly it was enough to convince him to finally consider the romance in his life, specifically the lack of it. 

Noah and Slater were heading to the sea and suddenly things started to make a little bit more sense. 

Noah’s leg muscles were defined, ridges of hard tissue toned to perfection. Iwaizumi glanced away quickly. 

Oh.

He had lied earlier. 

When he said he didn’t like men like that , it had been a lie because so clearly he did. Straight guys typically don’t feel warm inside at the sight of another man’s leg muscles, at least he didn’t think they did. 

But it wasn’t just Noah. 

He took a breath, staring into the fire like it could burn away the memories of his teenage years spent in locker rooms thinking he was having a heart palpitation every time Oikawa got too close, zeroing in on the male lead during every kissing scene in every movie he had watched, contemplating a Californian boys confession way more than he had a Californian girls. 

His face was heating up and he could no longer pretend it was just the fire, which had started to dim since Noah left. His heart was thumping so hard he could feel it bashing into his ribs, straining to escape. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” He surprised himself by saying it. When the words left it hadn’t even sounded like him, strained and wheezing. “I have work due tomorrow that I forgot about.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, turning his back on the murmurs of surprise and then shouts of protest as he clambered back up the dune. The sand stung his feet and knees and the evening sun was still hot enough to scorch his back, but none of that discomfort compared to the rising wave of panic. 

When he reached the top he was out of breath, chest pulled tight and numb. He could see the faint silhouettes of Noah and Slater on the water. The waves were tiny but if he focused hard enough he could see their smiles. 

The walk home was a blur and reaching the dorm in one piece was nothing short of a miracle. His swimming trunks were like a taunt, hanging off his bed frame. 

Iwaizumi

>Oikawa?

>Are you awake? 

They had been doing better recently, texting more frequently and face timing often, but still Iwaizumi was surprised when he got a near instant response. 

Oikawa

>always for you, iwa-chan

>is everything okay? 

Was everything okay? Was Iwaizumi fine with this revelation? 

Iwaizumi

>Yeah, I was just wondering if we could talk? 

>I think I’m gay 

The words were out there. Branded onto his screen. Iwaizumi took a shuddering breath. He was nervous of rejection but not expectant of it; despite all his insecurities about Oikawa’s greatness and his own mediocrity, Iwaizumi knew they were friends, closer than friends. 

Oikawa

>oh!

>im so proud of you Iwa!!

>jsakskjsa this is embarrassing but i thought you already out to me 

Iwaizumi

>I wasn’t even out to myself?? 

>I just realised today? 

Oikawa

>ahh!! then im doubly proud of you

>california must be doing you some good then!

>meeting some pretty boys? ;)

Iwaizumi

>Why did you think I was gay?

>I mean I am but how did you know

Oikawa

>you just never had a crush on a girl and we used to practice kissing together when we were like 13 and you check guys out like all the time! and you asked me to marry you when we were 4 and when i said no you immediately asked out all the other boys as revenge 

>the list goes on iwa 

>i really am so proud of you tho! and i know you already know, but this doesn’t change anything you are still my perfect wittle iwa chan 

Iwaizumi

>Thank you, Oikawa 

>I mean it. 

>I miss you so much

There had been no shortages of ‘i miss you’s since Iwaizumi had left Japan but this one felt especially intimate. Tears blurred his vision, his hands shook as he typed and Iwaizumi was sure he had never meant words more than those ones. 

Oikawa

>i miss you too iwa :((

>but don’t think youre getting away without telling me about the lucky man that was your gay awakening!! 

Iwaizumi huffed, something between a laugh and a huff, before he began to type again. 

The years passed quickly in California. It had been slow at first, each day spread out by confusion and loneliness, but as he grew used to it all — the language, the people, the absence of familarities from Japan — it started to flow smoother. 

It was like a tap had been turned on and before Iwaizumi knew it he was throwing his graduation cap into the air and booking flights home. They were a week away and as Iwaizumi sat on the dunes of the beach, watching the people he had come to consider close friends dance around the clumsy campfire they had managed to assemble, he knew he would miss what he had found here. 

It felt like a curse. Whilst here he missed Japan with his entire body but as soon as he leaves, he knew he would miss this place dearly. He would miss the sun, the surfing, the food. The sand was starting to dig into his legs and the fire had started to spew more smoke than flames so Iwaizumi excused himself. 

“I’ll be back out later,” He half answered when Slater asked where he was going. “Just need to message Oikawa.” 

It was a name that was mentioned a lot but never discussed in greater detail. Everyone knew to some degree who Oikawa was, a friend that Iwaizumi had left behind in Japan, but prodding further into the relationship only earnt them a moody Iwaizumi. 

“Okay, man.” Slater nodded. 

Iwaizumi started the trek back. The sand dunes were mountains that crumbled underfoot, near impossible to climb. The plants that grew on top were as rough as the sand they grew in, sharp and prickling as Iwaizumi pushed through. 

He pulled his phone out once he had caught his breath. Sand had gotten caught between the case and the screen. Maybe he wouldn’t miss the beach as much as he thought he would. 

Iwaizumi 

>I’ll be back in a week

>I can’t wait to see you

Oikawa 

>oh 

>oh shit 

>im leaving for brazil in 2 days 

That was the first Iwaizumi had heard of Oikawa going to Brazil. He hadn’t mentioned it in the past. Suddenly bitterness consumed him. Oikawa had given him such a hard time about leaving and now he was doing the same? 

It wasn’t fair. 

Iwaizumi just wanted to see him again, hear his voice, hug him, hold him.

But he wouldn’t. 

Who knew how long Oikawa would spend away. 

Iwaizumi 

>I didn’t realise you were going to Brazil? 

>What are you doing there? 

>How long will you be gone for?

Oikawa 

>i need to spend some time away from japan. 

>i need to love volleyball again, i need to train 

>im so sorry iwa, i was gonna tell you but i didn’t know how 

>I thought you would be staying in california for a little bit longer 

>iwa im so sorry 

When he first arrived in California, Iwaizumi would have done anything to be free of the homesickness but now he wished it was Japan he was longing for. Japan was within reach, he would be there soon with his family, the familiar houses, the cooking. 

Oikawa wasn’t within reach and it was this knowledge that clarified any misconceptions Iwaizumi might have had about what it was he wanted to return to. 

But it would be wrong to be angry, to lash out. Oikawa had spent so much of his life dedicated to others and the fact that one day he’d do something for himself was not something should detest, he should be proud, excited even. 

Iwaizumi

>I’m not mad, Oikawa

>I’m happy for you, you deserve this and when you get back you’ll be ready to kick the entire world’s ass 

Oikawa

>that means a lot coming from you iwa

>im so sorry i didnt tell you

>i was such a dick about california and now im doing this 

Iwaizumi

>it doesn’t matter now 

And it didn’t. It really, truly didn’t. The past was the past for Iwaizumi and even if Oikawa still felt guilt over the weeks of radio silence before Iwaizumi left Japan, it wasn’t something Iwaizumi particularly held against him. 

Oikawa was more emotionally stunted than people gave him credit for. People assumed because he was charming and had girlfriends and was captain of the volleyball team that he was emotionally competent. But he wasn’t. 

He couldn’t process his own feelings, nevermind other people’s. Kyoutani was probably more stable than Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi

>I’ll come and visit you as soon as I can afford a plane ticket

Oikawa

>i love you iwa

>i dont deserve how nice you are to me

Iwaizumi

>Shut up 

>Go to Brazil, become the best setter you can be and beat all those fuckers who said you couldn’t do it 

Oikawa

>was your degree in motivational speaking?

>iwa is so mature now <333

Iwaizumi ignored the rising heat in his cheek and tucked his phone back into his pocket. He had just spent a horrid few minutes climbing the sand dunes but all he wanted now was to be at the bottom again, surrounded by friends and noise and food to distract him. 

The only thing stopping him was his pride. Oikawa had always scolded him for his pridefulness, always refusing to apologise first, to admit weakness aloud, to accept pity but recently his grip on his dignity had loosened.

He spent quiet nights, the rare times they didn’t go to the beach, longing for chances to redo, to forgo his ego if it meant that he could share another peaceful moment with Oikawa. California had changed him but absence from what he knew changed him more. 

Being away from Oikawa had reshaped him more than the new people he met had. Even when he wasn’t there, Oikawa’s influence was the most important one. Iwaizumi’s eyes were wet and he still hadn’t caught his breath. 

Iwaizumi

>Just come back to me one day 

Oikawa

>you can’t get rid of me

Iwaizumi tipped his face up to the sky. It was Karasuno orange, bright enough to give Iwaizumi a headache. His vision blurred as a tear finally broke free. It trailed down his cheek and chin. 

At least he would be going home. 

At least he would have more time to improve himself before he saw OIkawa again. 

At least it wasn’t the end. 

+1

Even in their third year of high school and they had lost the last match they would ever play together, when the fact of their inevitable separation became unavoidable, Iwaizumi had not entertained the possibility that he and Oikawa would ever meet on opposite sides of the net. 

It had never seemed like a possibility that if one won the other lost, that they would ever have different outcomes for a match. But even as Oikawa set the last point before Japan lost, before Iwaizumi lost, it filled Iwaizumi with pride. 

Maybe it was best that they were against each other, because in either eventuality, whether Japan won or lost, Iwaizumi could be happy. Oikawa had proved everyone wrong; he had reached the top. The ball hit the ground for the last time and the whistle was blown. 

Iwaizumi’s forehead was damp with sweat despite not touching the ball once. His breathing was short and his chest was clenched like he had just ran a marathon. His team had done well, they hadn’t rolled over and let the Argetinians destroy them, but the victory was still decisive. 

Hinata, a team member Iwaizumi had expected for all intents and purposes to be annoying as hell but had actually turned out to be the most manageable one, was chatting to Oikawa through the net. He was miming Oikawa’s movements as Oikawa beamed at him. 

The language they spoke in excited bursts was one Iwaizumi did not understand. It was probably Portuguese. Oikawa laughed at something Hinata had said, head tilting so that the sweat on his forehead shone in the harsh lights of the olympic gymnasium. 

They were ushered off before long and shuntered back to the waiting area so the floor could be cleared. There was a moment, chatter in two languages filling the small space, shoulders pressed against shoulders, that Iwaizumi thought, with a certainty that had scared him, that Oikawa was not going to notice him. 

That this was the final severance of their relationship. 

Then Oikawa’s eyes met his. 

“Iwa-chan!” He was smiling, wider than he had when they had won. 

The room felt empty apart from Oikawa. It was hot and tight and loud but all Iwaizumi could afford to focus on was him . His heart fluttered and his stomach dropped like that moment where you are at the tip of a roller coaster, about to drop but still dangling- excitement bubbling with fear. 

“Oikawa.” He hadn’t shouted like Oikawa had, the words might not have even left his lips but it didn’t matter because Oikawa was already crossing the room to him. 

The room melted away like the scenery in an impressionist painting, swirling and fading so the world could centralise on one point: Oikawa. He had changed so much since they had last seen each other in person, hair cropped shorter than it had ever been before, freckles on his nose, smile slightly more crooked. 

He looked good. 

It was overwhelming but before Iwaizumi even had time to process the fact that Oikawa was growing near, he was enveloped in a hug. Oikawa grabbed him like he was falling, hands clasped and elbows digging into Iwaizumi’s sides. 

There was a desperation for closeness that was so different from the casual ease in which they had sought each other as teenagers. It took a moment but when the shock passed Iwaizumi was hugging back with equal fervour. 

His head didn’t come to the top of Oikawa’s shoulders so he tucked under his chin instead. His hands latched on to Oikawa’s back with a childishness that would embarrass him later but in the moment felt like a necessity. 

Oikawa was laughing in his ear, discordant and more stunned than humoured. 

“I missed you.” 

“Yeah, me too”

They pulled away but Iwaizumi’s hand did not leave Oikawa’s arm, total separation felt too final, too damning. Oikawa was still smiling, corners of his eyes wrinkling and dimples showing. It was infectious and Iwaizumi found himself unable to stop smiling as well. 

They were so close, closer than strictly necessary even in such a cramped room. Chest pressed against chest, noses millimetres apart. 

To kiss would only take moving a fraction of an inch upwards. 

“You look good, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa murmured, his voice was rough. “I’m happy for you.” 

“You’re the one that won, the one that proved the fuckers wrong.” 

Oikawa’s smile softened, not losing any of its joy but shrinking into something more tender. Then his lips were against Iwaizumi’s, soft and warm and sweet. They pulled away fast, it had barely been more than a peck, a glancing pass more than a passionate confession. 

It wasn’t enough. Years of communicating through a phone, of not actually seeing each other, of pining away at a screen, a thousand kisses would neer be enough to make up for it. Iwaizumi pulled him down, hand fisted in his jersey and kissed him. 

Oikawa hummed in surprise at first but relaxed at once and they locked together, hands on faces and knotted in hair, breaths mingling and eyes screwed shut.It was the kiss of pre teens huddled in a bedroom, knees almost touching, of teenagers alone in the locker room, of young adults reunited after years of separation, of men who had finally proven the world wrong. 

The world was still and then as they pulled away it resumed in all its bright, loud, annoying glory. 

“Oh.” Oikawa breathed “Wow, cool, wow. That was um-” 

“I like you.” Iwaizumi flushed at the confession, aware of the fact he sounded like a high school girl with a crush. “I always have.” 

Oikawa’s hand slipped into his, fingers slotting together. 

“Yeah, I like you too.” He said, tension slipping from his shoulders and the tender smile returning.