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“— Iwa-chan. I think I’d like to be a jaeger pilot. Will you come with me?”
“Always.”
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first drift // feel like I’m just treading water, is it the same for you?
“Far and away the highest compatibility scores I’ve ever seen — and that’s counting very close, related co-pilots,” Marshall Mizoguchi repeats to anyone who’ll listen, in equal measures proud and disbelieving.
“It’s only a Category II for your first run in the field,” rumbles J-Tech Irihata, “and you’ll have back up ready if you need, too. Consider yourselves lucky.” And Iwaizumi supposes it must be very bleak for them all, if this was something you should consider yourself lucky for.
“It’ll be okay,” Oikawa tell hims right before their first drift, but it’s far away; detached from the rest of him and echoing numbly in Iwaizumi’s brain, over and over and over. It’ll be okay, Oikawa had told him, back when they were still in the academy and Iwaizumi was scared to death by how hard Oikawa was pushing himself, again. It’ll be okay, Oikawa had told him, the night after that last loss against Karasuno, the last match of their high school volleyball career.
(The last time they’d be playing volleyball for a long time, too, but Iwaizumi didn’t know that, yet. Nobody did.)
And it’s what Oikawa tells him now, while they’re suiting up, shrugging into their suits like they were made for them (they were), stretching out kinks and creaks as they entered the jaeger, like they were prepared (they weren’t).
Whether or not Iwaizumi would have ever chosen the life of a jaeger pilot for himself, he doesn’t really know. But what he does know is that for better or worse, he’s with Oikawa ‘till the end of the line, so he supposes the choice was already made for him since the very beginning. And it was fine while that’s all it was — a choice, an idea, a far-off dream to occupy the spaces left behind by other cast-off aspirations, left in the rubble behind the Kaijus’ wake. And it was fine while they were only preparing, running practices and trying out simulations like a new pair of shoes, one after the other once the last one wore thin.
But now they’re here, and it’s real, and it’s not just a choice anymore. It’s a commitment, and Iwaizumi finds himself slowly coming to terms with it as Irihata announces they’re starting up the neural handshake.
Breathe in, breathe out. Steady.
“It’ll be okay,” Oikawa whispers beside him, eyes closed, except Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’s talking to him, anymore.
Irihata again. “And we’re up in 10…9…”
Whatever happens, happens. Steady.
“6…5…4…” Oikawa’s here. Oikawa’s alright. Steady. Steady.
“…2…1. Initiating neural handshake no —“
Crying. Laughter. Stubbed toes and grimy nails. Iwa-chan. Climbing trees and wind rushing past hair. Summers in Miyagi. Iwa-chan. Volleyball, amazing. Practice practice practice win win win. Lose practice practice then win some more. Iwa-chan. Amazing.
Iwaizumi blinks, tries to shut his eyes. It makes no difference.
Win win lose. Lose. Not a genius. Iwa-chan. Six people on the court. Iwa-chan. Invincible. Win win win lose lose lose. Second-best. Invincible. Always second best. Iwa-chan.
The drift is silence.
The drift is silence.
The drift is —
Kaiju. Screaming. Scared, so scared. Iwa-chan. Breaking broken death death death scared. I’m scared. Iwa-chan. Kaiju attacks Kaiju Kaiju endless. Endless. Iwa-chan. Leave me alone. Don’t leave me behind. Iwa-chan. Steady. Steady. Let’s be jaegers. Iwa-chan.
— silence. The drift is silence.
Fight fight fight. Stronger. Stronger. Iwa-chan. Not enough. More than enough. Steady. Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan. First drift, only Category II. Lucky, lucky. Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan. Together. Together. Okay. Iwa-chan.
The drift is silence. Steady. Iwaizumi opens his eyes. Blinks, opens them again. Feels — not calm, exactly, but in control, himself. In one piece. Feels Oikawa draw a shaky breath, registers the quick thump thump thump of both their heartbeats, strumming together in time, synchronised, and.
“Right hemisphere calibrated,” Irihata calls out.
Oikawa inhales, softer, smoother. Iwaizumi exhales, the slightest brush of air.
“Left hemisphere calibrated,” Irihata tells them.
Iwa-chan, Oikawa thinks. Iwaizumi can hear him, clearly, and the presence of Oikawa’s mind settling against his own is familiar but not, all at the same time.
“Oikawa,” he says, well aware he doesn’t need to — Oikawa hears the thought before he even formed the question into proper words, let alone speak them aloud, and Iwaizumi feels rather than hears the answer, strong and clear in his chest. Steady.
This time, Iwaizumi’s the one who thinks It’ll be okay, and Oikawa shoots back, almost instantaneously, Together.
Together, Iwaizumi echoes.
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“Stop it. Stop it. You don’t need to force yourself. You don’t need to do this alone.”
(You have me.)
“It’s fine, Iwa-chan. Please. Let me take care of you, this time.”
(I’ve got you.)
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habit is a second skin // if my heart stops beating, we’ll bleed the same way
They fall into a routine as days pass, building up quite the name for themselves with every successful mission. “Japan’s Leading Pilots”, headlines would declare in every news article; “A warm welcome for the rising stars of the Tokyo Shatterdome,” reporters would announce at their media appearances in lieu of an introduction.
Oikawa positively preens at the attention, almost clings to it at times, holding interviews in that open-yet-detached manner he used to take up with his old fangirls, back in their volleyball days. Some of the other pilots at the Shatterdome disapprove; more focused on the maintenance of their skills and other requirements necessary for their career, rather than the perks and reputation that follows as a result.
Iwaizumi’s never held any of it against Oikawa, though; at the end of the day, he knows it’s the familiarity of the motions that appeals to his partner, no matter what his rapidly increasing fanbase might suggest on their online forums.
(He’d joined one out of curiosity a couple months ago, but stopped checking up on it when they got their next mission and Oikawa found out from the drift — hehadn’t let Iwaizumi live it down for days, crowing I knew you’d come around eventually, Iwa-chan ‘till Iwaizumi was hearing it in his sleep.)
///
“That’s on you,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa after the latter’s announced they’ve been booked in for another interview. “Nah,” Oikawa waves him off, carelessly cheery, “they were all asking for you, this time.”
If that was supposed to placate him in some way, it’s not working, Iwaizumi thinks irritably, smirking in satisfaction as the small tremor slipping across Oikawa’s shoulders lets him know Oikawa heard. Speaking was already halfway down the road to redundant for them even before they entered the academy; any spoken conversation between them now is entirely arbitrary.
Sometimes Iwaizumi actually forgets the ghost drift he shares with Oikawa is something artificially cultivated; can only distantly recall the days where he still had to guess what was running through the other’s mind. He wonders if it’s difficult trying to remember the difference between the two because his guesses were almost always right anyway, even then.
“You’re doing the talking this time,” he reminds Oikawa, even as the other shoots him a pleading look, mentally wailing but they wanna know about your killer battle techniques, Iwa-chan!
My what? He hisses back across the connection, grunting as Oikawa slumps himself on top of where Iwaizumi was (previously) napping on the bottom bunk. “Your killer battle techniques, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa repeats, out loud this time, tacking on “and the magnificent way you single-handedly take control of our defence on the field.”
This makes Iwaizumi pause, considering. Part of the initial buzz surrounding his and Oikawa’s pilot status was their jaeger — Dauntless River, a re-commissioned Mark-II in a sea of newly-launched Mark-IV’s. “The two of you’ve got a balanced, give-and-take sort of fighting style,” Mizoguchi had explained, “so we thought getting this ol’ girl back into commission would be just the thing for you guys.”
(“How fitting,” Oikawa mused when they were told their jaeger’s name. Iwaizumi had elbowed him, lightly reminding him to pay attention, but inwardly agreed.)
And she was. River was on the smaller side for a jaeger, lithe and agile, most heavily armed around the arms — energy sabre on the left, titanium-reinforced tonfa on the right. It was an odd build, having the more lethal weapon on the left side, when it’s the right-calibrated pilot who normally leads, but Iwaizumi hadn’t minded. On and off the court, Iwaizumi was Oikawa’s right hand, watching his back and holding him steady while Oikawa darted forward to pave their path ahead. So it seemed natural for him to fall into a similar role on the field, and Oikawa was fascinated by the idea of training up his left hand to wield the sabre with ease and finesse.
It never really occurred to him that what was natural for them was worth the praise and fascination of others; he had his job and Oikawa had his, neither of them could win anything without the other right beside them. It wouldn’t feel right.
“Whatever,” he finally settled on saying, ignoring the pleasant sensation curling around his chest as Oikawa hummed against it in acknowledgement. “You’re still doing the talking — you probably know more about the thing than everyone in this place combined.”
“That’s true,” Oikawa agrees, “but you know, Iwa-chan, it’d be nice to have you at least try and pull your own weight around here,” snickering as Iwaizumi stiffened beneath him, yelping at Iwaizumi’s subsequent smack to the back of his head.
Iwaizumi didn’t mean it, though — his other hand was already wrapping around Oikawa, slipping under his shirt to trace circles along his spine. Oikawa laughed, nuzzling into the hand Iwaizumi left on top of his head, cradling his own hands around Iwaizumi’s face to press their foreheads together.
And if Oikawa read anything from their connection or the way Iwaizumi felt his pulse stutter in his chest at the contact, well. Neither of them mentioned it, out loud or otherwise.
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“Do you ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing here, Tooru?”
(What are we doing here, really?)
“That’s a hard question to answer, Iwa-chan. But, I guess it’s — well. You’re still here, aren’t you? And so am I.”
(Anywhere is fine if anywhere means right beside you.)
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close calls, third time lucky // is there somebody who can watch you?
The first time Iwaizumi confesses, Oikawa’s sound asleep. They’re in a hospital room, and Iwaizumi should probably be in his own bed, but. He figures if Irihata or Mizoguchi wanted him to stay put they’d have sent somebody to keep an eye on him. As it is, they didn’t, and as it is Oikawa still hasn’t woken up despite the doctor’s certain declaration that “it’s just a light concussion caused by the impact when your jaeger crashed.”
Nobody mentions the through three consecutive buildings following the doctor’s last word, but their meaning rests heavily in the atmosphere of the room, anyway.
The first time Iwaizumi confesses, he doesn’t really mean to confess at all. It’s just, he wakes up in the dead of night, neck aching from falling asleep hunched over Oikawa’s bed, and that’s probably not too great for his already-sore back, but. He looks up to find Oikawa blinking half-deliriously up at him, face pale but cheeks scattered with pink, like he’d be smiling right now if he wasn’t feeling so out of it.
Iwaizumi only wishes he felt that at ease, spitting out questions faster than Oikawa could possibly answer them. “Are you alright? How do you feel? Should I call for a nurse?”
Oikawa scrunches his forehead, and Iwaizumi curses silently as he rests a palm over Oikawa’s head, as if to untangle the stress from Oikawa’s injury and their constant mental connection.
He doesn’t ask Oikawa anything else, and eventually Oikawa shuts his eyes again, presumably going back to sleep.
But then he whispers, so quietly Iwaizumi’s not sure if was imagining it or not, “Iwa-chan.” Then, even more quiet, Oikawa murmurs Hajime into Iwaizumi’s mind as he finally falls back asleep.
The first time Iwaizumi confesses is maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour after Oikawa started snoring, half-asleep himself as he leans his head back next to Oikawa’s limp hand, mumbling “wake me up in the morning, yeah?”
Then, wordlessly, and every morning after that.
And sometime between then and sunrise, another message filters through their ghost drift, hazy and almost unintentional; Iwaizumi isn’t sure if it came from him or Oikawa when he hears it, though he forgets it happened by the time he wakes up in the morning.
It was only five words, after all, just a simple, fleeting prayer:
Grow old with me, okay?
///
Iwaizumi’s second confession happens under the influence of painkillers, making his head heavy but his mind astonishingly (treacherously) light.
Close calls are sort of a given in their line of work. However, the uncertainty, the fear, the wordless desperation hanging over a pilot whenever their partner is injured makes this fact hard to remember, sometimes.
It was only a surface wound, some shrapnel splintered off and piercing through Iwaizumi’s suit when he’d stepped out from Dauntless to help a child crying, stuck inside a building after likely missing evacuation. Oikawa didn’t care, pushing through medical staff and all but turning the Shatterdome upside down trying to get to Iwaizumi.
The doctors, however, had deemed this type of inconsiderate recklessness detrimental to Iwaizumi’s recovery (“he needs sleep, not an ocean of your tears,” he’d wheezed at Oikawa, “and while we’re at it, the salt from that wouldn’t help his wounds at all.”) and thus banned Oikawa for the night.
Except, there was no way for Iwaizumi to know this at the time. All Iwaizumi knew that night was that no matter how many times he blinked, he was alone in his room every time he opened his eyes, and. His tongue was leaden and uncooperative, and really he should be sleeping but really. Where the hell was Oikawa?
(Translation: and why am I not with him?)
Iwaizumi’s second confession is unspoken — a slow, persistent repetition of Oikawa and then Tooru in his head as he grew more and more tired, giving in to his exhaustion after summoning up the energy from who knows where to croak out brokenly, just once, “please.”
(From his sleepless vigil staring at the shut door of their room, Oikawa’s head shoots up, tilting to the side, swearing he heard someone call his name before he, too, fell into slumber just before dawn the next day.)
///
The third time Iwaizumi confesses, Oikawa does it first.
This time around, both of them are bruised and hurting all over, but this time around neither of them need to be sent to the hospital ward, so Iwaizumi is thankful anyway.
“Welcome back,” Irihata says, voice just a little bit less composed than normal, tone just worried enough to give away his relief. Mizoguchi’s more impassive as he debriefs them, but the proud gleam in his eyes as he lets them go early gives him away, too. There’s no way either of them don’t notice Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s entwined fingers, but neither of them point it out, and then Iwaizumi’s tugging Oikawa out the door, Oikawa lengthening his strides threefold in his haste to get back to their room.
Once they’re inside, however, they separate, hovering awkwardly in front of one another. “Oikawa,” Iwaizumi begins at the same time Oikawa blurts out, “Iwa-chan.”
They blink at each other.
Iwaizumi tries again, sending a tentative, prodding I wanted to tell you — except. Oikawa’s gone and thought No, me first at the same time. Scratching the back of his neck, Iwaizumi gives in, motioning a yeah, you go first with a hand towards Oikawa, making no further attempt to say more, glancing at the floor instead.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, forcing him to look back up, and. Oh. Oikawa’s right in front of him now, holding his gaze deep and steady as he runs his knuckles against Iwaizumi’s jaw. Slowly, he admits, “I’m actually sort of surprised you’ve never kissed me yet, you know.”
Huffing, Iwaizumi shoots back, “you never did, either.”
Oikawa doesn’t flinch. “I wanted to,” he confesses lowly instead, “still want to,” and then Iwaizumi’s bringing his hands up to tilt Oikawa’s head towards him, thinking me too as he slants their lips together, licking gently into the seam of Oikawa’s mouth.
The pleased noise Oikawa makes, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi as he presses back into their kiss harder, wanting, lets Iwaizumi know he heard him.
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“Hey, Iwa-chan, tell me something secret. Something you’d never tell anyone else.”
(Tell me everything about you.)
“Something I’d never tell anyone else, huh? Then there’d be nothing to tell, seeing as you already know.”
(Tell me you already have.)