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It’s on all accounts an uneventful Friday night for Oikawa Tooru.
He was supposed to meet his sister for dinner, but she canceled at the last possible moment. Something about children and emergencies.
Of course he told her that he understood completely and, in return, she promised to take him out to lunch the following day. (He immediately sent her the address of a lunchroom he’d been meaning to visit for quite some time now).
However, it still means that he’s all by himself in a crowded restaurant that appears to be filled with nothing but happy couples. Now, Oikawa isn’t particularly perturbed by people flaunting their relationship—he’s a romantic at heart—but a person can only take so much.
He chalks it up to the festive season. After all, the holidays always have a way of bringing out people’s romantic side. He remembers the many conversations among his teammates as they discussed a variety of Christmas plans and possible gifts for their partners. The majority of those plans included dinner dates or late-night strolls to observe the various light displays that decorated the city.
Winter had arrived with a soft sigh, covering Tokyo beneath a thin layer of snow that will likely be gone come morning, and while Oikawa isn’t particularly fond of the cold, preferring the blistering summer heat instead, even he has to admit that it makes for a gorgeous view. He’s nursing the same drink he’d ordered a few minutes ago, when he still thought Ayame would make it to their dinner appointment, as he observes the various patrons scattered throughout the restaurant.
There’s an elderly couple discussing their grandson’s college plans, seemingly impressed with his decision to major in biochemistry, and Oikawa thinks there’s something awfully endearing about how the wife begins to fuss over her husband afterwards. (Apparently, he needs to cut back on smoking).
He spots a younger couple, likely tourists, who seem to be celebrating their anniversary. Judging by their accents, they’re from Italy and he thinks about how he’s always wanted to visit Florence some day. Maybe even take a trip to the Amalfi coast. His eyes drift towards another table just as he takes another sip of his drink; a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches two girls in their mid-twenties exchange shy smiles. Their cheeks are flush with color, tinged pink, and he wonders if this happens to be their first date. One of the girls, with long brown hair and a mole above her lip, wrings her hands in her lap as she glances downwards. Almost simultaneously, the other girl’s eyes widen momentarily before she offers her date a fond smile; her gaze filled with adoration.
God, he really is single.
Maybe he should scroll through his contact list, text an old fling—no. Awful idea. Nothing good ever comes from rekindling with past lovers.
He could always call Hanamaki and see if he happens to be free tonight. Or he could simply leave, return to the comfort of his apartment and treat himself to take-out from that new restaurant in his neighborhood.
Just as his fingers hover over his contact list, intending to select Hanamaki’s name, one of the servers walks away; revealing a dark-haired man in his late twenties who seems to be the only other person dining by themselves. Oikawa raises a brow as he observes the stranger, taking in the dark fabric of his suit. The jacket is discarded, draped over the back of his chair, while the sleeves of his white dress shirt have been rolled up, revealing the smooth, tan skin of his forearms. A pair of wire-frame glasses sit atop his nose and he frowns at something, brows knitting together in either confusion or frustration. Perhaps both.
The chair across from him is empty while two plates sit atop the table. One contains a dish Oikawa can’t quite make out, but he notes that it had remained untouched—likely gone cold. He’s not sure why, but something akin to pity settles in his chest and he finds himself wondering if the man had been stood up by his date.
It might seem silly, but he feels a kinship with the stranger.
In a large space filled with couples celebrating their love, they are two lost souls hidden among the masses.
Perhaps it’s the alcohol or the cozy setting of the restaurant, or the spirit of Christmas, but Oikawa rises from his chair to approach the man. After all, nobody should be dining alone after they’ve been stood up by someone.
The man’s table sits between that of the Italian couple and the two girls on their first date, and Oikawa is fairly certain both couples heard him when he slid onto the seat across from the stranger and loudly announced, “Sorry I'm late; there was an issue with one of the trains.”
What happens then, is fairly unexpected.
Instead of playing along and offering Oikawa some sort of grateful smile, the man merely looks up from his tablet—the line between his brows deepening—and says, “I’m sorry, but do we know each other?”
For once in his life, Oikawa wishes that a hole large enough to swallow him would spontaneously appear beneath his feet so that he could disappear into the Earth’s crust and plummet to his death. That would be less painful than whatever this is.
Panic settles in his stomach and he blinks rapidly while his brain attempts to formulate a proper response. After what feels like an eternity, Oikawa leans in, the volume of his voice barely above a whisper when he speaks again. “No—obviously we don’t, but, aren’t you… I don’t know, being stood up?!”
At this, the man scowls, actually scowls, and narrows his gaze at Oikawa. “What? No? I’m not on a date, I'm getting work done.”
It’s a perfectly good reason. Really. And yet, it had never occurred to Oikawa that the man purposely chose to dine by himself. Instead, he had pitied him; made up some bullshit story about how the stranger must’ve been abandoned by his date, and then he’d chosen to fulfill the role of knight in shining armor. Even though no one asked him to.
If his sister were here, she would’ve burst into laughter. ‘Typical Tooru’ she would’ve said, snorting between loud laughs. ‘Always sticking your nose into someone else’s business’.
“Well, now I’m embarrassed.”
(He’s half tempted to fake a call and disappear).
Amidst his momentary contemplation to leave the restaurant, and perhaps flee the country altogether out of sheer embarrassment, the man leans back in his seat and briefly regards Oikawa with a curious gaze.
“You really thought I was being stood up and then randomly decided to join me, a stranger, for dinner?” he asks, a hint of amusement slipping into his voice as he quirks a brow.
Heat travels towards Oikawa’s cheeks and he drags a hand over his face in an attempt to conceal the redness of his skin as he releases a small noise in frustration. “Yes—I thought I was being a decent person!” he exclaims. “I don’t know… I saw it in a show once, okay?”
Apparently his miniature meltdown amuses the man to some extent, because he actually chuckles—causing the lines of his face to soften around a smile. There’s a shake of his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, and Oikawa momentarily considers high-tailing out of the establishment while the man’s eyes are still closed.
“You’re very strange,” he says afterwards, as if he’s merely stating the obvious.
A flush travels up Oikawa’s neck. “I think we’ve established that, yeah,” he murmurs. Up close, he’s able to catch a hint of green trapped within the brown of the man’s eyes. He spots a dimple in each cheek and a small scar in his left brow. His smile is kind and a little boyish; a row of perfect white teeth hidden behind his lips.
Admittedly, the guy is quite handsome. He doubts anyone would actually stand him up.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your evening,” he eventually adds, pushing his chair back. “I made a stupid assumption. I’ll—let you finish your meal in peace.”
Before he gets the chance to rise to his feet, a question falls from the man’s lips. “Were you by yourself?”
The words catch Oikawa off guard, brows briefly pinched together as he offers a nod in response. “I was supposed to meet someone for dinner,” he answers, “they canceled at the last minute.”
He doesn’t miss the amusement flashing through the man’s eyes as he releases a short hum. “Huh, seems like you’re the one who got stood up.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Oikawa objects, rolling his eyes. “It was my sister. Not a date.”
“See how annoying it is when someone makes assumptions ‘bout you?”
Oikawa falls silent after that; only to release a chuckle moments later, “Touché.”
A server arrives a few seconds after that, placing a glass of beer on the table and asking whether they’d like to order anything else. Oikawa shakes his head, intending to explain to the woman that he’s about to leave, when the man speaks up. “Don’t you want another drink?”
Oikawa blinks in confusion, surprised by the sudden question given their brief conversation after his humiliating display. He arches a brow at the man; who merely raises his own eyebrows in response—as if to say ‘well?’
Catching the hint, Oikawa turns towards the woman, offers her a polite smile, and orders a beer for himself. She nods and mentions that she’ll bring them a menu, in case they’d like to order a meal regardless. Once she leaves, Oikawa offers the man a skeptical look. “What was that about?”
He’s rewarded with a shrug while the man’s gaze drops towards a pile of papers located next to his tablet. “It’s me playing along,” he explains, “you wanted to have dinner, right?”
“Oh, now he plays along.”
“Better late than never, I suppose.”
Oikawa doesn’t know whether to scoff or laugh. He ends up doing both.
Silence falls between them, though it only lasts for half a minute before the man raises his head again. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want to.”
“You don’t even know me,” Oikawa counters, even though his argument is weak at best.
The man knows it, too, because he replies with: “You didn’t know me either. Didn’t stop you from sitting down.”
(All right, maybe the guy is a little interesting after all).
Oikawa chews at his bottom lip just as the server returns with his drink. He curls his fingers around the glass, raising it towards the other man—who mimics the gesture before their glasses gently clink together.
“Oikawa Tooru.”
“I know. Iwaizumi Hajime.”
It’s not the reveal of his name that surprises Oikawa, but the fact that the man—Iwaizumi—had known his identity. Had been toying with him? Purposely acting coy to embarrass Oikawa in front of all these people?
He mentally repeats the name just as he takes a sip of his drink.
Iwaizumi Hajime.
It’s a pretty name. It suits him. After another moment of observation, Oikawa deduces that Iwaizumi doesn’t strike him as an dishonest type. If anything, he seems rather straightforward, no nonsense; someone who does not hide behind well-crafted masks.
Oikawa likes people like that.
“So you do know me.”
Iwaizumi seems unbothered by the remark, removing his glasses and folding the frames before tucking them in his breast pocket. He almost appears younger without the glasses. Oikawa briefly wonders what had urged him to come to this particular restaurant merely for the sake of ‘getting some work done’.
“Took me a while, but I recognized you, yeah,” Iwaizumi admits. “S’not every day that I run into an Olympian. You won bronze in 2020, didn’t you?”
He wonders if he should be impressed that Iwaizumi knows about his greatest achievement thus far. Oikawa nods, cocks his head sideways ever so slightly and allows his smile to widen—just a little. Enough to remain polite, but bordering on smug. “Mm-hm,” he hums. “Are you a fan of the sport?”
“Sure. Started playing in elementary school, continued playing all through college.”
Now that piques his interest. “Really? What position?”
“Outside hitter.”
He allows his gaze to roam over Iwaizumi’s upper body, briefly taking in the width of his shoulders and the size of his arms. The shirt does a fine job at enhancing his physique, he notes. He looks strong; someone who had once been an athlete and chooses to remain physically active from time to time.
“I can see that, yeah,” he remarks. “Why’d you stop?”
The question earns him a shrug. “Number of reasons. Going pro was not in the cards for me—not what I wanted either.”
“And what did you want?”
A smile. Honest and kind; no false pretenses. It’s genuine, Oikawa can tell. “To help others.”
“Sounds noble,” Oikawa admits. “And vague.”
Iwaizumi chuckles, reaching for his glass and taking a swig of his beer. Once the drink is lowered, he says, “I’m an athletic trainer.”
For some reason, the reveal of Iwaizumi’s profession catches him off guard. He frowns. Perhaps it had been the attire and the glasses—accompanied by the tablet and various sheets of paper—that made Oikawa assume that Iwaizumi worked some sort of corporate job. Maybe as head of a finance department at some fancy company where he spent the majority of his time talking about quarterly numbers and revenue streams whilst consuming ridiculous amounts of coffee to endure the heavy workload and long hours.
“What’s with the suit?” he asks almost immediately. “Doesn’t seem like typical athletic trainer attire. Are you a very fancy AT by chance?”
Iwaizumi glances down at his clothes, an involuntary huff slipping past his lips as he flicks at his tie. Oikawa can’t help but notice that it seems to be slightly loosened—as if Iwaizumi had been itching to remove it. “It’s not,” he admits. “I had to give a presentation today, so I had to dress up for the occasion.”
“What was it about?”
Skepticism colors Iwaizumi’s features, it curls around his lips, seeps into his voice; mild disbelief lacing his words as a chuckle, half amused, half incredulous escapes his throat. “You really wanna know?”
“I do,” Oikawa answers, and by now he’s feeling more at ease. So he leans forward, an elbow propped up on the table and his chin resting in his palm as he attempts and reattempts to solve the mystery that is Iwaizumi Hajime. “Dazzle me.”
“Doubt it’ll dazzle you,” Iwaizumi murmurs, “but, fine, it was about the importance of injury prevention among student athletes and how we need more funding to hire more professionals so that we can give them the proper care they need.”
“Seems rather important. Did they agree to give you more money?”
“They’ll let me know on Monday, but I think we’ve got a pretty good shot, yeah.”
Oikawa clicks his tongue. “Then you should celebrate,” he tells him, jerking his chin towards the pile of papers and tablet near Iwaizumi’s drink. “Instead of doing more work. On a Friday night.”
Intrigue dances in Iwaizumi’s eyes, though he remains apprehensive. His arms are folded across his chest, a single brow arched; a smirk playing on his lips. “With you?”
“With me,” Oikawa confirms, “I'll have you know I’m excellent company.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Oikawa feigns shock, a theatrical gasp escaping his throat. “You wound me, Iwa-chan. After all I’ve done for you—saving you from public humiliation by dining with you!”
“It’s the other way around,” Iwaizumi says dryly. “Also, ‘Iwa-chan’?”
“I like giving people nicknames.”
“Please pick a better one, then.”
“It’ll grow on you. Give it time.”
“Debatable.”
Despite his aversion towards the nickname Oikawa had bestowed on him, Iwaizumi seems mildly amused. He turns towards the waitress, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and briefly consults Oikawa before ordering three dishes. Agedashi tofu for himself, a beef bowl for Oikawa, and fried chicken to share. Once she speeds towards the kitchen, Oikawa takes another sip of his beer before wondering aloud, “So you're an athletic trainer for a college team? Volleyball I assume? Given your interest in the sport.”
Iwaizumi nods. “Waseda University,” he answers, “and, on occasion I work with the national team as well.”
It’s the latter part of the sentence that catches Oikawa off guard. He frowns, wondering if he might’ve seen Iwaizumi around before—at the Olympics, at the World Championship last year perhaps. He racks his brain, sifting through years worth of memories to pull something tangible to the surface; a small glimpse of the man that sits before him.
“Ah! You’re in charge of Shoyo and his rambunctious friends?”
“That certainly is a way to describe them, yeah,” Iwaizumi murmurs. “You close with Hinata?”
Oikawa hums against the rim of his glass. “Mm-hm. We hung out every now and then when I still lived in Argentina. Perks of playing in the same league.”
He remembers the first time he’d seen Hinata in the middle of Rio; all orange hair and a deep summer tan and looking nothing like the spunky, short first-year Oikawa had remembered him as. Rio had been good to Oikawa, allowing him to break past a blockade he didn’t know had been subconsciously growing inside of him.
Playing on the beach with Hinata, steps weighed down by the sand and the unforgiving summer sun blazing down on his skin, rekindled his love for the sport. It gave him a newfound appreciation for beach volleyball specifically, and volleyball as a whole as he remembered why he started playing in the first place.
It was all about having fun.
It had been no secret that playing overseas was challenging, but Oikawa thrived in new environments; places where he could hone his skills and test his limits. Pushing past those limits allowed him to grow as an athlete. He enjoyed the challenges, endured the hardships, because the rewards would be that much sweeter. Those came in the form of titles and awards; in bone-crushing hugs from his teammates and proud grins.
It came in the form of a bronze medal on the highest athletic stage.
Gold is within reach.
“What made you come back anyway?” Iwaizumi wonders, reaching for his chopsticks when the waitress places multiple dishes onto their table. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Oikawa reaches for the bowl in front of him to snag a piece of meat, humming in satisfaction after taking a few bites. “I don’t mind,” he responds, shoulders raised into a shrug. “Change of scenery. I’d lived there for ten years and I wanted a new challenge. And I realized I missed home quite a bit.”
Iwaizumi seems somewhat impressed by this, because he releases a low whistle while digging into his tofu. “Ten years is a long time,” he supposes. “Never considered moving somewhere else before coming back here?”
“I considered Brazil, actually. And Europe, briefly, but the urge to come home was much stronger,” Oikawa admits. “So that’s what I did.”
“Glad you did it?”
A chuckle passes through Oikawa’s lips just as he reaches for a piece of chicken. “Sure,” he muses. “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet Iwa-chan and humiliate myself in front of him.”
Laughter rumbles through Iwaizumi’s chest; a deep sound Oikawa would like to hear again. Maybe.
“I’m flattered.”
“I feel like it takes more than a witty comment to flatter you.”
The smile on Iwaizumi’s lips is hidden behind the rim of his glass. “Smartest thing you’ve said all night, Oikawa.”
Conversation comes surprisingly easy and Oikawa learns a number of things about Iwaizumi. Apparently he’d been a Sendai native, much like Oikawa, but moved to Tokyo right before his first year of junior high. It makes Oikawa wonder aloud if they’d ever crossed paths before, to which Iwaizumi chuckles and mentions that he definitely would’ve remembered someone like Oikawa if that had been the case.
(Oikawa’s indignant squawk is met with a breathy chuckle).
After graduating high school, Iwaizumi majored in Sport Science in college and even spent some time abroad to earn his Master’s degree. He lived in America for a few years, working at a private clinic before ultimately moving halfway across the country to become part of Birthwistle University’s medical staff. Working with student athletes seemed to suit him and Waseda University seemed like a perfect fit when he moved back to Tokyo. Oh, and he also happened to work for Japan’s National Team.
As if he didn’t have enough on his plate already.
It becomes rather obvious that Iwaizumi is quite ambitious, though when Oikawa voices this, he’s rewarded with a shrug and a ‘I just like my job’.
“What do you like about it?” he asks him as they both share another serving of fried chicken, accompanied by another round of beer.
There’s no brief moment of speculation, not a single moment of hesitation, when Iwaizumi answers the question.
“Everything.”
He speaks again after a moment, biting down on a piece of chicken. “I love seeing players become the best versions of themselves. And I love helping them.”
What follows are stories about a variety of players who each had some sort of injury they seemed to be recovering from. Iwaizumi talks about a twenty-year-old middle blocker with a wrist injury that acts up on occasion. Apparently, the player religiously performs his warm-up routine every day alongside him—often looking to Iwaizumi for both guidance and approval.
Then there’s the outside hitter with shoulder problems and a sensitive back, who regularly visits the chiropractor, and gets a few well deserved back rubs from Iwaizumi and the team’s physical therapist. Iwaizumi explains that the player in question is determined to finish the season and Oikawa has to admit that he’s impressed.
(Both with the player and Iwaizumi’s unwavering belief in said player).
“They’re lucky to have you,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. “I can tell that you care.”
Iwaizumi shrugs. “It’s my job to care.”
Once Oikawa lowers his glass, he props his elbow up on the table before resting his chin in his palm. “That was a compliment, Iwa-chan,” he says, offering Iwaizumi a smile. “Accept the compliment.”
Across from him, Iwaizumi’s nonchalance is replaced by something far cuter: bashfulness. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thing, but Oikawa notices it immediately. Iwaizumi’s mouth twists in a frown as he idly fiddles with his chopsticks before snatching up a few vegetables. The flush decorating his cheeks is undoubtedly the result of one too many drinks, but Oikawa suspects that his words may or may not have played part in the crimson color that spreads across his skin.
He’s pointedly not looking at Oikawa—which makes Oikawa wonder if Iwaizumi is notoriously bad at receiving compliments. A small chuckle escapes Iwaizumi’s throat just as he bites down on a piece of broccoli, highlighting the dimples in his cheeks.
It’s endearing.
When his eyes meet Oikawa’s once more, he smiles. “Thank you.”
Orange-yellow light is reflected in Iwaizumi’s eyes; the warmth of his gaze slipping through Oikawa’s chest. There’s a flutter in his stomach, faint and barely noticeable, but it’s there. (For the second time that night, he feels like the world’s biggest idiot for thinking that someone like Iwaizumi would ever get stood up by a date).
Curiosity stirs inside of him; a myriad of questions infiltrating his mind. Though, one sticks out. One he’s been dying to ask ever since he laid eyes on Iwaizumi. He refrains from voicing it outright, opting for a more subtle approach instead. “Do you do this often?” he asks, “Having dinner by yourself?”
“Not really,” Iwaizumi answers, briefly glancing around the small restaurant. It’s quaint. Cozy. The type of place that isn’t too overwhelming. It’s quite ideal for solo dining, Oikawa notices. “Normally, if I’ve been working late, I just buy dinner at the 7-eleven’s near work or my apartment, but I’d walked past this place a couple of times and today I decided to check it out.”
He washes the food down with another sip of his drink, amusement lacing his words as he adds, “And now I’m having dinner with a stranger.”
“Please. We’re practically best friends,” Oikawa quips, earning a quiet laugh from Iwaizumi.
“Do you do this often?” Iwaizumi retorts, “Becoming best friends with strangers in restaurants?”
“Only the cute ones,” Oikawa says without missing a beat and it takes him a minute to realize what he’d just said. God, that was such a cheesy line. Perhaps it’d be for the best if he stopped talking altogether.
Surprisingly, Iwaizumi seems to like it. He smirks. “I bet you say that to all of ‘em.”
“Just you, Iwa-chan.”
“Charmer,” he says dryly, and Oikawa can’t resist batting his lashes theatrically in response.
“Ah, so Iwa-chan thinks I’m charming?” Oikawa chirps. “Why thank you.”
And this time, Iwaizumi’s smirk blooms into a grin. Wider than the smiles he’s aimed at Oikawa before. It’s enthralling. Captivating. “You’re okay.”
“So okay that you spent an hour of your precious time having dinner with me.”
“This is a hostage situation, clearly.”
Laughter travels through the air and Oikawa’s free hand inches towards his glass once more. He runs a finger along the rim, observing the remaining liquid with a thoughtful hum. “I don’t know, Iwa-chan, I think you’re having a great time with me.”
When he glances back at Iwaizumi, he’s rewarded with a smaller smile once more. “Maybe I am, Oikawa.”
— ༉‧₊˚✧
In the hour that follows, Oikawa learns even more things about Iwaizumi.
He was born on June 10th and his favorite color is green. He enjoys working out in the morning and he seems to be very fond of Godzilla movies. (“Always have been,”). His favorite dish is agedashi tofu, but he’s also a very big fan of any type of grilled meat and knows a few excellent yakiniku spots. He’s always wanted a dog, but due to a hectic work schedule, he hasn’t been able to adopt one yet.
He enjoys hiking and loves spending time outdoors. Apparently, he goes on an annual camping trip with his family and he shows Oikawa numerous photos and videos of their various travels and adventures. (The footage is breathtaking and Oikawa thinks Iwaizumi looks incredibly handsome with a baseball cap pulled backwards over his head). He’s gone on a few camping trips during his time in America and he talks about wanting to try his hand at scuba diving one day. (“I watched a nature doc the other night, it was incredible.”)
He’s an only child and his parents are still happily married. He never learned how to play an instrument, but he’d love to learn how to play the guitar someday. He prefers cycling over public transport and owns a blue mountain bike. He dreamt of being a zoologist as a kid and wanted to study snakes. He prefers savory snacks over sweet snacks, but likes sweet and salty popcorn. He tends to have very vivid dreams. His favorite number is eleven and his favorite season is summer. He loved collecting bugs as a kid, which he always set free afterwards.
He’s always been an active kid, playing a variety of sports throughout the years. Volleyball was the sport that stuck with him the most. Baseball was a close second, though. Oikawa mentions that he would’ve loved to play against Iwaizumi in high school and Iwaizumi smirks when he admits that Oikawa would have been a formidable opponent.
With every tidbit of information Oikawa receives, the fondness inside his chest grows and grows.
“Do you miss it?” Oikawa wonders. “Volleyball, I mean.”
“Sometimes,” Iwaizumi admits, “every now and then, I practice a little with the team.”
“Cute,” Oikawa muses. “I’d like to see Iwa-chan in action.”
Iwaizumi snorts, “Don’t get too excited, I’m not as good as I used to be.”
“Always so humble,” Oikawa tuts with a shake of his head. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Fine,” Iwaizumi decides, downing the remnants of his glass and wiping a thumb across his lower lip. “You should come to one of our practices then—if you’re free, of course.”
The invitation sends a flutter of excitement through Oikawa’s stomach and he tries to tamper the excitement by biting down on his lower lip; preventing the smile he’s wearing from turning into a large grin. “I think I can fit you into my schedule.”
“The team would love it,” Iwaizumi tells him, “especially our setters.”
In a moment of bravery and boldness, Oikawa asks, “Just the team?”
He half expects Iwaizumi to color red, an immediate rebuttal falling from his lips while denial coats his words, but instead Oikawa is rewarded with a fond gaze and a quiet admittance. “I’d like it too,” Iwaizumi responds, and God, he really is attractive; smiling at Oikawa like that while being draped in the golden light.
Oikawa’s throat suddenly feels a little dry.
“Then it’s a date,” he says after a moment.
“It’s a date,” Iwaizumi confirms.
The waitress appears at their table a few seconds later, wondering if they would like to view the dessert menu. After exchanging a look, they nod in agreement before she places the menu on the table. The menu contains a variety of dishes, all of which sound incredibly appetizing, and Oikawa briefly wonders if Iwaizumi would like to share one. Even before he gets the chance to voice the question, Iwaizumi asks: “Do you want to share one?”
Oikawa’s surprise must be evident, because Iwaizumi quickly adds, “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to—”
“I want to!” Oikawa says, embarrassingly quickly. “I mean—yes, I’d like that.”
Iwaizumi chuckles, undoubtedly surprised by Oikawa’s eagerness, and Oikawa can practically feel his face heat up; warmth spreading across his cheeks.
They decide to order two dishes: a small, chocolate chiffon cake and a dish that consists of three ice cream flavors and two small cookies. Both dishes taste divine, and Oikawa learns that Iwaizumi likes matcha ice cream. “I prefer mint chocolate chip,” he says around a forkful of chocolate cake. The words earn him a groan and disapproving frown from Iwaizumi.
“That’s easily the worst flavor,” Iwaizumi replies between bites. “It tastes like—”
Oikawa points his fork at him accusingly, “Don’t you dare say ‘toothpaste’!”
“It does!”
“Iwa-chan, I don’t have the time to begin explaining how wrong you are.”
And yet, he does. He ferociously defends his favorite ice cream flavor, despite Iwaizumi’s counter arguments. It’s almost as though they are twelve years old, instead of twenty-eight. Eventually, they reach a stalemate and come to an agreement that both flavors, mint chocolate chip and matcha, are tasty in their own ways.
“You said you were supposed to meet someone here initially,” Iwaizumi says, breaking off another piece of cake. “Your sister, right?”
Oikawa hums around his fork. “Yeah, she canceled at the last minute. Emergency with the kids.”
“You guys close?”
“Mm-hm,” Oikawa responds, unlocking his phone and thumbing through a well-stocked photo gallery until he finds the most recent photo of the two of them together. It’s a selfie at one of Oikawa’s latest games, with Ayame pressing their cheeks together while both of them sport identical, proud grins. “That’s her. Her name is Ayame.”
Fondness sweeps through Oikawa’s chest upon glancing at the photo. His relationship with his sister is easily one of the most important relationships in his life. She’s always been his biggest fan and number one supporter; offering words of wisdom whenever he needs them and cutting through the noise in his mind with helpful advice and gentle reminders.
“She’s pretty,” Iwaizumi comments with a smile, “you guys almost look like twins.”
Oikawa snorts. “We get that a lot.”
He thumbs through the photo album until he comes across a photo taken by Ayame on that same day. It’s a photo of his niece and nephew, loudly cheering from where they’re seated in the stands. “These are her kids, my niece and nephew, Takeru and Asuka,” he tells Iwaizumi, “this was at our latest game.”
Iwaizumi chuckles at the photo. “They seem passionate.”
“We’re a passionate family,” Oikawa admits proudly. “They’re great.”
“Judging by the grins and triumphant faces, I assume you guys won the match?”
“Sure did,” Oikawa grins, “We’ve got a game coming up this Sunday against Hiroshima. You should come watch.”
For a moment he wonders if he’s getting ahead of himself by inviting Iwaizumi to a game two days from now. Sure, they sort-of agreed that Oikawa would drop by Waseda to join one of the team’s practices, but they hadn’t really mentioned a date yet.
Even before he gets the chance to correct himself and explain to Iwaizumi that he shouldn’t feel obligated to attend the game, Iwaizumi rewards him with one of those beautiful smiles again that turn Oikawa’s insides to mush, and goo, and jelly. “What time?”
Oikawa’s surprise only lasts a few seconds before he provides Iwaizumi with the necessary details. “Four p.m. It’s okay if you can’t make it—”
“I’ll come,” Iwaizumi decides. “I’d like to. Is it cool if I bring somebody?”
Almost immediately, Oikawa imagines a faceless man or woman hanging off Iwaizumi’s arm as they accompany him to the match. Doubt begins to creep into his mind and he wonders if he might’ve misinterpreted Iwaizumi’s subtle flirting during dinner. He was flirting with him, wasn’t he?
(He’s not sure how much more humiliation he can take, quite frankly).
“You mean like a date?” he asks carefully, opting for nonchalance and probably failing spectacularly.
The question seems to amuse Iwaizumi, because he snorts. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “My neighbor’s kid. He’s eight and recently started playing, too, so I think he’d like it. Obviously, his mother or father would come along, so it’d be two people technically—if that’s okay?”
For the umpteenth time that night, Oikawa feels rather silly. He breathes a laugh, “Yeah, of course it is. Three people then? Including you.”
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, “are you sure it’s okay?”
“Yes, Iwa-chan, it’s okay,” Oikawa assures him. “It’s sweet that you want to bring them along, how can I say no to that?”
He takes a final bite of the chocolate cake just as Iwaizumi clears his throat and says, “I’m not dating anyone, by the way.”
Oikawa almost chokes on his cake, eyes widening at Iwaizumi’s sudden announcement, and he half laughs, half coughs; mild embarrassment washing over him. “Me neither,” he says, hoping Iwaizumi picks up on the not-so-subtle hint. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”
“I had a feeling,” Iwaizumi replies, though he doesn’t sound particularly sarcastic or mocking. If anything, he sounds genuine—and glad.
Oikawa smiles.
Iwaizumi mirrors it.
Before either of them get the chance to say anything else, the waitress arrives with their bill. After a short back-and-forth, they ultimately decide to split the bill because neither of them seemed to be willing to give in.
After roughly five minutes, they find themselves outside. The numbers on Oikawa’s phone tell him that it’s a little past eight. Numerous people walk past them, enjoying the chilly night air and December’s festivities. A group of people walk past them and into the restaurant, murmuring how glad they are to head inside after spending hours walking around town.
He hears one of them mention one of the many light displays that are spread across town, when Iwaizumi turns towards him. “I had fun tonight,” he tells Oikawa, reaching inside his pocket before pulling out his phone. For a moment, Oikawa is left staring at the device that’s being pushed into his hands until Iwaizumi gently says: “Your number.”
“Oh, yeah—of course!” he says immediately. “I had fun, too. Even if I humiliated both of us initially.”
He’s quick to add his number to Iwaizumi’s contact list before sending himself a text. The buzz in his pocket alerts him that the message had been received and he returns Iwaizumi’s phone to him before reaching for his own phone. Once Iwaizumi’s name is added to his contacts, it seems it’s time for them to part ways. (Though, if he’s being completely honest, Oikawa wouldn’t mind spending another hour or two with him).
Iwaizumi chuckles. “It was kinda funny, I’ll admit it.”
“Glad one of us can laugh about it, I’ll spend the rest of my life being mortified,” Oikawa murmurs.
“You had good intentions,” Iwaizumi grins, “so I’ll see you Sunday then?”
Instead of simply nodding at Iwaizumi’s question and making some sort of witty remark about how he’ll be impressed by Oikawa’s impeccable performance come Sunday, Oikawa blurts out: “Do you want to go see one of the light displays?”
Iwaizumi’s brows knit together in confusion, surprise coloring his features at Oikawa’s sudden request. And Oikawa, who has humiliated himself enough tonight and frankly has nothing to lose, takes another leap—because why the hell not?
“Maybe I’m being too forward, but I’d like to spend more time with you,” he confesses, smiling sheepishly. “I really had fun tonight… and I kinda don’t want it to end yet.”
Apparently taking a leap pays off, because Iwaizumi steps forward. His nose is slightly reddened due to the cold but his gaze is filled with warmth. “Let’s go then,” he decides. “Which display do you wanna check out?”
— ༉‧₊˚✧
Every year, various parts of the city are turned into luminous winter wonderlands. Thousands of LED lights decorate the neighborhoods, illuminating Tokyo’s dark streets and allowing for a spectacular view. Many locals and tourists walk along the various routes, awestruck by the decorations. And Oikawa is no different.
It takes them approximately ten minutes to arrive at the light display he’d told Iwaizumi about. Near Shinjuku station is a breathtaking display consisting of roughly 170,000 lights and diamond shaped ornaments. The Shinjuku’s Southern Terrace illuminations are as breathtaking in person as they are in the numerous photos Oikawa had seen across his Instagram feed. Next to him, Iwaizumi seems equally captivated by the lights—glancing around as they slowly follow the route that takes them past countless shrubs and trees. Every inch of the terrace is covered in lights and it almost makes one think that they’ve been transported into a different world; something straight out of a fairy tale.
They take careful steps as they walk along the pathway before them, given that the pavement is coated in a thin layer of ice. Roughly half a minute after they arrived at the terrace, a man no older than thirty managed to slip and stumble backwards—taking three other people with him. The sound of their combined shouts had made Oikawa a little wary, but Iwaizumi assured him they’d be fine.
‘Just hold on to me’ he’d said after he noticed that the pavement was in fact very slippery. Oikawa’s brain short-circuited for approximately thirty seconds before he gingerly wrapped a hand around Iwaizumi’s rather firm arm.
“Better?” Iwaizumi asked afterwards.
(Oikawa probably nodded thirty times in a row, more enthralled by Iwaizumi than the dozens of lights before them).
It’s much quieter now, allowing for a semblance of privacy. He wonders if it has to do with the sudden drop in temperature. Cold air wraps around his limbs, seeping into the fabric of his clothes despite the many layers he’d worn today. He shivers, goosebumps prickling along his skin, and he buries his nose further into the fabric of his scarf.
As they follow the route, they discuss their upcoming Christmas plans and Iwaizumi complains about an upcoming office Christmas party he’s not looking forward to. It causes Oikawa to laugh. “You guys actually do that? Sounds kinda fun.”
“It’s less of an actual office Christmas party and more of a get-together with various coworkers,” Iwaziumi explains. “The school isn’t paying for it; someone from HR just set it all up and I made the mistake of saying I’d show up when two of them cornered me at the coffee machine.”
“Aw, were you afraid of hurting their feelings?” Oikawa cooes.
Iwaizumi half groans, half laughs, “It was eight a.m. and I was half asleep, okay?”
Oikawa snickers, imagining a rather tired version of Iwaizumi nursing a cup of coffee before being ambushed by two perky coworkers who were likely amped up on three cups of coffee themselves and on the hunt for unsuspecting employees. “If it’s that bad, just sneak off after twenty minutes,” he advises. “And if you need someone to rescue you, I’m only a phone call away.”
“My hero,” Iwaizumi jokes, nudging Oikawa’s side gently. “Maybe this time you’ll actually save me from an awkward and embarrassing situation.”
“All right, let it go.”
Amidst their quiet stroll, Oikawa attempts and reattempts to take the occasional photo of the light displays. It requires some fumbling with his glove and his phone because he’s very determined to hold on to Iwaizumi’s arm with his other hand. Luckily, Iwaizumi assists him by peeling off his glove so that Oikawa can reach for his phone. He takes a few photos of the various displays, some of which are forwarded to his sister while others are quickly uploaded to one or two social media apps.
“Smile, Iwa-chan,” he says afterwards, leaning in closer before angling the camera in a way that captures both of them on film. Iwaizumi seems to be caught off guard by Oikawa’s sudden proximity, if only momentarily, but he offers the camera a small smile while Oikawa takes a few quick snapshots. He thumbs through the photos afterwards, satisfied with the outcome, before turning the screen towards Iwaizumi—who gives a small nod of approval.
Once they reach the end of the display, they turn around and take the same route back; observing and resobserving the myriad of lights they’d passed moments before. A particularly strong gust of wind interrupts Oikawa’s story about a tv show he’d recently watched. (Apparently, Iwaizumi is a big fan of the same series). He groans in annoyance. “Sorry, you must be freezing too,” he mumbles. It feels like he’s been buried inside of a freezer for twelve hours straight and he can’t remember the last time the temperature had dropped this low.
In front of them, an older couple seems to be walking their dog and both Iwaizumi and Oikawa have to refrain themselves from laughing when even the comically small dog seems to slip on the incredibly slippery pavement.
“We shouldn’t laugh,” Iwaizumi says quietly, very clearly struggling to hold back his laughter.
(Oikawa snorts).
Thoughts regarding the small dog who seems to be trotting along happily are pushed aside when Oikawa notices something cold touching his cheek. He immediately turns his gaze skyward, glancing at the dark skies above them, when he sees it. Snow.
It starts with a single snowflake, followed by another, and then another. Before he knows it, dozens—no, hundreds—of snowflakes are falling from the sky. A laugh finds its way out of his throat, part amusement and part astonishment at the impeccable timing of it all. Iwaizumi mirrors his movements, glancing upward and extending his palm in an attempt to catch a snowflake or two.
The combined “oohs” and “aahs” from the other visitors function as background noise, blending together with childlike laughter as two kids attempt to catch some of the snowflakes with their hands and mouths. He understands their excitement all too well. When Oikawa’s gaze drifts back to Iwaizumi, he finds him looking at the various decorated trees; seemingly enthralled by the sight before him. Interwoven between the branches are thousands of lights which slowly, gradually, change color as they walk. He has to admit: the addition of the snowflakes makes for a rather romantic ambience.
It looks absolutely ethereal.
(He wonders if Iwaizumi might be thinking the same).
“It’s funny,” Iwaizumi murmurs, pausing his steps to look at one of the trees. “I’ve probably walked past this place a dozen times, but I never bothered to check out the display.”
“Why not?” Oikawa wonders. “It’s one of the best things about the holiday season.”
“I suppose I was always in a rush to get home, or wherever I was headed,” Iwaizumi explains as he turns his head to glance at Oikawa. “I didn’t really bother to stop and look around.”
His voice is gentle, but the weight of his words leave Oikawa’s chest feeling heavy and light all at once. “And do you like what you see?” he asks quietly.
Iwaizumi releases a short hum, his eyes never leaving Oikawa’s. “I do,” he says, the volume of his voice barely above a whisper. “A lot.”
A particularly large snowflake clings to Iwaizumi’s eyelashes and Oikawa is very tempted to brush it away. Another one settles on his nose, while multiple snowflakes decorate his hair. Iwaizumi must notice it, because he chuckles. Oikawa watches as he brushes his free hand along his nose; a halo of light encircling him as the hundreds of lights above and around them cause a gentle glow to glide across his skin.
“You’ve got a little—” Iwaizumi mumbles, slowly reaching for Oikawa’s face and brushing his fingers through the brown strands that fall across his forehead. Oikawa’s breath stutters in his chest. He’s not sure if he mumbled ‘thank you’ or if he merely kept his gratitude to himself.
It’s quite hard to formulate sentences when Iwaizumi’s face is suddenly very close. His eyes seem much kinder, much warmer up close. They regard him with interest, and perhaps fondness, and Oikawa suddenly wants to count the specks of green swimming within the brown of Iwaizumi’s eyes. He wants to count them as though he’s observing the night sky, searching for stars.
He wonders where the stars will lead him.
They’ll take him down a path; bright and luminous, and Iwaizumi sits at the center of it. Each step takes Oikawa closer to him, as though he was meant to walk along this particular path.
He’s not sure if he believes in fate and destiny, but he supposes he should thank whatever deity was responsible for this chance meeting. One that was born from pure intentions and happy accidents.
As he gingerly takes a step forward, his heel slips across the pavement and he nearly loses his balance as he stumbles forward. Luckily, Iwaizumi is there—with a firm hand pressed against the small of Oikawa’s back after catching him. “I’ve got you.”
Oikawa releases a breathless chuckle. “My hero.”
“Did you do that on purpose?” Iwaizumi teases, his lips curving upwards. He smells like pine. And mint. With a hint of sandalwood.
“Maybe,” Oikawa lies. “Wanted to see if you’d catch me.”
“Ah, is that so?” Iwaizumi chuckles, “I can still let you fall.”
Oikawa squints. “You wouldn’t.”
Iwaizumi releases a long hum. “Wouldn’t I?”
Judging by the grin he’s wearing, Oikawa is fairly certain that Iwaizumi wouldn’t let him fall. If anything, he draws Oikawa closer—and Oikawa lets him. He leans forward just as Iwaizumi cups his cheek, pulling him in with those captivating eyes and that boyish smile.
He wonders how that smile tastes just as their lips meet.
The kiss is gentle. Tender. Delicate. It’s the golden light of the sun’s rays on a Sunday morning. It’s waking up from a pleasant dream. It’s the comforting sound of raindrops hitting the rooftop on a lazy afternoon. It’s that first sip of a warm cup of tea.
Iwaizumi’s lips feel soft, so incredibly soft, and Oikawa thinks he could keep kissing him forever. Their lips move slowly as he winds his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, drawing him even closer. He doesn’t notice the snow, or the biting cold, or the harsh and unforgiving winter winds. Instead, he’s focused on the warmth of Iwaizumi’s hands; the weight of his arm, the brush of his tongue as he swipes it across Oikawa’s lower lip.
Oikawa parts his lips with a soft sigh just as Iwaizumi deepens the kiss. For a moment he forgets that they’re still outside, until a particularly strong gust of wind ruffles his hair. It pulls him back to the present and he shivers. Iwaizumi’s quiet laughter is stifled against Oikawa’s lips, vibrating through his throat and curling around his heart. When they part, still sharing oxygen and a heartbeat, Oikawa licks his lips. He’s at a loss for words, unable to come up with anything other than ‘wow’.
Fortunately, Iwaizumi seems to be faring a little better. His nose is still red, and there’s even more snow clinging to the dark strands of his hair. Oikawa smiles at the sight of it.
“Cold?” Iwaizumi asks quietly.
“Freezing,” Oikawa murmurs.
A gloved thumb brushes back and forth over his cheekbone and Oikawa is so very tempted to kiss Iwaizumi again; kiss him until his jaws ache and his lips are sore and swollen.
“We should probably get out of here then,” Iwaizumi tells him, pressing a shorter kiss to Oikawa’s lips. Oikawa tries not to linger, but it’s as if his body moves on its own; leaning in when Iwaizumi pulls away again.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says with a quiet gasp, “I don’t put out on the first date.”
“How about the second?” Iwaizumi quips.
The comment makes Oikawa laugh. He kisses the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth before grazing his teeth over Iwaizumi’s lower lip. “Maybe if you make it worth my while,” he says with a hum.
Iwaizumi pretends to ponder for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do,” he tells him, pulling away entirely and taking Oikawa’s hand into his own. “C’mon, let’s get you on the train, you’re shivering.”
It takes them less than ten minutes to reach the train station, which is far too quick for Oikawa’s liking. Even with these freezing temperatures. It’s like he’s a teenager again; longing to spend all of his free time with the one person that makes heart race. Even beneath the fluorescent lights of the train station, all he can think of is the feeling of Iwaizumi’s lips against his own.
“I’m glad I ran into you tonight,” Iwaizumi says with a small grin, “even if I did think you were a bit strange at first.”
“Hey,” Oikawa objects, laughter falling from his lips. “Good intentions, remember?”
A long hum vibrates through Iwaizumi’s throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, burying his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know if you have plans with your team after your game on Sunday, but I figured we could grab dinner afterwards. If you’re up for it.”
Oikawa’s reaction comes embarrassingly quick. “Of course,” he grins, “you can treat me after my glorious victory.”
A smirk plays on Iwaizumi’s lips as he cocks a brow at Oikawa’s words, “Cocky.”
“Confident,” Oikawa corrects. “See you Sunday, Iwa-chan.”
What he expects is for Iwaizumi to turn around and head towards his platform. Instead, he steps forward; leaning in until his lips brush over Oikawa’s cheek. It’s brief and gentle, barely a kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. Warmth immediately floods his cheeks, an inferno trapped beneath his skin, and Oikawa brushes his finger over the exact spot Iwaizumi had kissed moments before.
“See you Sunday, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, turning away with a smile. “You better win.”
Oikawa is left staring at Iwaizumi’s back before he disappears amongst the crowd and heads towards one of the many platforms. His face still feels incredibly warm, and his heart beats incredibly fast within the confines of his chest. It beats with hope and longing; with affection and excitement.
He feels invincible.