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Oikawa warms at the sight of him: wearing a black shirt like it’s someone’s funeral, and dark jeans like he’s going on a date. He looks troubled at first, before his eyebrows raise, and a smile—all soft, handsome reluctance—tugs at his mouth and eventually wins. It raises a curtain in Oikawa’s heart, letting a beam seep out and manifest in the brightness of his smile, which he directs now to Iwaizumi.
“Tooru,” Iwaizumi greets, just as bright, going in for a hug that confuses the staff around them.
“They’re close friends,” one of them whispers. Oikawa thinks it’s lovely to hear. He looks at Iwaizumi, and he looks pensive, but also pleased.
Introduce each other.
Oikawa grins, raising his brows at Iwaizumi in a silent question.
Me first?
Iwaizumi’s eyes are smiling when answers wordlessly, Go ahead.
“This is Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa says cheerily, “Sports Science Major at UCI. Twenty-three. My best friend and my ex of…?” he looks to Iwaizumi for confirmation. He doesn’t get it, only a playful furrow of brows. “Five years… and… I’m not counting the days,” he laughs.
“How many days, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi teases.
“Alright,” Oikawa amends, “Sixteen days.”
“Damn.”
“Your turn.”
Iwaizumi grins.
“This,” he gives an exaggerated, one-handed flourish to his left, “is Oikawa Tooru. Starting setter for CA San Juan, the best setter, my best friend, and…” he pauses thoughtfully, looking away from Oikawa, “my… ex-boyfriend. He’s got a little something on his…” he gestures to his own hair.
Oikawa squeaks. “Iwa-chan! You didn’t tell me something was out of place!”
Iwaizumi laughs at him airily, shaking his head.
You already told us how long you’ve been exes. We’ll proceed to the next question.
Iwaizumi chose their drinks, having been taunted by Oikawa into using your athletic trainer prowess, Iwa-chan! and—ever the challenger—Iwaizumi took him up on it.
In front of them is sake. Oikawa had giggled peskily about it.
He is first up.
Why did you break up?
Oikawa looks to Iwaizumi shortly, as if asking for permission. When he looks away it’s not to the camera, rather nowhere, looking a little thoughtful.
“Oh, this is a bad question for me,” he smiles, and then laughs like he’s embarrassed to continue. He isn’t, though. “I didn’t want to break up. Initially I didn’t know why it had to happen either but—” he pauses, and next to him Iwaizumi stays quiet, neutral, “—I thought about it. We were really young, and we didn’t do many things right, and we didn’t really manage conflict well. We didn’t… really know how to.”
He takes a deep breath that leaves him feeling light.
“We just had to,” he says, a little defeated, “break up.”
What did your friends think of him?
Iwaizumi thinks about the question for all of two seconds before he laughs.
“We have the same friend group.”
He decides against complimenting Oikawa publicly, and makes a show of leaning out of his seat to take a shot, grinning all the while.
“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa gasps, “Answer the question!”
“You already know the answer,” Iwaizumi grumbles. Then he scoffs, “They only have good things to say about you.”
“You’re such a brute,” Oikawa says, but he’s smiling.
When was your first kiss?
“Oh!” Oikawa lights up. “It was—”
“Take a shot,” Iwaizumi mumbles.
“What?”
“Take a shot.” He leans over the arm of his chair. “That’s—it’s our memory. Come on. I’ll drink with you.”
Oikawa studies him, and for a moment Iwaizumi feels like he’s going to tell him no.
“You have to link elbows with me,” Oikawa decides.
“Done.”
They scoot their chairs closer to face each other, feeling like children, and don’t return them to how they were after.
The staff takes advantage of it.
I dare you to do the Pocky Challenge.
Iwaizumi huffs out a laugh. “Can I still drink for this?”
“If you take a shot, I will too. Deal?”
“Sure.”
“Oh!” Oikawa realizes something. “But does this mean we still have to do it?”
Iwaizumi looks to the crew off-screen, and then to Oikawa. “I guess not? Do you want to?”
“Nah,” Oikawa scrunches his nose warmly. “We don’t have to.”
The staff slides a deck of cards onto the table where the drinks are.
“What’s this?” Iwaizumi asks.
You’re gonna ask each other questions.
“Wait,” Oikawa says, “We are?”
Yeah. Pick a card. Oikawa-san, you go first.
“Oh god,” Oikawa says when he sees what’s written in the card he picked up. “I honestly just want you to drink to this, Iwa-chan, I don’t wanna know the answer—”
Ask him the question.
“Oh god.” He grimaces. “Of all of your lovers, where do I rank?”
“First,” Iwaizumi says easily.
Oikawa shrieks, “What!” and begins to chuckle when he sees light dancing in Iwaizumi’s eyes, so effective in pissing him off. “You lie!”
“I’m not lying,” Iwaizumi grins, delighting in the flush on Oikawa’s cheeks; the redness he knows spreads all over his neck, and all the way down his chest. He slides his eyes over to the cards. “My turn?”
Iwaizumi frowns. “Do you still love me?”
“Why are you frowning? Hajime, ‘course I love you.”
“Yeah, I mean—” Iwaizumi clears his throat, voice softening. “Yeah. Yeah, I love you too.”
Oikawa beams.
“Alright!” he chirps. “Oh! When did you know it was over?”
Iwaizumi furrows his brow, and looks to the staff for assistance.
“Iwa-chan?”
Ohhh, we can’t help you there.
Drink up!
“Iwa-chan?”
Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa—into his eyes: the big, brown warmth of them—and sighs. When he reaches for the shot glass, Oikawa sputters indignantly at him.
“You should know the answer to this! It literally wasn’t me who wanted us to—”
“Ahhhh,” Iwaizumi says, as if refreshed. “Yum. Next question. Isn’t it my turn?”
Oikawa squints at him.
“Who,” reads Iwaizumi, “was the first person you made out with after you broke up?”
“You,” Oikawa answers in a heartbeat, nearly a scoff. “Him,” he says to the cameras, pointing a thumb before turning back to Iwaizumi. “I still hate you for that, you know?”
“I know, that was bad of me.”
“Terrible!” Oikawa corrects. “I was moving on!”
“Is it my fault,” Iwaizumi counters feebly, “that you looked so—you were so—”
“So what?”
Iwaizumi looks at his best friend with a pained expression, bordering on embarrassed, and drinks.
Oikawa blanks at the card in his hand.
What’s the question, Oikawa-san?
“Um.” He looks at Iwaizumi. “Would you kiss me?”
Iwaizumi looks at him thoughtfully. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
Do you want him to kiss you?
“What the hell! I’m not against it.”
“So should I?” Iwaizumi chuckles.
Do it.
With tongue!
“No tongue,” says Oikawa, already leaning in. Iwaizumi meets him halfway with a smile on his lips.
He smirks. “That didn’t feel like we were together for two years.”
“Did it feel like we weren’t together for five years?”
“Alright. Fair point.”
How long did it take you to get over your relationship?
“Oh, are you asking the questions again?” Oikawa laughs. “For me, it was… a year? About two years.” He looks at Iwaizumi, whose face is contemplative. “I think it took you shorter? You had a relationship within a year. Ten months, right?”
He meant to ask it genuinely, and is confused when Iwaizumi reaches for his shot glass again.
“I’m drinking on this one, ‘Kawa,” he apologizes, heart weighing more when Oikawa’s features only soften in understanding.
As Iwaizumi drinks, Oikawa elaborates on his answer instead. “Iwa-chan was terrible at staying away. I needed space and I needed to hate him for a bit, but he just wanted to keep me there, close, when I couldn’t do that. So it took me longer because I was—there was always a reminder of something I loved about him.”
Iwaizumi purses his lips at Oikawa in a half-smile.
What could the other change or improve on for their next relationship?
“Is this for both of us?” Iwaizumi asks, giggling reluctantly. “Can I drink on this again? I feel like I’m not qualified.”
You’re qualified! Say it!
“Should I go first?” Oikawa teases.
“No, no, it’s fine, um—what do you want to hear?”
“I want to hear what you have to say!” Oikawa laughs.
“I don’t even know!” Iwaizumi exclaims honestly. “Look at you. You’ve grown so much. There’s hardly anything there, the remnants of that stupid, stupid boy—”
“Hey—”
“I think you’re amazing, ‘Kawa. As you are. If you were a kid then—hell, we both were—you’ve grown, and you’re…”
“I’m fine now?” Oikawa asks helpfully.
“Yeah.” Iwaizumi smiles. “Yeah, you’re good to go.”
Would you take him back, then?
“Why are you asking all the questions suddenly?” Oikawa whines, scandalized. “Let me answer first—”
He’ll answer that too, though.
“—I think you’re alright, if you actually tell your lover what’s going on now. That used to happen, you know?” he says softly. “There was a problem and you wouldn’t tell me. It was sweet that you thought that was what it meant to love me; no conflict and fighting. But it’s not.”
Iwaizumi nods, eyes downcast. “I need to grow out of that.”
“You can and you will,” Oikawa chuckles. “I think you just need to find someone to balance you out.”
Would you take him back?
“Drink, Iwa-chan.”
“What? You don’t wanna know?”
“I really don’t,” Oikawa admits, sheepish.
Body shot.
“What?!”
Take a body shot off of Iwaizumi-san.
“Shouldn’t you be taking the shot?” Oikawa asks Iwaizumi, wide-eyed.
“I’m taking a shot. You’re taking a body shot,” Iwaizumi smirks. And then his face is painted over with concern. “Unless you don’t want to? I’ll take the shot and we’ll just—”
“No, I’ll do it. It’s just fair.”
Belly button.
“What the hell!”
Come on. Abs!
“Iwa-chan, don’t make me do this.”
Already lifting the front of his shirt, Iwaizumi goes to lie down on the table, careful not to topple over the sake or the overturned deck of cards. He tosses the previous questions into his seat, and surrenders himself to the production crew’s whims and to Oikawa’s decision-making skills.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa bends down to whisper, useless because of the mic on his polo, “I’m so sorry. I hope you’re not still ticklish.”
Fuck.
“Wait—Oikawa—”
The sake is warm when it settles on his skin; Oikawa’s breath warmer as he hovers over the lower half of his stomach. He tries to remember how prominent his happy trail is but Oikawa’s mouth is on him before he can think and thankfully, thankfully, he doesn’t use his tongue.
“Mm,” Oikawa holds the alcohol in his mouth, and it does unfortunate things to Iwaizumi’s brain, which doesn’t let him do much more than lie there, and lie another way when the off-cam crew asks, Did that feel good?
He’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to be asking these questions.
He gets up, and drinks.
“Oh, I’m asking the questions again? Iwa-chan, isn’t it your turn?”
“Yeah it is. Give me that.”
Iwaizumi smiles wanly.
“You answer it first,” Oikawa says. “I already know what the card says.”
“Shouldn’t you answer it first then?”
“Nope.”
“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says a little loudly.
It surprises Oikawa. “What?”
“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says again. “That’s—I don’t think I ever said it enough.”
“That’s not what I wanna hear from you.”
What was on the card?
Oikawa answers, looking straight at Iwaizumi, “What was something you wanted to say but didn’t get the chance to?”
“I don’t know what you want to hear from me,” Iwaizumi matches Oikawa’s gaze. “But I wanted to tell you Be safe at the airport.”
Oikawa falters.
Why didn’t you?
“He didn’t want me to be at the airport.”
“I was leaving for Argentina,” Oikawa continues for him, “but I didn’t want to say good bye.”
“I wanted to see you off, Oikawa.”
“I didn’t want to say good bye.”
“Okay,” Iwaizumi mumbles understandingly. “Is there anything you wanted to say to me but didn’t get the chance to?”
“I love you,” says Oikawa softly, watching Iwaizumi’s green eyes widen. “I wanted to say I love you at the airport.”
Damn.
“I didn’t, though,” Oikawa tells the staff. “He wasn’t there—everything would have just been harder, if he was.”
“You’re so stubborn.”
“Wanna drink to that?”
“Oh yeah.”
What’s something that still reminds you of him now?
“Um…”
“Oh come on, Iwa-chan.”
“Will you wait, I’m trying to figure it out,” Iwaizumi chuckles. He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Well for sure there’s volleyball—”
“Obviously.”
“—but maybe the sky, too? Sunsets?”
Oikawa pauses. “A whole sky reminds me of you?”
“No, wait, let me explain! You liked the sky a lot.”
“I did.”
“And you were sort of always… looking up? Didn’t we have a thing when we used to go home together, and we said if the sky was starting to get pretty, we needed to book it?”
“Oh, yeah,” Oikawa laughs lightly. He turns to the off-cam crew. “It’s ‘cuz when the sky is pretty it’s usually already late.”
“That only applied on the days without practice though.” Iwaizumi turns to them for a moment too. “Practice could drag on forever and you wouldn’t mind. Or care.”
“I feel like you started the sky thing so I would listen to you.”
Iwaizumi grins, “And it worked.”
“You know for a while after we broke up, I didn’t really look at the sky much. Was always sort of looking at the ground,” Oikawa says thoughtfully. “There’s a gap in my camera roll where I didn’t take pictures of the sky for two months. I guess it reminded me of you too.” Iwaizumi nods.
“When I flew to California, I couldn’t even look at the clouds.”
“Seriously, Iwa-chan?”
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi huffs. “The sunsets too. Everything was just…” he gestures vaguely at nothing.
“The sunsets in San Juan are pretty,” Oikawa mumbles. “I think though it’s the sunrises that got to me. I wondered how your day went, when mine was starting.”
“What the hell,” smiles Iwaizumi.
You look like you wanna kiss him.
“Um,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa bursts with laughter. “Cheers?”
On the count of three, tell us who you think loved the other more.
“Cool.”
“Alright.”
“Do we, uh…”
“Do we count?”
We can do it for you.
“Okay then, please do.”
1… 2… 3—
“We both did.”
“I did.”
“Okay,” Oikawa bites his lip. “That’s fair.”
Over time, the two of you have changed. Tell us which of these changes you hate the most.
“Drink?” Iwaizumi offers. “Oikawa?”
“You’re drinking?”
“Yeah?”
“If there’s something, you gotta tell me!” Oikawa pouts. “So unfair.”
Unfair?
“Why?” Iwaizumi’s brow furrows. “Were you going to say something you hate about me?”
Oikawa looks at him for a time, provocative. Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to make of it, but he’s afraid.
“No,” Oikawa ultimately says, too soft even for when he’s contemplating.
“Hey,” Iwaizumi calls gently, just as he throws the drink back, “you good?”
“Mm-hm.” Humming around the sake, Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi again, eyes crescents. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Would he make a good husband?
“Yeah, I think so,” Oikawa answers right away, an expression that looks like What kind of question is this? written all over his face. “He’s caring and strong. Takeru loves him,” he tells the crew, “And I think you wanna settle down too; can’t really be a husband if you don’t. Personally, I think the kind of support that you give—you’ve got a good head on your shoulders—I think what you can provide would be something ideal. For—as a husband.”
Detailed.
“Yeah. At one point when you’re young and kind of stupid, you think about that stuff. And my answer’s kind of changed, but this is the older, adult, practical version.”
And what about you?
“I wouldn’t know,” Iwaizumi answers with a shit-eating grin, and it gets a gasp out of Oikawa.
“Iwa-chan!”
“Okay then—”
“You are not drinking! Tell me! Honestly!”
“Then,” he continues cockily, “Marry me. So I know.”
“You piece of ▇▇,” Oikawa shakes his head, smiling disbelievingly. “▇▇ you.”
Iwaizumi looks to the crew, pointing a thumb at Oikawa with a shrug. “Rejected.”
“Oh, I’m asking again,” says Oikawa, card in hand. He clears his throat and reads aloud, “Did I set you up for future lovers?” and looks at Iwaizumi unreadably.
“Huh,” Iwaizumi squints at him, scrutinizing, before eventually schooling his expression. “Yeah,” he threads his fingers together. “I think you did.” You ruined everyone for me. “I learned a lot from you.”
“Yeah,” Oikawa nods. “Yeah,” You ruined everyone for me, “I learned a lot from you. I wouldn’t know what I know if I didn’t learn it from you somehow.”
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi smiles. “And from ▇▇▇▇ and ▇▇▇.”
“Oh my god! Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi had fallen back into his seat mirthfully. Oikawa looks at the crew. “Please cut that out!”
We’ll beep it out.
“Wait. Could you beep out my swearing too?”
Okay, sure.
“Do you stalk my social media?” Iwaizumi asks.
“No,” Oikawa answers curtly. Then, because he’s going to own whatever he does, he says solidly: “I do check it sometimes to see how you’re doing, though.”
“You could just ask me?” Iwaizumi sets the card face-down on the table.
“I don’t wanna hear it from you if you’d finally gotten an s/o!”
Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa like he’s grown a second head. “Why not?”
“Because if there’s someone new that means you broke up with someone,” Oikawa whines. “And I don’t want you breaking up. I want you staying with someone I know you love and being happy.”
“You’re a goddamn sap,” Iwaizumi groans. “A goddamn sap.”
“This is the last question.”
“Okay,” says Iwaizumi. “Hit me with it.”
“Where do you keep all our old photos?”
“Huh.”
Did you keep them?
“I mean, yeah, I did,” Iwaizumi turns to the crew, then back to Oikawa. “It’s in a cloud drive. I told you this.”
“Yeah—is it still lost? Didn’t you lose track of it?”
“No, I found it actually, maybe a year ago? Everything is still in it.”
“Cool.”
“I know where you keep our old photos,” Iwaizumi says skeptically.
Oikawa huffs out a laugh. “I told you. Of course you do. But there’s pics I deleted.” He turns to the crew, too, “I deleted the ones he looked best in.”
Why?
“Because it hurt me.” He rolls his eyes half-heartedly and shrugs. “I mean, at the time. I wish I kept them, though.”
Is there anything else you want to say to each other?
Iwaizumi answers first.
“They didn’t ask us if we would go back and change anything, so I just wanted to say that I wouldn’t.” He smiles at Oikawa, a small one, to show him he means it.
“Really?”
“Yeah—not a thing.”
“Even if we didn’t make it?” Oikawa smiles.
Iwaizumi scoffs. “Don’t say shit like that, Oikawa.”
“Well,” and Oikawa looks radiant, but Iwaizumi thinks a part of that might just be him; might just be his mind. “I wouldn’t change anything either. You know this too.”
“I do. Yeah.” He smiles. “Anything else?”
“You already know this! But for the views,” Oikawa’s eyes crinkle up from laughing all afternoon, “I’m glad it was you.”
“Do you remember that song I taught you?”
Oikawa shifts in his seat. “Which one?”
“The one Andrew taught me. Kung hindi man tayo…”
“Ah,” shaking his head affectionately, Oikawa sings too. Their accent is heavy and the words slur together wrong, but they look happy with themselves.
Kung hindi man tayo hanggang dulo
‘Wag mong kalimutan
Nandito lang ako
Laging umaalalay
Hindi ako lalayo
What song is that?
“It’s a Filipino song,” Iwaizumi addresses the crew. “Uh, ‘Kundiman’. My roommate’s friend’s friend taught it to me at a party, and it’s about being there to support someone even if you don’t end up together. The second line means ‘don’t forget it’—I think that’s really sweet.”
“He taught it to me,” Oikawa giggles, “really early on. He just sent me the link.”
“I did. And…” Iwaizumi looks warmly at Oikawa, jutting his lip out in a cheaper version of his best friend’s pout, “I’m glad it was you, too.”
“Aw, Iwa-chan.”
And that’s a wrap!
Iwaizumi has a half mind telling him to ask for the rest of the sake. There’s still a bit left, and he could drink it with Oikawa if he can catch up to him, because he’d left some minutes ago in a way he must’ve thought was discreet, but it had never been Iwaizumi’s habit to lose track of him. He eyes the bottle from his spot in the middle of hugs and congratulations, looking for ways he could slip away and slip it with him, unnoticed. It would take a lot of speed, probably. Less eyes on him, too. If Oikawa were here...
“He went out,” one of the staff tells him.
“Ah—” he sputters. Had he given Oikawa away?
“He knows,” says another knowingly. “It’s okay. Go after him.”
Oikawa takes a steadying breath.
Then he wipes at the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, gently, before he opens them and tries smiling at the mirror.
He takes a breath again.
He’s perfected this breath: one deep inhale, held for a single second and a half, designed to keep him numb and looking detached from what’s happening, whether it be a game of volleyball, or a game of Truth or Drink.
He brings his eyes to the mirror again.
In truth, he is never detached.
But he’d made peace with him and Hajime years ago—became content with knowing what he already did: that Iwaizumi did not want him, but he was loved by him, to a great extent, and for a wonderful moment in time. He wasn’t selfish enough—couldn’t be selfish enough—to even hope for maybe more or again.
The door to the restroom swings open.
“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, standing in the far right of Oikawa’s peripheral. He doesn’t move from the door when he closes it.
“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s eyes raise and stay on the mirror. “I was just leaving—”
“I was looking for you.”
“Why…?”
In English, Iwaizumi says lightly, “Don’t pull that shit on me.”
“¿Qué mierda?” Oikawa asks, finally facing him, and his raised brow is playful; expectant, deceiving.
“You and leaving suddenly aren’t the best combo in the world,” Iwaizumi explains. “It’s actually so bad, it almost never happens. So talk to me.” He steps closer.
“Nothing’s wrong, Iwa-chan.”
“You know,” he drawls, steadily approaching. “In California, when someone says nothing’s wrong, something’s wrong.”
“Pft,” Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“You’re right,” Iwaizumi stops, right in front of his ex-boyfriend. He gazes at him. “But I know you, so talk. To me.”
Oikawa is much different now.
For one, his hair is shorter—that makes it look a little neat. He’s broader, and there are lines in his arms and on his face that have been chiseled in with time. Iwaizumi’s hands itch to trace them, but he contents himself with looking.
Oikawa’s eyes are still that warm and beautiful brown, but they’re more brilliant—clearer—and whatever he sees in Iwaizumi with them somehow causes him to soften.
Oikawa is much different now.
But when he softens it’s with the same radiant affection that’s told Iwaizumi countless times that he’s about to be forgiven. I love you anyway, you know? echoes in his mind, and years ago, it could have been for anything.
Maybe now, it’s because he’s being so stupid.
(I did, he’d answered a while ago. He thinks now, of himself, Liar.)
“I’m alright, Hajime.”
But he isn’t alright; because when Iwaizumi closes their distance, Oikawa curls into his chest like a fool, unknowing of the place that has always meant for him to be there.
And something like a dam breaks, and he’s crying.
“Shit,” Iwaizumi curses in English. “Shit—Tooru. Hey.”
“Fuck.” Oikawa breathes. “No me mires, por favor.”
“I won’t look. But you gotta tell me what it is, Oikawa.”
“Fucking call me Tooru, you jerk,” Oikawa demands the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. “You drank so much,” he whines, “you brute! There were so many important questions!”
“Okay.” Iwaizumi cups Oikawa’s nape. “I did not drink that much and you know it.”
“Eleven shots,” Oikawa mutters. “Some of them weren’t even for the real questions, but you drank anyway.”
“It was easier than just sitting there,” Iwaizumi chuckles. “I don’t get to drink a lot, you know, Tooru.”
“But,” and Oikawa’s voice is so soft Iwaizumi pulls away; cups his cheek though his eyes are downcast, and watches him. “I thought we wouldn’t drink at all today. We still talk—and I thought we could tell each other anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi mumbles, brushing Oikawa’s hair back.
He looks at him then—grateful and apologetic—and it knocks the wind out of Iwaizumi; has his mouth moving before his mind can catch up.
“Ask me now.”
Oikawa wipes at his damp cheeks. “No.”
“Ask me.”
“Hajime, I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Just one,” Iwaizumi says gently. “The one you want to ask the most. The one that has you—” He pushes Oikawa’s hair back again, “—like this. Please.”
Oikawa looks away and pauses. Breathes. “What—” and then he keeps Iwaizumi tethered, holding the green of his eyes by his brown. “Which of the changes in me… do you hate the most?” His eyes water with the weight of the question.
“You know I don’t hate you,” Iwaizumi frowns. “There’s nothing I can hate about you, I—”
“No,” Oikawa shakes his head. “You drank for this question. If there’s…” he trails off, watching Iwaizumi’s expression.
He looks pained.
“If there’s anything...”
“No. I love you,” Iwaizumi says, quietly, “Maybe I hate that you aren’t mine.”
Oikawa tries to step away.
“What are you saying?”
“I mean it,” Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I mean it.”
“You can tell me the truth,” Oikawa assures him, begging. “Nobody’s watching, Iwa-chan.” A tear falls again. “There’s no games and no rules. It’s just us, in here, so don’t—”
“Oikawa Tooru.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Oikawa grits his teeth, “And just answer the question.”
“But why would I lie, Oikawa?”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“Why would I lie when,” Iwaizumi continues, searching Oikawa’s face, “I already sat there and pretended I didn’t want to kiss you. Already,” he falters, “told you and them you set me up for future lovers when you ruined them for me, Oikawa, because look at you.”
“Hajime…”
“Tooru.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Oikawa gets that look again—softer than gold, more forgiving than time. “So, so—”
“And I lied, too,” Iwaizumi has to cut in, because he needs to say this, “when I said I was the one who loved you more.”
“Oh.”
Oikawa deflates visibly: shoulders slumped, head bowed as he shakes and shudders and Iwaizumi keeps talking, and holding him close—impossibly close.
“You don’t need to prove it to me, because I know. I was there and I felt it. I know you loved me, Tooru.”
“Fuck you,” Oikawa mutters weakly. “That’s all I want. All I want is that you know.” He thumps on Iwaizumi’s chest. “I hate you so much. And I love you. So much, Hajime. And I just—as long as you know.”
“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Iwaizumi laughs. “I love you too.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Hello? I love you, Tooru. What—you know what? Never mind.”
“Don’t ask me what happens now,” laughs Oikawa wetly. “I don’t know. It’s been too long—”
“It’s been too long?”
“We’ll figure it out!” Oikawa cradles Iwaizumi’s face, rubbing a thumb over the dried tears there. He softens. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.”