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For Iwaizumi Hajime, the sound of the lock on their apartment popping open is synonymous with a heavenly choir singing the sweetest melody known to man.
After a long day of grueling classes and even more extenuating -but deeply satisfying- volleyball practice, all Iwaizumi wants to do is get in the shower and nap for three hours straight, foregoing any and all responsibilities that may come his way.
Iwaizumi lets out a sigh. If only he could do that.
A cheery “Welcome home” wafts from Oikawa’s study after he opens the door, the shrill noise tearing off the hinges announcing his presence.
At the sound of Oikawa’s voice, a bright smile makes its way onto Iwaizumi’s lips, making some of his exhaustion instantaneously disappear. Iwaizumi was sure that, if the sound of their apartment unlocking was a heavenly choir, then the rich tones of Oikawa’s baritone were most definitely the result of the synergic combination of all of them, because there was nothing else that Iwaizumi would rather listen to when he got home.
With another deep sigh, this one leaning more towards the content side of the spectrum, Iwaizumi places his bags down by the tatami over the genkan, sitting on the very edge to unlace his shoes and change into slippers. Inhaling deeply, Iwaizumi stretches his arms, twisting around to make his joints pop as he listens carefully, frowning when the sound of soft, padding footsteps heading his way does not reach him.
“Oikawa?” he calls, curious as to why his boyfriend has not come out to greet him yet.
“Sorry, Iwa-chan! I’m just finishing up something important right now, wait a second!”
With an exasperated huff that does nothing to hide the fondness in Iwaizumi’s heart, he stands up to go in search of his boyfriend.
Iwaizumi finds him frantically scribbling away at a notebook, filling line after line with clear strokes, weaving them together to form complex characters. The spiker leans against the door, amused by the sight that welcomes him. Oikawa is full on ‘Tooru, the mad scientist’ mode, a term fondly coined by Iwaizumi despite Oikawa being a complete disaster when it came to anything related to science. A great surprise, given his excellent observational skills and reliable memory. However, there was no denying the facts. The number of times he nearly blew up the lab throughout middle and high school - 15, as stated neatly by the diploma resting on the shelf that Hanamaki and Matsukawa had gifted him with as a joke on graduation day- were a testament to just that.
Just as Oikawa finishes up the last strokes of the final characters, closely followed by the roundness of a full-stop, Iwaizumi leaves his place on the doorjamb and places his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders, kneading softly at the flesh there.
Oikawa sighs out in sheer bliss as he burrows into the back of his plushy twirling chair.
“Finally done.”
“What was that?” Iwaizumi asks conversationally, working out kink after kink. Oikawa sinks deeper into the dark leather, pliant under his boyfriend’s deft hands.
“Just some essay for this week’s seminar,” Oikawa hums, closing his eyes and getting lost in the pleasure.
“How long were you working on that for?” Iwaizumi asks, a slight smile tugging at his lips, pleased with the reactions he was getting out of Oikawa.
The brunet slides an eye open and looks lazily at the clock.
“Eh…About four and a half hours?” he sheepishly answers.
The hands on his shoulders still. Oikawa does not need to turn to know that a frown has come to existence on Iwaizumi’s face.
“Without stopping?” the tan boy asks, voice gruff with annoyance.
“Of course not, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa breezily lies. Iwaizumi can tell by the smile that quickly forms on his face, all sugar and no truth. “I went out to have a small run and I also paused to eat something.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” Iwaizumi says with a frustrated exhale. Nothing he could do about it now, he guessed. He would just have to keep a closer eye on Oikawa from now on. “Are you done with everything?”
Oikawa gives a grueling sigh.
“Iwa-chan, we’re college students, there’s always something to be done.”
“I meant that required immediate attention, idiot.”
Oikawa shoots him an amused glance that Iwaizumi does not like at all and then proceeds to lift the back of his hand to his forehead.
“No, I’m not,” Oikawa says with a theatrical cry, blowing everything out of proportion, as usual. “I still have to study for tomorrow’s test.”
Iwaizumi resignedly sighs, eyes rolling at the theatrics. His hands slip from Oikawa’s shoulders, earning him a moan of protest.
“All right, then. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll call when there’s something edible on the table. No thanks to you, of course.”
“That was one time, Iwa-chan! One time! Haven’t you heard of second chances?” The setter whines, gesturing wildly with his hands.
Iwaizumi’s eyes pointedly climb over to the diploma exhibited on Oikawa’s shelf. Oikawa shuts up, arms dropping like lead.
Pleased, Iwaizumi scratches an itch on his arm and yawns, exhibiting twin rows of pearly white teeth. Oikawa looks on, enjoying the show. He did always find a sleepy Iwaizumi terribly cute.
“I’m gonna go take a shower now,” Iwaizumi says after he closes his mouth, voice rough with tiredness.
“Can I join you?” Oikawa asks, quick as a whip, a predatory smirk on his face.
Iwaizumi splutters, suddenly very much awake and with a blush coloring his cheeks.
“Didn’t you have an exam to study for!?”
“Aww, how cute, Iwa-chan’s blushing!” Oikawa coos, a teasing edge giving his words just the perfect blend of infuriating and annoying for Iwaizumi’s embarrassment to turn into anger.
“Shut up and study, dumbass!” Iwaizumi yells as he grabs the back of Oikawa’s head and redirects it to the books on his study desk.
“Ouch, Iwa-chan! Must you always act so much like those Neanderthals you love to study about?” Oikawa whines, but Iwaizumi knows it’s about two per cent real and ninety-eight per cent teasing.
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and is about to leave when he remembers he has not kissed Oikawa hello yet, having got lost in the tangle Oikawa had so effortlessly created.
Now, it’s not like Oikawa deserved it, the moron, but Iwaizumi could not deny liking every little kiss they could sneak, because with their conflicting timetables it is not like they had many opportunities to do so.
And so, Iwaizumi turns back to Oikawa and leans down, intent on placing a soft, comforting kiss on Oikawa’s lips, a good luck charm of sorts, when Oikawa fidgets. It is minimal, barely a twitch, but it is enough for Iwaizumi to know that something is going on.
He stops.
A deep frown settles over his forehead.
“Tooru,” he says, voice stern, questioning. The usage of his first name in that particular tone is enough for Oikawa to know that he is screwed. “What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing, Iwa-chan! Why would I be hiding something?”
“You didn’t let me kiss you.”
“Iwa-chan, you are the one that stopped, not me.”
“Because you flinched.”
“I did no such thing! Why would I flinch when my beloved Iwa-chan is about to kiss me!?” Oikawa whines, trying to sound believable.
The eyebrow Iwaizumi lifts in response indicates that he is not buying it.
Well, damn. So much for trying.
“So then you won’t mind if I kiss you this time, right?”
Oh, God damn it.
“Why would I? In fact, I’d love it. I’ve missed you today, you know?” Oikawa says with a smile, hoping to dissipate some of the tension, but even to his own ears it sounded strained.
Iwaizumi smiles smugly, only proving Oikawa’s suspicions further.
Oikawa sends a quick prayer for himself up to the skies before standing up from the chair, meeting Iwaizumi’s lips halfway on his way up.
The kiss is over before Iwaizumi realizes that it has indeed happened, all closed lips and feather light touches. Oikawa is backing away, reaching blindly for the chair behind him. He grips the armrest and moves to sit back down again, but Iwaizumi prevents it by grabbing his upper arm and tugging him closer to his body, grip on the plastic surface rapidly lost.
“Iwa-chan, I really need to study!” Oikawa protests, hoping that Iwaizumi will let him go.
“Why won’t you kiss me properly?” Iwaizumi says, and his tone is equal halves frustrated and something else Oikawa can’t quite put his finger on.
“Iwa-chan, I swear, when I finish my exams I’ll make out with you all day long if you want, but right now I really need to study for this test, or I won’t pass the subject!” Oikawa responds, resorting to trying to guilt trip Iwaizumi.
It had a fifty-fifty chance of working.
“Thirty seconds of kissing won’t make you fail, Tooru.”
Well, it seemed that luck had decided to abandon Oikawa Tooru for the day.
“But it’ll distract me and I’ll take ages to get back into study mode!”
“I’ve grown up with you Tooru” Iwaizumi growls, fixing him with a look that told Oikawa that he was getting tired of his bullshit. “I’ve seen you studying for an exam from scratch in a class filled with twenty five idiots screaming their lungs out an hour before it took place and then getting a perfect score on it. I know perfectly well how your concentration works.”
Oikawa finds he is running out of excuses rather quickly.
“So, are you going to keep up this charade any longer or are you going to stop lying to me?” Oikawa opens his mouth to retort and then closes it, deflating with the action, defeated and accepting of his fate.
With a frustrated sigh, Iwaizumi dives in and captures Oikawa’s lips with his.
In the beginning he doesn't discern anything out of the usual. Oikawa’s lips taste like the balm he always puts on when he is nervous (a mix of vanilla and cinnamon that Iwaizumi bought for him one day on a whim), claiming it helped him relax. Iwaizumi’s brows lower into a frown of concern and for a brief moment he wonders if his suspicions were born out of his paranoia normally associated with Oikawa Tooru. But as soon as his tongue slips inside Oikawa’s mouth after the setter’s desperate last attempt to keep him out of it, he understands exactly why Oikawa had been so intent on avoiding his kisses.
The sharp pang of artificially sweet chemicals greets him as he runs his tongue over Oikawa’s teeth, thoroughly coated with the substance. When he continues his exploration, he discovers the rest of Oikawa’s mouth to be in the same condition. It is obvious that Oikawa has tried to get rid of the taste, as it is not as pungent as Iwaizumi knows and expected it to be, but that only means he has had to drink at least three or four of them for the taste to linger like that.
With a grimace, Iwaizumi brusquely pulls away, running his tongue over his own teeth and mouth to try and wash off the taste with saliva. After a few seconds of insistently rubbing and swallowing, he turns on Oikawa to find him white as a sheet.
“You’ve been drinking those shitty energy drinks again, haven’t you?” Iwaizumi states, not even a question at this point.
Oikawa lowers his gaze until it rests on the laced hands on his lap, not replying.
Iwaizumi is not about to start saying ‘Oh, I should have noticed before, he was moving around more than usual, I should have realized something was going on!’ because that is not the case. An Oikawa Tooru high on energy drinks is no different than the normal Oikawa Tooru. And that was what made them so dangerous for him.
Oikawa has never been one to know when to stop. Enough proof of that was his knee, teetering on the very edge of no-return, where a single breath in the wrong direction would result in something far more permanent that both of them would like.
That means that Oikawa does not stop until he feels satisfied. And that is a problem, because said feeling is one that almost never manifests.
Iwaizumi feels his temper building, despite his desperate attempts at keeping it under control.
“Damn it, Tooru, I took them away for a reason! You know the doctor said those were bad for you!” he snapped, raw concern and frustration bleeding into his voice.
Iwaizumi tries (and fails) to not remember the long nights, the anxiety, the tears and the self-deprecation. He is not going through that again. And neither is Oikawa, if he has a say in the matter.
“I know… But I need to study. I can’t fall asleep. I don’t have the time,” Oikawa whispers frantically, anxiety coloring his features, fingers twisting against one another in desperation. Iwaizumi hears the slight hitch Oikawa’s breath and panics, instincts kicking in.
“Tooru!” Iwaizumi yells, roughly grabbing the collar of his boyfriend’s shirt, forcing Oikawa to look at him in the eyes.
Well, there goes the attempt at gently approaching the situation.
Oikawa sees the overwhelming pain reflected in Iwaizumi’s eyes and feels awful for being the cause of it. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, marveling at how Oikawa is the only one that can manage to make him snap that quickly, who can make him feel like he is tiptoeing a very dangerous line.
He closes his eyes in an attempt to gather his thoughts, opening them after a few seconds and baring their green-grey iris to Oikawa, determination reflected in his pupils.
The only thing he wants to do now is smack Oikawa back into reason, but at least one of them has to be rational. His next words feel like massive weights as he pushes them out of his mouth.
“Listen to me. I am going to leave you alone now. You are going to finish whatever it is you are studying and in two hours, I expect you in the kitchen to have dinner. Afterwards, no more studying until tomorrow,” Oikawa opens his mouth as if to protest, but the glare Iwaizumi sends his way effectively shuts him up. “As I was saying, no more studying until tomorrow. And then you will go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep.”
“What?!” Oikawa splutters. “No, Iwa-chan, no, I need to revise. I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed to pass this exam. And why am I the only one who has to go to bed early!?”
Iwaizumi shoots him an angry look.
“Knowing you, you already know that whole textbook by heart. What you need to do now is sleep to make sure that what you have crammed into your brain stays in there,” he says, standing his ground and pointing at Oikawa’s head with his finger, jabbing it in his direction with each of his words, as if he could pin what he was saying to Oikawa’s brain that way.
“All right, fine, I get that. But why am I the only one who has to go to bed early?” Oikawa repeats his question, stubbornly looking for an answer.
Iwaizumi shrugs.
“Because.”
I have to keep an eye on you so that you don’t go back to studying.
Iwaizumi wonders if his worries are that evident on his face when he sees something dark flicker across Oikawa’s gaze, making him stop his querying. Iwaizumi releases Oikawa’s collar, backing away slowly like one would do with a wounded animal, arms slightly raised as if to ward of a threat, threat that, while invisible, is very much capable of inflicting large quantities of damage. Their eyes meet one last time and Iwaizumi sighs in relief at the sight of the agreement reflected on Oikawa’s brown eyes.
He stands by Oikawa’s side, gaze as sharp as a hawk’s, until the other boy has settled back into his seat, draping one of his long legs over the other and focusing his gaze on a book that, Iwaizumi sees, is on Mercantile Law. He rolls his eyes at the sight of the familiar dark grey covers, because he recognizes it as the one that Oikawa had been carrying around for weeks, reading it whenever he could. And at the rate Oikawa memorized things, Iwaizumi knew that book was practically imprinted on Oikawa’s brain by now.
After a minute of calm, he bends down to press a soft kiss to the top of Oikawa’s head, lingering for a few seconds and basking in the cinnamon scent wafting from the soft locks of hair.
“I’m adding ten more seconds of study time for that, you know that, right?”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and softly smacks Oikawa’s head.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” He responds, imitating Oikawa’s petulant tone.
“But you love me. And that’s five more seconds plus a dessert of my choice.”
With an exasperated huff of breath at Oikawa’s antics and a secret smile on his face at the return of the teasing side of Oikawa’s personality, Iwaizumi turns to leave, thoughts already drifting to that warm shower he has been dreaming with ever since practice ended. Maybe he could even get some reading of his own done (Lord knows he needed it way more than Oikawa did).
Right as he is exiting the room, he stops to look at Oikawa once more.
“Tooru.”
The other man lifts his head, about to retort something along the likes of ‘That will be one more minute, Iwa-chan’, but Iwaizumi cuts him off before he does.
“Please don’t drink anymore of those things.”
With a slow tilt of his head, Oikawa identifies what he had missed on Iwaizumi’s gaze earlier. It is a deep, genuine concern that is etched deep into the bones of his childhood friend turned lover, built upon layers and layers of that instinct of protection that blooms under the close watch of friendly proximity and, later on, any kind of love. Oikawa knew a concern not unlike Iwaizumi’s resided deep inside his body as well, though his did not manifest as often as Iwaizumi’s had to.
“I won’t,” Oikawa murmurs and resumes his reading.
———————————————————————————————————————————
The timer on the stove goes off, signaling that the lasagna that was heating up in the oven is ready to eat.
Iwaizumi lifts his gaze from where it had been trained on his Art History notes, blinking to clear his eyes. Leaning back on the chair, he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm and stretches out his arms before standing up and heading for the timer to turn it off.
It was not milk bread (they had ran out just that morning), but lasagna was Oikawa’s second favorite food, so it would have to do.
“Oikawa! Dinner’s ready!” he yells as he moves to gather the numerous papers scrawled all over the kitchen table. When everything is securely put away in his folder he turns to the kitchen door, expecting to see Oikawa’s figure filling the frame. Instead, he gets the dull yellow paint of the corridor.
Iwaizumi lets out a frustrated groan.
“Oikawa! I said dinner’s ready!” he yells again as he sticks his head out into the corridor, just as the lights in Oikawa’s study blink off.
“Oh, Iwa-chan,” comes Oikawa’s lilting voice, hand in hand with a blinding smile, “you’re much too impatient.”
Iwaizumi feels a vein in his head throb.
“Sit down and eat your stupid lasagna, Shittykawa, before I do something you will regret.”
Iwaizumi does not miss Oikawa’s smirk as he passes him by and into the kitchen.
“Oh, lasagna,” the setter croons as he peers into the oven. “Iwa-chan, you’re too kind to me.”
“Drop the mocking tone or no dinner for you tonight.”
“Mean!” Oikawa says as he puffs up, blowing out his cheeks like a whiny five-year old (which, Iwaizumi guesses, he can be most of the time. Seriously, even Takeru behaves in a more mature way.)
Iwaizumi pulls on the kitchen mittens and with a few, quick moves, the lasagna is out of the oven and on the table.
Discarding the mittens, Iwaizumi picks up a knife and proceeds to swiftly cut the lasagna in half, dumping the creamy layers of pasta onto two plates.
“Ooh, Iwa-chan, such fantastic housewife skills!”
This time, Oikawa does get a rather vicious smack for his troubles.
They eat in silence, the only sounds breaching the calm being the scrape of metal against the porcelain.
Oikawa finishes before Iwaizumi, barely chewing at all as he scarfs down his half of the lasagna. Iwaizumi feels a small stab of guilt at seeing the way Oikawa is devouring the lasagna. Being one of his favorite meals, the excitement and the feeling to want to eat as quickly as possible were to be expected, especially considering his childish personality when it came to food, but there was a hint of desperation behind his movements that Iwaizumi did not like at all. He chided himself, knowing he should have made more food, as it should have been obvious that Oikawa would be hungry after working non-stop all day.
Iwaizumi barely registers the scrape of the plate against the clear glass surface as it makes its way to Oikawa’s side of the table, half-eaten lasagna still on it.
Oikawa looks up curiously.
“Iwa-chan, aren’t you hungry?”
“Nah, I had something to eat on the way home, so I’m full already,” Iwaizumi replies, thankful that his stomach does not growl in protest and thus, betrays him. He will just have to snack on something before bed, no big deal.
Oikawa keeps his wary front for a second longer before shrugging and diving into his newly-acquired food.
Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa’s lips wrap around the fork, sees the lasagna disappear bite by bite (smaller this time, thankfully), until the plate is practically wiped clean.
Oikawa lets out a satisfied sigh, one of his hands landing on his abdomen.
“Thank you for the food, Iwa-chan, it was delicious,” Oikawa praises with a hearty smile on his lips, his more caring side showing through the cracks of the pretentious façade.
Iwaizumi waves a hand and grunts noncommittally, a soft blush creeping over his face and settling high on his cheekbones.
After leaving the plate in the sink for it to soak, Oikawa turns to leave to get ready for bed.
Iwaizumi is left standing in the middle of the kitchen, unease swimming in his chest. While all this silence was not a particular odd occurrence for the both of them, the tension underlying the whole exchange was something that did not sit well with Iwaizumi.
Before he can stop himself, his hand lands atop of Oikawa’s shoulder, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
Oikawa directs an inquisitive gaze to him, eyebrow slightly raised.
Iwaizumi clears his throat and takes a steadying breath.
“I owe you a dessert of your choice, do I not?”
Oikawa’s mouth morphs into a small ‘o’ of surprise, before melting off into a warm smile.
While Iwaizumi definitely enjoys Oikawa’s playful and bantering side (not that Oikawa will ever know), what he really lives for is these small moments where Oikawa will let his guard down and allow Iwaizumi inside his walls, baring the true essence of the person known as ‘Oikawa Tooru’ to him. Not the confident volleyball player, not the witty lawyer in-the-making but the concerned childhood friend wracked with doubts and filled to the brim with insurmountable love for those that care about him.
“Well, if you insist, then I suppose I wouldn’t mind eating some of those macarons I saw you trying to sneak in yesterday.”
Iwaizumi hangs his head with a groan, not even bothering to ask how Oikawa knew about the macarons. Damn it, he thought he actually would be able to surprise him this time.
Wordlessly, Iwaizumi heads for the fridge, moving things around until he manages to extract a nondescript white small box.
“Knock yourself out,” he grumbles as he hands them to Oikawa, who positively glows at the prospect.
“Yay! Thank you, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says with a bright grin, reaching for the box and pulling out a strawberry macaron. He pops into his mouth and promptly moans in pleasure at the taste, making Iwaizumi’s blush return full-force.
“These are heavenly, Iwa-chan! Did you get them at the new bakery near your campus?” Oikawa asks, but Iwaizumi knows him well enough to know that it was not really a question. Sometimes, Iwaizumi just cannot help but be impressed by Oikawa’s keen skills.
“Yeah,” he answers, more for his benefit that Oikawa’s. Oikawa gives a pleased smile.
“I’ll have to drop by, then. It would be a shame to waste an opportunity to eat macarons as good as these.”
“Just make sure you actually pay for them this time.”
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. “Haven’t you tortured me enough with that? I mean, I get that you’re jealous that you can’t get girls to give you things for free, but there’s no need to keep being mean to me about it.”
“You,” Iwaizumi says, whacking Oikawa on the shoulder for emphasis, “are literally the worst kind of trash there is and I don’t know what I did in a past life to be doomed to share my life with you.”
“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says with a pout. “I’m the light of your existence!”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and moves to exit the kitchen.
“I’m going to get ready for bed. I expect you in the bedroom in fifteen minutes.”
“Someone’s eager,” Oikawa drawls from behind him, words sugar-coated with a layer of mockery. Iwaizumi hears the telltale sound of another macaron meeting its untimely end. He does not need to turn to know that a smirk has found its way onto Oikawa’s face, all glinting edges and a promise of more.
But Iwaizumi has a few tricks of his own.
With a smirk to mirror Oikawa’s, he sightly tilts his head back, angling his body in just the right way.
“Want to find out just how much?” he murmurs, voice half an octave lower than usual.
Iwaizumi is darkly satisfied when he hears Oikawa choke on the macaron he was eating.
———————————————————————————————————————————
From Iwaizumi’s position at the foot of the bed, Oikawa looks otherworldly.
Soft moonlight glances his features, turning the normally pale skin into a rich marble, not a single vein traversing the unblemished surface of his countenance, which, Iwaizumi knows, is as velvety as it looks. His chest rises and falls to the tempo of a song that Iwaizumi is not privy to, but that enthralls him nonetheless, drawing him in like a flame would do to a moth.
Even in sleep, Oikawa has the ability to deceive trough sheer brilliance.
But like the lie it is, illusions do not last forever.
Colors and shadows start biting into the margins of the blinding radiance that had overcome Iwaizumi’s vision, eating away at the ethereal sight lying on the bed until all that is left is the harsh truth.
Deep, dark circles are etched underneath Oikawa’s eyes, a product of his relentless work and his brash stubbornness, threatening to swallow all the life on Oikawa’s skin. His breath, despite being constant and regular, hitches on occasion, hinting at not-so pleasant dreams.
Iwaizumi had not fallen for a lie, but rather the hidden truth.
Sometimes, Iwaizumi wishes he could just smash every single doubt that ate away at Oikawa’s self-confidence, that made him stumble and, sometimes, very nearly fall. But he knows that the only thing he can do is be there in case Oikawa trips. And while the thought deeply frustrates him, Iwaizumi comforts himself in the feeling of knowing that he was walking through life by Oikawa’s side, and not ahead of him or chasing after an unreachable dream.
Iwaizumi parts the sheets and slips right behind Oikawa, pressing his chest to the setter’s back and draping his arms over his waist. He softly burrows his forehead in the crook of Oikawa’s neck, inhaling the pleasant scent of cinnamon drifting from the curling and damp hair tickling his nose.
Iwaizumi feels Oikawa shiver in his arms, and he subconsciously tightens his grip on him, drawing him as close as possible in an effort to console him. Iwaizumi angles his head just so, bringing his lips closer to Oikawa’s ear.
“You don’t have to impress anybody, Tooru. You don’t owe anything to anybody, not even me. The ones that love you - that’s your parents, your sister, Takeru, all of your friends and…-” Iwaizumi’s voice breaks off at this point, overwhelmed with emotion. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Me. We will love you regardless of the grades you get, of how many trophies you win or of how many awards bear your name. What matters to us is you. You, without all the added layers you have built over the years. We want you to be happy and healthy and just, comfortable with yourself. And we know how hard you try. Don’t think this is me saying that we think you don’t. It’s the very opposite. Tooru, we are so proud of you. I’m so proud of you, Tooru, you can’t even imagine. I always have, and I always will, no matter what you do. And you know this is not a lie. After all, it’s not like I’ve ever lied to you. And I never will.”
When Iwaizumi’s words die, Oikawa is violently shaking, sobs raking his form as he struggles to take a breath.
Iwaizumi shushes him, lifting a hand to pat through his locks until Oikawa is calm enough to breathe normally.
With a rueful sigh, Iwaizumi burrows deeper into fluffy brown hair. This had been coming for a long time now. Iwaizumi knew Oikawa needed an emotional outlet to periodically release what had been churning inside the sealed doors of his delicate heart. More often than not, tears would end up being the solution.
“Iwa-chan,” comes Oikawa’s shaking voice, a shadow of his confident persona in Iwaizumi’s arms. “I don’t deserve you.”
The hardest thing for Iwaizumi is knowing that Oikawa, in some form or to some extent, believes it. Believes that he is undeserving of everything he gets, despite having worked so hard for it, just because there are things he cannot achieve. It made him equal parts frustrated and heartbroken.
“Shut up, idiot,” Iwaizumi growls, the fondness in his voice betraying him. “You deserve the world.”
Oikawa starts laughing, wet, increasingly care-free sounds permeating the air and relaxing the tense atmosphere that had ensnared them. Iwaizumi allows a small smile to sneak onto his lips.
Thankfully, Oikawa’s downs tend to be brief. He will cry or scream, or whatever it is that his emotions have dictated that he do on that specific day and then, after a few minutes he will mostly return to his usual self.
Of course, it is not as easy as that. During the next few hours Iwaizumi is always wary of the weaker replicas - like those of an earthquake - that will threaten the foundations of Oikawa’s stability, but as they grow weaker and weaker, Iwaizumi grows more and more hopeful.
Then it will be a situation of delicate equilibrium until the next outburst.
Iwaizumi knows, and understands, and does not mind dealing with it all. He swore to do it as a child, after all. After the very first time he saw Oikawa cry because of his self-deprecation. And he has not stopped ever since.
Oikawa shows his gratefulness through acts rather than words, because most of what comes out of his mouth is either banter or witty sarcasm, and thus, not a great way to show appreciation. But Iwaizumi is the same, and that is why he can catch the nuances of the true meaning behind Oikawa’s every move. And he knows Oikawa does the same with him.
Iwaizumi looks down at the mess of brown hair in his arms, smiling gratefully for having been given the chance to meet this gorgeous boy who, piece by piece, had come to make up his whole world. A boy he would shower with stars if he could and for whom would give an arm or a leg or even his whole life if it meant he could be happy and realize that he deserved everything good the universe had to offer.
It is not until much later, when the alarm clock in their nightstand has already gone well past eleven P.M., that Oikawa fully calms down. He starts wriggling about, trying to search for a comfortable posture in which to drift off to sleep. As he always does, when he finds it, he abruptly stops.
Iwaizumi snorts at his antics, and playfully nudges Oikawa’s head with his nose.
Oikawa makes a slightly offended noise, but otherwise remains silent.
It is just when Iwaizumi is about to fall asleep, head nestled in Oikawa’s curls, one arm loosely circling the other boy’s waist, that fingers tentatively find his.
The fingers interlace tightly with his, resting over Oikawa’s stomach. There is a tight squeeze and then they go lax, as though they had already done their job. And in a way, they have.
Iwaizumi doesn’t fight the smile that takes over his lips.