Archive of Our Own ^beta

When we get to my house, take a look at that town
Take a look at how far I’ve gone
I will never go back, never look back anymore
And it feels like my life led right to your side
And will keep me there from now on
Think about what you wanted
Think about what could be
Think about how I love you
Say you’ll move in with me
Think of what’s great about me and you
Think of the bullshit we’ve both been through
Think of what’s past because we can do better
We can do better
We can do better than that

—  I Can Do Better Than That / Jason Robert Brown (The Last Five Years)

-

Graduation, for want of a better word, sucks.

Oikawa sleeps through half the ceremony and spends the other half texting. Iwaizumi would do something about it (like hit Oikawa over the head), but, well, it’s the last day that they’re going to be high schoolers anyway, so honestly, Iwaizumi really doesn’t care anymore. By the time the ceremony’s over and they’re on their feet singing their school song for the last time (thank fuck, Iwaizumi thinks privately), he’s already itching to just get the hell out of here – out of this school, this town, the only place he’s ever known for as long as he can remember.

Oikawa catches his eye then, grinning, and the urge to kick Oikawa squarely in the gut subsides. Iwaizumi finds himself grinning back instead, and their shoulders bump together as they stand side by side.

They don’t say anything – they don’t have to.

Next to him Oikawa’s eyes are bright, and Iwaizumi ducks his head as the graduation ceremony comes to a close.

-

They’d talked about this a lot, in the weeks leading up to graduation. It was Oikawa’s idea, originally – they were walking home after class, quiet but for the sound of their shoes scratching against gravel, when he’d said, out of the blue, “We should go somewhere, after graduation.”

“Somewhere?” Iwaizumi echoed, and Oikawa hummed.

“Yeah, like – out of town. You’ve never been out of Miyagi before, right? And the only other place I’ve ever been to was Tokyo for like, a week.”

“So like, what, backpacking?”

“I was thinking more like road tripping,” Oikawa admitted, and Iwaizumi turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“You know my dad has that minivan, right,” Oikawa continued, “and – okay, I’ve been doing some thinking, and if we clear out the back we could potentially store a whole bunch of stuff or maybe even sleep there if we don’t have money for a motel, so—”

“Don’t just blab on about your own plans without asking me first,” Iwaizumi interrupted, elbowing Oikawa in the side for good measure. “I haven’t even agreed yet.”

“I know,” Oikawa hummed. Iwaizumi caught a glimpse of his side profile, and watched as his lips stretched out into a grin. “But you always end up going along with my ideas in the end anyway.”

“I don’t,” Iwaizumi protested, but the fact of the matter was that he knew Oikawa was completely right.

And so it was decided – the summer after their graduation, they would be going on a trip.

-

They decide to visit the school again on the morning before their trip, mostly out of nostalgia – it had been Oikawa’s idea, wanting to say goodbye to the underclassmen in the volleyball team one last time, and Iwaizumi had agreed because it had sounded like a fairly reasonable plan.

But then some girls catch sight of Oikawa and Iwaizumi has a full two seconds to think oh fuck before they’re coming their way, and then they proceed to deliver about fifty confessions to Oikawa in a row, and instead of just walking away because they have a fucking schedule to meet Oikawa turns all of them down politely instead one by one (and not without a photo opportunity).

In the end it takes Iwaizumi’s foot to his side before he’s dragged away unceremoniously away from school.

“If you attempt to pick up even a single girl during the trip,” Iwaizumi warns as they make their way to Oikawa’s house from school, “I am literally going to throw myself out of a moving vehicle.”

“Don't be mean, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa turns to the side to pout, and Iwaizumi just snorts and turns away. “It’s not my fault I’m so good-looking – hey, who knows, maybe I could help set you up with some girl too, we could double-date—”

His words are cut short as Iwaizumi unceremoniously throws his bag off his shoulder and reaches over to pull Oikawa into an armlock.

“Ow ow ow Iwa-chan that hurts, not the hair please—”

“You vain prick,” Iwaizumi declares, rubbing his knuckles on Oikawa’s head. “This is a graduation trip, not a pick-up-girls trip—”

“I’m not saying we can’t go pick up guys too, Iwa-chan – ow ow OW I told you not the hair—”

It takes a long moment before Iwaizumi finally releases Oikawa, and he straightens up, rubbing the back of his head, still pouting like the five-year-old kid Iwaizumi is still convinced he never stopped being.

“Let’s go,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, in lieu of an apology, but Oikawa understands, nods, and ambles forward to catch up with Iwaizumi’s pace.

They walk quietly, then, and it occurs to Iwaizumi after a moment that this is probably going to be the last time that they’re going to be taking this route together – they’ve graduated, after all, and there’s no reason for them to be making the journey from the high school back to Oikawa’s house any longer.

Iwaizumi blinks, trying to shake the melancholy off, but when he turns his head Oikawa catches his eye.

He smiles, gently, maybe just a little bit sadly, and he leans to the side to let their shoulders bump into each other again.

Iwaizumi’s heart clenches in his chest, just a little.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and Oikawa nods.

“It’ll be okay, Iwa-chan,” he says, and Iwaizumi exhales.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

-

It turns out to be very not okay.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, barely ten minutes into them getting on the road.

“Hmm, what is it, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa murmurs, smiling pleasantly as he fiddles with the volume of the stereo.

“I know I said you could make the playlist for the trip but,” Iwaizumi says.

“But what, Iwa-chan?”

“Is this really—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says as the third SNSD song in a row starts playing.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, slowly, his grip on the steering wheel growing dangerously tight. “Is the entire playlist essentially just the complete Girls Generation discography.”

“No,” Oikawa hums, still fiddling with the volume knob. “There’s Brown Eyed Girls too.”

Iwaizumi immediately pulls over on the side of the road.

“Wait, Iwa-chan, what are you—”

At the very least, Iwaizumi waits for the car to screech to a stop before he unbuckles his seat belt and leans over to grab Oikawa by the collar of his shirt.

“I KNOW YOU HAVE THIS WEIRD FETISH FOR MANUFACTURED IDOL GROUPS, BUT SERIOUSLY? SERIOUSLY?”

“Calm down, Iwa-chan—”

“AND WHY ARE THEY ALL KOREAN GROUPS? ARE YOU EVEN JAPANESE?”

“I thought we established that one time I could probably pass for half-foreign—”

“GET OUT OF THE CAR.”

“I mean, technically, it’s my dad’s car, so—”

“GET OUT OF THE DAMN CAR.”

“We haven’t even left Sendai yet, Iwa-ch—”

“IF YOU’RE NOT GETTING OUT OF THE CAR I WILL.”

“But Iwa-chan—”

“I HATE YOU SO MUCH, YOU WASTE OF SPACE.”

“Hmm, that’s a new one—”

“THIS WAS THE WORST IDEA YOU’VE EVER COME UP WITH BY FAR.”

There’s a beat of silence. Iwaizumi’s hold on the collar of Oikawa’s shirt loosens.

“Are you done, Iwa-chan?”

“I’m done.”

Iwaizumi leans back, straps his seatbelt back on, and puts the car back into drive.

Next to him, Oikawa grins, and turns the volume up just a little bit higher.

-

Their plan for the day is to just make it out of Sendai before they actually head for a specific location. Oikawa’s original suggestion was to just drive around and see what stuff happens along the way, who knows, it might end up being fun,but Iwaizumi had rejected it point blank (with his foot shoved into the back of Oikawa’s head for emphasis) before marching out to the nearby bookstore to buy a map of Tohoku and circling possible destinations and rest stops and motels.

And so Iwaizumi carefully charted their route for the next two weeks, beginning at Oikawa’s house in the middle of Sendai, taking them through the various prefectures before finding their way back to Miyaji again.

“We’ll have to move fast, though,” Iwaizumi had remarked. “Or else it’s going to take much longer than two weeks. And frankly I don’t want to be trapped in a small moving vehicle with you for an extended period of time.”

“Iwa-chan’s so mean,” Oikawa complained, but even then he didn’t have anything to say about Iwaizumi’s plan for their trip (because it was a good plan, frankly, Oikawa just didn’t want to admit it.)

So the first day of the trip is spent mostly driving – Iwaizumi at the steering wheel while trying desperately to block out the electronic beats of yet another one of Oikawa’s weirdo Korean idol groups, while Oikawa hums along and stretches out with his feet on the dashboard.

They find a rest stop for the night and they test out their portable cooker for the first time with ingredients they’d bought at a convenience store they’d passed by earlier. It turns out okay, because Iwaizumi has surprising faith in Oikawa’s cooking ability, and the food is edible, if not exactly appetizing, but it works anyway.

It occurs to Iwaizumi, then, that this is going to be his life for the next two weeks or so – cramped in a moving vehicle with Oikawa by his side, huddling over a portable cooker with the cheapest ingredients they can gather from the local convenience stores, arguing over the tiniest of things and having to quash his homicidal tendencies every ten minutes.

The strangest part of the realization is that Iwaizumi is – surprisingly okay with it.

“Hey, Assikawa,” Iwaizumi calls as they clear out the back of the minivan for them to sleep in for the night.

“What is it, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa answers, not even looking at Iwaizumi (even with the use of that particular insult), busy unrolling his sleeping bag.

“I think –” Iwaizumi pauses, breathes, before he continues. “We’re gonna be okay,” he finishes, quietly. There’s a pause, and then Iwaizumi looks up, only to be met with the sight of Oikawa smiling at him.

It’s – it’s a gentle smile, not the shit-eating grins he gives to the girls or to the cameras, not the smug smirk that he gives to their opponents on the other side of the net. It’s Oikawa’s smile, the one that Iwaizumi’s grown up seeing, the one that’s tender in ways that Oikawa usually isn’t, and the one that assures Iwaizumi most of all that everything will be fine.

“Of course,” Oikawa says. “We have each other.”

They’re not talking about the road trip, then, not anymore.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi answers, turning away. “We do.”

It feels strangely like a sleepover, except instead of Oikawa’s or Iwaizumi’s bedroom it’s the back of a van, and it’s cramped and cold and uncomfortable, and Iwaizumi can’t even stretch out his legs fully, and the interior of the minivan smells a bit like the storeroom at the back of the Aobajousai gym – but it’s strangely comforting, nevertheless.

“G’night, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs sleepily.

“Goodnight,” he responds.

He stays awake for a long time, even after Oikawa’s eyes fall shut, his breathing evening out slowly.

-

Iwaizumi wakes up in the morning to the shrill sound of Oikawa’s shrieking.

“What the fuck, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi mutters blearily, scrunching his eyes shut.

“IWA-CHAN,” he yells. His voice echoes through the tiny interior of the minivan. “T-T-THERE’S A— THERE’S—”

“Go the fuck back to sleep, you moron,” Iwaizumi mumbles, rolling onto his side.

“THERE’S A COCKROACH IN HERE.”

Iwaizumi lets the words hang in silence for a long moment before he sits up, deliberately slowly, cracking one tired eyelid open.

Oikawa’s backed up against a corner, sleeping bag drawn up around his knees, an expression of pure terror on his face, and Iwaizumi follows his line of sight to the offending creature, currently scuttling across the floor of the minivan.

Wordlessly, he leans over, picks it up (ignoring Oikawa’s distressed cry), opens the door of the minivans, and throws it outside.

“IWA-CHAN, YOU— HOW COULD YOU HAVE JUST—”

“You,” Iwaizumi says, “are the biggest fucking piece of trash I have ever had the misfortune of being friends with.”

And then he sinks back into the sleeping bag for another good two hours of sleep.

-

When Iwaizumi wakes up again, blinking blearily into the sun, Oikawa’s already awake and changed, looking a little abashed.

“Morning, Iwa-chan,” he says. It sounds a little like an apology. “Where are we going today?”

“We’ve still got a long drive ahead,” Iwaizumi mumbles, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. “We should be venturing into Fukushima today… if I remember correctly. And probably pass by a couple of onsen along the way.”

“Sounds great,” Oikawa says. There’s a pause. “Let’s get going soon, then.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Iwaizumi stretches, yawning loudly. He extricates himself from the sleeping bag, wriggling out of it ungracefully before he ducks out of the minivan. Behind him, he hears Oikawa let out a sigh of relief.

He pauses.

“By the way,” he says, back turned towards Oikawa. “If I have to kill one more insect for you over the course of this trip, I am turning this car straight back home.”

And then he gets up to freshen up, ignoring Oikawa’s spluttering of protests behind him.

-

Most people expect Oikawa to be a lot more talkative than he actually is, but not Iwaizumi. He knows that, contrary to popular opinion, Oikawa doesn’t ramble on as much as people think he does. He can, of course, if he needs to – he’s a good conversationalist, knows how to sustain a conversation long enough to keep awkwardness at bay when he’s with people he’s unfamiliar with. But this is Iwaizumi – the person that he’s been friends with for far longer than he cares to remember. Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa doesn’t feel the need to try to keep up banal conversation, that it’s okay to just be quiet when it’s just the two of them. It’s how they’ve always operated – communication through curt words and silent glances and a gentle hand on a shoulder. And so Iwaizumi is content to let the music fill the spaces left by the silence between them. It lets him focus on the road ahead of him, occasionally sneaking glances at Oikawa to check if he’s fallen asleep again.

The scenery is drab and it even rains, very briefly, while they’re on the highway. Oikawa falls asleep intermittently, waking up to turn the volume up louder, then going back to sleep before Iwaizumi reaches over to turn the volume back down again.

It’s almost dark outside by the time Iwaizumi’s reaching over and shaking Oikawa awake.

“Oi. Wake up.”

“Mmf,” Oikawa mumbles in reply. It takes a moment for him to blink awake, and Iwaizumi waits patiently for the last vestiges of sleep to disappear from his eyes.

“Where are we?” he says at last, sitting up straight and rubbing at his neck.

“Public onsen. I’m sick of sitting in this car all day, let’s go.”

“O—kay,” Oikawa calls, cricking his neck one last time before he follows Iwaizumi out the car.

It’s a small onsen, not like those big bathhouses that are clearly meant to be tourist traps more than anything. Iwaizumi might even go so far as to call it quaint – sure, there are obvious signs of wear and tear, a clear indication of just how old this place is, but still, he likes it.

At the counter is a frail old man who greets them kindly and speaks so softly that Iwaizumi has to visibly lean over the counter in order to hear him when they ask him about entrance fees. In the end, it takes a lot longer than strictly necessary before they’re herded into the male bathhouse, both of them presented with their own towels (Iwaizumi’s comes with a strange stain on the corner that he really doesn’t want to think about).

The onsen is empty apart from the both of them except for a middle-aged man, who sits in the water with his head tilted back. Iwaizumi honestlydoesn’t feel like initiating small talk with a stranger, but of course Oikawa just has to sidle up next to him and start a conversation, and within five minutes it’s like they’ve been best friends all their lives.

“So, do you boys live around here?” the man – who introduces himself as Sanada-san – asks, and Oikawa shakes his head.

“Nope, we’re here on a holiday,” he says, and the man hums in understanding.

“I see, I see. It’s no wonder I haven’t seen you boys here before. Where are you from, then?”

“We’re both from Sendai,” Oikawa replies, and the conversation spirals away from there.

Iwaizumi stops listening, then, tunes out their voices in favor of letting the hot water soothe his tired muscles. But even so it doesn’t stop him from inadvertently catching the fragments of a sentence:

“—so what are you boys planning to do now that you’ve graduated then?”

And then he stills.

They’ve thought about it, of course, and they’ve talked about it too. It’s inevitable, when in your last year of high school your teachers force you to think about nothing but the final exams and university applications and career options. It’s a miracle how they managed to squeeze volleyball in between all that at all, frankly.

Or at least, it’s a miracle for Iwaizumi, who’s known from the start that volleyball’s nothing but a hobby, an extracurricular to help him take his mind off exams and assignments – a distraction he’s good at and that he enjoys, but a distraction nonetheless.

Then he turns to look at Oikawa out of the corner of his eye, and he knows – for Oikawa, it’s the complete opposite.

“We’re still thinking about it,” is Oikawa’s flippant response, laughing good-naturedly before he directs the conversation in a completely different direction.

Still, even if Sanada-san doesn’t catch it, Iwaizumi still manages to notice the doubt that flickers across Oikawa’s face, so quickly and so subtly that it’d go unnoticed to an untrained eye. And fortunately (or unfortunately) for Iwaizumi, he’s had more than ten years of his life to observe and familiarize himself with all of Oikawa’s little mannerisms.

Iwaizumi turns away and closes his eyes, trying to block out their conversation again. This time it works better.

-

By the time they get back to the car the sky’s already beginning to get dark, and Iwaizumi mutters something about getting to a motel or a rest stop before it gets too late.

The trip is silent – Iwaizumi forgets to turn on the stereo, and he only notices much later that Oikawa hasn’t bothered to turn it on either.

It feels a lot stranger – this whole trip – without Oikawa’s trashy music blaring through the speakers. Silence between them is usually comfortable, but this time, it’s almost deafening.

Iwaizumi’s not stupid – he knows there’s something on Oikawa’s mind. He also knows it probably has to do with his conversation with Sanada-san earlier.

What he doesn’t know is whether he should say something about it or not.

He’s halfway through an internal debate about the pros and cons of speaking up when Oikawa turns out to be the first one to say something instead – typical Oikawa, really, just butting in and ruining all of Iwaizumi’s plans without even realizing it.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, his voice quiet, and the tone of his voice lets Iwaizumi know, more than anything else, that he’s being completely serious right now. “What… what do you want to do when you go to university?”

It takes a moment’s pause before Iwaizumi answers.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” he says, slowly. It’s a lie. He knows it, and Oikawa knows it too. Which is why all he does in response is to purse his lips.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Okay, fine,” Iwaizumi says, letting out a breath. “I thought – my parents want me to do something like business administration, or, I don’t know, something practical.” A pause. “But I don’t really – My homeroom teacher said that with my grades I could consider medicine.” Another pause. “I don’t know.”

“Iwa-chan would make a good doctor,” Oikawa says, but his voice is dangerously low. Iwaizumi takes his eyes off the road for two seconds to glance over at Oikawa, but he’s got his head turned away towards the window, eyes fixed on some indecipherable point in the distance.

“…And what about you?” Iwaizumi ventures, but even as he speaks he feels a strange weight descend on the pit of his stomach, even though he has no idea why.

“You know I’ve been scouted,” Oikawa starts, and Iwaizumi can’t help the wave of irritation that rises in his gut.

“I know,” Iwaizumi says, a lot more harshly than he intends it to be. “But you never told me if you took them up or not.”

Oikawa hums. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Silence falls onto them again, laced with a heavy tension. Iwaizumi hates it.

“You should,” Iwaizumi says at last. “Go pro, I mean.”

No response from Oikawa.

“They’re always saying that we should follow our passion and everything,” Iwaizumi soldiers on instead. “And – you love volleyball more than anything else in the world. And you’re good at it.” He sucks in a breath, wishing he knew how to put the heavy feeling in his chest into words. “You could really do it, is what I’m trying to say.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Oikawa answers immediately, his voice quiet, and Iwaizumi starts.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing,” Oikawa answers easily, even though Iwaizumi knows he’s lying, it’s not nothing, why is he trying to cover it up— “I’m tired, Iwa-chan, I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

“You—” Iwaizumi’s still irritated, doesn’t want the conversation to die out like this, but at the same time the tension that’s mounted between them has started to get suffocating – and he knows that this is Oikawa’s way of diffusing the tension, his own way of saying not now, some other time, just not like this; andso Iwaizumi just swallows the words of protest back down and nods instead. “Okay. Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when we reach.”

“Goodnight then, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls, and his voice is light and cheerful again – a sham, Iwaizumi knows.

Even so, when Oikawa puts his head against the seat and pretends to fall asleep, Iwaizumi lets him.

Outside, it starts raining again.

-

They end up pulling over at another rest stop, and they don’t speak as they roll out their sleeping bags in the back of the minivan again. Iwaizumi falls into a restless sleep, and when he wakes up in the morning there’s a headache thumping at the back of his skull.

He relinquishes driving duty to Oikawa, and proceeds to sleep his way through most of the morning.

It’s late in the afternoon by the time Oikawa’s shaking him awake.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, as Iwaizumi blinks awake blearily. “Iwa-chan, wake up.”

“Wha,” he says intelligently, his brain-to-mouth connection still in the process of starting up.

“We’re here,” Oikawa says, and as Iwaizumi squints into the sunlight he manages to make out the faint outline of Oikawa’s grin, plastered across his face. “You circled it, on the map,” he adds, pointing at Iwaizumi’s red outline for emphasis. “We’re reaching Urubandai.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, his brain starting to slowly gain the ability of comprehension. “Okay.”

“There’s lots of stuff to see here, apparently,” he says excitedly, practically shoving the map into Iwaizumi’s face by this point. “And toll-free sightseeing roads!”

“Uh huh,” Iwaizumi says, and nope, he’s wrong after all, looks like his brain still isn’t ready to face the task of actually processing speech just yet.

Oikawa falls silent then, and Iwaizumi’s head instinctively lolls back against the seat, and oh, has he stopped talking, does that mean he can go back to sleep already—

Then another one of Oikawa’s manufactured idol group’s songs starts playing over the stereo on full volume, and Iwaizumi jolts awake straightaway, reaching out to grab Oikawa by the collar of his shirt by complete instinct.

“You son of a bitch,” he says, and Oikawa grins at him.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” he says. “Good.”

“That was a dirty trick,” Iwaizumi grouses, letting go of Oikawa’s shirt in favor of pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“But it worked,” Oikawa says cheerfully, and Iwaizumi has nothing to say against that, because it’s admittedly true.

It was a good nap, though, and Iwaizumi feels significantly more refreshed as they make their way through the roads. It is a pretty view, he thinks, and he manages to convince Oikawa to tune in to the local radio stations for some actually decent music, and it’s nice. They roll the windows down to feel the wind, and Iwaizumi feels – strangely at peace.

And if last night’s events are still tugging at the back of his mind, well – he blocks it out in favor of the wind on his face and Oikawa’s comfortable presence by his side, as if nothing had happened at all.

-

They keep it up for the next four days. Talk of university doesn't come up again. That doesn’t mean Iwaizumi doesn't think about it, though, because he definitely does. He thinks about their conversation, thinks about the strange tension that rose up between them, tries to come up with an explanation for it, but it only turns up a blank. He doesn’t quite understand why it had come to that, when all they’d done was talk about their futures – a perfectly reasonable conversation topic considering their recent high school graduations.

But the thought of it makes something bitter rise up in Iwaizumi’s throat like bile, and he pushes the thought away, quashes the unpleasant feeling in his gut.

It’s a road trip, he thinks. It’s meant to be two weeks of getting out of the city and having fun and seeing the sights and buying shit snacks from convenience stores at one the morning. He doesn’t have to think too hard, he reminds himself. Things are fine as they are.

-

It’s a week into their road trip when they drive into Aomori.

“Oh,” Oikawa says as they drive through the streets. The decorations and the stalls – although empty for now – are unmistakable. “I didn’t realize – it’s the Aomori summer festival.”

Iwaizumi blinks, taking his eyes off the road for a second to check the date on his phone. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s the last day today.”

“We should stay for it,” Oikawa says, leaning over and grabbing Iwaizumi by the shoulder for emphasis. “There’s the firework display tonight, right? We should totally go, it’ll be fun!”

“What, you’re not sick of the Tanabata festival in Sendai?” Iwaizumi teases, but he is pretty keen on staying to watch too. He’s never seen the elaborate floats, only in textbooks and on television screens. It would be nice, he thinks, to see them in real life.

“It’s different,” Oikawa says, with an air of finality. “Let’s watch the floats tonight, too.”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi agrees, although he knows it probably comes out far more unwilling than it really is.

“It’ll be so fun,” Oikawa enthuses, and Iwaizumi watches him ramble on out of the corner of his eye, smiling in spite of himself. “The floats are gonna be so cool, I’m so excited to see them – oh, I just hope it won’t rain though… Hey, maybe we could participate in the parade too! We can go rent a costume or something, and—”

“We’re not participating, Assikawa,” Iwaizumi tells him, and Oikawa pouts.

“You’re no fun, Iwa-chan,” he informs him, frowning. “This is why you don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Or anyone at all, really, apart from me.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “The reason why I didn’t date anyone is high school is because I was too busy with your stupid volleyball team, you idiot.”

“Our stupid volleyball team,” Oikawa reminds him. “Mister vice-captain.”

“The team was yours, really,” Iwaizumi grumbles, truthfully. He’s not trying to deflect or evade by saying that – it’s true. Oikawa was the center and the heart of the Aobajousai volleyball team. They were his. They all were – the team knew it, the coach knew it, and Oikawa knew it, too.

“Well,” Oikawa says, and he sounds like he’s lost in thought. “They’re their own team, now.”

Iwaizumi grunts in agreement, and when he glances at Oikawa’s out of the corner of his eye he’s smiling, faintly.

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t get that mournful look in your eye. You’re acting like you’re some kind of proud parent seeing their only child off to college—”

The words tumble out of Iwaizumi’s mouth before he realizes what he’s saying.

Shit.

Next to him, Oikawa freezes, and Iwaizumi mentally slaps himself on the forehead.

And we were doing so well, he thinks to himself mournfully, managing to not talk about university.

There’s a moment of silence, and then—

“Are you calling me old, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blinks, turning to look at Oikawa.

He’s grinning, bright and wide and oh so annoying.

“Do you want me to stop the car to kick you again?”

“No you don’t have to I’m sorry Iwa-chan—”

Iwaizumi turns back to drive, and they’re silent after that.

-

It doesn’t rain, thankfully, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa manage to push their way through the crowds to find a decent spot near the parade. It’s a cool summer’s night, and there’s even a light breeze, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa stand with their shoulders pressed together amidst the crowd of people.

The parade is great, a spectacle of light and colors and music and dancing, nothing like Iwaizumi’s ever seen before – the floats almost seem to be larger than life itself, and when Iwaizumi turns his head it’s to the sight of Oikawa’s profile, illuminated by the soft glow of the floats, highlighting the curve of his cheek and the arc of his neck and the brightness of his eyes.

He only realizes he’s been staring when Oikawa turns to look at him too, and Iwaizumi immediately ducks his head, turning back to watch the procession.

What am I doing?

All of a sudden he’s too aware of the press of skin on skin where they stand next to each other, shoulders touching. He really should back way, make some space between them, but it’s far too crowded, he can barely move, and—

Don't be silly, he thinks to himself. It’s just Oikawa.

Just Oikawa.

Being friends with Oikawa all these years, he reflects, might have desensitized him to the effect he generally has on people, since he’s gotten so used to having him around. But still, it doesn't make him completely immune.

He’s only human, and Oikawa is—

He’s—

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa calls, cutting through Iwaizumi’s thoughts. “The fireworks—”

And just as he finishes speaking the first firework’s set off, exploding into the night sky in a triumphant burst of color, all reds and yellows against the darkness of the sky.

“Oh,” he breathes, but the words are drowned out by the burst of the second firework.

It’s your regular summer festival firework procession, just like the ones at Sendai he used to watch every year with his family – but it still makes his throat dry up as he watches each new firework explode into the sky.

Vaguely, he registers the dull thumping of his heart in his chest.

He’s really fucking tired, he thinks to himself, of all these weird feelings lately.

The worst part of it all is that Oikawa’s still pressed next to him, and he knows that if he just turns his head, he’s going to see the profile of Oikawa’s face illuminated by all the different colors exploding into the sky, handsome and striking, and it’s the last thing he needs to see right now.

(He looks anyway, and if it takes a long, long time before he manages to tear his eyes away, well – what Oikawa doesn’t know won’t kill him.)

-

It’s another long drive the day after the festival, and they’re both groggy and tired from staying up late the night before, but if it gives Iwaizumi a good reason not to talk to Oikawa, then so be it.

He’s been feeling antsy these past few days, ever since he’d walked into that bathhouse and gotten asked about what he intended to do with the rest of his life. In hindsight, all the easy, comfortable moments he’d shared with Oikawa following that had just been a distraction for something bubbling under the surface.

He realizes, in hindsight, that Oikawa had probably been aware of it all along, that he’d been trying his best to keep it hidden. Because that is Oikawa, in a nutshell – he knows people, knows how to control them and bend them to his will and string them along like puppets.

But he also knows how to use his people skills for good, to build a team and coax people out of their shells and to avoid confrontation with his best friend, and – and, well, as said best friend, Iwaizumi’s feeling pretty fucking useless right now.

He doesn’t stop thinking about it for the entire day. It feels like something about the festival the night before unhinged something inside of him, and now all he can think about this mess he’s in, even if he doesn’t have a clue what the mess is, exactly.

All he knows is he feels the strangest pressure in his chest whenever he thinks about Oikawa, and about their friendship, so much of which has been so completely natural for so much of his life that he hasn’t ever thought twice about it.

There’s a rift between them, Iwaizumi realizes with a jolt. He doesn’t know how it got there, or when it appeared, but – it’s there, nonetheless. And it worries him so much more than he’d ever care to admit – maybe even to himself.

He puts his head against the glass of the window, and tries to ignore the squeezing sensation that’s suddenly developed in his chest.

-

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when Oikawa shakes him awake it’s already dark outside.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs as Iwaizumi blinks awake.

“What time is it? Are we at a rest stop?” Iwaizumi mumbles, stretching as best as he can in the limited space of the car, and Oikawa’s hand on his shoulder stills.

“It’s two in the morning,” he says. “And, um.”

Iwaizumi stops mid-stretch to turn to look at Oikawa.

“What do you mean, um.”

“We’re kind of, uh.” Oikawa swallows visibly, giving his best charming smile. Iwaizumi isn’t fooled.

“Kind of…?” he prompts, and Oikawa turns away.

“We’re kind of.” He pauses. “Stranded. In the middle of nowhere.”

There’s a very long silence.

“What do you mean, stranded,” Iwaizumi says, slowly, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, I don’t quite know how to say this, but…” Oikawa laughs, high and unnatural, and Iwaizumi waits patiently.

“…We’re out of gas, basically,” he admits at last, and Iwaizumi stills.

“What do you mean,” he says, his voice low, and there is visible fear in Oikawa’s eyes, “we’re out of gas.”

“I-it’s okay, Iwa-chan, my dad has insurance, let me just call him—”

“IN CASE YOU DIDN’T REALIZE,” Iwaizumi says, “IT’S TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING AND HE’S NOT GOING TO PICK UP, YOU PATHETIC MORON.”

He takes a deep breath, flopping back against his seat when he finishes speaking, and Oikawa just looks at him, looking like he’s torn between amusement and terror.

“So… we just wait?” he says, nervously.

“Well,” Iwaizumi says, rubbing at his temples. Sometimes it sucks being the only person with common sense within a five-mile radius. “Where are we now? Where’s the nearest gas station?”

“Um,” Oikawa says. “Far.”

“How far is far,” Iwaizumi asks, looking distinctly unamused. Oikawa just laughs nervously again.

“Well, we’re on the highway to Iwate, so— we’re kind of… in the middle of nowhere right now.”

Iwaizumi is silent for a long time after Oikawa’s pronouncement.

“Iwa-chan…?”

In response he unbuckles his seat belt and reaches for the door handle.

“Wha— Wait, where you going, Iwa-chan—”

“Getting away from you,” he says in a monotone, swinging the door open.

“WAIT, Iwa-chan, don’t do it, you’re going to get kidnapped or killed or eaten by a wild animal—”

“It’s better than being stuck here with you,” Iwaizumi says, his voice still completely devoid of emotion. He’s got one foot out the door when Oikawa grabs him back by the shirt.

“No, Iwa-chan, I know you’re mad, but don’t—”

“Let go of me,” Iwaizumi grits out, trying to get out of the car. Oikawa’s grip on the back of his shirt only tightens.

“Iwa-chan, please listen, I—”

“I said let go,” he growls, louder this time, hand gripping onto the edge of the car door as leverage to try and break free of Oikawa’s iron grip.

“Come on, don’t do this, seriously, just get back in the car and—”

“Let me go,” he roars, and the ensuing tug of war makes him elbow Oikawa hard in the side. The bastard doesn’t even flinch.

“Oh my god,” he says as Oikawa continues crying about how he can’t leave him alone and defenseless in The Middle of Nowhere, Japan. “I’m just getting out for some fresh air, now let me go.”

The grip on Iwaizumi’s grip loosens then, and before Oikawa can even open his mouth, Iwaizumi makes use of the opportunity to climb out of the car before slamming the door shut.

He hears Oikawa squawk indignantly from inside the car, and it doesn’t take long before the door on Oikawa’s side opens too, and he barrels out, lunging at Iwaizumi immediately.

“Who’s being the childish one now?” Oikawa taunts, tackling Iwaizumi, catching him by surprise, which is why he manages to manhandle him into a chokehold that has Iwaizumi coughing and spluttering.

“You,” he manages to gasp in reply, and Oikawa frowns at him.

“Look,” Oikawa says, clearly exasperated. “We’re out of gas, you’re tired, I’m tired, let’s just sleep here for the night, and in the morning I’ll call my dad and he can give me the number to the insurance company and we can get everything sorted out, and—”

He trails off when he realizes that Iwaizumi isn’t even listening to him.

“Iwa-chan, you’re not even listening! I’m trying to be sensible and mature for once, and you—”

“The stars,” Iwaizumi interrupts, suddenly, and Oikawa stills.

His chokehold loosens as he turns to follow Iwaizumi’s line of sight – he’s looking up at the sky, eyes wide, and when Oikawa turns to look at what Iwaizumi’s staring at, he, too, goes a little limp.

“Wow,” he breathes.

There aren’t any buildings or lights for miles around, and as a result the sky above them is dotted with more stars than either of them have ever seen in their lives.

“It’s beautiful,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi nods, a little numbly.

At some point Oikawa’s chokehold loosens up completely, letting Iwaizumi stand up straight, but he doesn’t even notice, too busy staring at the multitude of stars that hang above them like a million tiny pins of light in the darkness of the night sky.

“Hey,” Oikawa says suddenly, his eyes bright, and Iwaizumi recognizes that look as his idea look. “You’re not – you’re not sleepy, are you? Let’s—”

And then he turns around, back towards the car, and then puts a foot on the trunk.

“What are you—” Iwaizumi starts, but then the words die out when he watches as Oikawa climbs onto the roof of the car, swinging over to sit down, letting his feet dangle over the edge.

He turns to look at Iwaizumi, smiles, and then pats the empty space next to him.

“Join me?” he asks.

Iwaizumi looks at him, all innocent smiles and bright eyes, and he knows that there’s no way he can possibly say no – not to Oikawa.

And so all he does is to sigh and shake his head, but even so he finds himself climbing up the car too, careful not to damage the paint job, and then sitting down next to Oikawa.

It’s so quiet – there are the distant sounds of crickets, and the leaves of the trees along the side of the road are rustling in the breeze, but they’re just white noise to Iwaizumi, who pulls one knee up to his chin as he tilts his head up to look at the stars.

“Do you remember,” he says, abruptly, “when we were kids, and you went through your alien phase?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa answers, but Iwaizumi can hear the laughter in his voice.

“You begged your mom to buy you a telescope,” Iwaizumi says. “And when she refused you tried to make your own out of toilet rolls.” The memory is a fond one, and he smiles a little to himself as he speaks. “And you’d drag me to the local library to check out all the books they had about outer space and stars and constellations, and you didn’t really understand most of it and neither did I, but you pretended to anyway.”

“You bought me a toy UFO for my birthday once,” Oikawa chimes in, and Iwaizumi laughs.

“It was my mom, really. She just gave it to me and said, gives this to Tooru-kun at his birthday party tomorrow, and that was it.”

“But I loved it,” Oikawa says. “I even got my dad to buy me all the matching toy aliens and stuff afterwards.”

“I remember,” Iwaizumi says. He turns to look at Oikawa, but he still has his head tilted up, still looking up towards the stars.

“I remember too,” Oikawa says. “Like, the constellations and stuff.” He raises a hand and points, and Iwaizumi tries to follow the direction of his finger. “That’s the summer triangle,” he says. “You see those three bright stars? Over there.”

Iwaizumi squints at the sky. “I think so,” he says.

“That’s Altair, Deneb and Vega,” Oikawa explains, his voice soft. “They’re the brightest stars of the constellations Aquila… something and something, I forgot.”

Iwaizumi hums in response, and Oikawa laughs.

“I think you know them better as the stars in the Tanabata legend,” Oikawa adds. “Orihime and Hikoboshi. It’s kinda ironic, seeing as to how we celebrated Tanabata every year back in Sendai, but you could never really see the stars back home.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agrees, and now he’s thinking about years of summer festivals, of yukatas and games and candy apples with his family, and Oikawa too, more often than not, and he thinks about just how long he’s known Oikawa – he’s never really thought about it before, to really stop and appreciate the sheer length of time they’ve known each other.

“I wanted to be an astronaut,” Oikawa says, quietly. “But then I got into volleyball instead.”

And – there it is. The thing that they’ve been avoiding for the past week.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi says, his chest suddenly tight. He laughs, trying to ease the tension. “And here I was, thinking volleyball was your first love,” he tries to joke. “But it was aliens all along.”

Oikawa just hums, not quite in agreement, but he doesn’t deny it either.

“When I first started out, back in elementary school,” Oikawa says. “I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the rest of my life than to just keep playing volleyball.”

Iwaizumi’s stopped looking at the stars then, turns to look at Oikawa instead as he sucks in a breath, eyes suddenly rapt and faraway. “And I was really good at it too, you know? But then – well, you know.”

Iwaizumi knows. He knows far too well. He knows, about Kageyama, and about Ushijima, about late nights in front of his computer screen analyzing matches over and over again, about staying behind in the gym long after all his other teammates had left to practice on his own until his ankle sprained or his calf pulled or his wrist twisted, about the anxiety and the fear and the ghosts that have clung to Oikawa’s shadow for far too long.

“And these days I just… with graduation and university and getting scouted and everything I just – I don’t know whether I want to do it anymore.”

Oikawa falls silent, drawing his knees up to his chin, fingernails digging into his knees. Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything – just waits, because he knows Oikawa’s not done yet.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he admits, quietly. “What I’d do if I didn’t go pro, if I said no to all the scouts. My grades aren’t bad, you know. I could probably take some bullshit course like Psychology or Sociology or whatever if I wanted to. Or maybe I could go into Sports Science and become a coach – I’m already coaching kids at volleyball part-time at Lil Tykes anyway.”

He takes a deep breath, looking at his knees.

“But – I wouldn’t be happy, I think. I wouldn’t be happy unless I was out there on the court. Even if it means I have to be up against ten, twenty, thirty other geniuses from all over the country. I still want to do it.”

There’s a long silence following Oikawa’s words, and Iwaizumi thinks about what he should say.

“Go for it,” he says, finally. There’s a strange ache in his chest as he speaks, but he presses on. “You’re – you’re really good, Oikawa, even if you don’t think so. Even if you’re not a prodigy like Kageyama or Ushiwaka, you’re skilled. You’re more hardworking than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

He pauses, considering if he should go on, and – heck. He’ll take the plunge.

“And you love volleyball, more than anything else in the world. If that’s not reason enough to chase your dreams I don’t know what is.”

Oikawa sniffles a little, and when he lifts his head to look at Iwaizumi he gives him a watery smile.

“Who knew you were such a romantic, Iwa-chan,” he teases, and Iwaizumi punches him lightly on the arm.

“Shut up, it’s like, three in the morning or something,” he mutters, a little embarrassedly.

“If only Iwa-chan was this nice all the time,” Oikawa sighs.

“If only you weren’t such a brat all the time,” Iwaizumi returns, and they laugh quietly before their laughter dies out and there’s silence between them once more.

“Thanks,” Oikawa says finally, his voice quiet, after a long beat of silence. “Hajime.”

“No problem,” Iwaizumi returns, smiling. “I mean, it was just a lame speech—”

“No,” Oikawa cuts in. “I mean— for everything.”

Iwaizumi blinks, taking a moment to process the words. It’s a while before the words finally sink in, and all he can get out is a surprised “oh.”

“Sorry, sorry, I said something weird,” Oikawa laughs, trying cover up for Iwaizumi’s stunned silence, but Iwaizumi shakes his head.

He – he’s not sure how to say this, but—

There are many things he wants to say to Oikawa, both good and bad. And if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

“You’re my friend,” Iwaizumi manages. “You’ve always been my friend. I—” He pauses, sucks in a breath. “I don’t mind, having to deal with you. If I did mind I wouldn’t still be around. I wouldn’t be here,” he says, the word bubbling up in his throat like laughter. “I mean, what are friends for, right?”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything in response, and for a moment Iwaizumi wonders if he might’ve said something wrong by mistake, but when he turns to look at Oikawa he’s smiling, fondly, maybe just tinged with the slightest hint of affection, and relief settles in Iwaizumi’s gut.

“I’m glad,” Oikawa says at last, and Iwaizumi nods.

“Me too,” he says, truthfully. He’s surprised to realize that he really means it.

Above them, the stars are bright and endless.

-

They end up staying up to watch the sunrise, which is worth the exhaustion that weighs down on Iwaizumi’s eyelids and threatens to drag him into unconsciousness the moment he lets his guard down. It’s also worth it to see the way Oikawa relaxes, loose-limbed and content, as he bathes in the first rays of the morning sun, looking completely at ease with himself for the first time in what Iwaizumi realizes is a very, very long while.

Oikawa ends up calling his dad soon after that, and after the obligatory lecture about being more careful and driving safely and you’re not a child anymore, Tooru, he gets the number to the insurance company, and then that’s yet another long call before they manage to arrange for someone to come deliver gas to them.

When they finally manage to get the car started again Iwaizumi finds himself heaving a long sigh of relief.

(Oikawa relinquishes driving duty to Iwaizumi. He just doesn’t trust Oikawa with a steering wheel anymore.)

They’re both exhausted from the all-nighter, but Oikawa blares his music even louder than usual to make sure neither of them falls asleep on the road. It’s exhilarating – even though they’re already nearing the end of their trip, Iwaizumi’s never felt this free over the course of the past one and a half weeks. Oikawa’s singing along to the music, loud and off-key, and Iwaizumi can’t even bring himself to care.

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation that’s making the blood thrum in his veins in anticipation, or maybe it’s something else – it doesn’t really matter, as far as Iwaizumi’s concerned. All that matters now are the music on the radio and the wind on his face when they wind down the windows.

He feels young, and powerful, and alive.

Next to him, Oikawa catches his eye and grins.

The anxieties haven’t gone away, not completely, but he still feels significantly more at ease as they drive on, just the two of them in a cramped vehicle and the rest of their lives stretching out ahead of them, long and limitless.

-

By the time evening rolls around most of the adrenaline has worn off – they’ve rolled the windows back up, and they’ve (Iwaizumi’s) turned the music back down to a normal volume. It’s quiet now, like the calm after a storm, but it’s a comfortable silence that settles between the both of them like a familiar weight.

It’s broken only when Oikawa suddenly speaks up, abruptly.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” he says. “You never told me what you wanted to do in university.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi blinks. He’s right, he realizes. He’s never actually told Oikawa. Or anyone at all, apart from his homeroom teacher, actually.

“Um,” he says. He’s glad he’s driving, at least, because it gives him an excuse to have his eyes fixed on the road so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Oikawa.

“I kind of… want to go into medicine,” he says, the words leaving his mouth in a rush, as if if he doesn’t get them out quickly enough they’ll be stuck in the back of his throat forever.

“So you actually want to do it? It’s not just some suggestion your homeroom teacher forced on you?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“No,” he says, resolute. “I— This is something I want, for myself.”

Oikawa’s quiet, pondering Iwaizumi’s words, and there’s silence once more as Iwaizumi continues driving.

“Have you considered what field of medicine, specifically?” Oikawa asks again, after a few long moments of silence, and Iwaizumi lets out a long breath.

“Um,” he says.

He’s aware of Oikawa fixing him with a piercing gaze from his side, and he very deliberately turns his head – just a little – in the opposite direction.

“Sports therapy, probably,” he admits, quietly.

If he were to be honest, he genuinely wouldn’t mind anything – he could be a general practitioner, he could go into pediatrics, hell, he’d be a fucking brain surgeon if they let him. What’s important isn’t so much the process of it than the outcome – a life saved, an injury healed, a sickness recovered.

But Iwaizumi’s always been an athlete and – well, as vice-captain, he’s had plenty of opportunity to tend to wounds and give advice on dealing with injuries and—

Oh hell. He’ll admit it.

He’s seen Oikawa injure himself from overexertion far, far too many times. And if he can stop it from happening – not just Oikawa, not just volleyball players, but anyone of any age and any team who knows how awful it feels to have to sit out, even when your fingers are still tingling with anticipation for the next serve or the next strike.

And even though he doesn’t say it loud, somehow – he knows that Oikawa understands, intuitively.

“What a noble profession, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa comments, and although his tone is light and easy he knows it’s laced with something more genuine.

“Well, you know me,” Iwaizumi says, trying for humor. “Always doing the right thing.”

“You do,” Oikawa says, and he’s sincere. It makes Iwaizumi flush, turning away so he doesn’t have to meet Oikawa’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, and then there’s silence once more as they drive on.

-

They decide to crash at a motel that night, because hey, it’s almost the end of the trip and they’ve been scrimping and saving for the past one and a half weeks (bumming at rest stops, parking overnight at 7-11s all across the region, foraging the cheapest ingredients they could find at local grocery stores) – they probably deserve a treat, just this once.

And so after a long day of sightseeing and walking around they manage to find a motel along the side of the road – nothing fancy, but still perfectly functional, and Iwaizumi pulls up into it without much thought.

It’s only when they find themselves standing in front of the counter, talking to a middle-aged man clearly on the wrong side of fifty, that they start to reconsider the feasibility of this idea.

“Sorry,” he says, frowning, and there’s something about his tone of voice that just rubs Iwaizumi the wrong way, “but there are no more rooms with two single beds available.”

“Are you kidding?” Iwaizumi finds himself saying, in spite of himself, and the man’s frown just grows even deeper.

“It’s summer festival season, what did you expect?” he retorts, and Iwaizumi can’t say anything in return, because the guy does have a point, even if Iwaizumi doesn’t want to admit it.

“Do you have any other options, then? Two single rooms?”

“We do,” the man says, then proceeds to quote a price that leaves Iwaizumi feeling a little weak in the knees.

“Um, anything else?” Oikawa interjects before Iwaizumi can open his mouth and offend the hotel clerk any further. The man turns to look at Oikawa, eyes narrowed, as if inspecting Oikawa, and something about his gaze makes a flare of irritation rise up in Iwaizumi’s chest.

“We have a room with a double bed,” the man says, slowly.

“No way in hell,” Iwaizumi says immediately, just as Oikawa says, “We’ll take it.”

There’s a long silence as they both turn to look at each other.

“Excuse us for a moment,” Oikawa says, and then grabs Iwaizumi by the sleeve of his shirt and drags him away from the counter.

“Are you crazy?” Iwaizumi whispers, fuming. “That guy obviously has something out for us, did you see the way he was glaring at us? He’s obviously just trying to scam us, let’s just find somewhere else or—”

“Iwa-chan, get a grip,” Oikawa interrupts, fixing Iwaizumi with his best death glare. “Look, he’s right, it is summer festival season, it’ll be hard to get a room no matter where we go, why don’t we just stay here for the night—”

“A double bed,” Iwaizumi starts, but Oikawa cuts him off before he can continue.

“Look,” he says, exasperated. “We’ve been sleeping together in the back of my dad’s minivan for the past week. A double bed isn’t going to be that much weirder than it already has been.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to say something in reply, but then he thinks better of it and closes his mouth.

“Fine,” he mumbles. “Just for tonight. I still don’t trust that old geezer, though.”

“What a touching display of your faith in humanity,” Oikawa mutters sarcastically, but before Iwaizumi can think of a snappy comeback he’s also marched back towards the counter, leaving Iwaizumi behind at the far end of the lobby with nothing but a sour look and a grudge he can potentially see himself bearing for the rest of his life.

“Here you go,” Oikawa says when he returns, tossing the room keys to Iwaizumi. He catches it, peers at it as if it’s some piece of trash he picked up from the side of the road, and then proceeds to pick up his suitcase and head in the direction of the stairs.

-

It’s – okay, it’s a nice room, Iwaizumi admits. He likes the hot shower, in particular. And the bed – the bed is nice and comfortable and blissfully soft, which is basically a miracle after a week of cramming into the back of a minivan.

So, really, he should be looking on the bright side of things.

And definitely, definitely, definitely not thinking about the warmth of Oikawa’s skin through the thin cotton of their shirts, from where they’re pressed back-to-back on the only bed in this entire room because clearly they’d had the misfortunate of meeting the most unreasonable hotel clerk in the entire country.

Iwaizumi watches as the electronic clock on the bedside table flashes in the darkness. 1:31 AM, it reads. Taunting him with the menacing red glare of its LED lights.

He wants to roll over, but he knows if he does he’ll be met with the sight of Oikawa’s back, all hard muscle and soft skin, and—

God. Oh, god, no.

His heart is beating so loudly in his chest he’s surprised it hasn’t woken Oikawa up yet – it’s thudding in his ears, a steady rhythm like the drumbeats from that stupid festival at Aomori, the stupid, stupid festival where it had all first started.

Or maybe it’d started far earlier, far before they’d even hopped into the minivan and made their way out of Miyagi.

When had it all started?

More importantly, what was this?

Iwaizumi’s known Oikawa practically all his life. He’s known him since they were both snot-nosed brats in elementary school, playing tag in the school field, getting into fights with the older kids and hobbling home after with matching bruises. He was there to witness the first time someone made the mistake of pressing a volleyball into Oikawa’s tiny hands, has been there to watch every single time Oikawa’s tossed or spiked or served since then.

He’s seen him grow and change and mature, but even then there are things that have always remained the same – like the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, or the way people have always gravitated towards him naturally, or how even in spite of the throngs of friends and fans and followers over the years, he’s chosen Iwaizumi over them every single time.

He was there the first time Oikawa decided to break into his parents’ liquor cabinet in their freshman year of high school, was there when he’d ended up throwing up into his kitchen sink following his first gulp of alcohol. He’s been there to witness every sprained ankle, every failed test, every bad breakup.

They’re – they’re friends. That's what he’d told Oikawa, that day, on the roof of the car. They’re friends, and they’ve always been friends, and—

What the hell am I thinking? Iwaizumi wonders.

Next to him, Oikawa sleeps soundly, and Iwaizumi closes his eyes, ignoring the persistent drumbeat of his heart as best as he can.

-

He blinks awake the next morning with sunlight in his eyes. It takes a moment for him to regain any semblance of higher mental functions – all he can do is lie there blearily, sinking into the softness of the mattress underneath him and the pillow under his head and staring at the blinking numbers on the clock that read—

Holy shit.

That does it – he’s scrambling awake, sitting up so quickly he actually makes himself a little dizzy, but sacrifices have to made because it’s two in the afternoon and they’ve missed their check out time by a long fucking shot.

“Oi, Trashikawa, wake up!” Iwaizumi yells, nudging Oikawa’s prone body with his foot. The bastard just groans, muffled by his pillow, before rolling over so all Iwaizumi can see is his back.

“You asshole,” he mutters, nudging him again, harder this time. “Guess what time it is.”

“Mmfbfbbttt,” Oikawa replies.

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Iwaizumi says, and like a magic spell Oikawa snaps awake right away too.

“You’re kidding,” he screeches, stretching over Iwaizumi’s outstretched legs to the damned clock on the bedside table. He picks it up, stares at it, shakes it violently as if he can somehow change the numbers on the display like it’s a slot machine. But no, 2:06 PM is reads, and Iwaizumi’s genuinely starting to feel like the device has something out for him.

“Well,” Oikawa says at last, when it’s finally sunk in that it actually is two in the afternoon. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi agrees.

-

They eventually decide to spend the night again – they might as well, since they’re going to be charged for the extra day as it is (which is a really shitty hotel policy, Iwaizumi tells Oikawa, and even Oikawa has to agree with that). They spend part of the afternoon exploring the nearby sights, but there isn’t anything apart from a few small eateries within a five-mile radius, and so by the time evening rolls around they trudge back to their motel with absolutely nothing else to do.

It’s only when they arrive back at their room, and Iwaizumi’s confronted by the sight of that double bed once more, that he realizes the implications of having to stay one more night in the motel – it also means one more night of having to fall asleep while absolutely trying not to think about the two inches of space between himself and Oikawa.

Oikawa tells him that he’s going to shower, and Iwaizumi nods his agreement numbly. He sits perfectly still on the bed, far too small for two high school athletes to share comfortably, and it’s only when he hears the spray of water start up in the bathroom that he lets himself put his face in his hands and reconsider every single decision he’s ever made up to this very moment.

This is not what he’d signed up for when he’d agreed to go on this trip with Oikawa.

-

Oikawa emerges from the shower with nothing but a pair of gym shorts riding low on his hips and a towel slung over his shoulders, and Iwaizumi almost gets a heart attack.

Which is stupid, he’s seen Oikawa shirtless countless of times over their long years of friendship – but that doesn’t change the way his heart rate immediately accelerates the moment Oikawa steps out of the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower and hipbones jutting out from underneath the hem of his pants and little rivulets of water making their way down his chest, and—

“I’m going to shower too,” Iwaizumi chokes out, grabbing his towel and a change of clothes, before practically sliding into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

-

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. “You can do this.”

He has his hands braced on the sink in front of him, trying to stare down his own reflection in the mirror. All he does is manage to look mildly queasy.

“Whatever the hell this is,” he soldiers on, ignoring the slightly green tint to his complexion. “It’s going to go away. It’s just… Stockholm syndrome. Or something.”

Yeah. That’s probably what it is. Being cramped in an enclosed space with Oikawa for two weeks has finally driven Iwaizumi clinically insane.

He sucks in a breath, and splashes water onto his face.

He can do this. He can do this.

-

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

When Iwaizumi finally steps out of the bathroom, the first thing he realizes is that Oikawa’s lying on the bed on his stomach, flipping through a magazine absentmindedly, and he still hasn’t bothered putting on a shirt.

“You’ve never dated anyone before, right?” Oikawa murmurs idly.

And that’s when he realizes that he definitely cannot do this.

“Um,” he says, trying to hedge. “I haven’t been keeping anything like that a secret from you, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

Oikawa snorts, pushing himself up to a sitting position instead, magazine long abandoned.

“I’m just asking you a direct question, Iwa-chan,” he says. “You don’t need to get all defensive.”

“I’m not,” Iwaizumi protests weakly. It occurs to him that he’s still standing in the door of the bathroom, like a deer in the headlights. Hell, he’s practically the picture of nonchalance right now.

Oikawa’s looking at him, then, with a steely glint in his eye that usually spells trouble.

Iwaizumi swallows.

“So you haven’t, then?” Oikawa prompts, and Iwaizumi looks away.

“You know the answer already, don’t ask redundant questions,” Iwaizumi mutters, finally with enough presence of mind to actually make himself cross the room and sit down on the bed next to Oikawa.

“I just wanted to make sure,” Oikawa replies simply.   

“Well, you’ve got your answer then,” Iwaizumi grouses. He wishes there was something in the room that could serve as a distraction – a television, or something. Instead all he can do is look down as his knees and try his best not to experience spontaneous combustion.

Oikawa hums thoughtfully. “I was just curious,” he says, as if that explains anything.

“Weirdo,” Iwaizumi mutters, and Oikawa laughs.

“Hey, let’s go out and get some dinner,” he says, easy and casual, as if Iwaizumi isn’t sitting next to him and making the monumental effort of not looking at Oikawa’s face. Or chest, for that matter. Why didn’t he bother putting on a shirt, god dammit.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says, his voice pinched, pushing himself off the bed.

It’s just a few more days, he reminds himself. Just a few more days. Just a few more days. Just a few more days.

-

It’s one in the morning again. It’s ironic, Iwaizumi thinks to himself, that even though he finally has a comfortable bed to sleep in now, he’s not getting any sleep at all.

The worst part of it, though, is that Oikawa’s still lying next to him, barely an inch between them, peacefully asleep and blissfully unaware of the way Iwaizumi heart is thudding a steady rhythm in his chest like he’s a preteen in middle school nursing a bad crush.

First of all, he’s a fucking adult. And secondly –

It’s not a crush. There is absolutely no way this can possibly be a crush.

Because Iwaizumi’s known Oikawa nearly all his life and never felt anything more than vague affection usually followed by intense irritation for him. But then suddenly at eighteen years old and nearly two weeks into a very badly planned road trip, it’s like someone flipped a switch somewhere inside Iwaizumi, and he’s been hit by the crushing realization that hey, you’re into dudes, your best friend is a dude, your best friend also happens to be really incredibly attractive if you haven’t realized it yet, and oh boy, you’re really fucking screwed, aren’t you, Hajime?

Abruptly, he sits up in bed, and gets up to stumble into the bathroom. He gropes for the light switch, flicks the bathroom lights on, and splashes his face with water in the sink. He looks up at himself in the mirror – disheveled, unkempt, heavy eye bags.

I look like hell, he thinks to himself.

He braces both hands against the sides of the counter, takes a deep breath.

His chest is heavy with realization, and it sucks. He wants nothing more than to turn the clock back to graduation day, when everything had been simple and easy and his chest didn’t ache so much all the damn time.

Slowly, he turns off the tap, staring into the sink.

“Fuck,” he says to himself, with feeling.

-

When he stumbles back into the bedroom the first thing he notices is that the lamp on the bedside table has been turned on.

The second thing he notices is that Oikawa’s awake; he’s sitting up, turned away, and the soft light of the room casts a shadow over his profile. It reminds Iwaizumi of the festival all over again, and seeing the ridges of Oikawa’s cheekbones illuminated by the red lights of the parade.

“Hey,” Oikawa greets casually, turning to look at Iwaizumi.

He freezes in front of the bathroom door again, his heart stopping in his chest momentarily.

“Did I wake you up?” Iwaizumi blurts out. The room’s blanketed in darkness, the only light source coming from the lamp, and it paints the edges of Oikawa’s face in a soft orange light, leaving the dips and contours of his features hooded in shadow.

He’s gorgeous.

“Kind of,” Oikawa admits, startling Iwaizumi out of his thoughts. “It’s okay, though.” He shifts, pushing the blanket away from Iwaizumi’s side of the bed, motioning for him to sit back down.

Iwaizumi swallows, hard. When he finally manages to make his legs move, they feel strange and stiff, as if they’re not his own limbs. He slips onto the bed, drawing his knees up to his chin and pulling the blanket over his legs.

“Couldn't sleep?” Oikawa asks, his voice gentle. Iwaizumi can barely stand to look at him.

He shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

There’s silence for a long time, and Iwaizumi looks at his knees. His heart’s thumping in his chest almost painfully, and he draws a deep breath, trying to get his heart rate back under control. He counts the quick beats in his head – one, two, three – and tries to remember what it was like before all this, before all these confusing feelings threatened to screw with Iwaizumi’s head.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls, quiet.

Iwaizumi doesn’t look at him.

“Would you get mad at me if I told you I wasn’t going to play volleyball anymore?”

That gets Iwaizumi’s attention – his head finally snaps up to look at Oikawa, but he’s turned away again.

“What the hell, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi snaps.

Oikawa doesn’t elaborate, just continues staring at some indecipherable point in the distance.

“Seriously, Oikawa, don’t joke about shit like that—”

“Who said I was joking?” Oikawa counters. There’s a quiet fury in his voice, and Iwaizumi recoils, blinking.

“But you—”

“Has it not occurred to you yet, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa interrupts, “that I’ve never played volleyball without you ever, in my entire life?”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to counter, but then closes it.

He doesn’t actually have anything to say in response to that, because – because he’s never thought of it that way before.

“I can toss to anyone,” Oikawa goes on, and his voice is trembling, ever so slightly, but Iwaizumi hears it anyway, “but I—”

“Oikawa…” Iwaizumi begins, leaning forward to place a hand on his shoulder. Oikawa doesn’t budge, doesn’t even give any sign that he feels the pressure on his shoulder. Even so, Iwaizumi feels the rise of Oikawa’s shoulders when he inhales sharply.

“I’m scared,” Oikawa says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, his throat dry. “You don’t… you don’t have to be. You’re good, Oikawa, how many times do I have to—”

“Not good enough to defeat Ushiwaka,” Oikawa murmurs. “Not better than Tobio-chan.”

“Oikawa—”

“And,” Oikawa continues, his voice barely more than a whisper by this point, “I’m only half as good as I am when I’m playing with you.”

“That’s,” Iwaizumi begins, heart thumping in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he possibly say to something like that? “Not true.”

“It’s true,” Oikawa counters. “I just never told you.”

Oikawa’s hugging his knees to his chest by this point, and Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to lean over and smooth over the line of tension of shoulders with his hands, to tell him that those doubts are completely unfounded, that he’s good, that to Iwaizumi he’s always burnt brighter than the sun and all the stars, and—

“I need you,” Oikawa murmurs, leaning in, his face suddenly far too close, and before Iwaizumi can even think about what to do next he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Iwaizumi’s, dry, chapped, and hesitant – but gentle, so gentle that Iwaizumi stops breathing entirely for one long moment.

It’s like his brain’s short-circuited in his skull – he can’t move, can’t think, can barely breathe, and when Oikawa pulls away he still finds himself at a complete loss for words.

“Sorry, I—” Oikawa turns away, pressing the back of his hand to his lips, and even in the soft glow of the lamplight Iwaizumi can still see the blush that’s crept up his neck, spread to his cheeks and up to his ears. It’s been entirely far too long since he’s seen Oikawa embarrassed about anything, and it’s so absolutely endearing that it makes an unfamiliar ache bloom in his chest, a slow, sweet ache that Iwaizumi finds isn’t unpleasant at all.

“No, it’s—” Iwaizumi leans over, placing one hand on Oikawa’s knee, and Oikawa turns back to look at him, hesitant and unsure. It makes Iwaizumi want to kiss that look away, to smoothen out that expression with the press of his thumb against Oikawa’s cheek.

And so he ignores the way his heart’s threatening to burst out of his chest, ignores the way it’s suddenly gotten hard to breathe, and leans in instead, squeezing his eyes shut to press a kiss to the corner of Oikawa’s mouth.

It’s awkward – he’s never done this before, and Iwaizumi’s fingers clench in the sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands, and he’s so embarrassed he could die, but—

Oikawa’s hands come up to frame Iwaizumi’s jaw, thumb pressing against his cheek as he leans in to kiss him again, properly this time, sighing into the kiss, and Iwaizumi feels like he’s on fire but it’s okay, it’s somehow okay, because Oikawa’s hands are warm and his lips are soft and he thinks – somehow, he thinks, they’re going to be okay.

“Oh,” Oikawa breathes when they finally pull away. His face is still red, and he’s looking at Iwaizumi with something akin to wonderment; the look on his face makes something hot inch its way into Iwaizumi’s chest and curl around his heart, and vaguely, he wonders what kind of expression he must be making right now in turn.

“I,” Iwaizumi begins, then stops. “Um.”

Oikawa just smiles and shakes his head in response in Iwaizumi’s eloquence – he leans forward, kisses him again, just a brief peck of lips on lips, but it makes Iwaizumi’s head spin all over again.

“I know,” Oikawa whispers, lips just barely inches away from Iwaizumi’s.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Iwaizumi protests weakly, and Oikawa smiles, lips stretching into a grin.

“You didn’t have to,” he answers, grinning broadly, and Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to wipe that smug smile right off that face.

And so he leans in, kisses him again, and thinks to himself – there is absolutely no way he is ever going to get used to this.

It’s obvious just how inexperienced he is compared to Oikawa, who licks at the seam of Iwaizumi’s mouth and sighs when Iwaizumi opens up shyly, and who knows exactly how to turn Iwaizumi into a complete mess as his hands curl in the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, pulling him closer. Iwaizumi feels like he’s on fire, and Oikawa’s only turning it up even higher with every swipe of his tongue and scrape of his teeth across Iwaizumi’s lips.

Eventually he moves away from Iwaizumi’s mouth, lips drifting lower, moving from his cheek to his jaw and then down to his neck, and Iwaizumi can’t help but suck in a breath as he begins pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin there.

“Oikawa—” Iwaizumi calls, and when Oikawa does nothing but laugh in response, Iwaizumi can feel the heat of his breath on his skin, and it makes electricity shoot all the way up his spine.

“Relax, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, voice low and sweet. “I’ll make you feel good.”

“Ugh, gross,” Iwaizumi mutters in return, turning away. “Is this what you tell all your dates?”

“Now that’s just unfair,” Oikawa whines, moving away from where he’d been busy sucking a bruise onto Iwaizumi’s neck. “Or don’t tell me…” His voice drops lower, and there’s another smirk starting to form on that too-smug face. “…Are you jealous, Iwa-chan?”

“No,” Iwaizumi answers, frowning. “Why would I be jealous?”

“Because I’ve dated so many people before,” Oikawa hums, “but that was your first kiss, wasn’t it?”

It’s complete instinct the way Iwaizumi’s hand reaches out to shove Oikawa away roughly – what he doesn’t expect is for Oikawa to be completely unresisting, to let the force of the blow push him flat onto his back—

He ends up lying on the bed, looking up at Iwaizumi as he leans over Oikawa.

Oh, Iwaizumi thinks, the realization hitting him squarely in the face. He’s blushing all over again, feeling like his entire face is on fire. Underneath him Oikawa just smiles serenely, and reaches up to wind his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck to hold him in place.

“You know,” he says, slowly. “When I came out of the shower shirtless just now, you were staring, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t,” Iwaizumi tries to deny. Oikawa’s smile just widens.

“Were you thinking dirty stuff about me, Iwa-chan?”

“You’re the perverted one between the both of us, not me—”

“Well, that’s exactly the point, isn’t it?” Oikawa hums, teasing, and Iwaizumi can’t help the way he flushes in response.

“We’re both guys, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Who said I was embarrassed—”

“I’m hard, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, casually, as if he’s talking about the weather, and Iwaizumi thinks he might actually become the first person to discover if spontaneous combustion is actually possible right at this very moment.

“You—” he splutters, and Oikawa just grins, leans up to press a kiss to Iwaizumi’s cheek.

“Please, Iwa-chan,” he says, his voice light and casual. “I want it.”

“Jesus Christ, Oikawa, you can’t just say shit like that—”

“You’re hard too, aren’t you?” Oikawa hums, hands grazing the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, drifting lower down his chest.

Iwaizumi swallows.

“Shouldn’t we take it slow?” he tries weakly. His voice just comes out strangled.

“Come on, we’ve known each other since we were, what, six?”

“But still—”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa interrupts, and something shifts in his demeanor, then. His eyes are serious as Iwaizumi gazes down at them, and he’s not smiling when he continues, “do you really not want to?”

Iwaizumi pauses. Oikawa’s still looking up at him, serious and quiet, waiting for him to respond.

“Of course I want to,” Iwaizumi says at last, slowly, as if he’s testing out the words. “It’s just— I’ve never done this before—”

“If you don’t want to it’s okay, you know that, right?”

“I know, it’s just—” Iwaizumi pauses, draws in a breath. He bites on his lip, then hesitantly, reaches out a hand to brush his finger along the curve of Oikawa’s bottom lip. “Show me the ropes?” he offers at last, and Oikawa brightens up visibly immediately.

“Of course, Iwa-chan,” he says, smiling gently. He grabs hold of Iwaizumi’s hand, holds it in place as he kisses his fingers. “I’ll make it good for you.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi breathes. “Okay.”

And so – they go slow. Oikawa switches their positions, presses Iwaizumi back down onto the sheets, kisses him again, sweet and slow, and Iwaizumi’s head is swimming as Oikawa slides his hands up Iwaizumi’s shirt, runs his palms over Iwaizumi’s chest, fingers cool against burning skin.

He’s painfully hard already, and he’d be more embarrassed about it if not for the hard line of Oikawa’s cock that fits against the ridge of his hips when Oikawa leans in to kiss him, fiercer this time, and Iwaizumi can’t help it at all when he gasps, just the slightest rush of breath that escapes from his lips.

“Oh—” he says, and Oikawa pulls back to grin at him, although the cockiness of his smile is negated significantly by the flush that's spread across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. It’s almost cute, really, and Iwaizumi reaches out to brush Oikawa’s bangs out of his eyes, smiling fondly.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, “can I—”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says hurriedly, “yeah, Oikawa, please—”

“Okay,” Oikawa breathes, “okay, hold on, let me just—” His fingers are clumsy and hesitant as they tug at Iwaizumi’s boxers, but he gets them down, tugs them off to expose Iwaizumi’s cock to the cool night air, and he’d be more embarrassed about letting Oikawa see him like this if not for the fact that Oikawa’s already risen to his knees to push off his own pair of boxer shorts before kicking it off to the side of the bed.

Iwaizumi has a whole two seconds to appreciate the sight of Oikawa a) naked, b) on his knees, and c) in bed with Iwaizumi before Oikawa’s surging forward to kiss him again, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

He realizes, with a jolt, that he’s lent this shirt to Oikawa once – at a sleepover, and Oikawa had accidentally spilled juice all over the front of his own shirt, and Iwaizumi had grabbed a random one from his dresser and handed it to Oikawa, and—

His thoughts are cut off completely the moment Oikawa puts his hand on Iwaizumi’s cock and strokes.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi grits out, and Oikawa just laughs, strokes roughly before thumbing the slit, and Iwaizumi practically keens, hips arching sharply off the bed.

“Goddamn it, Oikawa, don’t fucking tease—”

“Okay, okay, just wait—”

Oikawa shifts positions, and Iwaizumi’s about to ask what he’s doing and why he has his hands off Iwaizumi’s dick when he’s been doing so well – but then Oikawa moves and their cocks slide together, rough and inelegant, but the sensation still manages to pull a startled groan from Iwaizumi’s throat, gasping like it’s being punched out of him.

He can’t help it all as his hips rock upwards to meet Oikawa’s thrusts, and it’s good – not like Iwaizumi has any other basis for reference, but he knows it’s better than his own hand, and – and it’s Oikawa, who he’s probably wanted for a lot longer than he’d even realized himself, breathing heavily right next to Iwaizumi’s ear, all firm hands and breathless little sighs that are slowly but surely driving Iwaizumi right out of his mind.

And when Oikawa reaches between them and takes them both in his hand, calloused fingers wrapping around sensitive skin, it doesn’t take very long before he’s rutting against Oikawa, hands clutching at his back, fingernails digging crescent moons into the skin there as he hisses, his vision going white for a moment as his climax hits him like a freight train.

It leaves him panting, lying back against the sheets and trying desperately to catch his breath – but it also lets him watch as Oikawa throws his head back, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he strokes himself to completion, come spattering against Iwaizumi’s chest messily. Iwaizumi can’t even bring himself to care – he’s too busy staring at the open, honest look on Oikawa’s face when he comes, the way his teeth digs into his lower lip and how his eyes flutter shut.

Then Oikawa collapses bodily in the space next to Iwaizumi, rolls over and throws his arms against his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the salt-slicked skin at the base of his neck.

“Good?” Oikawa asks, breath fanning out over Iwaizumi’s neck, and Iwaizumi rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow.

“Shut up,” he mutters, and even though he can’t see Oikawa’s face at the moment he can still hear the surprised laughter that escapes from his throat.

“Oh— are you embarrassed, Iwa-chan?” he teases. Iwaizumi doesn’t reply.

“That’s really cute,” Oikawa says plainly, as if stating a fact. He tightens his hold around Iwaizumi’s neck, shifts closer so they’re pressed together, his chest to Iwaizumi’s back.

“I’m glad it was good for you,” Oikawa continues. Iwaizumi can feel the curve of his smile against his neck, his voice muffled as he presses his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I mean – I’ve only wanted to do this since forever, you know.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi repeats. He feels his cheeks start to heat up again, even in spite of – recent events. He’d be more amazed if he wasn’t so embarrassed.

“It’s true,” Oikawa sighs. “It’s always been you, Iwa-chan.”

And then Iwaizumi thinks about the two of them back in elementary school, playing tag and getting chased; in middle school, patching up bruises and walking home together after volleyball trainings. He thinks of sleepovers and late-night practices and Oikawa calling him at two in the morning because he had another nightmare, and Iwaizumi forcing himself to stay awake to listen to Oikawa breathe over the phone.

“Me too,” he admits, voice quiet.

Oikawa doesn’t respond, but he squeezes Iwaizumi just a little bit tighter.

Iwaizumi shuts his eyes, relaxes into Oikawa’s embrace.

Everything else, he thinks, can wait till tomorrow morning.

-

When Iwaizumi blinks awake in the morning the space next to him is empty. It makes him rub his eyes and sit up, eyes adjusting to the morning sunlight before he sees Oikawa standing by the window, gazing outside. He’s turned away from Iwaizumi so all he can see of him is his back – the sunlight casts his face in shadow, and his hair is standing up at an awkward angle, and—

“Is that my shirt?” Iwaizumi blurts out, and Oikawa turns, surprised, before his expression melts away into one of fondness.

“Good morning to you too, Iwa-chan,” he answers, smiling, and then he’s moving forward to slide onto the bed next to Iwaizumi.

“You have your own shirts, use them,” Iwaizumi mutters. Oikawa just grins, leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s a simple gesture, but it still makes something spike in Iwaizumi’s chest, a sudden flare of pressure that almost leaves him dizzy all over again.

He’s never, ever going to get used to this.

“Well we’re dating now, so borrowing shirts and the like should be perfectly normal, right?” Oikawa hums, and Iwaizumi freezes.

“Is…” he starts, pauses, swallows, and then continues, “…Is that what we are… now?” He doesn’t even say the word – he feels like if he does he’s going to burst into flames from the sheer heat of his cheeks, and he ducks his head so he doesn’t have to look at Oikawa when he responds.

He feels the bed dip as Oikawa shifts closer to him. His hand rests on top of Iwaizumi’s, comforting, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles into the back of Iwaizumi’s hand.

“Is that weird?” he murmurs, his voice soft. “We can always go back to – before, you know.”

“That’s the thing,” Iwaizumi blurts before he can stop himself. “I think it’s always been like this.”

It takes less than a second for him to regret his words, and he blushes even harder at that (he didn’t even think it was possible). Distantly he starts to wonder if maybe the bed could just collapse in half and just swallow him whole so he never has to see the light of day ever again.

The slow movement of Oikawa’s thumb against Iwaizumi’s hand stills for a moment, and Oikawa doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then—

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Iwa-chan.”

“Hey—” The scowl that Iwaizumi immediately twists his features into is instinctive, and when he snaps his head up to finally look at Oikawa, indignation replacing what was previously embarrassment, it’s to the sight of Oikawa smiling at him, so fond and so sincere that it makes his heart stutter in his chest for a moment.

And then he realizes – maybe things don’t have to change at all. Maybe it’s always been like this, Oikawa teasing and Iwaizumi yelling at him in response, but underneath that, the unspoken understanding that in spite of all that, in spite of all the jokes and the banter and the fighting, that undercurrent of affection would be there, quiet but there, always there.

And maybe – maybe that's not very different from the now that they’ve found themselves in.

So when Iwaizumi sighs and calls Oikawa and idiot, but then leans in to kiss him anyway, maybe it makes sense for it to feel like the most natural thing in the world.

Oikawa’s lips against Iwaizumi’s are soft, and they’re curved into a teasing grin that has Iwaizumi growling into the kiss, but maybe that’s how it’s always been, and maybe that’s how it’s always meant to be.

Somehow, he thinks, they’re going to be okay.

-

Iwaizumi has always thought of himself as an organized person, and for good reason. He likes making lists, and there’s one in his head right now labeled Things We Need To Finish Before We Get Back To Sendai.

Right at the top of the list is talk to Oikawa about university plans, but the next time he tries to broach the subject Oikawa ignores him and ends up giving him a handjob while he’s driving instead, so. That’s a massive failure. (Or a huge win, depending on how you look at it.)

But their trip is coming to an end a lot sooner that Iwaizumi had previously thought – there’s probably just a few days left – and it’s getting him anxious. He feels… a responsibility of sorts, to talk to Oikawa about things, because their conversation about it that night hadn’t really gone anywhere, and Oikawa needs that closure.

Still – every time Iwaizumi tries to talk about it he turns to his left to look at Oikawa, but he looks so happy and content to be sitting in a shitty minivan with Girls Generation blaring through the speakers and Iwaizumi’s hand warm and secure in his, and all of a sudden Iwaizumi can’t quite bring himself to ruin the moment.

So maybe he feels a little bit guilty – but next to him Oikawa is smiling, bright and beautiful, and Iwaizumi just swipes his thumb over the back of Oikawa’s hand and thinks, just one more day, I’ll do it tomorrow.

For now, he’s content to stay like this.

-

In the end, it’s Oikawa who brings it up first. They’re back in Miyagi, just a few hours away from Sendai, and it’s only just finally sinking in that the trip is ending, that after they’re back home it’s going to be college applications and searching for university accommodation and the mundane trivialities of their lives back home.

It’s Oikawa who voices the thought first, of course.

“I don’t want to go back,” he says, his voice low. Even though the stereo’s been turned off Iwaizumi can still barely hear him over the perpetual hum of the engine that he’s gotten used to over the past two weeks.

He’s going to miss it.

“You know we have to,” Iwaizumi says, tongue thick in his mouth, even though what he wants to say is me too, even though all he wants to do is lean over and fit his lips against the curve of Oikawa’s neck and say I want to stay like this with you forever.

Oikawa’s silent for a long time, and Iwaizumi keeps his eyes on the road, continues focusing on the traffic ahead.

Finally Oikawa speaks up again. “Things are you going to change, Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes Iwaizumi take his eyes off the road, turn to look at Oikawa.

“Oikawa—” he begins, but Oikawa cuts in before he can continue.

“I don’t just mean – this,” he says, grasping Iwaizumi’s hand in his for emphasis. “I mean… after. When we – when we go to college.”

Iwaizumi blinks.

“Should I – should I stop the car—”

“No, you don’t have to, you can drive, but just listen to me, okay?” Oikawa says. You’re being petulant, Iwaizumi wants to say, but he stops himself.

“Okay, okay, I’ll drive,” Iwaizumi says instead, turning back to look at the road, but Oikawa’s hand is still warm in his.

“I—” Oikawa starts, pauses, takes a deep breath, then continues. “I’ve been thinking about it, a lot. I know you’ve been wanting to talk about it—yeah, you’re actually pretty obvious sometimes, Iwa-chan—”

“Am not—”

“—but that’s not the point. The point is – I want to do it. I want to play volleyball. I’ve got an offer to the Japan Sport Science University, and – I think I want to take it up.”

“That’s good,” Iwaizumi starts to say, but Oikawa cuts him off again.

“But,” Oikawa says, “it’s in Tokyo.”

He pauses. Iwaizumi turns to look at him, but Oikawa’s turned away, looking out the window.

“And you – you’ll still be in Sendai, won’t you?”

Iwaizumi stills.

He… he hadn’t thought about it that way at all. He’d been too busy thinking about what they’re going to do and what Oikawa wants to do that he’d forgotten about this particular problem.

He’d assumed, blindly, that they were going to stay together. Because that’s all he’s ever known, because they’ve never been apart for more than a few weeks at a time in their entire lives, and—

“Oh,” is all he can say, a little breathless, like the word’s been punched out of him.

There’s silence for a long time. Iwaizumi keeps on driving, but the world feels off-kilter all of a sudden – it’s as if he sees the cars in front of him and the road that stretches on, but none of it is really registering to him; his brain is full of white noise, mind churning with realization.

“That’s why,” Oikawa says at last, quietly, “I don’t want to go back.”

“Just because we’re apart doesn’t mean—” Iwaizumi starts, but he’s interrupted again.

“It’s going to be hard,” Oikawa says. His voice sounds faraway and distant, and his fingers shift to interlock with Iwaizumi’s. They fit in place, easy and natural, and a spike of heat suddenly flares up in Iwaizumi’s chest – affection and want and doubt and anxiety and love, all at once, threatening to overwhelm Iwaizumi seemingly out of nowhere.

He wants to say something, something to express how he feels to Oikawa, but then he turns to look at Iwaizumi, smiling, and Iwaizumi’s heart constricts in his chest all over again.

“It’s going to be hard,” Oikawa repeats, and Iwaizumi has never been so in love, “but I want to try anyway.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. He’s staring, but he can’t bring himself to care. Oikawa’s smile is wide and genuine, and his face is haloed by the light coming from the window behind him, and he’s so gorgeous it makes Iwaizumi’s chest ache and his throat dry up.

“Okay,” he says again. Oikawa just smiles – he understands.

-

The trip ends with considerably less fanfare than it’d started.

They pass by familiar roads and familiar buildings and familiar faces. It’s the town that they both grew up in, the town they never quite left – there are so many memories in every street corner, every park, every playground, it feels almost as if there’s a part of them that’s contained within the very essence of Sendai.

But maybe that’s exactly why it took a trip out of town for them to really grow – to change.

All their lives it’s been a gentle, comfortable constant – Oikawa by Iwaizumi’s side and Iwaizumi by Oikawa’s. Maybe they’ve been taking it for granted. Or maybe they got too comfortable to really see what had been right in front of them all this while.

It’s only been a short two weeks, Iwaizumi reflects, but it feels like so much has changed within that short amount of time. He feels different, definitely. And he’s sure Oikawa does too.

But more importantly is how Oikawa’s hand is still in his, hasn’t left his palm at all for almost the entire day, and how natural it feels to just stay like that, quiet and comfortable and sure.

Because he is sure, Iwaizumi thinks. He’s sure about a lot of things now. The future, for one thing. The future stretches ahead of the both of them, bright and limitless and full of unexplored potential, and Iwaizumi actually feels excited, now – what they’re going to do, where they’re going to go.

Because the knowledge that he’s not going to be alone, that no matter what he’s going to have Oikawa by his side is there to hold him together.

There’ll be days, he knows, where he’ll be stressed beyond his mind and all he’ll want to do is run away from it all. And there’ll be days where Oikawa will let his insecurities take over him again, where he’ll start questioning his abilities and start wondering if he really has a place on the volleyball court after all. And there’ll be times when Iwaizumi’s chest will ache with how much he’s missing Oikawa, when his fingers will hover barely inches away from his phone at one in the morning and wondering whether it’ll be okay to call, if Oikawa misses him as much as he misses Oikawa.

But above all, Iwaizumi knows that for every bad moment, for every failed test and every lost match, there’ll be ten good moments together – Oikawa’s voice on the phone, or his lips against Iwaizumi’s, or just the simple knowledge that he’s there, that at the end of it all they’ll be waiting for each other.

So when Iwaizumi pulls into Oikawa’s driveway, the feeling in his chest isn’t one of disappointment or regret. It’s – hope, he thinks. It’s hope, and excitement, and anticipation, and—

And love.

He stops the car, turns off the ignition, turns to Oikawa.

“I love you,” Oikawa says, breathless and flushed. “Hajime—”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, “yeah, yeah, I know,” and leans in to kiss Oikawa, right in the driveway of his own house, the place where he grew up (where they both grew up), the place they started this trip with and the place where it all ends, except it’s not an ending at all, it’s a beginning.

Oikawa’s lips are warm and soft, and when he smiles against into the kiss Iwaizumi can feel every inch of that smile pressed against his own lips, and Oikawa’s arms are around his neck and his own hands are in Oikawa’s hair, and soon they’ll have to go out and see Oikawa’s parents and unpack their things and go back to their own separate houses again and deal with dirty laundry and other trivialities but—

But for now — for now, Iwaizumi thinks it’s okay to stay like this.