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It begins in winter. There’s a tentative layer of snow and ice on the ground that crunches under every step as Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk home from school. Oikawa has been acting strangely the past few weeks, and the sound of their footsteps in the snow is the only sound breaking the silence between them.
Their walks are sometimes quiet, sometimes silent, but never in such a way that feels uncomfortable. But this—this feels uncomfortable. Iwaizumi keeps looking at Oikawa out of the corners of his eyes and pretending that he’s not. Oikawa keeps looking at Iwaizumi and hoping Iwaizumi will notice. He doesn’t. Or, he does, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
Iwaizumi has known Oikawa his entire life. He knows every piece of his heart, every one of his tells, each strange habit and nervous tick. There is nothing that Oikawa could say that would make Iwaizumi leave him. But now there’s something that Oikawa wants to say but can’t. Something that he doesn’t have words for yet, or something that he’s afraid Iwaizumi will make fun of him or hate him for.
But again, there is nothing that Oikawa could say that would make Iwaizumi leave him. So maybe he shouldn’t push the subject, maybe he shouldn’t force Oikawa into saying it, but—but Iwaizumi has a guess as to what it is that Oikawa doesn’t want to confront him with or about, and he needs to get it over and through with. He needs the conversation to happen and then be over. He needs Oikawa to say, “I know you’re in love with me,” and he needs to say, “I’ll get over it,” and then they can stop acting so weird around each other.
It doesn’t turn out to be that easy.
They stop in front of Oikawa’s house, where they usually part ways, and Iwaizumi asks, tentatively, “Can I come over? I need help with the math homework.”
He doesn’t. Oikawa knows that. Iwaizumi has never had trouble with math, and Oikawa definitely isn’t the first person he should be going to for help with it. But he asks anyway, and though Oikawa must know it’s a ruse, he agrees.
They keep moving in silence, rotating around each other in a familiar routine. They hang up their winter jackets, take off their shoes, Iwaizumi grabs snacks and Oikawa grabs drinks. It’s the same easy routine they’ve been practicing since junior high. They know how to step around each other in the kitchen so they don’t bump into each other, they know where each item is kept in the room. It’s easy.
But it’s also infinitely hard, because they haven’t had a real conversation in weeks. Because Oikawa has been avoiding Iwaizumi, and because Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he did wrong other than fall in love and it’s not like he’s ever told Oikawa that.
They find themselves in Oikawa’s room, sitting on the floor and taking out all of their school things. Oikawa doesn’t offer for him to borrow a change of clothes to get out of his uniform; Iwaizumi doesn’t ask for it or ask why Oikawa himself doesn’t change. Maybe Oikawa is uncomfortable around him now that he’s figured out all the ways that Iwaizumi wants him. Maybe Oikawa is done with their friendship. Maybe—
“I thought you needed help with math,” Oikawa says, raising his eyebrows at Iwaizumi. “That’s your history homework.”
Iwaizumi blinks, looking down at the folder he had pulled from his bag. “Oh. Yeah. Just spaced out for a minute.”
Oikawa hums. “How unlike you.”
“I guess.” Iwaizumi takes a breath, imperceptible, shallow, unsatisfying. “I—can we talk? First?”
Oikawa visibly stiffens. He keeps his eyes on his math homework, carefully not looking at Iwaizumi. “We probably should.”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “I—I don’t know what I did wrong.”
He does know. He’s fully aware of all of the ways he’s betrayed their friendship. They have a careful balance between platonic and more, and Iwaizumi crossed the line. He’s completely aware of that. It’s just that he thought he would have more time to get over it before Oikawa found out. He thought they could laugh about it in ten years instead of this: Oikawa figuring him out and being done with him.
“Just—” Iwaizumi swallows down everything he actually wants to say because fuck knows Oikawa won’t want to hear it— “I’ll stop, I’ll get over it, Oikawa, I swear I will, just—please stop ignoring me.”
He sounds desperate, pathetic, and he knows that, but he can’t stop himself. Can’t stop himself from begging Oikawa not to leave him over this.
Oikawa bites his lip. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you on purpose. I’ve just been…distracted.”
“Distracted,” Iwaizumi echoes. “Why?”
“Can we—can we do the thing?” Oikawa sounds timid, sounds shy, even though he knows Iwaizumi is incapable of denying him anything that actually matters.
The thing Oikawa is talking about is something they worked out back in elementary school, when Oikawa had broken one of Iwaizumi’s toys but was too afraid to tell him. One of them counts to three, and right after three, the other says whatever they’ve been hiding. The idea is to make it so that there’s no building up of overthinking to say things, so they won’t talk themselves out of saying it. It’s a little ridiculous, but it works for them. This time, though, they’re both hiding things. There are two secrets to put out into the open.
“At the same time?” Iwaizumi suggests, and Oikawa nods. “Okay. Ready?”
He doesn’t give Oikawa a chance to say yes or no. “One. Two. Three—”
Oikawa says, “I’m dating someone.”
And Iwaizumi says, “I’m in love with you.”
For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the falling of snow outside the window. Sticking to the glass, piling up on the sidewalks. For a moment, there’s just silence.
Then, Oikawa: “Oh, Iwa, I—”
Iwaizumi shakes his head, desperate and pathetic and hopeless again. He should’ve—he shouldn’t have—he’s ruined everything and Oikawa is going to try to apologize. He whispers, hoarse and terrified, “Don’t. I—I’m happy for you.”
He doesn’t sound happy. He sounds like the shattering of a heart. He sounds like car tires speeding through the sludge of snow on the roads. He sounds like a broken thing.
“Iwa,” Oikawa says helplessly.
Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll—I’ll get over it. Don’t worry about it, Oikawa.”
Oikawa cracks a smile. “I always worry about you.”
“Well, don’t worry about this,” Iwaizumi says, spitting out the words more than saying them. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation, doesn’t want to be dealing with an admission that could ruin everything. “Just—forget about it.”
“Okay,” Oikawa says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” Iwaizumi swallows. Blinks a couple times. It’s not like he didn’t know that Oikawa didn’t like him back. It’s not like this is a surprise. “Tell me about who you’re dating.”
Oikawa looks at him hesitantly. “Are you sure?”
“I just told you to forget about it,” Iwaizumi says, “so forget about it. Pretend I never said anything. Tell me about whoever.”
Oikawa swallows. He looks pained, looks like something has been ruined, looks like he has lost something. Iwaizumi tries to tell himself that isn’t the case, but he’s also not stupid. They’ll always be friends, but everything has changed already.
“I’m—her name is Misaki. She’s on the basketball team. The one who scored that last point during the game we watched, remember?
“Ah,” Iwaizumi says, feeling a little like he’s choking on Oikawa’s words instead of hearing them. “She was good.”
Oikawa smiles a little, and he looks so fond that Iwaizumi wants to cry. “She is. And she’s smart, too. And funnier and more mischievous than I thought she would be. She’s thoughtful and kind, but she also always has something sarcastic to say back to my bullshit, you know? She’s—I really, really like her.”
“Congratulations,” Iwaizumi says. He smiles at Oikawa, hoping that it doesn’t look too upset. “She sounds good for you. You need someone to keep you in line.”
Oikawa snorts. “I guess. She’s good at that.”
“Good.” Iwaizumi takes a breath. “I—I should go. Mom wants me to help her with dinner.”
She doesn't—Iwaizumi is terrible at cooking and she’s given up on teaching him—but he needs to leave. He needs to get out of this room, which suddenly feels oppressively warm and confined. He needs fresh air and maybe to cry for a little while, trying not to feel so fucking stupid for his misplaced—and he knew it was misplaced, which is the worst part—hope.
Oikawa doesn’t stop him from packing up his things and heading out of the house. He doesn’t say anything else, just lets him go. Lets him leave without protest. Maybe he thinks Iwaizumi needs space. Maybe he thinks Iwaizumi wants space. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to do with himself. Maybe he wants to call up his girlfriend and tell her about how wrong his best friend is for saying such a thing at all.
Iwaizumi goes home, just one door down from Oikawa. Goes to his room, closes the window shades so that Oikawa can’t see into his bedroom. Then he finally lets himself feel stupid. Feel upset. Feel pathetic. Feel so in love that it hurts. Feel so hurt that it feels like realizing he’s falling in love for the first time all over again.
He needs to pull himself together. Needs to pretend that this is fine, because he can’t let Oikawa feel guilty about it. He also can’t let Oikawa feel awkward around him. He can’t let Oikawa even acknowledge it. So he needs to pull it the fuck together.
One night. That’s how long he’ll allow himself to be upset. Then he moves on.
By the time that he walks to school with Oikawa the next day, he’s cried himself dry, and then he finally, after so many years of pining, decided that it’s time to move on.
Oikawa doesn’t mention the afternoon before. They don’t talk about it, and that’s exactly how Iwaizumi wants it. He doesn’t want to talk about it and he told Oikawa that and Oikawa must’ve known how serious he was, because he doesn’t push Iwaizumi to say anything. Instead, they walk through the snow—now piling up to a foot of white—and make their way to school in silence.
Things are strange. Weird. Awkward. Iwaizumi hates it. He hates that, after practice, Oikawa tells him he’s going on a date with Misaki that night. Hates that, instead of their usual Friday routine of hanging out and watching bad movies and playing video games, Oikawa is going on a date. Hates that Oikawa doesn’t seem to even notice that their routine is changing already. Hates that Oikawa doesn’t seem to care. He hates Oikawa. Hates him so much.
Except he doesn’t. Except he could forgive Oikawa for anything. Except that, as hurt as he is, he can’t actually be mad at Oikawa for any of this. It’s not like has ownership of Oikawa’s time, despite them being best friends. It’s not like he and Oikawa are dating. It’s not like—
He goes home alone and tries not to think about Oikawa on his date. Tries not to think about anything. He does his math homework because he doesn’t really need Oikawa’s help. Doesn’t need Oikawa. He doesn’t.
He tells himself this over and over again and that does not once work to make it true.
The truth is that he needs Oikawa. Needs Oikawa desperately, in the same way a body needs a heart and lungs. He needs Oikawa because Oikawa is his best friend, the one person who understands him in and out, truly and honestly. He needs Oikawa because he has given Oikawa every part of himself to carry, never once unsure of the decision, and if Oikawa walks away now, he’ll never get those parts back.
The truth is that he is in love with Oikawa, irrevocably so. He finally gathered the courage to say it, but it wasn’t enough. He needs to move on.
Actually moving on, though, is harder than telling himself that he’s going to move on. The act of leaving his feelings for Oikawa behind him feels impossible, most days. He’s been in love for so long that it almost feels like a part of who he is—a part of his nature. It’s so familiar, such a constant habit, that getting rid of those feelings seems impossible.
But he has to. Because if he doesn’t, Oikawa will be weird around him forever and Iwaizumi can’t deal with that. Can’t deal with losing him. There’s a reason he had told himself he would never confess.
It’s winter now. Snow blankets Miyagi like a clean slate. By the time that winter melts away, Iwaizumi tells himself, he’s going to have fallen out of love with Oikawa. By the time that the snow is gone, he’s going to have moved forwards with his life. He’ll find someone else he loves, eventually; he’ll find someone else who makes him feel as good as Oikawa does.
He will.
It will be okay, no matter how much it doesn’t feel that way right now.
Then, at lunch one day: “I want you to meet her.”
Iwaizumi, sitting next to Hanamaki and across from Matsukawa because Oikawa doesn’t come close to him anymore, raises his eyebrows. “Who?”
“Misaki,” Oikawa explains. “I want you guys all to meet her.”
“Wow,” Matsukawa says, staring at Oikawa. There’s a practiced blankness on his face that comes up whenever Misaki does, but Iwaizumi knows from the way he leans just slightly forward that he’s interested. “You’re really planning on keeping this one around, huh? We never get to meet your partners.”
Oikawa rolls his eyes. “I’ve only dated a few other people. You don’t need to make it sound like I’ve dated the entire school and you’ve never met any of them.”
“Sure, but those other people lasted for, like, two weeks,” Hanamaki points out, “so we were never introduced to them. I don’t think I even knew you were dating that last one until you mentioned breaking up with her.”
Oikawa’s cheeks flush pink. “I’m a deeply private person.”
Hanamaki coughs into his fist. “Liar.”
“Shut up,” Oikawa says. “So will you guys meet her?”
“Course we will,” Iwaizumi says, shooting a glare at Matsukawa, who opens his mouth as if to say no. “Let us know when she’s free and we’ll figure something out.”
“Great!” Oikawa beams, and it hurts, but also makes it all okay, too. If Oikawa is smiling like that, then it must be fine. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he himself has ever made Oikawa smile in the same way the sheer thought of Misaki makes him smile. “I’ll let her know.”
Hanamaki snorts. “Great. I do kind of want to meet whatever poor fool Oikawa’s sucked into his orbit this time.”
“Again,” Oikawa says indignantly, “I’ve dated three people.”
That makes Matsukawa frown. “Three?”
Oikawa frowns back. “Yeah. Mei, Aoi, and now Misaki. That’s three.”
“What about him?” Hanamaki asks, jabbing a finger into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “That’s four.”
Iwaizumi freezes. He’s halfway through a bite of rice but it’s suddenly bland and tasteless. He doesn’t look at Oikawa, doesn’t want to know how he’s going to respond to that.
He can hear the offense in Oikawa’s words without having to look at him. “Iwa and I have never dated. I’m not—”
He cuts himself off. It’s true, and Iwaizumi knows it’s true, but it still sends a pang of hurt through his heart. He says, trying to sound more confident than he is, “I can do better than him.”
“True,” Hanamaki says, snorting. “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have assumed anyways,” Oikawa says, spitting out the words like poison. Then he takes a breath. “Point is that I’ve only dated three people and you’re all way too mean to me.”
That’s the end of the conversation, but it echoes in Iwaizumi’s mind for the rest of the day. It apparently lingers for Matsukawa, too, because he corners Iwaizumi in the locker room before practice starts and everyone arrives.
“You and Oikawa,” Matsukawa says.
Iwaizumi blinks at him. “What about me and Oikawa?”
“All of the past year and a half,” Matsukawa says, “and you didn’t date for any of it? Both of Oikawa’s girlfriends were from first year. You didn’t date at all during our second year?”
Iwaizumi swallows, closing his locker door and slumping back against it. “No. I don’t know why that surprises you so much.”
“You love him.”
Iwaizumi closes his eyes. “Yeah.”
“He doesn’t love you back?”
“No. He doesn’t.” Iwaizumi slides down to sit on the floor and lean his head against the lower locker. He opens his eyes, looking up at Matsukawa. “He doesn’t.”
Matsukawa looks like he wants to say something else, opening his mouth to tell Iwaizumi something that he probably doesn’t want to hear, and then the door to the club room opens to let Kindaichi and Kunimi in, and Matsukawa cuts himself off. “We’re talking about this later.”
“No, we’re not,” Iwaizumi tells him.
Fortunately for Iwaizumi, later never comes, because Iwaizumi hears coughing, choking, and then a toilet flush, and he and Matsukawa both rush to the bathroom. There’s someone on their knees in one of the bathroom stalls, presumably bent over the toilet. Matsukawa knocks on the door lightly. “Hey, you alright in there?”
“I’m fine!” Iwaizumi’s blood runs cold—it’s Oikawa in there. “Just a bad lunch. I’ll be ready for practice in a second.”
“Oikawa, if you’re feeling sick, you need to go home,” Iwaizumi says. He and Matsukawa exchange glances. They both know that going home is the last thing Oikawa wants to do. “I’m not letting you practice if you’re sick. Vice captain’s orders.”
Oikawa snorts, and then the toilet flushes. “I don’t think vice captain orders can outrule captain’s orders for me to stay.”
“Oikawa.”
The door to the stall opens and Iwaizumi tries to hold back a gasp. Oikawa is pale, a dot of spit at the corner of his mouth.
Matsukawa says dryly, “You look terrible. Wash your hands and then go the fuck home.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not,” Iwaizumi cuts in. “You clearly need to rest.”
Oikawa glares at him, but those glares stopped being effective a long time ago. “I need to practice. How can we possibly beat Shiratorizawa if the captain isn’t practicing?”
“Can’t beat Shiratorizawa if the captain makes himself even more sick than he currently is either.” Iwaizumi takes hold of his arm and Oikawa flinches at his touch. Iwaizumi drops it, putting a hand on his shoulder instead and shoving him towards the sinks. He tries not to feel gross, to feel perverse, to feel sick at the way Oikawa flinched. “Wash your hands. Then walk home.”
Oikawa grumbles about it, muttering things under his breath, but he washes his hands. Iwaizumi and Matsukawa keep a sharp eye on him as he gathers up his things; they don’t rest until he disappears from sight on the walk home. It’s strange that he protested so little, but Iwaizumi isn’t going to question it. He really did look awful.
“What do you think is up with him?” Matsukawa asks, a frown etched into his expression that Iwaizumi is sure is mimicked on his own face.
“No idea,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “He’s just been acting weird lately. I thought it was—I don’t know.”
Matsukawa looks at him. “Thought it was what?”
Iwaizumi shrugs uncomfortably. “Don’t know. We’re late for practice.”
He doesn’t look at Matsukawa as he walks away, headed to the gym where he can take out his frustration on a ball instead of internalizing it. It feels good to exercise and get his body moving, like with every jump he’s letting go of a little more of his stress about Oikawa.
By the time practice is over, he’s feeling better about the whole situation: he and Oikawa will be okay eventually, even if it takes a little time to feel weird about everything; neither of them are going to sacrifice years of friendship because of a stupid crush. Things might be strange for a little bit, but they’ll be okay. They’ve made it through everything else so far, and they’ll make it through this.
There’s a little voice in his head that says that Oikawa might never act the same around him again, even if they’re still friends. There’s a little voice in his head that says he’ll never be able to sling his arm around Oikawa’s shoulders or ruffle his hair or high five him again.
But it feels easier to crush that voice now. After practice, he feels just a little bit stronger.
He starts the walk home, but it’s strange—lonely—without Oikawa next to him. Even if they’ve been acting weird around each other, even if things have been awkward, even if they haven’t been talking on their walks home, Oikawa has still always been a familiar presence next to Iwaizumi as they walk. Even without conversation, he’s still there, and that’s always been important. That he stays.
So it’s strange without Oikawa. He notices things he’s never really paid attention to before: the way the sunset washes over the sky like watercolors; the way the wind moves through his hair and cools the sweat at the back of his neck; small purple flower petals scattered on the sidewalk about halfway to their houses. There are no flower gardens nearby, so they must have drifted here from farther down the road. Iwaizumi almost has the urge to pick some up so that he can press them in between the pages of a dictionary, but he refrains.
He makes it to their street, lost in thought, and stops in front of Oikawa’s house. Part of him thinks it's a habit to stop. Another part of him just wants to know if Oikawa is okay after leaving practice sick.
He makes it halfway up the walkway to the house before thinking better of it. Oikawa probably doesn’t want to see him at the moment. So he turns around and heads to his own house.
He feels a little like he’s betraying Oikawa, like by not checking on him while he’s sick, he’s letting Oikawa go. He feels a little like he’s losing Oikawa, but that’s not a new feeling anymore. This past week or so has just been a week of loss. Of allowing Oikawa to shift just a little farther away from him.
Here’s the thing: Oikawa isn’t homophobic in the violent all-encompassing way Iwaizumi fears—because he could never be afraid of Oikawa—but he is uncomfortable regarding it. Though he left out the part where he’s in love with him, Iwaizumi came out to Oikawa two years ago and they’ve acknowledged it three times.
Once: Iwaizumi mentioned thinking an actor was attractive, and Oikawa brushed it aside as if he had said nothing. Twice: Iwaizumi offhandedly said he hopes a bill to legalize gay marriage goes through, and Oikawa shrugged and changed the conversation topic, all while avoiding Iwaizumi’s gaze.
Then, now: he said he was in love with Oikawa, and Oikawa started acting weird around him.
So Oikawa isn’t outwardly hateful, no—Oikawa is probably incapable of outright hating Iwaizumi—but he isn’t comfortable with the idea. He prefers to pretend it doesn’t exist, it’s not real, it’s something that Iwaizumi once said rather than something that he is. If Iwaizumi doesn’t acknowledge it, then Oikawa doesn’t have to confront it. If Oikawa doesn’t have to confront it, they can pretend that Iwaizumi coming out never happened, never mattered, never affected either of them.
Iwaizumi hates it. Hates this about Oikawa. It’s one of the only actual issues that he has with him.
But he would hate losing Oikawa more than he hates having to stay quiet about this part of himself, and so he doesn’t push it. There are lines in their friendship that Iwaizumi has so far been allowed to cross: touching Oikawa a little more than is normal for two best friends; sleeping in the same bed when they have sleepovers; keeping a drawer of clothes in Oikawa’s room. Crossing those lines is contingent on not acknowledging his sexuality. So this—his being gay—is not a line that he is ever going to even try to test.
The real problem, then, is not that Iwaizumi loves Oikawa. The problem is that he said it out loud.
Oikawa just needs space, he tells himself. He just needs time. Then, after a little while, everything can go back to normal, like it was before, like Iwaizumi was never in love with him. By spring, it will all be okay again. A new slate.
They’re also graduating. Neither of them are sure about their future plans yet—the only future they care about right now is the Spring Tournament—but Iwaizumi knows, realistically, there’s a very high chance they don’t end up at the same place. If Oikawa is ever going to run from him—this is when he’s going to do it.
So even as Iwaizumi knows that he should give Oikawa space, he also wants to hold on tighter than he ever has, because he’s so fucking afraid. He spends so much time, these days, being afraid. Afraid of losing Oikawa, afraid of a future that doesn’t look the way it was supposed to when he was a kid, afraid of moving forwards into the unknown, afraid of growing up and having to be something more than he is.
The feeling makes him want to fake illness and never leave his bed. But he knows that’s not realistic, and besides, there are volleyball games to win. He had started the school year off determined to make the most of his final year of high school, but it feels like he’s fucking it up at every turn. It feels like he could’ve had the world in his hands, but he dropped it and it shattered at his feet.
Maybe that’s being dramatic, but his best friend of eighteen years is uncomfortable looking at him and so he feels like maybe he’s allowed to be a little dramatic.
He allows himself one night of being dramatic. One night, and then he pulls himself together. It feels like he’s been doing that a lot recently.
But Iwaizumi goes to practice and he’s fine. Greets everyone; tries to keep his distance from Oikawa, just a little bit; spikes the ball with more force than he’s ever done before. He gets through the days like that: giving Oikawa the space he so clearly needs, trying not to let it get to his head.
Then he meets Misaki. Truthfully, he had almost forgotten that she existed. Oikawa doesn’t talk about her much anymore, though she had been the singular focus of conversation at lunch for a few days at the beginning of their relationship. But she’s stuck around, and they’re still dating, and Iwaizumi is getting very good at pretending that it doesn’t hurt. What does she give him that Iwaizumi can’t?
Actually—he can’t think about that question too hard, because the answer is that she gives Oikawa so many things that Iwaizumi can never provide. More than that, she’s the one Oikawa chose. The one who’s actually staying.
Iwaizumi, as much as he wishes he were able to hold Oikawa’s hand like that, would never force Oikawa into something he didn’t want. He would never make Oikawa stay with him if he didn’t want to. Oikawa chose Misaki, and that’s all there is to it.
He can see why he chose her. He gets it, after they meet. If he weren’t gay, he might’ve liked her too: the long black hair, soft lips, round blushing cheeks; always wearing a smile but never annoyingly positive; gentle in all the right places but sharp as a knife when it comes to bantering with Oikawa; kind but never letting Oikawa get away with taking advantage of that kindness.
She’s everything that Iwaizumi is not, and he can’t even begin to understand in words how much that hurts. She’s everything that he can never be and never give and that’s what Oikawa wants in a relationship. There’s nothing that Iwaizumi can do to change that.
They—Oikawa, Misaki, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa—all go to a ramen place together. Hanamaki bullies Oikawa into paying for all of them as long as they stick to his budget, and Misaki laughs loudly when Oikawa gives in. Their conversations come easy, and Misaki slots herself into their dynamic without blinking an eye. She’s easy going, but isn’t afraid to tease and give as good as she gets.
She’s perfect, and Iwaizumi has to accept that. It’s almost spring, after all. The snow has almost melted.
They talk and laugh over their bowls of steaming hot ramen, warmed by the broth despite the lingering chill in the air outside. At some point, they’re flirting together—Oikawa and Misaki—and Iwaizumi is just watching. Observing.
He must go abnormally quiet, because Hanamaki nudges his shoulder while Oikawa is looking at Misaki, and mouths, Are you okay?
Iwaizumi just shrugs. He turns away from Hanamaki to look at Oikawa and Misaki again, sitting across from them; Misaki by the wall and Oikawa at the aisle, directly across from Matsukawa. He looks at Oikawa, at the smile that lingers on his lips, and something seems off. Seems tired, seems—and this is not a word Iwaizumi uses lightly—weak. Like there is a weight on his shoulders that he can’t lift anymore. Like he’s fighting something, but he’s exhausted by it.
He remembers Oikawa throwing up in the bathroom before practice and he wonders. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just making things up because he’s jealous. Maybe he himself is the tired and weak one.
Oikawa looks away from Misaki for just one second and catches Iwaizumi’s eye. Iwaizumi smiles at him, and he’s trying to hold it all together, trying to keep his feelings under control, but he knows that there is an affection in his smile that Oikawa doesn’t want to see. There’s love in that smile, and Oikawa was not meant to read it, but Iwaizumi has always been an open prayer book under his eyes.
Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa is staring at him because then Oikawa chokes, like he’s swallowed a carrot that hadn’t been cut small enough, like it’s coming back up, and then he stumbles away from the table. He has his hand over his mouth and he’s going towards the bathroom as fast as he can without making a scene.
“What just happened—” Hanamaki cuts himself off, looking at Iwaizumi. “Is he okay?”
“I’ll go after him,” Misaki says. She sounds worried, sounds tired in the same way Oikawa had looked, like she knows what’s happening but can’t tell them. “Give us a minute.”
“You can’t go in the men’s bathroom,” Matsukawa points out. “I’ll be right back. You all stay put.”
Misaki opens her mouth like she wants to argue, but there’s not really an argument to be had. Matsukawa slips away from the table and leaves them there as he walks to the bathroom.
“What’s going on?” Hanamaki asks. He’s looking at Iwaizumi again.
Iwaizumi looks down at his ramen. It doesn’t seem as appealing anymore. It’s gone cold and he’s tired and, through the act of loving Oikawa, he’s committed the worst crime in the world. “I don’t know why you think I know.”
“Because you’re his best friend,” Hanamaki says, “and he tells you everything.”
“Not anymore,” Iwaizumi says flatly.
Hanamaki goes silent. Iwaizumi doesn’t look at him, sure that there are protests and frustrations written all over his expression, but he doesn’t want to hear or see it. He doesn’t want to argue about this. He had been trying to give Oikawa space after his confession, had been trying to let Oikawa be happy without making himself look and feel as pathetic and heartbroken as he is, but all he’s done is lose him.
Matsukawa and Oikawa are in the bathroom for thirty minutes. Iwaizumi is contemplating just leaving them, but he can’t do that to Oikawa. They may be distant now, but he can’t just abandon him. Misaki swirls her straw around her soda, looking at it like it’ll tell her what to say. She’s clearly worried, but unlike Iwaizumi and Hanamaki, she also clearly knows what she’s worried about.
Neither Iwaizumi nor Hanamaki ask. Maybe it’s not their place. Maybe they know she won’t say. Maybe they’re afraid of the answer. Iwaizumi isn’t sure what Hanamaki is thinking, but he’s pretty sure that it’s a combination of all three for him.
When Matsukawa and Oikawa finally come back, Oikawa looks worse than he had before leaving the table. He looks like he’s about to pass out. Matsukawa, on the other hand, just looks angry. Oikawa is tired of this unknown weight on his shoulders and Matsukawa is still fighting it.
“I’m going home,” Matsukawa says, words clipped and sharp. It’s more blatant frustration than Iwaizumi has ever seen on him. “I’ll see you all later.”
Iwaizumi watches as Matsukawa grabs his coat and storms out of the restaurant.
Hanamaki stares forlornly after him. “He was my ride.”
“I’ll take you home,” Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes. Then he turns to Oikawa. “Are you—”
“I’m fine, Iwa,” Oikawa says. He hasn’t called Iwaizumi that in a week and Iwaizumi hates the way it makes his heart flip over, but it’s also—maybe—a sign of normalcy and nothing has ever sounded better. “I better pay and then get going, too. I’m exhausted. Misaki?”
Misaki nods, giving him a worried smile. “I’ll come with you.”
The two of them gather their things and start to head out, leaving Iwaizumi staring at their empty seats and wondering where the afternoon had gone so wrong. All he had done was smile.
“You okay?” Hanamaki asks quietly, poking his cheek.
Iwaizumi shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Hanamaki waves a hand vaguely through the air. “All of this kind of sucks, doesn’t it?”
“I’m happy he’s happy.”
“He doesn’t seem very happy.”
Iwaizumi shrugs again. “It’s not my place to question that, I guess. I’m gonna wash my hands and then we can head out. I’ll drop you off at home.”
He doesn’t wait for Hanamaki’s answer before he’s walking to the bathroom, taking the same path Oikawa had taken only a little while earlier. He goes to wash his hands, and then something in the mirror catches his eye. He turns around, staring at the floor. A single purple petal lies on the floor, almost unnoticeable on top of the black and white pattern of tiles. But it’s there: the same kind of petal he had seen on his walk home alone.
A few weeks later, Iwaizumi waits in front of Oikawa’s door for twenty minutes. He’s going to be late to practice, but apparently Oikawa is going to take his sweet time getting ready.
But then Oikawa’s mother comes out of the front door to meet him at the steps. She looks tired, like she’s been up all night worrying. It’s strange, because she seems to always be able to find the silver lining in anything, always believing that things will work out somehow. But here, she looks like she’s almost scared of something. Like she’s scared of Iwaizumi.
Iwaizumi swallows, nausea flooding through his head and making him want to sit down with his head between his knees. Oikawa must have told his mother what Iwaizumi said and now—
“He’s not going to make it to school today,” she says quietly, in that gentle, forgiving manner of hers. “I—do you have a minute? To talk to him?”
Iwaizumi licks his lips. “I—I don’t know if he’ll want to see me.”
“He told me you two are fighting,” she says, taking a shaky breath. “But—it might make him feel better.”
“He’s that sick?”
She bites down on her lip, hard enough that Iwaizumi wants to wince for her. “I don’t—I’m taking him to the doctor again today. Don’t worry so much, okay? I’m taking care of him.”
“I know.” But Iwaizumi has also made worrying about Oikawa such a core part of his daily routine that he doesn’t know how to stop. He knows Oikawa’s mother is perfectly capable of taking care of him, but he’s also eighteen years old and in love and he wants to take away all of the pain that Oikawa’s ever felt. Such a thing is impossible, but if anyone could find a way to do it, he thinks it would be him. “I’ll see you later. Tell him…” He stops. He doesn’t know what Oikawa wants to hear from him. “I’ll just see you later.”
“Hajime,” she starts, taking an unsteady breath.
But Iwaizumi is already walking away—no, he’s running away, and he tells himself it’s because he’s late for practice, but he knows that it’s just because he doesn’t want to hear whatever Oikawa’s mother has to say to him.
He doesn’t know what Oikawa told her and that sense of unknown sends a pang of fear down his chest. He doesn’t know why she would think that his presence would make him feel better, he just knows that he can’t be there. He can’t be there for Oikawa because, if given the chance, he’ll never leave, and because Oikawa doesn’t fucking want him.
He needs to get that through to his head. Oikawa doesn’t want him. They’re friends, that’s all. He shouldn’t be at Oikawa’s bedside while he has the flu or whatever he’s come down with, because that’s a role for the girlfriend he has now. He doesn’t need to be the person making Oikawa feel better because, after all that’s happened, all he’s doing is making Oikawa feel worse.
So he goes to school, and he tries not to think about the absence of Oikawa next to him. Tries not to think about the emptiness at his side. It’s like there’s a ghost taunting him: this is where Oikawa would be, if you hadn’t fucked up.
It’s during lunch a few days later—days in which Oikawa has been conspicuously absent—that Oikawa comes up again. His presence had been missed at practice, but the coaches seemed to know he’s sick and so neither of them brought it up with the team. So it’s not until Matsukawa gets Iwaizumi alone, while Hanamaki is meeting with a teacher, that it comes up.
“Have you spoken to him?”
Iwaizumi licks his lips. They’re dry, cracked. He hasn’t been drinking enough water. “Not in a few days.”
“Fuck, Iwaizumi, you should talk to him.” Matsukawa sounds desperate, distraught; like the two of them not talking is the end of the world. He sounds like Iwaizumi and Oikawa seeing each other again would fix everything wrong with the world. He doesn’t get it. “I’m—you two need to talk to each other.”
“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi mutters. “He doesn’t want to see me.”
“Has he ever actually told you that?”
Iwaizumi takes an unsteady breath. “He didn’t have to. Mattsun, I told him I—how I felt. And he started avoiding me. So I’m—I’m respecting that.”
“When have you ever respected it when Oikawa tried to make you go away?” Matsukawa snaps. “When he was being an asshole so you would let him work himself to death in the gym? When he tried to push you away so that he could wallow in self-loathing when we lost the practice game against Karasuno? When—”
“This is different!” He doesn’t mean for his words to be as loud as they are, but—he’s so done with this. With being alone—with being apart from Oikawa. With everyone expecting them to fix this rift between them even though none of them knows the context. With Oikawa leaving him. Softer, “This is different.”
Matsukawa glares at him. “It’s not. Fucking talk to him. Iwaizumi, he’s—he’s really sick. You need to talk to him.”
Iwaizumi closes his eyes. He’s also so tired of being afraid. If Oikawa wants to be done with him, Iwaizumi would at least like him to say it to his face. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
“Good.” Matsukawa sits back in his chair. He looks relieved. “I’ll know if you don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Thankfully, Matsukawa drops the subject for the rest of lunch. Hanamaki, too, seems to be avoiding it, though it’s clear he’s worried about something. Iwaizumi nearly thinks that Oikawa—and his sickness—has been forgotten by everyone, dismissed as nothing to be worrying or gossiping about. No one on the team has asked Iwaizumi where Oikawa is and why he isn’t practicing today.
Then he passes by the coach’s office on his way to the clubroom. He doesn’t catch all of it, but he hears Oikawa’s name and pauses outside of the door.
“—Oikawa?” Mizoguchi is asking.
Irihata’s responding sigh is loud even though the door. “I talked to his mother this morning. It’s apparently in the final stages now.”
“Fuck,” Mizoguchi says quietly. “Pardon my language.”
“If any situation calls for it,” Irihata says, “it’s this one.”
“And he’s not…he’s refusing any options?”
“You know how teenage boys are,” Irihata says. “And you know how Oikawa is. Always so passionate.”
Mizoguchi laughs, but it’s sad. “I—I know that it’s likely that…but I’m still hoping.”
Then there are footsteps coming towards the door and Iwaizumi makes himself scarce. He doesn’t know what to think of the conversation, and he hates that he feels so lost regarding whatever illness Oikawa’s caught. He knows that he’s fucked things up, but he also thought they were still, at the very least, friends.
He also thought that Oikawa still trusted him—trusted him enough, at the very least, to tell him what the fuck is going on. It’s not like he’s been impossible to reach—a text, a phone call, a message sent via his mother, anything would have been enough. Iwaizumi has stopped outside of their front door every day and, every day, been told to go on without Oikawa.
It feels wrong, but he goes to the coaches before practice anyway. He’s not changed, not ready. He doesn’t want to be there. He wants to be with Oikawa. He wants to fix this.
“I—” his voice cracks as he stumbles through his words— “I need to skip practice today. I need—I need to go visit—”
“You can go,” Irihata says immediately. He doesn’t wait for the name. He doesn’t wait for the litany of excuses and reasons Iwaizumi had prepared. He just says that Iwaizumi can go, and tries to smile. It looks too pained to not mean something.
Iwaizumi doesn’t question it. He just turns, shoulders his backpack, and he makes the walk to Oikawa’s house. The spot where the petals had been weeks earlier is empty. The places where snow had layered over the sidewalk are now wet with runoff from backyards, but otherwise cleaned of wintertime.
It’s spring and Iwaizumi isn’t over Oikawa, but he is done with avoiding him. He’s done pretending that this love is the end of the world. He’s done letting Oikawa push him away because of it. Matsukawa was right: when has he ever let Oikawa push him away for something that they should be fighting together? Why is this different?
Iwaizumi stands outside of the Oikawa’s door, takes a deep breath, and the door swings open before he even knocks.
“Hajime?” Oikawa’s mother looks tired, like she has every morning. But now it also looks like she’s been crying. Like she’s trying to hold herself together and be strong, but her walls are falling down around her. “Are you—are you here to see—”
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, shifting his weight between his feet. His hand grips the straps of his backpack hard enough to pale his knuckles. “Will he—will he be okay with that?”
She shrugs. “I’m not giving him a choice anymore. Come on in.”
“Thank you,” Iwaizumi murmurs, following her into the house. He takes off his shoes and makes his way to the stairs, the same way he’s done for years. He could maneuver around this house blind or in the dark. “Is it—I heard the coaches talking today and—is it bad? Like—”
“Yeah,” she says. She leads him up the stairs and to Oikawa’s room. “Hajime—just—give him a chance, okay? Please. That’s all I’m asking. Give him a chance.”
“To what?” Iwaizumi asks. Explain himself? Apologize for all the casual homophobia Iwaizumi has been ignoring him saying?
She swallows. Closes her eyes. When she opens them, there is a grief in her gaze the likes of which Iwaizumi has never seen before. Has never even imagined. “I’ll explain if he doesn’t, okay? But for now, just talk to him.”
“Okay.” An uncomfortable tendril of dread is starting to make its way through his chest and around his heart, squeezing tight and painful. He puts a hand on the doorknob and feels that dread wrap around his wrist. “Thank you.”
He pushes through the grip of that hateful feeling, and steps into the bedroom. Oikawa is on his bed, curled up under several blankets, sleeping. He looks peaceful like this, but Iwaizumi doesn’t have time for peaceful. He has to make some things right, and he needs to hear some things from Oikawa.
“Oikawa,” he says, gentle at first, then louder. “Oikawa.”
Oikawa stirs, the tiniest movement of his arms, and then shallow breaths as he opens his eyes. “Iwa?”
“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, trying to soften his voice, trying not to cry at the sight of him. His best friend is lying in bed, his face so pale that Iwaizumi wonders if blood even gets to his cheeks anymore, struggling to sit up. His best friend is so sick he looks like he’s dying and Iwaizumi hasn’t been doing anything about it. “You look like shit.”
Oikawa manages a wry smile. “I am aware, thank you for the observation.”
“Really, Oikawa, you look like death.”
Oikawa’s smile slips away. “Not super funny right now, Iwa.”
The dread and hate and fear and anger all clench their fists around Iwaizumi’s lungs and he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stare at Oikawa for a moment, blinking rapidly. “You’re not dying. You’re not.”
“Help me sit up,” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi drops his backpack at the door so he can go over. He tentatively puts his hand on Oikawa’s shoulder and offers the other hand for Oikawa to grab. Together, they manage to get Oikawa to sit up, but he feels so fragile and small in Iwaizumi’s grip that touching him is like holding tissue paper, like the feeling of ripping it up and watching the shreds gently float to the ground. “Did my mom tell you?”
“She didn’t tell me anything,” Iwaizumi says. “Oikawa, what’s going on?”
Oikawa takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Iwa. I think I’ve been a bad friend.”
“No,” Iwaizumi starts, but Oikawa shakes his head to cut him off and Iwaizumi doesn’t have the heart to fight with him right now. He came to apologize, not make things worse.
“Iwa, I—”
Oikawa stops, putting a hand over his mouth, and then coughs. Again and again and again. Awful, gasping coughs that scratch at his throat and make a wreckage of his voice. He doubles over as the coughing shakes his shoulders, and Iwaizumi can see tears slipping past the lines of his eyes. He rubs Oikawa’s back, smooth, repetitive circles, like he knows Oikawa’s mother had done when he was sick with pneumonia as a kid.
Iwaizumi wants to cry, wants to take this pain away, but he doesn’t know what the pain is, because he, too, has been a bad friend these past few weeks. For all that he was bitter at Oikawa about the distance, for all that he asked Oikawa for nothing to change, he’s been letting his love for Oikawa dig a rift in their friendship that he’s scared he’ll never repair.
Then Oikawa drops his hand from his mouth. There, in his palm, are four perfectly intact flowers. A little crumpled. Wet with spit. They’re purple, but the color is stained with a thick blood dripping into the lines of Oikawa’s hand. Oikawa stares at them for a moment, then tosses them into a garbage can next to the bed that Iwaizumi hadn’t noticed.
The garbage can is filled nearly to the brim with flowers and dirt: purple petals, yellow stigmas, green leaves, soft and fragile and spotted with blood. Underneath the dozens of flowers and even more petals is a green vine, maybe five inches long with offshoots of the flowers. They’re beautiful, and it’s the worst thing that Iwaizumi has ever seen.
“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, voice low and terrified, putting all the pieces together. “You have hanahaki disease."
Oikawa licks his lips. “It’s funny. The flowers don’t taste like anything. They’re a poisonous vine, but they don’t taste like anything. They’re just a reminder that—”
He coughs again, dry and cracking and rasping in his throat. Another few flowers are spit up onto the bedspread.
Iwaizumi understands, now, the desperation in Matsukawa’s words, in Irihata and Mizoguchi’s aching sadness, in Oikawa’s mother’s awful hope that Iwaizumi will at least cheer him up.
“You can’t die,” Iwaizumi whispers. “You can’t, Oikawa, you can’t. There’s a surgery, isn’t there? And—”
“I’m not getting the surgery,” Oikawa snaps. “I’m not letting go.”
Iwaizumi swallows. He’s kneeling at Oikawa’s bed and for a moment he wonders how much he would have to pray for some miracle to change this. “Who is it?”
Oikawa turns away from him, looking out at the opposite wall of his bedroom. “I was talking to some doctors. And they were saying that it’s never the other person’s fault. It’s just a horrible circumstance. Because it’s not really the unrequited part of the love that does it. It’s the refusal to admit it. Okay? You got that, Iwa? It’s never the other person’s fault.”
“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. “Why are you telling me this? Go talk to your girlfriend or whoever you want that’s not her—Oikawa, anyone would be lucky to have you—”
Oikawa shakes his head. His voice is hoarse when he says, “I need you to remember that.”
Iwaizumi stares at him for a long moment, trying to read the fear in Oikawa’s eyes. There’s blood at the corner of his mouth. He’s dying. Fuck. He’s dying. And what has Iwaizumi been doing about it?
“It’s me, isn’t it?” Iwaizumi asks quietly. But it’s not really a question. He’s always been able to read between the lines of everything Oikawa says. He needs Iwaizumi specifically to remember that it’s not the other person’s fault, because he needs Iwaizumi to know that, when he dies, Iwaizumi can’t blame himself. “Oikawa. Is it me?”
Oikawa closes his eyes. “It’s so fucking stupid. I can’t—I still can’t make myself say it.”
Iwaizumi reaches over and takes Oikawa’s hands. He says, just loud enough for Oikawa to hear, “You know I’ll say it back.”
Oikawa opens his eyes and looks over at him. There’s a raw vulnerability that hurts to look at when he says, “I know—but I’m so scared, Iwa.”
“What are you so scared of?” Iwaizumi kisses his knuckles, again and again, desperate and full of all his years of wanting. “I’ll say it back. You know I will. You won’t lose me. Just say it. Oikawa, you’re dying. I can’t—Oikawa.”
“You know, I still haven’t told my mom who it is,” Oikawa says softly. He looks down at their intertwined hands. “She might’ve guessed but I haven’t—I don’t want her to know I’m—that I’m—”
Iwaizumi looks at him. Sees all the hate he’s internalized over the years, the hate that was never about Iwaizumi coming out, not really; the hate that was about himself. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s truly seeing Oikawa for who he is: beautiful and caring and in love and so, so afraid of it.
“I get it,” Iwaizumi tells him. His words are gentle and honest. Forgiving. “You know I do. But you can’t live if you let fear control you. You don’t want to get the surgery because you don’t want to let go of the love. But if you want to hold onto the love, if you want to live with the love, you have to move past the fear.”
Oikawa stares at him, tears gathering in his eyes. “What if it goes wrong? What if my mom hates me and the rest of our team hates me and what if—”
“Tooru.” Just his name. Strong and safe. “Your mom just wants you to live. And the rest of the team is well aware of how I feel and they don’t treat me any differently. The people that are worthy enough to even look at you will love you for who you are. Just—please, just say it. And if you don’t want to be together, that’s okay. I’ll be okay. I just need you alive. I just need my best friend with me.”
“You’ll say it back?” Oikawa asks. His words are fragile; they would break at the touch of a needle.
Lying in his bed, under all those blankets, that spot of blood at his lips, the flowers in the garbage next to him, tears beginning to spill over his cheeks—he looks small. Vulnerable. Afraid. This is not the Oikawa of the court, who is powerful and glorious. This is not the Oikawa of Aoba Johsai, who flirts and laughs.
But it is still Oikawa. Iwaizumi loves him for who he was, who he is now, and whoever he will become. Yes, he’ll say it back.
“I’ve wanted to say it back my entire life,” Iwaizumi promises. “I will. I will now.”
Oikawa looks at him, long and silent, and then, a whisper but a confession all the same, “I love you.”
Iwaizumi exhales, all his relief in that breath, all his love in his words: “I love you, too.”
There’s no shaking of the worlds or boom of thunder or natural disaster. There’s no apocalypse. There’s just two boys, saying I love you. There’s just love.
There’s also nothing to signify that the disease has been cured. No sparkle or flash of light. But Iwaizumi has faith. Faith that they’ll be okay. That they’ll get through this together.
Oikawa takes another breath, and it rattles in his chest. He doesn’t get better instantaneously—he’ll have to work up his strength again. He coughs one more time, awful and terrifying, and chokes up a single flower. There’s no blood on the petals or anything to signify that it had come from a vine in Oikawa’s chest that was choking his heart until it would eventually stop. It’s just a flower.
“It’s called trailing bittersweet,” Oikawa says quietly. He crushing the flower in his fist, crumpling up the petals, and then drops it in the trash. “I Googled it back when this first started. Thought it would make me feel better if I knew. In flower language, it means truth.”
“Pretty,” Iwaizumi says. “I never want to see it again.”
Oikawa laughs, a hoarse sound, but a living one. “Me neither.”
Iwaizumi smiles at him, then slumps down to sit rather than bend over the bed on his knees. He looks up at Oikawa, and he loves him so much, and he will let him go if he needs to but Oikawa loves him back and he is desperately hoping that that will be enough.
“I—” He stops. Takes a breath. “You know I love you. And I want to be with you, take you on dates, hold your hand, kiss you, do all of those romantic things you like. But I know that—I know it’s scary, and new, and I know you said you love me but if you want to be just friends, I would understand. Just…as long as you’re in my life, okay?”
“Okay,” Oikawa says. His eyes are already brighter than they have been in weeks. “I’m going to brush my teeth. And then I’m going to kiss you.”
Iwaizumi blinks. Then he smiles. “Okay.”
Oikawa grins at him, happy and unapologetic. “Okay.”
Later, Iwaizumi finds out everything that had been kept from him for the entirety of the past wintertime. Oikawa had been coughing up flowers since his confession, since Oikawa realized his feelings were reciprocated and, terrified of the consequences, forced himself to stay with Misaki anyways.
Misaki has apparently known the entire time. She caught Oikawa throwing up petals in the bathroom one day while they were at her house and put the pieces together. She stayed with him to try and support him, but the feelings between them shifted to platonic once she accepted how unreachable he was.
Hanamaki and Matsukawa, too, found out before Iwaizumi did: Matsukawa that day at the ramen restaurant; Hanamaki a few days later, when Oikawa got cornered in the bathroom nearest the gym. They didn’t know who it was for, who Oikawa was carrying feelings so deep for that they were killing him, but Iwaizumi figures that they had their—correct—guesses.
Oikawa tries to get right back into volleyball the day after his admission and healing, but recovery takes longer than a night. So despite Oikawa wanting to return to practice immediately, his mother forced him to a follow up doctor’s appointment and refuses to entertain the idea of strenuous exercise.
When she found the two of them that night, she had cried for thirty minutes, clinging desperately to one of Oikawa’s hands while Iwaizumi held the other one. Iwaizumi is pretty sure that he only agrees to one more doctor’s appointment because he feels bad for putting her through this.
Iwaizumi accompanies Oikawa to the doctor, having stayed the night with him. He’s able to have and take and give so much now: lying in bed with Oikawa, intertwining their fingers, kissing his jaw and his cheek and his lips. Holding him. Saying I love you, making Oikawa blush. Hearing the words stuttered and whispered back, despite the way his voice lowers so the world can’t hear him. Iwaizumi can hear it though, and that’s all that matters right now.
“I’m glad you’re in recovery,” the doctor tells Oikawa. He doesn’t blink an eye at the way Iwaizumi holds his hand—he must know, must understand, how deep the devotion runs, and so he cannot judge it. “You’ve been very brave through this whole ordeal.”
Oikawa nods. He still looks tired, but there’s more color in his cheeks now. More vibrancy to his eyes. He admits, quiet and truthful, “I’m…I didn’t want to die.”
“I know,” the doctor says kindly. “You’re going to be okay now. Light exercise only for the next few weeks, okay? Work your way back up to full strength instead of throwing yourself into it. Drink lots of water or tea, it’ll soothe your throat. Cough drops are fine as well. Call me immediately if you need anything at all.”
Iwaizumi hears all of what the doctor is saying, catalogs it in his mind for future reference when Oikawa is trying to get back into practice, but mostly what he gets from the appointment is that Oikawa is going to be okay. He’s going to live. They took x-rays and those beautiful, terrible vines in his chest are gone. They gave him a daily pill to help cleanse whatever remains in his stomach. They told him he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.
They make it back to morning practice the day after that. They walk there together, loosely holding hands. At the gates of the school, Oikawa lets go, looking down at the ground. “Maybe…give me a few days. And I’ll be ready then. To tell people. But—”
“Whatever you need,” Iwaizumi tells him. “We have all the time in the world.”
Oikawa looks up at him, a small smile dancing over his lips. “Okay. Love you, Iwa.”
“I love you too,” Iwaizumi says. It sounds like a promise or a prayer or an answer.
They head to the clubroom together. The official story is that Oikawa had a bad case of the flu. Iwaizumi knows no one on the volleyball team believes it, and rumors fly fast around Aoba Johsai so it’s likely that no one else in the school believes it either. Oikawa is adamant that it was nothing and he’s better now so everyone can move on and get back to practice: “I knew you must’ve missed my presence but if you’ve been slacking off, I’ll make all of you run a hundred laps around the school.”
Iwaizumi doesn’t miss how relieved Hanamaki and Matsukawa look to see him, though. He doesn’t miss the way, when it’s just the four of them left in the clubroom, Hanamaki pulls Oikawa into a tight hug and then Matsukawa wraps his arms around both of them.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Hanamaki whispers. “Don’t tell anyone but we do actually care about you.”
Matsukawa presses his face against Oikawa’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever dare scare us like that again.”
“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” Oikawa says. His voice sounds slightly hoarse but this time it’s not from the disease but from trying not to cry.
They go to practice, Iwaizumi falling into step next to Oikawa. He wants to hold his hand, but he can wait until Oikawa wants it too. He knows that they’ll get there eventually.
Practice is hard. Oikawa gets winded and tired out more easily now, like his lungs don’t quite know how to keep up with his dreams as well as they used to. Ten jump serves in a row, which used to be a warm up for him, now have him gasping for breath. It’s frustrating and Iwaizumi can see the weight of that struggle bearing down on his shoulders, but the team is endlessly patient. Oikawa can be pompous and annoying and dramatic and shitty at times, but he’s still theirs. They still love him.
Oikawa is determined to be fully back in shape and game ready by the preliminaries. Iwaizumi fully trusts that he will be. But part of him also, for the first time, doesn’t care about that. He’s still just filled to the brim with relief. His heart is still spilling over with love, and the gratefulness that Oikawa is even alive. Volleyball isn’t nearly as important as the fact that Oikawa is getting healthier.
There are days when it feels like that won’t happen. Days when Oikawa coughs a little too hard or clears his throat a little too loudly and dread and fear wash over Iwaizumi like a rush of cold water down his spine. But it’s nothing. Just a cough.
Still, Iwaizumi can’t help but be afraid of it. He had come so close to losing him. He knows that remnants of the disease’s signature coughing will come back from time to time, getting rarer as life goes on—because life will go on—and sometimes a cough is just a cough. The doctors have assured him and Oikawa and Oikawa’s mother of this multiple times. Still, he panics a little when he hears the sound.
But after a coughing fit, Oikawa will smile at him, tentative but happy, and confess all over again.
Iwaizumi never once fails to say it back.