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Astrology is the art of interpreting the positions of the stars and planets in our great, beautiful sky in order to provide ourselves with tools for understanding ourselves and each other. It is a unique way to understand our own subconsciousness, and to begin our individual journeys to self-actualization.
It can also be used to analyze relationships—
“This is bullshit.” Iwaizumi stares blankly at Oikawa. “This is bullshit. You know this is bullshit, right? Like, this is pseudoscience designed to sell people shit that they don’t need. It’s bullshit that just tells people what they want to hear. The position of the stars and planets do not actually predict your future. Like, you know this is bullshit. Oikawa. Oikawa, tell me that you know that.”
Oikawa grins at him, and does not tell him that he knows that. Instead he says, “It’s fun to theorize, isn’t it? It’s nice to hear that the stars are telling you what you want to hear.”
“Oikawa.”
Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Just download the app, Iwa. I want to know what your birth chart looks like.”
“Why?” Iwaizumi asks flatly. “What could my birth chart possibly tell you about me that you don’t already know?”
“It could say anything,” Oikawa says, undeterred by Iwaizumi’s lack of enthusiasm. “You never know. Just give it a shot.”
Iwaizumi closes his eyes, heaving a long suffering sigh. “This is so fucking stupid. What’s the app called?”
“It’s called Astrology Social,” Oikawa says. “You create an account, it generates your birth chart, and then allows you to add friends so you can compare compatibility and all that.”
“And all that,” Iwaizumi repeats. Then, “How did you even get into this?”
Oikawa shrugs. “Instagram ad. You know how it is.”
Iwaizumi doesn’t really use Instagram, and he does not know “how it is,” but he kind of hates it. Oikawa has been into this bullshit for roughly a week and it’s already driving Iwaizumi crazy. This is the first time Oikawa has tried to get him into the app specifically, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been rattling off his daily horoscope every day for the last week.
“I can’t believe you fell for an Instagram ad,” Iwaizumi mutters, though he really can believe it. “I’ll download the app, but I’m not going to use it.”
Oikawa hums. “I still want to see your chart and add you.”
“You mean you don’t already know my sun sign and whatever the fuck?” Iwaizumi asks, rolling his eyes.
“Well, I do know your birthday.”
“This is such bullshit.”
Iwaizumi navigates to the app store on his phone, finding the astrology app easily and pressing download. Everything about this is screaming scam but, still, he doesn’t say that as he fills out the information and starts his own account. He hates that Oikawa is getting him to do this, and he hates that it was so easy. He hates that he’s so stupid weak for Oikawa, that while he can stand his ground when it counts, he’ll fold easily when it’s something like this.
He hates that all Oikawa has to do is bat his eyes and look at him like that, all hopeful and sincere, with half a smile and glitter in his eyes that has become all too rare as they’ve grown up and realized the world is much scarier than it had felt when they first met at eight.
He hates that Oikawa makes something warm bloom in his stomach when he gets like this, when he gets something silly he’s excited about rather than something he obsesses over. Though Iwaizumi supposes the jury’s out on whether this is going to become an obsession or not.
Fuck, he hates Oikawa so much.
No he doesn’t. He doesn’t at all.
He taps Generate Natal Chart Now and he loves this dumbass boy so much.
It takes a moment for the chart to generate, long enough that Iwaizumi almost thinks that the app is never going to load and he’s going to get out of this conversation. But despite his wishes, the app loads to a new page featuring a complicated looking circle with lines drawn across it. The circle is broken up into the different star signs, with symbols at several of them and lines connecting the symbols.
“I don’t know what any of this means,” Iwaizumi says.
Oikawa snorts. “Scroll down, it breaks down the whole chart for you.”
Sighing, Iwaizumi does as he says. “Gemini sun, Gemini moon, and I dunno what this symbol is.”
“That’s your rising sign. It looks like you’re a Cancer.” Oikawa laughs again, light and airy. “That fits you, actually. Cancer risings are, like, hard on the outside but caring on the inside. They care a lot about the people they deem family, but it’s hard to tell that based on how they present themselves.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “It’s still bullshit. You could twist that to describe anyone.”
Oikawa continues as if Iwaizumi hadn’t spoken. “Gemini sun doesn’t quite fit, I don’t think, but that's alright. Or maybe it does. You do seem to have alternate sides when you’re dealing with me and when you’re dealing with, like, literally anyone else.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re good at judging people too, and you’re smart—”
“This is the longest string of compliments I think you’ve given me in your entire life.”
“—and Geminis are supposed to be good at communication. Which you are in a certain way, if you count the way you grunt and throw things and punch people as communication.”
“And there’s the insult.” Iwaizumi sighs. “This is stupid. None of that means anything real.”
Oikawa shrugs. “Sure, but it’s interesting. Your moon is all about emotion and mood, and who you are when you’re not around anyone else. It’s who you are when you’re not masking yourself for the general public, I guess. You’re—how do I put this—you’re good at communication again but you can be unsure of yourself and restless, in a way. You like doing things based on logic rather than emotion. Unlike me, since I’m a Sagittarrius.”
“Why do you know all that off the top of your head?”
“Research,” Oikawa tells him. “What’s the rest of your chart?”
“Does it count as research if it’s not a real subject?”
“Shut up,” Oikawa says, not really listening. “Scroll down for me.”
Iwaizumi sighs, but scrolls down. Looking over his shoulder, Oikawa is grinning.
They spend the next hour like that, going through Iwaizumi’s chart and using it to break down his personality as the sun sets and the room darkens with a cool April breeze. A lot of it fits—much to Iwaizumi’s chagrin—and a lot of it Iwaizumi wants to argue is bullshit. He holds his tongue, though, as best he can, because Oikawa looks so damn excited about it that Iwaizumi can only shut him up for so long.
The thing about astrology is that it’s bullshit. Iwaizumi doesn’t believe a word of what Oikawa is saying—everything that fits, in any way, could fit anyone if you tried hard enough. This analysis of his personality doesn’t really mean anything to him. He’s comfortable in who he is, and he doesn’t really need an app to tell him how he communicates and loves and asserts himself and whatever the fuck else.
“That’s very Gemini moon of you,” Oikawa says sagely when Iwaizumi tells him as much.
Iwaizumi takes a long breath, then lets it out. “Whatever you say.”
Oikawa hums, then leans back against the headboard of the bed. They’ve been sitting in Iwaizumi’s room as Iwaizumi scrolls and Oikawa peers over his shoulder. Oikawa has had his cheek pillowed against Iwaizumi for the past hour and it’s doing awful things to Iwaizumi’s heart, but as soon as the weight is gone, he misses the warmth.
“Can I be done with this now?” Iwaizumi asks, scrolling back to the top of the page. So far, he feels that they’ve accomplished exactly nothing with their hour and they really should be at least pretending to start their homework.
“Add me on the app first,” Oikawa says, taking the phone from Iwaizumi. He navigates to a search bar, finds his own account, and adds himself. “Now we can look at our compatibility.”
Iwaizumi stares at him, eyebrows raised dubiously. “Because the past decade or so hasn’t been enough to prove that we can be friends?”
At that, Oikawa flushes a little; a light enough blush that anyone other than Iwaizumi might not have noticed it. But given all the time Iwaizumi spends staring at him, he does notice it, and he doesn’t understand why it’s there.
“I’m just curious,” Oikawa says. “What if it says we should hate each other? Then what?”
“Then nothing?” Iwaizumi frowns. “What, are you planning on stopping being friends if an app says we shouldn’t be?”
“It’s the stars, Iwa! Not an app!”
Iwaizumi exhales, long and slow. Oikawa has tested his patience—of which he already does not have a lot of; a very Gemini trait, apparently—a lot in the past years of friendship, but this is a new level. “Oikawa. We have been friends since we were three. You are my best friend. You are the only person who truly knows me. Shut the fuck up about the stars. No planet is going to make me stop being friends with you.”
Oikawa stares at him, gaping. His lips part like he’s going to say something, but nothing but breath leaves his mouth. Iwaizumi can feel his face turning red, heating up his cheeks and the tips of his ears as it sinks in what he just said.
It’s rare that he gets sentimental and honest and vulnerable like this, especially when he knows—he knows—that Oikawa is joking. But something about Oikawa’s comment has him feeling raw and off-kilter; it makes him suddenly feel like he’s out of his depth in this conversation. He knows Oikawa wouldn’t actually break off their friendship if the app decided they shouldn't be friends, but just the thought of it has him spiraling just a little.
The thing is that the stars don’t mean shit in regards to their friendship. It’s not the planets that brought them together, it was the sheer chance that they lived next door to each other and their moms became friends. This astrology thing—their dates and times of birth; the hospitals they were born in across two different continents—doesn’t actually affect their ability to be friends in any meaningful way.
They’ve been entirely devoted to each other’s company since they were kids being introduced to the next door neighbor who just moved in. Oikawa isn’t going to throw that away because an app says it shouldn’t work, because they both know that it does work. The friendship they have is real, whether or not this app decides it makes sense or not, according to the stars.
So Oikawa is joking. Iwaizumi needs to get that in his head right now before he says something else stupid. Something like you have made me who I am so don’t you dare give up on me now and the stars could not even begin to tear me apart from you and I love you more than I know how to bear.
“Okay,” Oikawa says, suddenly sounding very small.
Iwaizumi’s blush deepens, and the heat on his cheeks feels like it’s spreading down his neck and his chest, trembling at his hands and churning over in his stomach. He didn’t mean to make a thing out of this; he didn’t want to say something so vulnerable in response to a stupid joke about a stupid app based on a stupid, illogical, improbable, made up science.
But Oikawa, lately, has him feeling unsteady and on edge, like the two of them are standing on a precipice of something awful or wonderful and neither have decided which yet. They’ve been moving closer, recently, pressing up against each other in sleep and in waking, their hands brushing while they walk, flustered when wrestling where they might have once been laughing. There’s something between them that neither has acknowledged yet, and Iwaizumi is—
Iwaizumi is afraid of it.
He’s afraid of what it would do to them, he’s afraid of what it could mean for their friendship, he’s afraid of all the ways this could destroy what they have, for better or for worse. He’s afraid that it could be his unbecoming, their unbecoming. He’s afraid that they’re going to lose something that means more than can be put into words.
Most of all, though, he’s afraid that he’s making it up. He’s afraid that it’s not real. That he’s seeing things where Oikawa isn’t. He’s fucking terrified that he’s been falling into the deep end while Oikawa hasn’t noticed anything different.
He clicks his phone off with one hand, the other hand balled into a tight fist. He looks back down at the black phone screen, not wanting to look Oikawa in the eye. Something in him—something scared, something honest, something insecure, something real—has been bared naked for Oikawa to see, and he doesn’t think he can bear Oikawa commenting on it.
His comment hadn’t meant to become this. He meant to tell Oikawa to shut the fuck up because the stars don’t actually get a say in whether or not they’re friends, whatever the app says about compatibility. Instead, he said you’re the only person who knows me. Which is true, really, but that doesn’t mean Oikawa needs to hear him confess that.
Iwaizumi takes a breath. “We should do our homework.”
“Right,” Oikawa says. He clears his throat, looking away. “Homework.”
Iwaizumi nods, taking a short breath. Then he tosses his phone to the foot of the bed, telling himself that there will be no more distractions, and he climbs over Oikawa to get to the desk where he had begun to lay out his homework before Oikawa distracted him.
He sits at the desk, staring hard at the math problems laid out in front of him. Oikawa is silent on the bed for a long moment, and then the bed frame is squeaking as he climbs off of the mattress and comes over to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi doesn’t look up as Oikawa wraps his arms around him from behind, hugging him tight and burying his face in Iwaizumi’s shoulder.
Mumbling, his voice muffled by the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt, Oikawa says, “You’re my best friend.”
Iwaizumi swallows, putting a hand to where Oikawa’s hands are clasped over Iwaizumi’s chest. “I know. Don’t make this a—a thing. I know, Oikawa.”
Best friend. Iwaizumi’s heart burns in both pleasure and disappointment; in both security and pain; in both pride and sadness; in both love and hurt. There is something terrible about being in love with your best friend, and Iwaizumi wouldn’t choose to stop for the world.
“Okay,” Oikawa says, his face still buried in Iwaizumi’s shoulder.
They stay there for a moment too long, and then Oikawa unwraps himself and pulls away. And, as if nothing had been done or said: “You doing math or chem? I can do the other and then we can switch.”
“No,” Iwaizumi says immediately. “You’re doing your own chem. Your answers were all wrong last time we did the switch thing.”
Oikawa laughs. It sounds small and sad, just a little, but he covers it well and Iwaizumi can’t bring himself to comment on it. “It’s not my fault you didn’t double check any of the answers.”
“I didn’t have time,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “You distracted me with Mario Kart all night.”
Oikawa laughs again, and this one sounds much more real. “You could’ve said stop at any point.”
“Whatever. Go do your own homework.”
“Fine, fine.”
Oikawa steps away, finding his own school bag and homework at the side of Iwaizumi’s bed and laying his things out on the floor. They don’t mention astrology for the rest of the night. Something about it has stopped feeling so much like a joke.
This, apparently, will not stop Oikawa from reading out his daily horoscope the next morning. Iwaizumi meets him in front of his house for the walk to school, as he always does, and as is apparently part of their new routine, Oikawa has his phone out and is telling Iwaizumi his own future before they’ve even said hello.
“No specific events today, but a fundamental shift is going to occur in my occupation and love life in the next seven months,” Oikawa says cheerily.
“Good morning,” Iwaizumi says, suddenly exhausted and just wishing he could go back to sleep. “I see you’re still on this app.”
Oikawa hums an affirmative. “Have you looked at your horoscope today?”
“Obviously not.”
“You’re not going to use this app at all,” Oikawa says with a dramatic sigh. It’s not really a question.
“No,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m not. Because astrology is bullshit.”
Oikawa sighs again. It’s loud and exaggerated and Iwaizumi is tempted to push him into the rose bushes they’re walking past on their way to morning practice. “You just have no imagination.”
“If no imagination means not believing in astrology, then I’m okay with that.”
“Whatever,” Oikawa says. “I’m supposed to have a good day today, so I’m not going to let your negativity get me down.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, and that’s the end of that conversation. Oikawa doesn’t bring up their compatibility, platonic or otherwise, and Iwaizumi doesn’t press for it. He knows that Oikawa has probably looked, but he decided the night before that he himself was not going to check. He doesn’t need to know—he doesn’t care—and he figured Oikawa would tell him anyway.
“Do you have notifications on?” Oikawa asks abruptly, as they arrive at the club room.
“For what?”
“The astrology app,” Oikawa clarifies. “Did you put notifications for direct messages on?”
Iwaizumi shrugs, trying to think back to when they set up the app together. “I think I turned them off after you left for the night. I don’t need to get a daily horoscope report notified to me every morning.”
“Noted,” Oikawa says, and he’s trying to sound casual, Iwaizumi can tell, but he’s also thinking too hard about sounding casual, which means he’s up to something.
“Why?”
“No reason,” Oikawa promises him cheerily.
Iwaizumi is about to ask again, but then Oikawa is pushing open the door to the clubroom and any thought that isn’t about volleyball gets pushed to the side for the moment.
For the next month, he forgets about the app. He hid it in a folder at the last homescreen of his phone and decided not to look at it again.
Oikawa, on the other hand, does not forget about the app. Though Iwaizumi forgets that it lives on his own phone, Oikawa reads him the daily horoscope every day. Alongside the horoscope, Oikawa has started including a comment about Iwaizumi’s own chart.
It’s late May—warm and beautiful; Golden Week only a little bit earlier and still leaving a kind of pleasantness blanketed over the city—and Oikawa is still on his astrology kick. Iwaizumi had kind of thought—had been hoping—that the interest would drop off after a week or two, allowing the both of them to focus on things that are not the stars and destiny and such.
But instead, Oikawa seems to have doubled down on his interest. He’s still just as volleyball obsessed as ever, and he still watches games as religiously as some people watch their favorite TV shows, and he’s still at the top of their class, but at the same time, he seems to have decided that his limited free time can be used for astrology research.
It’s ironic: all the time Iwaizumi has spent begging him to get a hobby that doesn’t involve pushing his body past its physical limits has finally manifested itself in the form of Oikawa researching this bullshit. It’s become his new favorite topic of conversation—second only to volleyball, of course—and Iwaizumi thinks he might go crazy soon.
“Your Venus is in the 12th House,” Oikawa says, one day, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Did you know that?”
“No,” Iwaizumi says. “And that means nothing to me.”
Oikawa hums. “You still don’t check the app, right?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Because it’s interesting and I like it and you like supporting my interests,” Oikawa suggests. “Anyways, Venus in the 12th House could mean that you’re lonely and lacking in your romantic relationships.”
“I’m not lonely,” Iwaizumi says reflexively. They’ve had this conversation before. “And I don’t feel lacking.”
Oikawa chuckles, unbothered by Iwaizumi rolling his eyes. “You’ve never dated anyone. Isn’t that lacking?”
“We’re seventeen,” Iwaizumi points out. His voice does not shake. He’s stronger than that. Stronger than the fear that Oikawa will say something that Iwaizumi doesn’t want to hear. “It’s perfectly normal not to have dated anyone.”
“I’ve dated people,” Oikawa says.
“And what does that have to do with me?” Iwaizumi says, more gruffly than he really intended.
Oikawa looks at him. They’re walking home from afternoon practice, and Iwaizumi determinedly keeps his eyes on the sidewalk in front of them. He’s taking it step by step, step by step, because the way Oikawa is looking at him makes him feel just a little too seen. Step by step, praying Oikawa doesn’t say anything.
But he has never been that lucky. So Oikawa says, lightly, “Is there anyone you want to date?”
“No.” Iwaizumi says it, but he knows that he said it too fast and too loud and too defensively. He knows it, and Oikawa knows it, and Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa knows it. “No, there’s not, so don’t even think about it.”
Oikawa looks away from him. The words have a forced ease to them that Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do with. “I don’t believe you. You can trust me, you know. I won’t tell anyone else.”
“Fuck off.”
“So mean,” Oikawa says, and now it’s Iwaizumi who’s studying the new tension in his jaw. Oikawa laughs a little, but it’s weak. “I really won’t tell anyone else what girl has got Hajime Iwaizumi swooning. Even if it’s funny.”
He doesn’t know why he admits it. He doesn’t know why he’s encouraging this conversation. He wants to be alone, be hiding under the covers of his bed, like maybe his feelings for Oikawa won’t be able to reach him if he’s covered his face from the world.
He doesn’t know why he says it. Still, he turns away from Oikawa’s side profile and says, “It’s not a girl.”
And Oikawa is silent. Iwaizumi’s heart clenches and his chest caves in on itself. Oikawa is still silent.
Iwaizumi doesn’t dare look over at him, doesn’t want to see what’s written on his face. Oikawa is good at hiding his emotions but Iwaizumi is better at reading him, and right now, he just doesn’t want to know.
“Oikawa?”
The breeze is suddenly chilling and the warmth of the sun disappears under the weight of the shadows they pass under nearby trees. Iwaizumi thinks maybe he can feel his own heart beating out of his chest, pounding like feet against concrete. The truth is out there now, and Oikawa isn’t fucking saying anything.
Then, finally: “Hm.”
“Hm?” There is something wet at the corners of his eyes and it takes a moment until Iwaizumi realizes he’s about to cry. The stars and planets and the stupid astrology app might not have been able to tear them apart, but fuck, this could. He looks at Oikawa, finally, and he doesn’t know what to do with what he finds.
“I just didn’t know,” Oikawa says, soft. He glances at Iwaizumi, who turns away before Oikawa can catch his eye. There’s a quiet between them, and then Oikawa bumps their shoulders together. “Hey. You’re my best friend, you know that right?”
It’s an olive branch, an acceptance, a truth, a promise, and Iwaizumi can feel a tear slip past the water lines of his eyes and down to his chin. He clenches his jaw and refuses to let another one fall.
“I know,” is all that he can bring himself to say.
“M’kay,” Oikawa says. He bumps their shoulders together again. Their hands brush. Iwaizumi didn’t think about it, but they had still been walking throughout this conversation and they’re almost at their homes. “Can I come over?”
Iwaizumi hesitates. Normally, the answer would be an easy yes. Spending time with Oikawa is among his favorite things to do, and he never usually wants to turn that down. Even when he’s tired of being around other people, even when his social battery is exhausted, being around Oikawa never feels overwhelming or like a chore. His presence is always welcome.
But right now, Iwaizumi kind of wants to lie in bed and feel sorry for himself until he’s forced to pull himself together enough for family dinner. It’s one of those evenings where he just feels like hopelessly pining and not doing anything about it.
“Sure,” he says anyway. He sounds miserable even to himself. “But my sister is cooking dinner tonight and I doubt you want any part in that.”
Oikawa snorts. “She’s not that bad. It’s just that she’s nothing compared to your mom.”
“No one is anything compared to my mom’s cooking.”
“True,” Oikawa concedes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Love you, ‘kay?”
Iwaizumi smiles at him, and while it’s genuine, it’s also a little tired, a little painful. Sometimes the words love you are reassuring and sometimes they’re heartbreaking and sometimes they’re both at the same time. Heartbreakingly reassuring. Reassuring that he’s heartbroken. Something in between those. Something entirely different. But whatever it is, whatever is written all over Oikawa’s face at that moment is overwhelming.
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. “See you tomorrow.”
Oikawa gives him one last smile, and then he’s heading onwards to his own house while Iwaizumi remains stopped in front of his front gate. He watches as Oikawa walks away, and he doesn’t look back. Instead, he pulls out his phone and starts typing. It’s not until Oikawa reaches his own front gate that Iwaizumi turns and heads into his own house.
Your sun is in the 11th House, Oikawa texts him, two days later.
That’s nice, Iwaizumi texts back, rolling his eyes at the notification.
Are you going to ask what that means?
“No,” Iwaizumi says, out loud, before texting back, Fuck off.
And then, What does it mean?
He can practically hear Oikawa laughing at him when he gives in. He at least has the decency not to admit that he’s laughing at Iwaizumi when he texts, The support of your friends is important to you. And you accomplish stuff with support from your friends.
Iwaizumi sighs. Doesn’t everyone?
It takes a long moment for Oikawa to respond. You supposedly have good communication in group dynamics. Like in a team sport.
Are you saying I’m good at volleyball because I happened to be born on June 10th?
I mean there’s no other explanation for it.
Despite himself, Iwaizumi laughs. Fuck you.
He can practically hear Oikawa’s laugh when the next text comes through: You love me.
Iwaizumi is about to text some scathing insult back, something that would make Oikawa smile while keeping his own pride intact, but then Oikawa sends a second text.
Even if your birth chart doesn’t say so.
Iwaizumi stares at the text for a long time without answering it. He doesn’t really know what to say to that. He had completely forgotten about their compatibility chart or whatever on that app that Oikawa made him sign up for. If he ever thinks about that evening when Oikawa forced him into making the account, it’s with thinly repressed embarrassment and a refusal to admit it happened. He hasn’t even opened the app since then.
For the first time, though, he actually thinks about opening it. He’s curious now. He’s curious about what in his birth chart insists he doesn’t love Oikawa, and he’s curious why Oikawa doesn’t believe it.
His heart is beating a little too fast for the situation, he thinks, as he finds the app hidden in a folder on the last page of his phone.
This is so stupid. This is bullshit. It’s just an app. It’s not real. This is fake science.
Iwaizumi opens the app anyways, and immediately he’s assaulted with information. He has two months of daily horoscopes that he hasn’t read, and apparently the next seven months will feature a change that will help fulfill his love life. His face burns at the words, but he barely has time to think about them before his eyes catch on a notification bubble towards the bottom of the app’s homescreen: 41 direct messages unread.
He blinks. The only person he’s friends with on this app is Oikawa. Why would Oikawa be sending him direct messages here? They talk and text every day. They spend more of their lives together than they do apart.
Screenshotting the notification bubble, he texts it to Oikawa. What the hell are you sending me? You know I don’t open this, right?
Oikawa doesn’t respond, and Iwaizumi waits. And waits. And waits.
When Oikawa’s silence continues, Iwaizumi groans, running his palm over an exasperated expression. Fuck. Fine. He’ll give in. He’ll look at the fucking app.
He navigates back to the app, and then opens the direct messages tab. It seems a little silly to have a direct messages tab on an astrology app, but he supposes it’s for people who want to compare birth charts and have no better form of messaging. Oikawa does not fall into that category, but Iwaizumi dismisses the thought as he opens the only text thread on that page.
The most recent one is from two days earlier: Today’s May 25, so communication and understanding is enhanced because Jupiter is in Gemini. I know you think it’s bullshit, but it’s kind of a funny coincidence that today’s the day you came out to me. And I. I’m glad you did. Even if you didn’t really mean to. I feel trusted, I guess. And I wonder now. If maybe I’m not making this up.
The one before that, from a week ago: My monthly says that connection is important in May. That I have strength in friendship this month. But fuck, I’m so tired of just friendship.
Before that, two weeks ago: I’ve been thinking a lot about how Geminis and Cancers aren’t supposed to be romantically compatible. I don’t think I really care.
And a month ago: Jupiter and Uranus align today. I’m supposed to be especially grateful for all my relationships. I don’t think I tell you often enough how much I love you. How you’re kind of everything to me. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever told you. I’m going to try to tell you more often from now on. You’re my best friend. I want more.
And again, roughly a month ago: Mercury is in retrograde, so Geminis are supposed to be receptive to new ideas this month. Would you hear me out if I said that I love you? Just. Listen. Sometimes I think this isn’t just me. It isn’t just in my head. Sometimes I think we’re in this one together too. I dunno.
Iwaizumi scrolls through the messages rapid-fire, reading them as fast as he can, devouring them, swallowing down every inch of feeling that Oikawa has poured into these texts. This can’t be some kind of elaborate prank; there’s too much raw emotion in these words.
This isn’t Oikawa being shitty or doing something Matsukawa and Hanamaki put him up to; these words are private, meant only for Oikawa to see. For Oikawa to pretend Iwaizumi might read, but for him to never actually do so. A confession written in such a way that Oikawa can be assured Iwaizumi will never hear it. So Oikawa can write the feelings into reality but never have to face them.
The messages have been going on for as long as Iwaizumi has had the app. From the looks of it, Oikawa has been in love with him for longer than that. Almost as long as Iwaizumi has loved him.
Fuck, Iwaizumi loves him too. And now maybe—maybe he can say it. Maybe he can say it and Oikawa will listen and maybe say it back and—
Iwaizumi scrambles out of his bed to get downstairs, to get to the door, to get to Oikawa’s house, to get to Oikawa.
He hollers a goodbye to his mother, who shouts back that he should bring Oikawa over for dinner tonight, and oh, Oikawa is in love with him so maybe he would come. Iwaizumi wants him to. Iwaizumi wants him everywhere in his life all of the time. Doesn’t Oikawa know that?
He barges into the Oikawa home without knocking; he has a key and no one has ever stopped him before. Oikawa’s parents don’t appear to be home, so Iwaizumi just stumbles up the stairs in a rush to get to Oikawa’s bedroom.
The door is closed when he gets there. It’s never closed, and Iwaizumi hesitates for half a moment before knocking. While getting here felt like a mad dash, the moment suddenly feels delicate and timid. It feels like something could shatter irreparably if Iwaizumi says something wrong.
He knocks on the door. “Oikawa, it’s me.”
“Go away.”
Iwaizumi blinks. “I’m coming in.”
“Don’t you fucking dare—”
Iwaizumi opens the door. Oikawa doesn’t have a lock on it, so it’s just a simple twist of the knob and a push and then he’s crossing the threshold into Oikawa’s bedroom and he’s seeing Oikawa, in love, for the first time.
He’s sitting up in bed, but the blankets are pulled up to his waist and he’s fussing with a stray string on his quilt. After a moment, he looks up at Iwaizumi. He looks like he’s been crying.
“You read the messages,” Oikawa says.
“Yeah—” Iwaizumi takes a small step forward and Oikawa flinches at the movement— “I read them.”
Oikawa exhales shakily. “I shouldn’t have—I know I—it—” he takes another shaky breath— “Sorry.”
Iwaizumi stares at him for a long moment: he’s a little disheveled, like he had pulled the blankets and pillow over his head and had been screaming into the mattress, something Iwaizumi has seen him do more than once; the rims of his eyes are slightly pink, worn and still wet; he’s wearing one of Iwaizumi’s shirts that Iwaizumi had thought he lost years ago. He’s beautiful.
He says, “What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”
Oikawa glares at him, looking at him like he’s the stupid one here. “What do you think? It’s—I poured out my feelings for you into a fucking astrology app and I want to—to crawl out of my skin with how embarrassing that is—and you were never supposed to open those even though, fuck, I wanted you to know so badly, but I—”
“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi cuts in, voice steady even when he feels his hands trembling. He steps forward again, crossing the room to get to Oikawa’s bed. He stops just short of him, standing there with heavy breaths in his lungs, and he opens his mouth to say something else, something honest and romantic and vulnerable, but all that comes out is, “Tooru,” and maybe that’s the same thing.
Iwaizumi curls his fingers into fists to stop the shaking and when he moves again, Oikawa’s eyes drop to his hands and he flinches like he’s waiting for a punch.
The punch never comes.
Instead, Iwaizumi’s hands go to Oikawa’s cheeks, cradling his face so much more tenderly than he’s ever had the chance to hold him. He’s wanted to do this for years. He’s never going to let go.
“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says again, and then one hand curls around Oikawa’s head and weaves into his hair, then gently guides him closer, and there is no punch but there is a kiss.
There is a kiss, and it is softer than starlight and it is messy and uncoordinated as they try to figure each other out and it is brighter than sunlight and Oikawa tastes like those strawberry IceBreakers he’s always sucking on and Iwaizumi can’t get enough.
When Iwaizumi pulls away, Oikawa is staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted in wordless wonder. “You like me, too.”
It’s not a question. Iwaizumi thought maybe he’s said everything he needs to, but he can give Oikawa this, too, if he wants it. He can give Oikawa everything, now.
“Yeah,” he says softly, “I love you too.”
“I didn’t know,” Oikawa says, marveling at the way Iwaizumi is looking at him.
Iwaizumi snorts, sitting down on the bed in front of Oikawa. One hand drops to Oikawa’s lap, taking his hand; the other stays pressed to Oikawa’s cheek, thumb rubbing circles into his cheekbone. “I’m so in love with you that I downloaded an astrology app. I really don’t know why you weren’t sure.”
Oikawa laughs at that, leaning into Iwaizumi’s palm and grinning. “You know today I’m supposedly supposed to get a boost in my love life.”
“Does this count as a boost?” Iwaizumi asks, a small smile dancing over his lips despite himself.
“Yeah,” Oikawa says, all previous traces of his worry and anxiety and hurt disappearing with another laugh. He twists his head to kiss Iwaizumi’s palm lightly, sending a blush over Iwaizumi’s face. “Definitely counts.”
Iwaizumi lets himself smile for real, wide and open. He may not believe in astrology, but oh, he believes in Oikawa. He says, “I love you,” again and again, and those words mean more than any compatibility chart ever could.