Archive of Our Own ^beta

Oikawa lay warm in a nest of blankets on Iwaizumi’s childhood bed, a light breeze coming from the open window, a faint ray of sunlight shining on the floor, the smell of—WHAT IS THAT SMELL—the smell of something stinky waking him up.

“Iwa-chan?” he calls out, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. It was 5am (WHO WAKES UP AT 5AM?), something smells absolutely terrible, and the only one beside him on the bed was a Godzilla plushie.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa had arrived late in the evening the previous night, arriving in Manila several hours later than scheduled due to their delayed flight.

“I told you that Piso Fare¹ thing had a catch” Oikawa said to Iwaizumi as they tried to decide if they should line up for a regular taxi, or take a fancy airport taxi. They didn’t need to wait in line for the airport taxi, but it was ten times more expensive than a regular one. “Let’s just take the airport taxi!”

“No, It’s too expensive. We’re lining up.” Iwaizumi led them to the line, where they waited another couple of hours.

That was why upon arriving at Iwaizumi’s childhood home in Quezon City, gaudy bright blue gate visible even in the middle of the night, they found it empty. Iwaizumi’s parents had gone ahead to Cavite for the fiesta without them.

“IWA-CHAN?” Oikawa stepped into the living room, looking for his childhood friend. “IWA-CHAN WHERE ARE YOU?”

The day was starting out quiet, the rumble of the motorcycles and cars in the distance, and roosters cawing at the morning sun. There was just enough light to see the strange fat red bee toys (did Iwa-chan call it the jolly bee²?) displayed on the dividers, along with souvenirs from countries, weddings, and baptisms that Iwaizumi’s parents had gone to.

There were pictures of family hung on the walls with no mind for composition or practicality, only the goal of showing off the people who made up the Iwaizumi family’s life. There were pictures of baby Iwa-chan naked in an inflatable pool with a dog (“That’s Puti³” as Iwaizumi had told him once) splashing around with him. There were pictures of cousins, grandmothers and aunts, none of which were very skilfully taken.

The warm light, along with the gaudy décor and overabundance of figures felt strangely welcoming to Oikawa.

“This feels like home” he said to himself.

There was a picture of him and Iwaizumi with big grins on their faces. Iwaizumi was holding up a beetle they had caught that day. It was taken a long time ago, just a few months after they first met as children. They were both filthy, having just returned after playing outside.

Oikawa has a picture of himself in Iwaizumi’s house. He’s family. His toes curled on the cold tiled floors as a warm bubbling feeling spread in his chest.

 “IWA-CHAN!” He called out again, excitedly this time, unable to contain his grin.

“SHUT UP SHITTYKAWA” He heard from the back door. There was some rustling sounds, and the clang of plates and mugs. “C’mon, we’re having breakfast.”

 “Iwa-chan!” Oikawa walked into the kitchen taking a seat beside Iwaizumi at the worn wooden table, on an unsteady chair that was older than my mom as Iwaizumi claimed. “Good Morning, Iwa-chan!”

“You’re awfully chirpy for 5am.” Iwaizumi noted, laying out the freshly baked bread he had bought.

“It’s Pandesal⁴” he said seeing Oikawa’s questioning look “I thought I would have to wake you up.”

“There’s something smelly in your room that woke me up.” Oikawa could still smell it faintly in the air.

Iwaizumi paused in the midst of making instant coffee and sniffed “It must be coming from the neighbours.” He explained.

Oikawa scrunched his face in distaste. Why are Iwa-chan’s neighbours stinking up the place at 5am?

“That” Iwaizumi said with a faint smile “Is the smell of Tuyo⁵ frying for breakfast.”

Oikawa has no idea what Tuyo is, but he’s sure as hell not eating it any time soon.

-

They took a taxi to the bus terminal (“I’m not cruel enough to subject you to Metro Manila traffic” said Iwaizumi as he and Oikawa waited for a taxi outside his childhood home, which they made sure to lock down tight and secure because who knows what’ll happen while we’re gone, we’re in Quezon City, not Miyagi!) where they were going to go on a bus, and ride it for who knows how long as Iwaizumi said.

“Don’t talk to anyone, don’t make eye contact, AND STOP GETTING DISTRACTED.” Iwaizumi had instructed him as soon as they stepped out of the taxi and into the bustling crowds of Cubao.

Oikawa felt overstimulated taking in all the strange smells, sounds, languages and people. He focused on Iwaizumi, his hand clasping Oikawa’s wrist in fear of losing him in the crowd.

They were in another line to go on a bus that would take them to Cavite.

After fighting over who would sit by the window and settling in, a man approaches them, jiggling some coins. Iwaizumi hands him some bills saying “Bayad po, dalawa.⁶” and is handed ticket stubs and loose change.

“This is going to be a pretty long ride. Might be bumpy too.” Iwaizumi said to him “I have water and food if you need it. You should go to sleep for the whole ride.”

Oikawa beamed at him. “Iwa-chan is so prepared!” He said patting Iwaizumi’s bicep.

“SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP SHITTYKAWA.”

Oikawa spent the trip ooh-ing and ah-ing at the bustling streets of Metro Manila. He asked Iwaizumi questions about the people and the strange vehicles on the street.

“They’re what?” Oikawa pointed to a long, open-air car type thing that was running beside their bus “Jeepneys⁷ don’t look like that Iwa-chan.”

“They’re modified jeepneys so they can take more passengers, dumbass.” Iwaizumi hands him a leftover pandesal sandwich from that morning “We’re going to ride one later.”

“It doesn’t seem very safe. And all that smoke going in!”

“Yeah. You don’t really have a choice.”

Oikawa fell asleep somewhere along the way and woke to Iwaizumi shaking him “Let’s go, this is our stop.” Iwaizumi had already grabbed both their bags and was about to get up.

It was in the mid-afternoon, and the bus has stopped in the middle of a small bustling town. A good number of people were trying not to stare at Oikawa. Trying being the operative word. Some of the children were even pointing, only to be reprimanded by their embarrassed parents. Iwaizumi had warned him that he will be stared at but it wasn’t like Oikawa would mind. If anything he would bask in all of the attention. He was taller and fairer skinned than most people there, and was decidedly foreign in a rural town.

Iwaizumi took him around the block to the nearby park where the jeepneys were waiting for passengers. There were street vendors under trees and by the bus stops, calling for people to buy rice cakes and other local delicacies. Iwaizumi always had a bunch of them for him every time he came back from his yearly vacation here in Cavite.

“We’re taking that one, c’mon.” Iwaizumi took Oikawa’s arm, pointing at a jeepney parked at the far end of the street.

“But Iwa-chan! My hair will get all messed-up!”

“Oh, you mean it’s not already a mess?” This prompted Oikawa to search his bag for a mirror—did Iwaizumi mess up his hair while he was sleeping?!

He looked into the mirror and saw that his hair was just a little flat on one side, easily fixed. “Iwa-chan you’re so mean!” He whined. “My hair is fabulous.”

“Not after this jeepney ride.” Iwaizumi walked ahead of Oikawa who struggled to catch up, putting away his hand mirror and zipping-up his bag.

They rode a jeepney, through a zigzagging path around a mountain, where you could almost see the fall down the side, where there were only trees waiting to catch you. “This is nothing compared to the road to Baguio.” Iwaizumi tells him. Oikawa can’t imagine how scary that would be seeing as here, the only thing separating you from falling down is a flimsy rail that doesn’t even reach Oikawa’s waist.

 “Bayad po!⁸” someone handed Oikawa coins. He stared at Iwaizumi, bewildered.

Iwaizumi took the coins from him, handing it to the driver together with their own fare. “Bayad daw po!⁸”

People started handing their fare to each other, asking for it to be handed to the driver, which seemed kind of dangerous.

“Pa suyo po.³⁶” Oikawa would hear, being handed coins. “Paabot³⁶”

It came so natural to everyone, giving the crowd in the jeepney a sense of community. Oikawa found himself no longer minding the old man with a rooster and a cage of twittering chicks in front of them, or the lady whose basket of damp vegetables and meat was already half way on Oikawa’s lap.

They were cruising along a street of older houses when Iwaizumi says “Para po!⁹” he tugged at Oikawa to go down the jeep.

He saw Iwaizumi’s mother waving at them and waved back. She was standing in front of an old but well-maintained house. He ran up to her, intending to mano¹⁰ as he was taught to do by Iwaizumi when they were children, and noticed her looking behind him at her son. They shared a fond look and turned back to watch Iwaizumi.

“He grew up well, didn’t he?” She whispers to him, affection in her voice.

“He’s the best.” Oikawa agrees. “You raised a great man, tita¹⁵.”

Iwaizumi was helping an old lady go down the jeepney, her hand firmly grasped in his. He’d already gotten her things down for her “Ingat po kayo¹¹” he was saying.

The old lady gives him cooking bananas as thanks—saba¹², as it’s called locally. Iwaizumi tried to give it back, but as old ladies are wont to do, she insisted.

“Nay!¹³” Iwaizumi walked up to his mother, her hand already out for him to mano. “Grabe iniwan nyo kami!¹⁴” He said touching her knuckles to his forehead and taking her into a hug. He kissed her cheek before gesturing to Oikawa.

Oikawa bows and takes her hand to his forehead to mano, and gives her a hug and a kiss.

She ruffled his hair affectionately. “I’m so glad you came, Tooru! I hope you didn’t get stuck too long in traffic.” She turns to Iwaizumi and said “Anak, malaki ka na. Hindi n’yo na kailangan ihatid—at ang tagal n’yo kaya!¹⁶”

Iwaizumi described this place to him before they left for Manila.

Their ancestral house in Cavite is brightly colored, almost gaudy, but still homey enough. There are plants with eggshells in the pots—the pots being recycled tin cans of powdered milk or broken mugs.

‘Anything that can be recycled into a pot, will become a pot.’ Iwaizumi had told him.

There are orchids on every available hanging surface, and big bushes of oregano in one corner of the garden, right beside the unkempt but blooming roses. Below the plants, wandering the garden are the hens his grandmother keeps. They peck around the grass, followed by their chicks.

Iwaizumi’s maternal grandmother has two cats who are lounging on the veranda, both affectionately named Miming¹⁷. Puti can often be found sleeping soundly with them. (They moved Puti to Cavite when they moved to Miyagi, it was a very heart breaking experience for Iwaizumi, being parted from the dog he grew up with.) Puti is very old and everyone is worried for him in his old age, but he still dutifully greets guests and family entering the house as he does now, nosing at Iwaizumi’s knees.

“Puti is a crap guard dog” Oikawa had been told “He likes everybody.”

There’s a huge mango tree standing guard over the house, with an old tire swing hanging from one of its bigger branches. Iwaizumi used to tell him about the engkanto¹⁸ that lives in there. He said his grandmother is friends with it.

Oikawa sniffed the air—there’s the promised smell of burning wood from the clay stove that Iwaizumi’s grandmother prefers.

Iwaizumi finished up petting the cats and Puti, and beckoned Oikawa into the house, Iwaizumi’s mother having gone ahead.

The living room was like a levelled-up version of the Iwaizumi’s house in Quezon City. There were even more souvenirs and pictures around, overcrowding the room. There was a whole wall dedicated to graduation photos.

Oikawa pointed to a picture of Iwaizumi in their Aoba Josai uniform, where he was holding a framed diploma. “Iwa-chan, it’s you!” He remembers the day it was taken. It was a week after they received their high school diplomas. Iwaizumi’s mother asked him to put on his uniform and pose in the garden with his diploma that she had just gotten framed.

“It’s for your grandmother” she had said. “You know how she likes to have graduation photos in the living room.”

“Yeah” Iwaizumi gestured to the whole wall “I’m the only one who isn’t in a toga.”

They head to the kitchen where the titas have gathered to prepare the food while watching the children underfoot who were trying to help.

“Hajime!” They are greeted by the busy titas, Iwaizumi doing the customary mano-hug-beso¹⁹, Oikawa following with his own mano. “Sino yang kasama mo, ang tangkad! At ang gwapo ha!²⁰”

Oikawa perks up at the word gwapo, it being one of the few Filipino words he knew. Hajime wrapped an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder saying “Diba nga tita sabi ko sa inyo dadalhin ko shota ko!²¹”

They all laughed, Iwaizumi’s mom giving the both of them a knowing look. Oikawa blinked, clueless of what was going on. He made a mental note to ask Iwaizumi later.

“Nasan na ang nobyong sinasabi mo?²²” Iwaizumi’s grandmother entered the kitchen from the back yard, having come from outside, where the titos²³ were minding the clay stoves and roasting pits.

Iwaizumi greeted her with a mano and a warm hug, told her how much he’s missed her. Oikawa followed behind shyly, having heard so much about Iwaizumi’s lola²⁴. “Mano po” he said in his limited Tagalog, taking her hand gently.

“God bless you, hijo²⁵.” She told him as she studies his face and nodded. She turned to Iwaizumi with a calculating look “Parang masyado yata siyang gwapo para sayo, apo.²⁵”

“Lola!” Iwaizumi clutched his chest theatrically, his little cousins laughing. “Akala ko ba ako ang pinaka gwapo ninyong apo!²⁶” There was another round of laughter and Oikawa gets dragged into the tita circle.

‘He acts so differently around family’ Oikawa thinks. It’s unlike Iwaizumi’s reserved manner when dealing with authority figures and people outside of his home, or the more casual way he interacts with friends. This Iwaizumi is charming and light, the gruff but loving big brother, being the eldest among cousins.

Iwaizumi’s grandmother sat him between herself and Iwaizumi’s mom, who instructs him on how to make Lumpia²⁷. Oikawa was hesitant at first but gradually felt more comfortable as he interacted with them.

When Iwaizumi saw that Oikawa was doing fine, he went to the back yard to help tend the roast and the clay stove.

-

After everything has been cooked and served, and half the town is in Lola’s house (Iwaizumi’s lola had chatted with Tooru, and deemed him worthy to call her Lola.) Iwaizumi found them a quiet corner at the back by the trees, and handed him a plate filled with the usual fiesta fare. Oikawa recognized most of it; Adobo, Menudo, Lumpiang Shanghai (that he helped make!), Lecheon, Liempo²⁸ and a lot of rice.

“Iwa-chan” Oikawa took the bottle of brown sauce from Iwaizumi “can I just marry Mang Tomas²⁹?” He poured a generous helping of the sauce on his plate.

“If you’re marrying Mang Tomas, I’ll marry Papa Catsup³⁰.” Iwaizumi said gesturing to his own plate, where he had put a lot of banana ketchup on. “Did Lola bug you earlier? She’s gotten really makulit³¹ lately.”

Iwaizumi’s mother used to call both of them makulit playing all over the place, bothering the local wildlife, making a mess of their clothes. Oikawa is quite fond of that word, because you only use it to describe people you’re fond of. It’s calling someone troublesome, but affectionately. The kind of trouble you would gladly tolerate because you’re family.

“She was fine, I like your grandmother.” Oikawa said reverently. “She says she’ll introduce me to the kapre³² who lives in the mango tree up front!”

“Of course you would want to meet a kapre.” Iwaizumi chuckled at him “Be careful though, I hear they like pretty things.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan called me pretty!”

“I also called you a thing—I don’t know why you’re so interested in engkantos, they’re not aliens you know.”

 “OR ARE THEY?” Oikawa gestured wildly, a manic look on his face. “Nobody knows! Maybe they are aliens, and they’ve lived among us all this time, and we just didn’t know! Maybe the engkantos are aliens! Trying to communicate!”

“STOP IT DUMBASS YOU’RE GOING TO SPILL YOUR FOOD AND I’M NOT CLEANING IT UP.”

They continued eating their food, heads bowed together, and soft conversation between them. Both of them looked up at the sound of small feet running towards them.

 “Kuya³³ Haji!” One of Iwaizumi’s little cousins approached them running, but comes to a stop when she sees Oikawa, remembering she’s supposed to behave. “Kuya Haji…” She repeated softly and proceeded to climbed up Iwaizumi’s lap. She also tried to hide her face in his shirt, peaking shyly at Oikawa. He smiled at her, disarmingly. He had caught her staring curiously at him several times throughout the day.

“A-are you” she started in accented English “Are you going to get married?”

Oikawa stared at her stunned. Had Iwaizumi told the rest of his family about them without him knowing? He was under the impression that they weren’t telling them yet. If ever.

“Bakit, gusto mo maging flower girl?³⁴” He poked her side, getting a giggle from her.

“SYEMPRE!³⁵” She laughed.

Iwaizumi’s mother saw them from the kitchen window, and remembers watching the two boys grow up. She’d known from the start that they would be inseparable, and it was no surprise when they came out to her. Hajime and Tooru had come up to her and with obvious fear in his eyes Hajime said “I’m sorry mom, I love him.” Which was something she had known for a while now—and she made sure they knew it. Silly boys, she’s a mother, of course she knows. But still, she fears for them; especially for Hajime, whose titas and titos might not take their relationship well. The only thing she could really do is hope for the best.

They were shoo-ed away when it was time for clean-up, Iwaizumi’s mother telling them to enjoy themselves.

“I’ll take you to the river tomorrow. We’ll actually be babysitting the kids, but it’ll be fun.” Hajime was telling him. He was taking Oikawa around town to see the festivities.

They were walking down the street, people called out to Hajime occasionally with the customary hellos and how-are-yous. Some even tried to engage Oikawa in stunted English conversation. They came across the parade, with the pretty Majorettes, twirling their batons to the band playing pop songs. They surprisingly played a song he knew by heart: the Voltes-5 theme. There were local games being played on the streets, children were running around shouting about the things they bought from street vendors. They even came across some people who were arm wrestling where Iwaizumi got dragged into participating. He won twenty pesos that they used to buy street food.

Iwaizumi went for some isaw³⁷, and Oikawa went for the squid balls, a bottle of Coke shared between them.

It was dark by the time they got to the last place Iwaizumi wanted to show Oikawa. It was an old church, beautiful stained glass and tile murals decorating the walls. Candles lit in prayer, people milling around in the light of the setting sun, about to head home after the last mass of the day.

Iwaizumi led Oikawa to the end of the center aisle, right in front of the crucifix. “I used to be scared of that giant Jesus statue on the wall.” He said, bumping his shoulder lightly to Oikawa’s. “Because He’s all bloody, and I was afraid he was hurt and no one was helping him.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan was such a precious child.” Oikawa said teasingly nudging Iwaizumi back “What happened to adorable little Iwa-chan?”

“Shut-up, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi’s tone was light, lacking the usual gruffness “This is where my parents got married.”

Before Oikawa could say anything else Iwaizumi continues.

“If we could get married, this is where it would be.” He said with some sadness. “I can’t give you a wedding, neither here or in Japan, but I can give you a promise—“

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU PROPOSING?”

“SHUT UP SHITTYKAWA! YOU KNOW WHAT NEVERMIND.” He walks away, his face red.

“WAIT IWA-CHAN, C’MON START OVER I PROMISE I WON’T LAUGH!” He said, laughing.