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Home is a funny word, Iwaizumi supposes as he stares up at the ceiling of his dorm room. His roommate has an 8 am on Tuesdays, so it's just him and his thoughts, contemplating what it means to miss home, and what it means if you've stopped thinking about home as crowded trains and late night conbini runs, and more like a tilted smirk and the flash of a peace sign.
When you've spent most of your life with someone, it makes sense that home stops being a place and starts being a person.
Iwaizumi knows Oikawa thinks of him the same way - the number of text messages he wakes up to every morning is just one of the many indicators - but he's not sure if Oikawa feels the same way, and he’s much too cowardly to make the first move. He worries that saying something could ruin them, wonders if he's too late, thinks that maybe he’d be better off letting go of his long-standing crush. That with every early morning phone call, every skipped hangout, every time he leaves someplace early because Oikawa is unexpectedly free, Iwaizumi is drawing a line in the sand between him and his new life in Southern California.
He knows their separation isn't forever, but he can't help but wonder if building a future over thousands of miles is even possible, if the time difference and conflicting schedules and all the shiny, new people Oikawa has around him will test their friendship in a way that it's never needed before. It's always been OikawaandIwaizumi , HajimeandTooru , two halves of a whole that have been cleaved in half and separated. Iwaizumi doesn't know if he knows how to be a person without Oikawa by his side, and perhaps more importantly, he doesn't want to have to find out.
As if the universe senses his distress, Iwaizumi’s phone lights up, a selfie of Oikawa’s face pressed up against his filling the screen. Don't we look so cute, Iwa-chan? Oikawa demanded, since I won't be there in person, now I can call you so you can show your new friends what actual perfection looks like!
If he could, Iwaizumi would have heard Oikawa’s fears buried beneath all his showboating - it's not fair that they get to see you every day and I’m stuck with a few pixels - don't make new friends and forget about me - you're mine - but Iwaizumi is nothing but oblivious and Oikawa was too prideful to be the first to say it.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa trills, back in present day, ‘You’ll never guess what happened today.”
“Your coach finally got sick of you and he's kicking you off the team,” Iwaizumi teases.
“Nuh-uh. Try again.”
“You got reservations for that restaurant you've been wanting to try.”
“I wish! Try again.”
“You were abducted by aliens and this is your emergency call but you're trying to make it seem like everything's normal so I can save you without them knowing.”
“That's a pretty good idea,” Oikawa hums, the line going suspiciously silent as he contemplates what code word they should set up in case of alien abductions.
“Shittykwa just tell me already,” Iwaizumi huffs.
“Rude, Iwa-chan, but since you're so curious, I’ll tell you.” Oikawa says, ignoring the finally from his best friend. “We have a few days off in a couple weeks, and it's not really long enough to fly back to Japan, but it is long enough to fly to California. I was thinking I could stay with you.”
His voice trails off, uncharacteristically shy, and Iwaizumi feels his heart clench in his chest. How could Oikawa be uncertain about him? About them? He wants to reach through the phone and hug him, reassure him, tell him you always have a place with me .
Naturally, what comes out of Iwaizumi’s mouth is, “of course idiot.”
— – —
Iwaizumi checks his phone for what feels like the millionth time in the past ten minutes.
He knows Oikawa’s plane landed safely, but he can't help but worry, knows he won't feel right until he sees Oikawa for himself and can see that he's been taking care of himself and not overworking like he tends to. Sure, Argentina has coaches and assistants and trainers to look out for the players, but no one knows Oikawa like he does.
Every time they facetime, Iwaizumi interrogates him on what stretches he's been doing and the foods he's been eating. Oikawa responds patiently every time, smiling softly and cooing about how good Iwa-chan is at taking care of him, even with all the miles between them.
It's the least I can do , Iwazumi thinks, letting that soft smile brand itself on his heart, wrapping it up and tucking it away for someday, so that when the whole world knows Oikawa’s name, he can proudly tell everyone he knew him at the very beginning. Oikawa has always been like the stars he loves so much, and the small, selfish part of Iwaizumi wishes he could tuck Oikawa away so nobody else could see how brightly he shines. The bigger part of him knows that Oikawa would shine in any universe, and that to love someone is to set them free, knowing they'll come back.
(But sometimes Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa knows that he has Hajime to come back to, that Oikawa deserves the best and that ache of feeling left behind can't help but make Iwaizumi wonder if he's even worthy of considering himself a contender.)
All that flies out his head once he sees Oikawa's head pass through the automatic doors of the airport terminal, hair impossibly fluffy even after a twelve hour flight. His world narrows down to Oikawa - his arms wrapped around him, pulling Iwaizumi's head into the crook of his neck so he can inhale the stale scent of plane air, and under it the familiar cologne he's worn since high school. This , he thinks, this makes it all worth it .
“Hi, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says finally, his voice soft and a little sleepy. His arms drift down Iwaizumi’s back, pulling just far enough away to look him in the eyes.
“Hey Shittykawa,” he replies gruffly, the unspoken I missed you , hanging between them.
Oikawa pulls him in one more time before letting go, grabbing his suitcase handle and tossing it into the trunk of Iwaizumi’s car alongside his backpack. “So fancy,” he coos, tapping the top of the car affectionately. “You used to driving on the wrong side of the road yet? Or should I have called an Uber?”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes good-naturedly, shutting the trunk and opening his door. “Just get in before I leave you here.”
“Iwa-chan, you would never!”
The driver door suddenly slams shut and the car lurches forward a few feet.
“IWA-CHAN!” Oikawa shrieks, stumbling to catch up and yanking the passenger door open. Loud, booming laughter spills out of the car as Iwazumi sits in the driver's seat, looking as proud as ever. Oikawa can't help the smile that threatens at the corner of his lips, so he throws himself into the passenger seat and pouts loudly. “I can't believe I came all this way, only to be bullied like this. Wait ‘til Makki and Mattsun find out how you've been treating me.”
“They’ll probably ask me why I didn't drive further.”
“Rude.”
— – —
Iwaizumi’s roommate looks up as they clamor inside, Oikawa jabbering away a mile a minute, and Iwaizumi just soaking it all in.
“Oh, sorry I thought you'd be out,” Iwaizumi apologizes, “this is -”
“Ah the infamous boyfriend!” His roommate crows, reaching out to pump Oikawa’s hand and slap him on the shoulder a few times. “I’m Joey. Anytime I see Hajime smiling down at his phone, I know it's because of you.”
Oikawa startles a bit at how fast Americans talk, the combination of jet lag and language barrier kicking in when he hears “famous” and “friend” so he nods enthusiastically and chirps “yes that's me!” in his best English, just as Iwaizumi stumbles over himself, mouth agape.
Of course Oikawa notices. He tilts his head in confusion. “Iwa-chan?”
“Iwa-chan?” Joey asks, his eyes lighting up with glee as he turns to Iwaizumi. “Can I call you that too?”
“Don't you fucking dare,” Iwaizumi hisses as he shoves Oikawa’s backpack into his chest and drags him down the hall to his room.
Oikawa protests half-heartedly, before giving up and waving over his shoulder to a still-chuckling Joey. “Such a brute, Iwa-chan,” he sighs fondly, allowing his gaze to trace the broad planes of Iwaizumi’s back.
Iwaizumi flings his bedroom door open, heart pounding in his ears and all but shoves Oikawa inside. “What is wrong with you?” he hisses, trying his best to keep the hurt out of his voice. That’s not something to joke around about , he wants to say, it's not funny to me .
Oikawa frowns, unsure what’s going on or why Iwaizumi is staring at him like that, before it clicks. He knows Iwaizumi’s been trying to make a name for himself out here in the States, but he didn’t think it would be at the cost of their friendship. “So what if he knows we’re best friends?” he huffs, a little hurt, as he falls back onto Iwaizumi’s bed. The sheets are surprisingly soft and he fights back a yawn. “Everyone back home knows too.”
“He didn't say best friends, Idiotkawa, he said BOYfriends.”
“Oh.” Oh.
“Yeah, oh.” Iwaizumi groans, flopping on the bed next to him. “Why don't you ever think before you speak.”
“Well you could have said something!” Oikawa protests lamely, reaching over to bat at Iwaizumi’s chest. “Instead you just grabbed me like a caveman and dragged me into your room.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, wrestling Oikawa's hands for a moment before pinning them together at the wrist. “It's always my fault, isn't it Shittykawa?”
“Yes,” he replies earnestly. “English is stupid anyways. Why are the words for boyfriend and best friend so similar?”
Iwaizumi lets out a wry chuckle, as he watches Oikawa babble on, squeezing his wrists gently before letting go. “I’m glad you're here,” he says honestly, when the brunette finally stops to breathe. He pauses, reveling in the way Oikawa's face flushes and eyes brighten, before finishing with, “but you're still going to be the one who tells Joey.”
Something warm flares in the pit of Oikawa’s stomach, and a half-baked idea begins to take root. “Iwa-chan, we can't let Jo-kun know that I got confused,” Oikawa protests, “I have a reputation to uphold. People look up to me, you know.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and shoots him a long-suffering glare. “That's just because you're a literal giant, Shittykawa.”
“I don't want Iwa-chan’s first friend in the states to think I’m DUMB,” he wails, launching himself on top of Iwaizumi, “first you, then me, he's going to think everyone in Japan is an idiot!”
“So what're you going to do, just pretend to be my boyfriend the entire time you're here?”
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent boyfriend!” He cries indignantly, pushing himself up on Iwaizumi’s sturdy chest. “You should be honored to have me, even if it’s pretend!”
I would be , Iwaizumi thinks, his hands reaching up to steady Oikawa as he wobbles dangerously on his perch. “Fine, you idiot,” he huffs, “I’ll play along, but don't get mad at me when it comes to bite you in the ass.”
Oikawa cheers and collapses onto him, nosing at Iwaizumi’s cheek and neck obliviously. “I’m gonna be the best fake boyfriend ever, Iwa-chan,” he promises sleepily.
“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi mutters, absently stroking his back as he falls asleep.
— – —
“Dating” Oikawa is…normal.
There’s nothing different or new, and that’s possibly the scariest part of it all. They wake up plastered next to one another on Iwaizumi’s XL twin bed, inflatable air mattress once again forgotten, despite loud complaints from both men about knobby knees and morning breath.
“You see, not everyone can be a gorilla like you,” Oikawa patiently explains, “so my body doesn’t have as much padding as you do.” He pats absently at Iwaizumi’s chest and stomach, taking care to let his hands wander aimlessly for a few moments. Selfishly, Iwaizumi lets him, before they start to drift too low and he reddens and pushes him off.
They make breakfast in the tiny kitchen, bumping hips and stealing bites off one another’s plates, then Oikawa busies himself with catching up on his favorite drama or wandering around the town center while Iwaizumi’s in class.
Oikawa tries his best not to be alone with Iwaizumi’s roommate. It’s awkward enough having to communicate in yet another language, but the added pressure of their supposed relationship leaves Oikawa walking on eggshells anytime Iwaizumi’s out of reach. He supposes he’s lucky that Joey has classes too, so he’s barely around during the day.
Naturally, Oikawa’s luck only lasts for so long, though, because on the third day, Oikawa’s sitting on the couch when he hears a key rattling in the lock much too loudly to be Iwaizumi. He contemplates running for it, then decides that the possibility of getting caught is far too high and far too embarrassing.
“Oh hey,” Joey greets, dropping his backpack on the floor. “Y’know I wondered what you do all day when Hajime’s gone.”
Hajime , Oikawa muses to himself, how strange that someone who’s known Iwa-chan for only a few months already has the privilege I’ve been working my whole life towards.
Oikawa smiles. “I go here and there,” he says cheerfully, “but I like seeing Irvine with Iwa-chan, knowing what he’s been up to and where he’ll be once I go back.”
Joey smiles warmly and makes his way over to the couch. “Yeah, I get that. Speaking of Haj though, there was something I wanted to ask you guys, but you know him, like talking to a brick wall, that guy.”
“It’s true!” Oikawa cries, thankful to have someone who gets it. “When they were handing out emotions, Iwa-chan was busy getting extra helpings of eyebrows or something.”
Joey sputters, and the two fall back on the couch laughing.
After a moment, Joey takes a deep breath then quickly says, “Anyways, I just wanted to ask, is there a reason you guys don’t like, kiss or anything? At first I figured it was a cultural thing, but then my friend’s roommate is an international student too and she's all over her boyfriend.”
Oikawa inhales sharply, supposes he’s lucky that Iwaizumi isn’t here to witness his complete and utter embarrassment.
“Is Hajime like…worried about my reaction?” Joey continues, “Cause I promise I’m not homophobic or anything. One of my best friends from back home is gay and we go to Pride together all the time.”
Oikawa smiles softly, delighted to know that Iwa-chan’s found a friend who cares so much about him. “That’s just Iwa-chan,” he says in a voice that he hopes is casual, “He’s not very open about things in public, but in private…” he trails off, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Aww man,” Joey sputters, “I don’t need to know that!” He shakes his head. “If you guys want to be all coupley, don’t worry about me, though. I know Haj is trying to be respectful, but he’s always kinda struck me as a guy who’d want to show his partner off. And if you need me to leave for the night, I can crash with one of my friends from PoliSci. I’m sure you guys are ready to blow off some steam, if you know what I mean.”
Oikawa grins wistfully, basking in the alternate universe he’s created for himself, where Iwaizumi actually loves him back. He can imagine it too, the way Hajime would reach out with those rough but gentle hands, press open mouth kisses to his neck, murmur you’re mine in his ear.
The sound of the front door opening interrupts the daydream, and Oikawa shoots him a wry smile. “Jo-kun, we just might take you up on that offer.”
“What offer?” Iwaizumi asks as he shuffles in the door. “God, don’t tell me you lured my roommate into one of your hairbrained schemes.”
“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries, ignoring his comment in favor of leaping off the couch and wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi as he struggles to take off his shoes with a 6 '1 athlete attached to him.
“Shittykawa, geddoff,” he grumbles, eventually giving up and sinking into the hug.
“Missed you,” Oikawa says softly, his lips brushing the soft skin of Iwaizumi’s neck.
I missed you too, he dares think to himself. He squeezes Oikawa’s waist gently, content to stay in the moment until Tooru ruins it by opening his mouth.
“Quick, you have to kiss me,” he mutters quietly in Japanese, tightening his grasp on Iwaizumi as he feels him start to push him away.
“What?!” Iwaizumi hisses back, “the hell are you talking about?”
“Jo-kun’s been asking questions; he's worried you think he's homophobic since he's never seen us kiss.”
“Oh my god, you couldn’t have just said you were shy or something?”
“Have you met me?” Oikawa says pointedly, pulling back to stare at Iwaizumi, who feels heat rise to his cheeks under his scrutiny.
“You two okay over there?” Joey calls tentatively, having retreated to the relative safety of the kitchen, “I know I said you guys should be more comfortable, but if you’re doing some weird foreplay in the entryway, at least let me know so I can go back to my room.”
Iwaizumi didn’t realize he could get even redder, but apparently he can. “Sorry man,” he calls in English over his shoulder, before stretching up to press a quick kiss to Tooru’s cheek. “Happy?”
Tooru beams. “Very,” he chirps, finally letting go of Iwaizumi and strutting back to the couch.
“If you lovebirds are done, I heard the soccer team is throwing a rager tonight and we can’t let your boyfriend go home without experiencing a real American party.”
Oikawa turns around, eyes lit up like the Fourth of July, and he doesn’t even have to open his mouth for Iwaizumi to know what he’s going to say. “Please, please, pleeease Iwa-chan,” he begs, “I wanna play beer pong and drink from a red cup and do a keg stand.”
“They don’t even really do that here,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he already knows he’s going to give in like he always does, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to make it easy for Oikawa.
“Pretty please? I won’t drink that much and I’ll be nice to everyone and I’ll listen and everything,” Oikawa promises, shoving his way under Iwaizumi’s crossed arms.
They make a funny picture, Oikawa’s lanky frame squashed beneath the broad cage of Iwazumi’s chest and shoulders. Iwaizumi can’t help but wonder if Oikawa knows what he’s doing, but decides his mental stability is much too fragile to even go down that path.
“You promise? You won’t drink a shitton and need to be carried back and spend all night throwing up yet still wake me up at 4 in the morning my time, because you have a hangover and you can’t find anyone who’s in the same country as you to get you water?”
“Iwa-chaaaan, I thought you said you forgave me for that!” Oikawa cries, burying his head in Iwaizumi’s chest.
Although the drinking age is 18 in Argentina, being one of the most dedicated members on a professional team doesn’t leave much wiggle room when it comes to hangovers. Oikawa had gone out with his teammates one time and quickly learned that he was much too susceptible to peer pressure to be trusted at a party.
Cheeks aflame, Iwaizumi reaches up to ruffle Oikawa’s hair and laughs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t remember, Drunkawa,” his voice softens as Oikawa tilts his head, leaning into the motion. They lock eyes and a smile creeps across Oikawa’s face.
“Alright, fine,” he sighs, dropping his hand to rub at his temple in anticipation of the headache he knows is coming.
“Yay, Iwa-chan’s the best!” Oikawa cheers, smacking a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, before gasping and disappearing into the bathroom. “I need to get ready!” He calls behind him, “Don’t you dare leave without me!”
As if I’d ever , Iwaizumi thinks, watching him fondly.
— – —
The moment they step out of the car, Iwaizumi can already hear the bass booming from half a block away.
“Wow, my first real American party,” Oikawa marvels, eyes wide as they walk into the house. “This is just like Pitch Perfect!”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, reluctant to admit that he had nearly the same reaction his first week in California.
“I wanna meet all Iwa-chan’s friends!” Oikawa crows, draping himself across Iwaizumi’s shoulders, “wait no, I want to drink jungle juice! But what about the keg stand? And beer pong! Which is better to do first,” he muses, mind already running a mile a minute despite still being sober.
“Take it easy there, hot shot,” Iwaizumi laughs, “we’ve got all night.”
He grins back at him, eyes sparkling mischievously, and leans down to nuzzle Iwaizumi’s rapidly reddening cheek.
Before he knows it, Iwaizumi’s dragging Oikawa out of the kitchen (the drinks he’s making taste like strawberry despite the literal shots of hard liquor), wrangling him away from the beer pong table (losing three games in a row is not the flex he seems to think it is), and begging for him to come down from the table he’s dancing on (it’s definitely from Ikea and about ten seconds from breaking).
“Why don’t we go dance over there instead?” He asks Oikawa desperately, gesturing to the (table-free) living room. “I think I see Joey and some of my classmates from O-Chem.”
With a huff, he grabs Iwaizumi’s hand and jumps down from the table. “Such a buzzkill,” he says loftily, before dragging him over to Joey.
“Hey Haj, Tooru,” Joey cries, reaching out for a fist bump.
Iwaizumi grins wearily and shakes his head. “Thanks for the invite, he never would’ve let it go if he came all the way to America and didn’t go to a single party.”
“It’s a rite of passage,” Oikawa says solemnly, before his laughter bubbles up.
“Hey, aren’t you going to introduce us?” One of Iwaizumi’s classmates asks, looking at Oikawa curiously.
His gaze shoots between his roommate, Oikawa, and the rest of his friends. “Oh yeah - this is…this is my Tooru,” he settles on, indulging himself and wrapping an arm around his waist. Oikawa melts into the touch, and Iwaizumi can't help but marvel at how right it feels.
“It’s nice to finally meet the guy Hajime’s always ditching us for,” another chimes in. “It’s like no one else exists when he gets a text from you.”
Oikawa beams, “Iwa-chan,” he coos, stroking Iwaizumi’s cheek, “I’m your number one priority? That’s so cute.”
“It’s all lies, is what it is,” he scoffs, but the tips of his ears turn a bright red, betraying him.
Joey grins over his beer bottle, “It’s too bad we didn’t know you guys were together at first; it would’ve been a lot easier than making Matt public enemy number one.”
Oikawa’s hand stills, and he leans forward a bit to look between Joey and Iwaizumi in confusion. “Hm?”
“Yeah, you should’ve seen Hajime the first week of school. Girls were ALL over him in our Intro class. Matt had to start saving him the seat between us to make sure he wouldn’t be stuck next to any of them for the whole lecture.”
The friend group laughs, and Oikawa frowns, craning his neck to steal a glance at Iwaizumi. He’s known for years how gorgeous his best friend is, but the thought of other people noticing – and while he’s not around at that – might be too much for his tipsy heart to bear.
“I want to dance,” he says abruptly, dropping his hand and pulling Iwaizumi over to the makeshift dance floor.
Confused but willing, he lets himself get dragged to the living room, reveling in the latest pop hits and the way Oikawa dances beside him.
When a guy from his PoliSci class comes over to say hello, Oikawa takes it upon himself to practically scream, “I love this song!” directly into Iwaizumi’s face, looping his arms around his neck and encouraging him to jump up and down with him. He smiles apologetically, and turns back to Oikawa who’s belting out the lyrics and shimmying his shoulders.
“Of course you know all the words to Call Me Maybe,” Iwaizumi laughs when the song is over, his hands resting on the planes of Oikawa’s sides.
“I needed to be prepared for when I came to the States,” he explains loftily, leaning forward to rest his sweaty head against Iwaizumi’s. “How else would I impress all the American boys?”
Iwaizumi feels an uncomfortable flare of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. Was Oikawa disappointed he couldn’t give out his number to American guys since he was supposedly Iwaizumi’s boyfriend? He tightens his grasp on Oikawa absently. “Did you…is that something you wanna do? I can give you some free time if you wanna meet someone new.”
“Don’t be silly, I don’t want to waste any of my time with you, Hajime,” he says softly, Iwaizumi’s given name slipping off his tongue.
Iwaizumi freezes. He can’t read into it, knows Oikawa is too drunk to really know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t stop him from wishing, hoping, wanting it to mean something. “What are you talking about?” He asks, his voice far too soft for the din of the party.
“You know what I mean,” Oikawa shrugs, “everyone wants you and I don’t blame them. I just want to make sure I don’t lose you.”
“How could you think I’d ever want anyone other than you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can even think about it.
His eyes widen and he looks away quickly, then steals a glance back at Oikawa, who looks similarly stunned. He thinks he hears one of his classmates mutter “oh shit.”
“What do you? Are you? Iwa-”
Iwaizumi shakes his head, “not here,” he says, you deserve better than this, he thinks. He reaches out for Oikawa’s hand, hoping to convey through touch that it isn’t a no , but a not yet .
— – —
They end up at the beach. It’s surprisingly crowded for 11 pm, and they line up outside a 24-hour bakery. They wait quietly in line, pointing at the donut case and handing over bills, silence stretching between them.
“Are we doing this?” Oikawa asks as they leave the tiny shop and head out into the night.
Iwaizumi bites through his ham and cheese croissant and shrugs. “Might as well,” he says, then heads to the pier, Oikawa in tow.
“Y’know, this is a terrible place to dump me, Iwa-chan,” he jokes, “The moonlight on the beach, the sound of the waves, this donut, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was pretty romantic.”
“Good thing I’m not,” Iwaizumi replies, leaning up against the railing and shoving the rest of his croissant in his mouth.
Oikawa’s jaw drops, confused. “Wha-?”
“Tooru, I’ve been in love with you as long as I’ve known what love is,” he says simply, “I know this is all a game to you, and that’s okay because I don’t expect you to return my feelings, but I need you to know it’s not a joke to me.”
For once in his life, Oikawa is speechless. “Iwa-” he whimpers, reaching out to stroke his arm. “I-I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, cause you weren’t supposed to,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew you wouldn’t feel the same and didn’t want my stupid feelings to get in the way.”
Oikawa feels hot tears start to gather in his eyes. He can’t believe that his Iwa-chan, his Hajime , was somehow under the impression that Tooru doesn’t love him back. “That’s not true,” he argues, his tongue thick, “You’re my favorite person, Iwa-chan, but you could have literally anyone.” He thinks back to the party, the girls eying Iwaizumi and boys daring enough to approach him. “Why would you settle for me?”
“Hey, none of that,” Iwaizumi scolds gently, finally looking away from the ocean and turning to face him. He picks up Oikawa’s hands, holding them tenderly in his own. “Why not you? My setter, my best friend, the one who pushes himself to be his best in volleyball and beyond.”
“Only ‘cause I’m trying to be a man who’s good enough for you,” Oikawa confesses softly, “Iwa-chan is so good, always taking care of me and helping our kohais - people really look up to you, you know?”
Iwaizumi wants to protest, wants to push back and tell him that he's already good enough, but Oikawa is nothing but as stubborn as he is. He gets it, in a way. They're both a thousand miles away from their families, trying to become their very best, not only for themselves but for each other as well.
“I know he worries, but he's the best anyone could ever ask for. He learned how to give a proper muscle massage for me, and he always buys my favorite milk bread even though he pretends it's for him but I KNOW he doesn't like sweets. Iwa-chan takes care of me in the big ways but in the little ways too.”
Iwaizumi smiles, squeezing his hands and pulling them to his chest. “I love you Tooru,” he says softly, ducking his head to press a kiss to his palms.
Oikawa laughs wetly, his eyes shining in the darkness as he smiles, ducking his head to rest against Iwaizumi’s. “I love you too, Hajime,” he confesses, “I think I always have.”
When their lips meet, it doesn’t feel like a first kiss, like butterflies and fireworks and every cliche that the movies talk about that comes with finding the love of your life.
Instead, it feels like home.