Chapter Text
“isn’t it funny how
day by day,
nothing changes,
but when you look back,
everything is different”
- c.s. lewis
Life does not like Oikawa Tooru. This is a truth that he has long since acknowledged, a painful revelation that leaks its way into every crack and corner of his life, unwanted and ever so agonizing.
And in return, Oikawa Tooru has never liked life much either.
He is a stupid man, persistent to a fault and recklessly brilliant, someone who knows his limits all too well and yet seeks to break them time and time again.
And he is a selfish man, full of extremities, of giving more than he has to give, of sacrificing his very being towards a singular, unattainable goal, of feeling much more than is often times convenient.
And thus, few things can compete with the sheer euphoria, the overwhelming bubbly feeling that rises in his chest, that comes with the sight of his own name on that list, spelt out in neatly printed kanji on that bright computer screen.
And few things can compete with the sheer excruciating disappointment, the dreading plummet in his stomach, that comes with the lack of another name on that list, replaced with nothing but empty white screen.
Indeed, that list seems wrong, too empty, too blank without the name “Iwaizumi Hajime” on it.
-
“Hey, Shittykawa.” a familiar voice grumbles from the phone, rough and a bit static-y, and Oikawa breathes out a comfortable sigh out of instinct more than anything as Iwaizumi’s face pops up on the screen. The initial comfort does not last long, though, as his chest tightens again. he gulps quietly, swallowing down his emotions like they’re a tangible liquid in the way he has for years now.
“Hi, Iwa-chan!!” Oikawa chirps cheerily, his nonchalant mask slipping on as easily as ever. iwaizumi lets out a noncommittal hum in response, understanding and a bit concerned. an awkward pause follows, neither particularly wanting to continue the conversation. It’s not as if there is anything that needs to be said, any words that can truly communicate the devastating emotions that brim and bubble just beneath the surface of the conversation, and both of them have known eachother long enough to understand exactly what the other wants to say but can’t. And so, they sit in a silence too tense to truly be considered comfortable, but too familiar to be described as uncomfortable, and with every passing second Oikawa’s mask cracks just a little bit further, until it is taking all his self control to keep swallowing down the tears that threaten to break loose.
But at the end of the day, the pair have never been the sentimental type, preferring to leave their emotions unspoken, fully understood silently and below the surface without the need for a single word to be uttered.
“It’s not as if I was expecting anything different,” Iwaizumi says finally, breaking the silence with surprisingly easy words, “It- It’s not as if it doesn’t make sense…We both know that…” It’s true. Volleyball to Oikawa is something else, and Iwaizumi does not care to imitate it, does not care to replicate that all-consuming dedication that is greater than Oikawa’s own sense of self-preservation. To Oikawa, volleyball is a suicide mission, every set and every point requiring everything he has and more. With every serve he hurtles himself towards the dangerously abstract and hazardously unattainable goal of perfection, treating it like the bare minimum rather than the impossible standard that it is. And although Hajime loves volleyball dearly, he does not see the allure of Oikawa’s single-minded dedication and complicated relationship with geniuses.
Maybe Oikawa ought to say something, assure Iwaizumi that he is just as good, but they both know that they will be nothing but empty words. And so Oikawa does what might be the only thing he knows how to do effortlessly: pretend.
“Aw well, don’t miss me too much, Iwa-chan!” he says, plastering a wide grin onto his face even if he knows Iwaizumi won’t see it. Even if he knows Iwaizumi can hear the pain that sits in his throat, because Iwa-chan has always been there by his side, and only he can see through Oikawa’s lies as effortlessly as Oikawa can spin them. Because perhaps it is now Iwa-chan who needs to be convinced, but Oikawa who needs to convince himself. Because Iwa-Chan has always been there by his side, the ever-reliable presence that will spike every ball Oikawa sets with perfect accuracy, his second part that has stayed with him since they were infants, and now, for the first time, Oikawa is staring into the face of a future without him there.
But that is a prospect far too terrifying to confront, and so Oikawa runs from it, pushing the thought away as far as possible to avoid dwelling on it.
Eventually the conversation drifts away from drastic changes and growing up, settling into a comfortable discussion of homework and friend gossip and everything except the things that they have shoved into a hypothetical box to store away for as long as they possibly can.
It’s 5am when Iwaizumi falls asleep on call, his breathing softly echoing out of Oikawa’s phone. Oikawa peers at the screen over his glasses and history homework, and grins a little bit despite himself at the sight. The usual sharp angles of Iwa-chan’s face are softened with sleep, the length of his eyelashes more apparent, painting an almost pretty picture that glows in the yellow lamp light. Giggling softly, he turns back to his worksheet on derivatives, a gentle grin spreading across his face despite himself, and a warm feeling lingering in his chest as he does.
-
Tooru’s earliest memory of the two of them together is of Hajime shushing a crying Oikawa with a shallow scrape in his knee from a bad playground fall. Oikawa flails his arms in the air, screeching, as a mildly exasperated and highly concerned Iwaizumi scrambles to find a parent. After a minute, he comes back, scrawny hands clutching a bandaid and Tooru’s mom in tow. It takes several minutes of screaming for Oikawa to finally tire his throat out, leaving him staring wide-eyed at a determined Iwaizumi applying a bandaid to the wound with one hand and clutching Oikawa’s hand with the other.
Distracted by the incident and the comforting warmth of the other’s hand, neither of the two notice the glaring directed at their linked hands, nor the impatient noise that Oikawa’s mom makes as Iwaizumi finishes with the bandaid.
-
The end of the school year passes much too quickly, the days blurring together in a flurry of midnight cramming and hazy exam days, days lengthening as Oikawa sleeps less and less, preferring to spend his time at the gym whenever he can in preparation of what is to come. The days he spends with Iwa-chan grow fewer and fewer as both men become absorbed into their work.
(Of course, it’s easier to become absorbed in his work than to think about what a future without Iwa-chan means).
Soon enough Oikawa is already bidding goodbye to university, laughingly accepting presents from a crowd of girls and making promises with friends to meet up soon. He is signing a lease to a new apartment on the other side of the city, closer to the team’s practice gym in order to avoid the long commute, he is packing away the past four years of memories into big cardboard boxes to collect dust in his closet, kept alive simply for the sake of nostalgia.
Only once does he meet up with Iwaizumi in person, and even then it is nothing more than a brief meeting at a coffee shop, with an exhausted Oikawa rambling on about moving costs to a laughing Iwaizumi over iced coffee and cappuccinos.
-
It is after Oikawa has finally moved in that Iwaizumi comes over, bringing with him a new set of knee pads and a bottle of champagne as a moving gift.
“Oi, Shittykawa!” comes his voice as he rings the doorbell a bit impatiently for what might be the third time.
“Jesus Christ Iwa-chan, I’m coming, ok” Oikawa makes his way over to the door hurriedly, letting out an indignant huff as he opens the door, “jeez Iwa-chan, no need to be so impatient.” Iwaizumi lets out a mocking sigh, lightly punching Oikawa in the arm as he walks into the apartment. Over text Oikawa had described himself as being “basically moved in” but the floor was still strewn with half full cardboard boxes, filled with alien posters and plastic stars that he’d kept from his childhood bedroom, and the walls sat empty save for the plain, tan paint job. Iwaizumi sighs again, genuinely this time, and Oikawa glares at him.
“Hey, I’ve been busy! I met my new teammates yesterday, I haven’t had time to unpack.” Oikawa regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, as the realization that the the word “teammate” no longer includes Iwaizumi hits him like a truck, leaving a sour aftertaste as he thinks of how much of a constant Iwaizumi has been in his life up until now, from Kitagawa Daichi to Aoba Johsai to the big university leagues. A chill runs down his spine at the realization that, from here on out, he is no longer half a duo.
Iwaizumi sets the bottle on the table and tosses the pack of knee pads onto the counter before settling onto one of the tall chairs set at the counter, and Oikawa once again pushes away his thoughts, turning back to the present, still a bit shaken.
“Water?” Oikawa offers, strolling over to the small kitchena and grabbing a bottled water to hold up. Fumbling for something to do, he picks up bowl of soggy cereal sitting on the counter and eats a spoonful before realizing that it was already a few days old and cautiously setting it back down, swallowing painfully.
“I brought champagne and you’re asking if I want water?”
“Fair enough, Iwa-chan, no need to be so rude,” Oikawa whines as he shuffles through an slightly dusty box to find a few glasses. Rinsing them quickly in the cold kitchen sink, he sets them on the granite counter and pops the cork from the champagne bottle, pouring the bubbling liquid into the glasses, “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
The clink of the glasses echoes through the room, and Oikawa swallows his bad thoughts with the alcohol, before setting the glass back down and putting on an easy smile.
“So, little ‘ol Iwa-chan’s finally grown up, huh? Too bad you still turned out shorter than me,” Iwaizumi chuckles, but studies Oikawa’s face carefully. He sighs once more.
“Stop that.”
“Hm? What is it, Iwa-chan?”
“You’re doing it again. The fake shit. Honestly Oikawa, don’t you know I can tell by now?” Oikawa’s face falls, and now it is his turn to sigh.
“I can’t help it! I do it out of habit,” he says half-playfully, leaving out the fact that this habit of his has never applied to Iwaizumi. They both know it anyway though, but Iwaizumi says nothing, simply setting his glass down on the counter with a careful clunk, before meeting Oikawa’s eyes.
“You’re scared, aren’t you,” he says after a few moments.
“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa all but whimpers in response. Iwaizumi sighs for the hundredth time.
“You’ll be fine, Oikawa, you’re a great setter and an excellent volleyball player. I know, I’ve seen it firsthand over and over for years now. I know you can’t help it, but you’re only making it harder for yourself by exacerbating everything in your head like you do,” Iwaizumi’s eyes are awfully pretty, Oikawa realizes, surprised at the thought.
“Besides, you were chosen for a reason. They wouldn’t have chosen you if you didn’t have the ability to do it,” Iwaizumi finishes, and Oikawa startles out of his trance.
“Thanks, Iwa-chan” he says, a little dazed. Seemingly satisfied, Iwaizumi reaches for his cup again and takes a careful sip.
“I’m still here, Oikawa, nothing’s changed.”
you’re the partner that i can boast about.
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