Never in a million years did Midori expect to meet the deadly onyx eyes of none other than Kageyama Miwa again. It was just so…impossible. Or perhaps Midori had only convinced herself it was impossible. For a time, she had done everything in her power to make it impossible. Hell, she had gone so far as to transfer universities to put as much distance between them as she could.
And yet here she was, in all her stone cold, war-like glory. She looked different. Older, of course, rougher around the edges, but more than that. She was visibly stronger, hard-won wisdom swirling in the bottomless void of her eyes that wasn’t there before, and she looked tired. Beyond tired, really, the evidence of her struggle etched into the lines on her face, the sag in her shoulders, the flash of silver in her hair. Gods, they were the same age and Miwa looked like she’d been through Hell and back.
There was a phantom ache along Midori’s neck, just over her scent glands. A ghost of a memory she had long since put out of her mind. It felt like a lifetime ago, but right now, it settled like a stone in her chest where her heart should be.
“...Midori…”
Miwa’s voice sounded just as distant as Midori felt in that moment. They stared at each other as if neither of them was sure if the other were really there.
“...What are you doing here?” Midori asked, speaking the only coherent thought that had made it through the clamour in her brain and out of her mouth. It seemed to do the trick of snapping Miwa out of her trance, blinking as if she had just woken from a lucid dream. As if her sudden clarity had flipped a switch, though, her gaze hardened, setting her jaw and straightening her posture. Ah, yes. Those were the impenetrable walls Midori knew and loathed.
“I should be asking you that,” she hissed. She took a step forward into the apartment and Midori mirrored it with a step backward. “This sure as hell isn’t your apartment.”
“It isn’t yours either,” Midori noted, her voice surprisingly level in spite of how her knuckles had turned white around the strap of the bag she carried. “Why are you looking for Yachi Hitoka?”
“How’s that any of your business?” Miwa spat, taking another step forward.
“Believe me, it is my business.” Midori stepped back again. The omega was no stranger to matching Miwa’s ferocity head to head, but that didn’t mean she wanted to shorten the distance between them that acted as the only buffer between her sanity and a world of pain she had taken extreme measures to bury. “You have no right to be here.”
“The hell I don’t! Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me where I can and can’t be?!” Miwa bared her teeth, eyes flashing a dangerous glint that made Midori flinch in a way that felt all too much like second-nature in Miwa’s presence. “You haven’t changed a bit, Oikawa. Should have known you never learned how to get off that high fucking horse of yours.”
“Shut up. ” Midori squared her shoulders, but when Miwa stepped forward this time, she felt her heel hit the far wall when she moved back again. “Don’t act like you still know me. You never knew anything about me.”
“It’s not hard to figure out how much of a high-strung bitch you are,” Miwa said, closing in on the omega one step at a time. “Why are you in Yachi’s apartment?!”
“Why are you?! ”
They were at a stalemate, but luckily they weren’t given the time to steep in that on account of a muffled ringtone chiming from Midori’s back. She scrambled to pull it out, freezing at the sight of Yachi’s name. What good timing. Her eyes flicked back up to Miwa, who had halted in place when the phone started going off. Without breaking eye contact, Midori answered the call and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Yes?”
“Are you almost back with the stuff? It’s almost time to take my anxiety medication. I get kinda…jittery if I don’t stick to a schedule.”
Midori closed her eyes and cursed inwardly. Leave it to Kageyama fucking Miwa to get in the way at a time like this.
“I’ll be there soon, I promise. I got a little…held up.”
“Who is that?” Miwa snapped. Midori ignored her.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. I’ll just be a little long—”
“Is that Yachi? Give me the phone.” Miwa started toward her again. Midori’s eyes widened as she pressed herself back against the wall.
“What? No! I’m not giving you my—”
“I said give me the phone, Oikawa!”
“Midori? Who’s there with you? Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing— It’s no one, Yachi, just stay there, I’ll be there—” Miwa had invaded her personal space by this point, held at bay only by Midori’s hand on her shoulder as the beta stretched out her arm to grasp at the phone. “Would you back off?!”
“Let me talk to her!”
“Why do you—”
“Miwa? Is that Miwa?”
Midori paused, taken aback by the recognition in Yachi’s voice on the other line, the familiarity with which she spoke the other’s name. Her shock gave Miwa the chance to push forward and finally snatch the phone out of her grasp, but her fingers fell away from the device without resistance. She watched in gaping silence as Miwa brought the phone to her here and turned away to start pacing around the empty living room. Midori’s eyes were drawn to the bursts of colour on Miwa’s back, half-hidden behind her tank-top. A tattoo, and a large one by the looks of it.
“Yachi? Oh, thank god , Yachi, I thought you were dead.” Her voice was quiet now, erring on the side of secrecy, but she didn’t seem all too concerned about Midori listening in. “I saw you on the news. I couldn’t believe it. …No, he’s not after me. They took him down, but Yachi—... I know. I’m sorry I went AWOL. I had to deal with some shit. But listen to me, Yachi. I’m at your place. I came to find you because—...”
She briefly cast a glance over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at Midori before turning her attention back to the call. Midori didn’t move.
“Yeah, I ran into her. You’ve got some explaining to do, by the way, but that can wait for later. There’s something I need to tell you.” Midori watched Miwa purse her lips, her eyes trained on the floor as she walked around it, seemingly waiting to ensure she had Yachi’s full attention. “Inagawa is pissed. He’s not gonna let it go while Hagimura’s in prison.”
Inagawa? Who was Inagawa? Did she need to be worried?
“...They’re gonna come after you, Yachi. You and that kid from the trial. You’re not safe here.”
Miwa was silent for a few moments, listening, until her pacing slowly crept to a halt. Her eyes widened.
“He what?! ” Rage. Midori knew that rage. Knew it like a scar that never fully healed. “That fucking—! …A hospital? Wait, you’re—... No, no, no, Yachi, you have to get out of there, you have to leave. Do you hear me? You have to—... Fuck that! We’ll find another way, just—”
What she didn’t know was the look of giving in that gradually seeped into Miwa’s eyes. The look of defeat. That look never belonged on Miwa’s face. It never dared cross her path. Midori felt her stomach drop when the woman’s eyes found hers again.
Her lips were pressed into a hard, thin line as she begrudgingly held the phone out toward Midori. The latter swallowed down the taste of bile that had begun to gather in the back of her throat as she carefully reached out to take the phone back and raise it up to her ear again.
“...Yachi?”
“I’m sorry about her. She’s just worried about me. Can you make sure she stays away from the hospital, though?”
That was an…odd request, Midori thought, considering how friendly those two seemed to be. She continued to stare at Miwa, and Miwa stared back.
“...I can’t make any promises. Kageyama is—”
“Please, Midori. Just…try? I told her why I’m here. She knows I need this procedure, but…she’ll do anything to keep me safe. If she thinks I’m in danger—”
“I’ll keep her away,” Midori said with finality. Miwa narrowed her eyes again, lip curling into a hint of a scowl. Midori lifted her chin. “I’ll make sure you break that bond no matter what.”
“...Thank you, Midori. Can I…ask another favour?”
“...What is it?”
“Will you make sure she’s okay? Miwa is…”
“Yeah.” I know. “I can do that.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you soon?”
“See you soon.”
She ended the call. Miwa looked like she was seconds of way from turning into the Hulk. Midori artfully stepped around her and made her way to the door.
“And just where the hell do you think you’re going in such a rush?” Miwa growled, lashing out her hand to snag the omega’s arm. Midori twisted out of her grip without hesitation, head whipping around to level a fiery glare on the other. If she were a pettier woman, she might have taken some small amount of satisfaction from the way it made Miwa retreat into herself.
Who was she kidding? Seeing that was better than Christmas.
“I’m going to help my friend, ” she declared. “And after that, you and I are going to have a talk. A long talk.” She let the words simmer for a few sparing moments before she turned away toward the door again, leaving Miwa fumbling in her wake.
“Wh— And just how am I supposed to find you later?!”
“You know where I’ll be,” was all Midori offered before slamming the door shut behind her. The walk down the stairs and back to her car was quick, but she would be foolish not to relish the powerful catharsis of being the one to shut Miwa down. It was a welcome change of pace.
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Iwaizumi was restless. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but the part of him that had a sick fascination with tormenting himself knew it had everything to do with a certain bratty pop-star. A certain bratty pop-star who had been decidedly hard to reach for the past week, but Iwaizumi chalked that up to his work schedule. Both of their work schedules, honestly.
From what he gathered, they were both pretty busy during the week. Oikawa seemed to be booked all day every day besides weekends and Iwaizumi’s shifts could sometimes run well into the evening due to coverage and demand (he was happy to admit he was a fairly popular masseur at the massage parlour). They had scarcely texted back and forth throughout the week, and Iwaizumi wouldn’t have even really minded if not for the fact that he could tell something was off about Oikawa.
This whole charade they were supposed to be putting on felt incredibly lacking, all things considered. Iwaizumi had yet to even meet the other alpha he was supposed to be flaunting himself in front of. Didn’t even know his name. Was Iwaizumi slightly disappointed that he hadn’t been given many opportunities to indulge in a wholly fabricated relationship with another alpha who had all but given him a free pass to express his “taboo” preferences? Yes. Was he ever going to admit that to himself? Hell no. He’d rather die.
But he wasn’t so dense as to deny the fact that he had sincerely begun to enjoy being around Oikawa. He was a walking migraine, he was mildly entitled, slightly insensitive, he could be unbelievably obtuse, and he could stand to be knocked down a peg or two, but underneath all of that, Iwaizumi had also known him to be deeply selfless, a loyal friend, and brimming with hidden depths undoubtedly buried beneath pounds and layers of pressure and an unwavering sense of responsibility for those around him and those who looked up to him.
Two weeks. They had known each other for all of two weeks and already Iwaizumi felt as though he knew Oikawa at his core, even though there were certainly things that still remained a mystery to him. Maybe he didn’t know what Oikawa’s childhood was like, or his favourite song to listen to when he was in a slump, or how he came to be an idol when he was so clearly (from the old footage Iwaizumi had dug up from Oikawa’s high school years) such a talented volleyball player, but what he did know was that Oikawa was more than what met the eye, and that anyone could tell just by looking at him that he was begging to be unwrapped, to be heard, to be seen. He was a puzzle waiting to be solved. A story waiting to be told.
Iwaizumi also knew that he was completely, utterly, undeniably fucked. He would blame it on his repressed sexual frustration, but he would be an idiot to leave it at that. Not even the most irrational parts of his habitual state of denial could reason away the simple truth that Iwaizumi was falling, and falling hard. Maybe it had something to do with how Oikawa was the only alpha who had ever bothered to give him the time of day to humour his predilection for members of the same rank. Hell, he was sure that had a lot to do with it, but that didn’t negate how his feelings had grown for the alpha, and would continue to grow the longer he spent threading himself into Oikawa’s life.
He was disgusting for wanting more out of this. He was appalled by his own actions, stealing those kisses as if he had any right to them. He was just horrible for forcing himself on Oikawa in spite of how distinctly uncomfortable it made him. But there was the rub.
Oikawa had let him steal those kisses. He had every opportunity to move away, to stop him, to tell him to leave, but he didn’t. More importantly, Oikawa kissed him back. Sure, he eventually did throw Iwaizumi out of his apartment that morning, but who knew what might have happened if either of them let that scene in the kitchen play out any longer? Nothing good, that was certain. Or maybe it could have turned out very good, which would have made things very, very awkward.
The point was that there was something there between them. Something sparked that night he wound up in Oikawa’s apartment, something that danced around the edges of this strained balancing act they were putting on, and it wasn’t just Iwaizumi’s imagination. He could feel it when Oikawa’s claws dug into his arms, could smell it on him when they made out on the couch, could see it in his eyes when they were standing in the kitchen and Oikawa looked like he was torn between ripping out his jugular and pinning him to the floor and—
The water from the showerhead bordered on scalding, but Iwaizumi let it cascade over his head anyway, down his neck, turning his skin red with heat. It was hot enough that the air felt thick in the bathroom, visible tendrils of steam coiling up and rolling over the top of the shower door. Hot enough that, in the safety of the fogged-up shower, Iwaizumi let his hand find its way between his legs with his eyes closed, revisiting those memories and letting his imagination run away with what might have become of their morning in the kitchen if things had happened a little differently.
For example, if instead of standing there like a frozen idiot who let his doubts get in the way, he had kissed Oikawa again, with more teeth, with more claws, scraping up the alpha’s delightfully ticklish sides just to get a reaction. He could easily see Oikawa arching into him in response, a gasp and a growl, dragging his own claws through Iwaizumi’s hair to yank his head back and bare his throat. He groaned softly at the thought of teeth there, teasing at his vulnerable flesh as if to show mercy before breaking the skin without warning. Not over his scent glands, no, but just to cause pain, leave a mark, show him who was in control.
But realistically, Iwaizumi knew that, in the heat of the moment, he wouldn’t just bend over and let Oikawa have it all for himself. He could picture himself raking his claws down Oikawa’s back, partially to distract him and partially to draw out one of those devilish noises he knew the alpha could make. He would seize the opportunity to flip Oikawa around, press his chest against the wall and grind into him from behind so that he could feel Iwaizumi, so that he could get a taste of what being mounted might be like.
His cock throbbed as he fisted it, slicked by the water and already beading at the tip in response to the fantasy he pieced together in his mind. He wasn’t joking about being sexually repressed; he didn’t even touch himself like this often, usually too ashamed of himself to go through with it outside of his ruts, and even those were diluted by his suppressants. Every once in a blue moon, though, he gave in just a little, and it just so happened that the thought of mounting Oikawa pain-in-the-ass Tooru was more than enough to get him past the mental barrier that normally stood in the way of his release.
But then, of course, there was the thought of Oikawa mounting him. He gave a full-body shudder at the mere prospect and, oh, what he wouldn’t give. What he wouldn’t give for Oikawa to throw him down and wrestle him into a position that was to his liking. He was strong. There was no question about that. Was he stronger than Iwaizumi? Maybe, maybe not, but who was to say Iwaizumi wouldn’t let him believe that if it meant feeling Oikawa grind into him from behind, put him in his place, if it meant feeling his frenzied, fevered breath against open wounds on his shoulder, stinging from salty sweat, feeling the shape of his fangs at the back of his neck and holding him there while he did as he pleased and took what he wanted.
Iwaizumi bit down on his knuckle hard enough to leave an imprint in his skin when he came, his other hand wringing his leaking cock as cum spilled over his fingers and washed down the drain. His chest heaved, lips stretched taught around his teeth in some semblance of a threatening display wasted on the empty shower. The pitiful throb of a half-formed knot bloated at the base of his waning erection, still unsatisfied without something hot and warm and wet to bury itself in. He closed his fist around it and squeezed in an attempt to make it deflate faster, feeling himself twitch with a few more pathetic dribbles of cum. He kept his eyes closed, though. This was always the part he dreaded the most. The shameful afterglow of allowing himself to get off on those thoughts was worse than any kind of humiliation he could suffer at the hands of another. He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to call Oikawa and apologize for an infraction he didn’t even know about.
A little while later, once the water had started to turn lukewarm from how long he had been in the shower, Iwaizumi finally emerged with a towel around his waist and another in his hand that he used to rub at his hair. Opening the door to the hallway allowed sounds to carry from out in the living room—amused banter and a laugh here and there. He recognized Bokuto’s and Akaashi’s voices, so he didn’t think anything of it on his way across the hall toward his bedroom, but something caught his attention just as his hand rested on the door handle. A bright, ringing laughter that carried a sort of nasally undertone and bordered on a cackle. It was a sound he hadn’t had the pleasure of hearing at any great length, but one that stood out in his mental catalogue of sounds he rather enjoyed listening to.
He cautiously peeked his head around the corner, if only to confirm that he wasn’t imagining things. Sure enough, though, sitting at the kitchen table betwixt his two enamoured roommates was none other than the unfortunate object of Iwaizumi’s lust-fueled wank session in the shower mere moments ago. How long had he been there? Had Iwaizumi let slip any incriminating noises that might have carried out past the bathroom? Oh gods, what if he smelled like he just came? He totally did, didn’t he? He made sure to apply a generous amount of body wash before getting out of the shower, but what if it weren’t enough to cover up the evidence of his shame? An alpha’s sense of smell could be highly sensitive.
“Iwa-chan!”
Oh, fuck. Iwaizumi blinked, realizing he had been caught creeping around the corner, still half-naked and dripping, thin slivers of steam still rising off of his skin. He met Oikawa’s eyes across the room and he would pretend he didn’t see the way that attentive brown gaze dipped down ever so slightly before settling on Iwaizumi’s again. A smile stretched across his lips, a little bit knowing (although that might just be Iwaizumi’s guilty conscience), twice as smarmy, and entirely too damning.
“Did you miss me?”
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Between the appointments and signings and the concert on Thursday, the day after his discussion with Hanamaki, Oikawa barely had time to breathe, let alone plot Matsukawa’s ruin and much less act on those schemes. Not to mention that he might have set aside some time yesterday to consult with his old therapist about arranging a date for his first appointment since…well, his first appointment in years. Unfortunately, that consultation didn’t quite go as planned when Oikawa called only to find out that his old therapist had retired. However, at the receptionist’s insistence, he did end up speaking with Doctor Kuguri, who claimed to have been close with Doctor Ono before her retirement. Doctor Kuguri was eager to put him on his calendar for next week. Well, perhaps the word “eager” was a bit too strong, but he seemed very adamant about seeing Oikawa as soon as possible, at any rate. It didn’t take long for the regret to settle it in after that.
Today, however, Oikawa was determined to put all of that out of his mind. His decision to visit Iwaizumi unannounced was slightly impulsive, he would admit, but he was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by Akaashi instead, shortly followed by an enthusiastic Bokuto. Since they informed him that Iwaizumi was taking a shower after getting back from his morning run (which Oikawa already knew about, considering he timed his arrival according to previous conversations they had had regarding bits and pieces of their daily routines), they invited him to sit and chat and have breakfast with them.
When Oikawa tried to decline the offer under the assumption that Iwaizumi had brought them breakfast back from his morning run (“I usually grab something for my roommates on my way back, so...”), Akaashi and Bokuto briefly shared something of a knowing look before explaining that they had a routine of alternating who was responsible for meals each week. Oikawa had to admit it was a quaint little dynamic those three had developed with each other. It was to be expected with Akaashi and Bokuto, considering their bond, but it wasn’t hard to tell that Iwaizumi fit right in with their trio. They all must have known each other for a long time.
He appreciated the opportunity to learn more about them over a delectable spread of ikura don, dashi eggs, saba shioyaki, pickled vegetables, and a side of miso soup. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken the time to enjoy a proper, hardy breakfast like this. Akaashi’s cooking was certainly something to marvel at. He attributed it to his mother, speaking fondly of him and with unmistakable gratitude, but notably in the past tense. Oikawa opted not to comment on that detail, instead offering his compliments with utmost respect. Akaashi seemed to appreciate this in an unspoken way, and Oikawa didn’t miss the approving smile Bokuto gave him while holding his mate’s hand in his own.
He also learned that the two of them were both alumni of Fukurodai Academy, which ignited an animated recollection of their mutual history with volleyball. Akaashi lauded him for his skill, admitting to having looked up to him as a setter long before he became a fan of his music. They neatly skirted around the shift in Oikawa’s career following his high school graduation, and for that he was grateful. He was much more interested in hearing about what Akaashi and Bokuto did with their lives now.
Akaashi revealed himself to be a rather accomplished mangaka and Oikawa felt the whole world shift on its axis when he discovered that the omega sitting across the table from him was the author of one of his favourite manga series. He couldn’t help but gush, finding no shortage of amusement and irony in watching one of his apparent biggest fans come to terms with the fact that Oikawa was one of his biggest fans.
As it turned out, Bokuto had continued playing volleyball professionally, but he was currently on break until the next season began in March of next year. In his spare time, he spoke about his stance as a disability rights activist alongside Akaashi. Oikawa felt a little embarrassed at being surprised by this, but Akaashi was kind enough to provide context by way of revealing his prosthetic left leg. He detailed the surfing accident he had in junior high that resulted in the injury despite Oikawa’s assurances that he didn’t have to explain. Fortunately Akaashi didn’t seem troubled telling the story in the slightest, so Oikawa simply accepted it for what it was: the mark of genuine friendship.
At some point their conversation drifted back to volleyball and a particular name that Bokuto mentioned caught Oikawa’s attention.
“I’m sorry, did you say Kuroo?” he asked, leaning forward slightly as if he weren’t sure he heard correctly. “As in Kuroo Tetsuro?”
“Yeah! You know him?” Bokuto asked with a hopeful grin. Oikawa breathed an incredulous laugh.
“ Yes. Nekoma and Seijo used to play against each other all the time when we were in high school,” he said. “I met Kuroo for the first time at a training camp and that little weasel dusted all our jerseys with itching powder in the middle of the night. We nearly tore that place down by the end of the week.” Bokuto let out a boisterous laugh.
“Oh, man, that’s just like him. How’d you find out it was him, though?” he asked once he caught his breath enough to speak. Oikawa sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with a self-satisfied smirk.
“I caught him in the act, of course. So I cut a deal with him.” Bokuto leaned in with eager anticipation and Akaashi’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “I told him to leave me a clean jersey and I wouldn’t tell anyone.” His smirk turned sinister. “Then I swapped out all of our jerseys for theirs.”
Akaashi stifled a snort, but Bokuto made no effort to hide his amusement, clapping his hands together as he threw his head back and guffawed.
“Wasn’t he pissed?” Akaashi pried.
“ Furious. It was the beginning of a glorious prank war that ended in what I think might have been the proudest moment in Seijo history,” he boasted. “We won our final match against them twenty-five to eleven. They were all scared shitless about what we were going to do to them as payback for replacing our gatorade with salt water and food colouring. Instead of doing anything, we just sat back and watched them sweat.”
Bokuto was laughing so hard at this point that Oikawa worried about his oxygen intake, but Akaashi wasn’t much better. He hid his chuckling behind his hand, but when he collected himself enough to look at Oikawa, it was with equal parts admiration and a healthy amount of apprehension.
“You’re kind of evil,” he noted. Oikawa feigned offense, bringing a hand to his chest.
“I prefer the term ‘wicked’,” he corrected, the two of them sharing in a fit of snickering.
It was then that Oikawa noticed the muffled hum of the shower running through the walls had stopped. Bokuto was still losing his mind a little bit, no doubt conjuring up his own colourful images of what all a prank war between Nekoma and Aoba Josai might have entailed, but Oikawa’s attention was drawn to the entrance of the hallway, where he found a pair of disbelieving grey eyes trained on him. He might have been startled by their voyeur if not for his state of undress, something that tugged Oikawa’s gaze down the steaming paths left by lingering rivulets of water along the contours of taut olive skin. Well, that was just unfair.
“Iwa-chan!” he called ( purred would be the more apt term, but he would sooner compliment Ushiwaka before admitting that).
Wait…no. No, he wouldn’t. That was going a little too far.
“Did you miss me?” He offered a wry smile, tilting his head to one side as if preening under the flushed, gaping stare being directed at him that had everything to do with the fact that Iwaizumi had just gotten out of the shower and was not expecting him and nothing at all to do with anything else.
As if finally taking note of his appearance, Iwaizumi blinked and looked down at himself before promptly turning around and disappearing down the hall, the soft click of a door closing following soon after. Oikawa chuckled quietly, nursing the green tea Akaashi had prepared along with their meal. Speaking of whom, Akaashi glanced at him from across the table, picking up his own cup of tea to sip from whilst arching both eyebrows at the alpha from over the rim. All coy pretense suddenly vanished from Oikawa’s demeanor as he pointedly looked in a different direction, only for his gaze to slowly crawl back to the omega’s when nothing but silence followed.
“...What?” he asked, shifting in his seat. Akaashi delicately placed his cup back down on the table and crossed his arms, resting back in his seat and doubling down on that scrutinizing expression of his without saying a word. Oikawa felt himself shrinking. “ What? ”
“You were checking him out,” Akaashi stated. Oikawa nearly choked on his tea.
“What— No I wasn’t. Why would you— I wasn’t ‘checking him out’.” He huffed a breath and averted his eyes again. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You were, though.”
“No, he walked out here in nothing but a towel and I was…surprised. Is all,” he deflected. “If he didn’t want to be checked out, maybe he should have put on some clothes.”
“So you were checkin’ him out,” Bokuto chimed in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Oikawa felt his face heating up to an uncomfortable degree, wishing he could crawl under the table and disappear entirely.
“I was not. He— We’re both alphas. Why would I—”
“So would anyone care to explain to me why we’re just picking up strays off the street now?” came Iwaizumi’s voice to save the day as he re-emerged from the hallway. Luckily, the distraction prevented Oikawa from noticing the sharp look Akaashi gave him when he posited a very flimsy excuse as to why he couldn’t possibly be checking out another alpha, nor the slight disappointment that clouded Bokuto’s eyes that probably would have crushed Oikawa then and there. Thank the gods for that, right?
“Rude, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, offering up one of his signature pouts. “I come all the way out here to visit my fake not-boyfriend and this is how you greet me? For shame.” He tutted disapprovingly, not missing the way Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitched. He lingered by the table without bothering to sit down.
“So what are you doing here?” he asked instead, a hand resting on his hip. Oikawa pursed his lips.
“Honestly, I was…hoping we could talk?” he began before dropping his gaze. “Um. About the…fake not-boyfriend stuff.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to clarify beyond that. He slowly glanced back up at Iwaizumi’s waiting, expectant face, then let his gaze drift over toward Akaashi and Bokuto. Surprisingly, Bokuto was the one to catch on first.
“Come on, ‘Ji. Let’s go check the mail,” he said, pushing out his chair to stand up. Akaashi blinked and looked up at him from where he sat, brows drawing together.
“Huh?”
“We should go check the mail,” Bokuto repeated, urging Akaashi to follow him toward the door. Akaashi seemed off-put by his mate’s sudden desire to go check the mail, as it were, but hesitantly rose from his chair regardless.
“But it’s Saturday—”
“How about we go check the mail?” Bokuto didn’t drop his smile the entire time, but his eyes were pleading. It wasn’t even a secret. Akaashi sighed and shook his head, trailing after Bokuto and mumbling something or other about how they just picked up the mail yesterday. Their voices gradually faded away after the door closed behind them. Oikawa finally took a deep breath and relaxed slightly.
“Well that was weird,” Iwaizumi noted, moving around the table to serve himself a plate of the leftover breakfast that still waited on the counter. “So what did you wanna talk about?” he asked over his shoulder.
Oikawa leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he watched Iwaizumi from behind. He was dressed in a black T-shirt with some band printed on the front that he didn’t quite catch the name of and a pair of distressed jeans. Both items of clothing conformed to his body as if the material understood the importance of framing his muscles and build in the most flattering way possible. Oikawa felt strangely inadequate in his slightly oversized space-print sweater that hung loose on his shoulders and plaid jeans that could scarcely be convinced to deviate from their rigid shape.
“I wanna take you out on a date,” he blurted. There was a clatter by the counter as Iwaizumi’s chopsticks slipped through his fingers before he could place them safely on his plate. He whipped his head around, eyes wide. Oikawa quickly course-corrected. “A real date.” Getting worse. “I mean—a real fake date.” Good gods, that could not have been messier.
The initial panic faded from Iwaizumi’s eyes, but he looked no less incredulous. He cautiously carried his plate over to the table, sitting down across from Oikawa while regarding him like he might grow a second head any minute now.
“A real fake date,” he repeated. Oikawa pressed his lips together and nodded.
“My…friend is taking… my friend out to dinner tonight,” he said. “To try to help him…feel better. Or at least feel normal. So…we were thinking you and I could—”
“Okay, wait wait wait—stop.” Iwaizumi waved his chopsticks in front of himself, effectively cutting Oikawa off. “I’m gonna need names if we’re gonna keep doing this. Also, what do you mean by ‘we’?” That was a fair request and a fair question, all things considered. Oikawa breathed in deep and nodded.
“Okay. Yeah. Sorry, I…I never really thought about…” He trailed off, glancing up at Iwaizumi before shrugging off that train of thought and moving on. “My friend—er, my alpha friend—uh, the one with Hanahaki Disease—his name is Matsukawa. Matsukawa Issei.” Speaking his name almost felt forbidden somehow, especially in the presence of the one who was helping Oikawa to break the man’s heart. “My other friend, the one taking Matsukawa to dinner, is Hanamaki Takahiro.” He paused when Iwaizumi’s brows furrowed, seemingly deep in thought as he chewed his grilled mackerel.
“Hanamaki… Why does that name sound familiar?” he wondered aloud. It didn’t take long for Oikawa to piece it together.
“The trial,” he guessed. “The recent case about the omega trafficking ring.” Iwaizumi snapped his fingers.
“That was it. Wait, so—wait a minute.” He leaned forward, earnest. “You’re friends with the guy who helped put that scumbag behind bars?”
“Well, a lot of it had to do with the witness testimony—”
“Right, right, but that Hanamaki guy’s the one who fucked him up, isn’t he?” Iwaizumi pressed. “Fuckin’ love that dude. Goddamn hero.”
Oikawa couldn’t help but smile. It made his heart swell to know that people in the world looked up to Hanamaki for his actions, despite his social status as an unremarkable beta who was often overlooked. He hated to put it that way, but it was the unfortunate truth when it came to how Hanamaki navigated life. Oikawa hoped that maybe this recent development would help him get the recognition he deserved. Hanamaki had been denied far too many opportunities in life simply for appearing “ordinary” when he had so much untapped potential. Oikawa had seen it in high school and the same held true even now.
“Yeah. He is, isn’t he?” he mused, a soft smile still lingering on his face. He couldn’t bring himself to keep it there, though, as he returned his focus to the point of this conversation. He cleared his throat. “Well, uh. Like I said, Hanamaki wants to take Matsukawa to dinner, and we thought it would be a good opportunity for…Matsukawa to see us. Together.”
He watched Iwaizumi chew his food for a moment, fiddling with the corner of a napkin on the table while he waited for a response. He didn’t blame Iwaizumi for mulling it over. The proposition was…a lot more than what they had done up until this moment. Sure, they went to see a movie together, but that didn’t even have anything to do with the ruse, and this would be significantly more…public. Even Oikawa was skeptical when Hanamaki first suggested it, but eventually he agreed that a stunt like this would leave an impression. At least, a bigger impression than some vague phone call. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry about rumours spreading, though.
“...So Hanamaki’s in on it,” Iwaizumi deduced rather than answering immediately. Oikawa nodded.
“He, uh… I actually just told him recently,” he said. “Hanamaki is the one who…punched me in the face after I showed up at Matsukawa’s house in the middle of the night and made out with him.” Iwaizumi snorted at the memory of that conversation, but confusion settled across his features once more.
“Wait, but wasn’t he pissed at you? Why’s he suddenly so okay with it?”
“Well, I don’t know if he’s really okay with it, per se, but…he understands why I’m doing this now, at least,” Oikawa said, letting out a long sigh. “He…” Was it okay to tell Iwaizumi this part? “He has feelings for Matsukawa, so…we’re hoping that this can be a two-part operation, so to speak.” Iwaizumi didn’t look at all convinced by the speculation.
“So what, he’s hoping he can just sweep up the pieces when all is said and done?” His tone wasn’t very impressed despite his praise of Hanamaki just a moment ago.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” Oikawa quickly assured. “W-well… Okay, it’s kind of like that, but hear me out.” Iwaizumi raised his brows at him. “He’s going to try to woo Matsukawa at the same time that I’m trying to get Matsukawa to hate me. So instead of just trying to remove his love for me—”
“You’re trying to redirect it,” Iwaizumi concluded. Oikawa nodded. Iwaizumi contemplated this for a moment before shrugging, seeming to come to a reluctant acceptance of the idea. “I guess a Plan B never hurts.”
“Exactly,” Oikawa said, feeling some tension release in his shoulders now that they were on the same page. “And…there’s one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“...Hanamaki has Hanahaki Disease, too.”
Oikawa didn’t realize until now how in denial he had been about that exact fact. Saying it out loud was like speaking it into existence, though, and that tension from before was instantly replaced by grief. His eyes stung, suddenly flooded with the worry and fear he had been holding back without even knowing it. Admitting that his friends were sick was to acknowledge that there was a very real chance that he could lose both of them. If their plan didn’t work, then it was a certainty. He closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep the wave of emotion at bay. He didn’t want to think about this right now. He just wanted to focus on the plan, but gods it was so much to carry all at once.
He didn’t notice that Iwaizumi had risen from his seat until the alpha was kneeling beside him and grabbing his hand. His eyes fluttered open, lashes already wet and sticking together with the tears that pushed to escape, and he was met with the most vulnerable expression he had ever seen Iwaizumi wear. It was understanding. It was compassionate. And he saw not sympathy, but empathy in those eyes. He discovered then and there that Iwaizumi didn’t just understand. He knew.
“I am so sorry, Oikawa,” he whispered, placing his other hand over top of Oikawa’s. “If there is any possibility that…” He stopped to consider his words for a moment, then pursed his lips. “The only possibility is that we do this, and both of your friends get to live. I swear to you.”
Oikawa smiled, but it was that of someone trying to protect a loved one from an ugly truth.
“You can’t promise me that, Iwa-chan.” He lifted his other hand to Iwaizumi’s face, fingertips brushing his cheek before he really had a chance to wonder why he felt the need to. He decided he didn’t need a reason and rested his palm there. “We both know what the odds are.”
And as he said it, a part of him became painfully aware that everything he was trying to do was useless. The Hanahaki was relentless. A feat such as this had never been accomplished before, so why would things suddenly be different now? He simply couldn’t fathom that nobody else in the history of the world had attempted something like this before. He could only assume that many had tried and failed. Their story would be no different.
Iwaizumi’s face hardened and he pulled Oikawa up to his feet only so that he could wrap him in his arms. Oikawa didn’t know how to react. Had they…hugged before now? He didn’t think so. It was…nice. Hugging Iwaizumi was nice. He was safe, solid, and warm. At least, that was what Oikawa opted to believe in that moment because that was what he needed. It helped that, this close, he could breathe in all of that woodsmoke and parchment that brought him back to a time in his life when he was all of those things. When nothing else mattered except him and his sister, two children spending the night in the woods, guarded by the stars and the gentle sounds of nature. He could almost hear the soft crackle of a fire right by his head. The memory was so vivid it made him cry that much harder, clutch Iwaizumi tighter.
He didn’t want to know what it meant.