seijaku

Truthfully, when Midori assumed Miwa would know where to find her later, she could have stood to be a little more specific. After all, it had been years since they had seen each other last. She couldn’t reasonably expect Miwa to remember every little quirk and detail about the omega. Of course, her intentions with this particular meeting place were somewhat…nostalgic.

She lifted a lit cigarette to her lips, taking a long drag off of it before softly blowing the smoke out into the chilly night air, mixing with the frost that gave shape to her breath. It was the middle of December now, the days growing ever shorter and the nights ever longer. It was the exact opposite of the first moment they shared together here on Azuma-bashi Bridge. Back then it was late spring, the evening air still heavy and humid after a warm day. The sun teased at the horizon and danced along the gentle ripples of water below. It was nothing short of the perfect setting to share their first kiss.

Midori’s thumb brushed along her bottom lip. They were different people back then. Young, in love, and eager to explore each other’s lives. Really, it was a little cliche, looking back on it. Oikawa Midori, Aoba Jōsai’s golden girl, the oldest, the brightest, the most promising; and Kageyama Miwa, voted most likely to get arrested after high school, notorious delinquent, a proud bad influence. Their story had all the makings of a bad love song. And that was just what it turned out to be.

She took another drag off her cigarette, wondering how she ever let herself fall so far.

“Figures you’d pick this place.”

Midori closed her eyes. That voice cut through the air like a knife. She clutched tighter at the railing she leaned against and carefully snuffed out her cigarette on the painted metal. Only then did she turn to look at Miwa as she approached, hands stuffed into the pockets of a leather jacket. She stopped a few feet away, too far to be casual, but more than close enough. She lifted her chin, allowing the lamplight to illuminate the scar on her lip, right beside the double ring piercing.

“Let’s not drag this out. What are you doing here, Kageyama?” Midori asked, keeping one hand on the railing. It was cold against her exposed fingers, but it would serve to keep her grounded, just in case this conversation took a turn for the worst down memory lane. Miwa narrowed her eyes, flexing her jaw while she considered her response.

“How much do you know?” she asked instead of answering. “About Yachi.” Midori sighed.

“I know everything. I was the one who called upon her witness testimony—”

“You don’t know everything, Oikawa,” Miwa interrupted. “As much as you’d like to think that. Be specific. What do you know?” Midori clenched her jaw, tapping her finger against the railing, and inhaled deeply through her nose.

“I know that she was one of Hagimura Souta’s victims,” she began. “I know that he favoured her and tried to keep her for himself. I know that he raped her and forced a bond. What I don’t know is who this Inagawa character is, why he’s coming after Yachi and Hanamaki, or how you fit into all this. So start talking.”

“Pushy, pushy,” Miwa chided, tutting her tongue. “I see you’re as demanding as ever. Not even gonna say ‘please’?”

“I don’t have time for pleasantries, Kageyama,” Midori hissed. “And I suspect neither do you. If Yachi and Hanamaki are in danger, I need you to tell me what they should be running from.”

“Why?” Miwa tilted her head to the side with a feigned expression of confusion, and took a slow step forward. Midori felt her leg move back, not unlike their exchange in Yachi’s apartment. “So you can, what, help them? How are you gonna do that, Oikawa? You’re a lawyer, not the police, and you’re in way over your head.”

“Stop playing games, Kageyama!” Midori hit her fist against the railing, taking note of how Miwa stopped her forward approach and glanced at the movement. “They are my friends, and as far as I know, Hanamaki is completely oblivious to any of this, so tell me what I need to know.”

Miwa regarded her for a moment, as if sizing her up while chewing the inside of her lip. Eventually, she huffed out a breath and moved to lean against the railing. Her eyes never left some distant spot along the river while she spoke.

“Inagawa Masaaki is Hagimura’s superior. They’re best friends, blood brothers even, and he’s taken over the omega trafficking operation in Hagimura’s absence,” she explained. “They’ve been keeping their heads low since the trial, but also because the Kobe Yamaguchi-gumi have had their eyes set on taking them out entirely.”

“Wait, the Kobe Yamaguchi-gumi?” Midori asked, eyes widening. “You can’t mean… As in the Yakuza syndicate?” Miwa snorted.

“No, I mean the news station,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “ Yes, the Yakuza syndicate. Get with the programme.”

“But why would—” Midori paused. Wait a minute… “Inagawa… The Inagawa-kai?” Miwa finally glanced at her right an arched brow, snapping her fingers into a pointed finger-gun.

“Bingo. Took you long enough,” she scoffed. “Congratulations, Oikawa. You’re officially in the middle of a gang war.”

Her sneer was sharp and cruel. Midori felt frozen in place, and not just because of how cold it was outside.

“Inagawa won’t stop until that Hanamaki kid is dead, Hagimura is out of prison, and Yachi is back in their possession. The entire Inagawa-kai is gonna be hunting them down. Their best chance is to get the hell outta dodge and catch the next flight outta Japan.” That seemed to knock Midori’s brain back into motion, at least.

“Wh— Leave the country?” she balked. “Y-you can’t just expect them to uproot their entire lives like that. That’s asking way too much.”

“Didn’t seem to be an issue for you when you ran off,” Miwa noted. Midori’s mouth hung open, but no words rose to her defense. Miwa straightened herself to level the omega with a pointed glare. “There one day, gone the next. You and Takeru. It was almost like you were planning it.”

“That’s not—” Midori nearly choked on her words, her chest far too tight. This was what she was afraid talking to Miwa would lead to. “...That’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it?” Miwa challenged, stepping toward her again. This time, Midori’s feet remained firmly rooted in place, as if frozen down to the bone. “You couldn’t stand to watch me grieve, so instead of, I don’t know, being there for me, you booked it. Isn’t that exactly what happened?”

“That’s rich,” Midori whispered, every muscle in her body tense as if it were ready to bolt any second. “Coming from the one who tried to leave us first.”

“I was in pain!” Miwa shouted, slamming her fist against the railing. Midori flinched instinctively, but held her ground. There was the briefest, smallest flash of something distantly akin to regret in Miwa’s eyes, but it was gone before Midori could make any sense of it. “You didn’t leave me many options.”

“What are you talking about?!” They were both standing on a precipice with one foot hanging over the edge, grasping at each other for balance as much as to shove the other one over first. “I gave you every single chance and you wasted all of them! I couldn’t keep exposing Takeru to all of you—your—”

“My what?! ”

“You! I couldn’t let him watch you kill yourself!”

Minutes passed, but it felt as though time were at a standstill. The world held its breath. When Midori spoke next, it was through tears that had been building behind her eyes for years.

“...I couldn’t let him watch his father kill herself.”

Thirteen years ago, Miwa and Midori met in their second year of high school. Midori had left her bag on the bleachers of the outdoor track field after cheer practice and found Miwa smoking weed underneath them. The beta offered her a hit and Midori promptly ran off back to the school building, but she didn’t report anything to the teachers. Later that same week, she made up an excuse to go back out to the field again while it was empty, quietly yet pleasantly surprised to find Miwa there again. This time she took her up on her offer.

Eleven years ago, they shared their first kiss on this bridge. They had been teasing at courting each other for months by then, so it only made sense to make it official. Midori kept it a secret from her parents. She knew they would disapprove of Miwa, and of Midori for allowing anyone but a proper alpha to court her. It was their exciting little secret.

That is, until ten years ago, when Midori gave birth to Takeru. She had kept her distance from her family while in university, so she was able to keep the pregnancy hidden right up until the end. Her parents were furious. Tooru was ecstatic to start a new year of high school as a proud uncle and seized every opportunity to brag about his adorable little nephew. It was unexpected, but it only brought Miwa and Midori closer together.

The second time Midori fell pregnant, eight years ago, was more intentional. They had yet to get married, weren’t even really engaged, but they were eager to grow their family, and Takeru was over the moon to have a little sibling, even though he couldn’t really comprehend all of it yet. Sweet, intelligent Takeru. Only two years old and already so perceptive of the world around him. He knew to be concerned when Midori spent long periods of time in the bathroom, sometimes upwards of an hour, hunched over the toilet while she waited for the nausea to pass. He knew to get the neighbour’s help right away when Midori passed out in the driveway just after getting him out of the car once they arrived home from his daycare. He knew how much she needed him there when she received the news in the hospital a few days later. As much as she didn’t want her little boy to see her like that, he dutifully stayed by her side while Miwa, conversely, made herself scarce.

A week later, when Miwa hadn’t visited her in the hospital for two days, Tooru came to pick her up and take her home, having been babysitting Takeru during most of her stay. He dropped them off, made sure she had everything she needed, and left. He already had such a busy life as an up-and-coming idol, so she didn’t blame him for having to take off so suddenly. Once she settled back into her home, she distracted herself from the emotional turmoil of the past week by making Takeru his favourite snack and putting on a show for him to watch. It was only then that she realized how quiet it was in the house, how strange that Miwa hadn’t been there to greet them.

Midori had assumed her mate had been out chasing her own distractions, considering the awful news. Still, it seemed odd that she wouldn’t be home when she knew Midori had been discharged from the hospital that day. She found herself checking their bedroom, saw the bathroom door cracked open with the light spilling out, and looked inside to discover Miwa unconscious in the bathtub, an assortment of pill bottles and their spilled contents in the sink, and her fingernails bloodied from scratching at herself.

Midori called an ambulance. She had no idea how to rationalize all of the conflicted feelings this had birthed within her. How could the father of her children— child be so selfish as to try to take her own life? Midori understood better than anyone else how devastating the miscarriage was. She was the one who felt it. She was the one who had to live with the fact that her body rejected what could have been a spectacular new addition not only to their family, but the world, for the rest of her life. Miwa was allowed to be just as distraught, but this was too much.

She survived, of course. The doctors told her that she was lucky to have found Miwa when she did; another hour and it would have been too late. When Miwa awoke in the hospital, she immediately crumbled upon the realization that she was still alive, and though Midori tried to comfort her in spite of her anger, Miwa had the audacity to curse her for it. That was the moment everything started to fall apart.

Two more years passed. Two years that Midori spent trying to come to terms with all that had happened, trying to convince herself that they would get through it because they had always been stronger together. Takeru, for all his intuition, was still too young to comprehend what had happened. All Midori could do was tell him that he wasn’t going to have another sibling after all, and that was that. Sometimes Midori suspected that he still understood some part of it when she looked into those knowing eyes of his, but he stopped asking questions after a while and she never felt the need to burden him with the truth.

For two years, Midori put up with the stranger Miwa had become. The fights grew more frequent, the yelling got louder, Miwa would disappear for days at a time without explanation, they stopped sleeping in the same bed. Midori’s mother was sympathetic, despite having been so against their bond and conceiving out of wedlock, while her father remained distant, but not unkind. Eventually, Midori knew that enough was enough. While Miwa was away doing the gods knew what, Midori packed their things, left enough money for a few months’ rent, and left with Takeru. She never saw or heard from Miwa again after that, and over time, the fading bond mark on her neck stopped hurting so much and became a dull ache instead, then gradually disappeared altogether but for a faint scar.

Until yesterday.

Miwa stared at her, lips slightly parted, her shoulders rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths that just barely managed to stifle the anger that burned in her eyes. However, now that anger was tainted with the same look from before that Midori might as well have imagined. Regret.

“...Is that really what you think?” she asked after a moment, her voice more quiet than Midori could ever remember. “You think you were doing him a favour by taking him away from me?”

“Yes,” Midori said without a second of hesitation. “You were unstable. You already tried to abandon us once. I thought that was what you wanted.”

“I never— ” Miwa growled, balling up her fists, “—wanted Takeru out of my life. You had no right— ”

“Then why did you—!” Midori cut herself off, closing her eyes to take a deep breath through her nose and calm herself. She refused to let this devolve into another one of their screaming matches. She opened her eyes again, gaze hardened. “Why did you try to leave us like that?” Miwa clenched her jaw.

“I made a mistake. ”

“Oh, really? You’re just realizing that now?” Midori scoffed and shook her head. “And all that time you spent telling me how much you hated me for saving you that day—what about that? Was that a mistake, too? Or when you hit me in front of Takeru, or when you showed up drunk in the middle of the night, or got yourself arrested for doing drugs—”

“Yes! Yes, it was all a mistake! I fucked up, okay?!” Miwa threw her arms out in front of her. “What do you want from me?! A fucking dissertation on all the ways I screwed up and hurt you?! Obviously you have it all memorized, so what? What do you want? ”

Midori stared at her.

“An apology would be a good start.”

Silence. They continued to stare at each other, Miwa searching her eyes as if she would take back her words, but Midori held fast. After a few more tense moments, Miwa finally straightened up, pursed her lips, and turned her head to stare down at the ground beside them. Midori waited.

“...I’m sorry,” she said. It wasn’t a hollow apology, but after all this time, the words had lost their meaning. Even though this was what Midori asked for, it brought no solace, no comfort, no closure. They were just words. “I’m sorry.” Miwa met her eyes again. “You didn’t deserve what I put you through, and neither did Takeru. It wasn’t your fault.”

Now that, that packed a punch. Those words seeped into her skin, twisted in her gut, and suddenly she felt like crying again.

It wasn’t your fault.

Midori never realized up until this moment how much guilt she had been hanging on to, how she felt responsible for losing their second child, for driving Miwa over the edge, for ruining their bond. She had been angry at Miwa, yes, and logically she knew that she wasn’t to blame for the abuse she endured, but none of that compared to the guilt.

“Midori, I am sorry, and I will never do that to you or anyone else ever again, and I don’t want you to forgive me and let me back into your life,” Miwa continued. “I know that I don’t belong in it now. I know it would only make things…complicated. For Takeru.”

For Takeru, yes, but for Midori? “Complicated” didn’t even begin to cover it.

“...How is he?” Midori blinked, clearing away the water that had started to gather in her eyes again. “Takeru? How is he?”

“...He started fifth grade this year,” Midori said, softly. “Already top of his class.” Miwa’s lips twitched into something that might have resembled a smile, releasing a quiet huff of air.

“That’s…good. That’s great,” she corrected. “That’s…really great. And does he… I mean, he has friends?” Midori slowly nodded.

“...Yeah. Lots of friends. He wants to play volleyball like his uncle,” she said. “He’s really good at it. He’ll have to stop getting himself into detention if he wants to get on Kitagawa Daiichi’s team, though.” Stifled laughter bubbled past Miwa’s lips, her own eyes starting to look a little damp now.

“A little troublemaker, huh?”

“He takes after his father.”

What started as another laugh was choked off on a sob. Midori watched as Miwa covered her face with her hand, her shoulders starting to shake. Some old, forgotten part of her longed to reach out and hold her. She had her arms around Miwa before she even finished acknowledging the thought. Miwa fell apart and didn’t even hesitate to return the embrace, fingers digging into Midori’s back while she sobbed into her scarf.

Even after all this time, Miwa still fit into her arms like a key in a lock. Holding her like this felt natural. She couldn’t recall the last time she had witnessed the beta in such a vulnerable state, but her body reacted as if she had evolved a specific gene just for comforting Miwa. She stroked her hair, released the faintest whiff of pheromones that could pass through the scarf she wore, and rubbed a hand up and down her back slowly, in time with her own breaths. Up, breathe in, down, breathe out. Up, breathe in, down, breathe out.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Miwa’s breaths finally evened out and she stopped shaking so much. Her fingers relaxed, no longer leaving divots in her back through her shirt, but she didn’t pull away for a while longer. She was probably embarrassed. Midori still knew her well enough to understand that much. That was why she was the first one to break away, avoiding Miwa’s eyes while she quietly dug a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and offered them to the beta.

Miwa gave a half-abandoned chuckle and took the pack, pulling out a cigarette for herself before handing it back. Midori took one as well and produced a lighter for them both.

“I can’t believe you still smoke this shit,” Miwa commented, pursing the butt of the cigarette between her lips and leaning her head down a bit to catch the lighter’s flame.

“Menthol just tastes cleaner,” Midori defended, the corner of her lips quirking upward as well. After lighting her own cigarette, she pocketed the items again and they turned to lean against the bridge railing in an identical lean, blowing smoke out into the night. For the first time since reuniting with Miwa, she felt…calm. Maybe not wholly comfortable or content, but calm nonetheless.

“...Hell of a situation you got yourself into,” Miwa noted, flicking her cigarette over the water. Midori hummed in agreement.

“You never did explain how you got involved,” she pointed out, glancing over at the beta. Miwa met her eyes for all of a second before averting her gaze again, taking a puff.

“Surprised you haven’t figured it out yet,” she said. “Thought you saw the tattoos yesterday.”

Midori thought back to the day before, when they had their little scuffle in Yachi’s apartment. She recalled glimpsing the ink that coloured Miwa’s shoulders, visible around the straps of her tank-top, but she hadn’t put much more thought to it until now. It seemed like an inconsequential detail to linger on, all things considered.

“I did,” she confirmed. “But what does that have to do with—”

Ah. Wait.

“...The Yakuza,” she surmised, nodding her head slowly as she said it as if trying to make sense of the words. She looked at Miwa again. “You’re in the Yakuza?” The beta nodded.

“Kyokuto-kai. Next April will make it three and a half years.”

Midori blinked. Three and a half years. Miwa had been in the Yakuza for three and a half years and Midori had no idea. Then again, why would she? She had practically made it her life’s mission to forget everything about Miwa and never think about her again. So much for that.

“...Isn’t it dangerous?” she found herself asking. Miwa snorted.

“Well, it ain’t a walk in the park, sweetheart,” she said. “Yeah, it can get kinda dicey. I’ve had my fair share of close calls. I’m not high-level enough to see that much action, but still low-level enough that I’m considered disposable. Kinda like a pawn.” She shrugged, puffing from her cigarette again and flicking it over the railing. “One day I’ll get promoted.”

“Do you really want that?” Midori asked before she could think better of it. Miwa glanced at her again, quiet for a moment before she responded.

“The Yakuza gave me a purpose, after…” She let the silence speak for itself. “I owe them my life. I don’t mind putting it on the line for them if it means showing my gratitude.”

Midori couldn’t help but think that, in a literal sense, Miwa owed her life to her, too, but she knew this was different. Miwa was still miserable when she left with Takeru. She had threatened to hurt herself more times since the incident, even made a couple more attempts, but something always stopped her. Either Midori physically got in the way, or Takeru would make his presence known, or some obligation would come up, so on and so forth. Midori wondered if most of those instances were less like obstacles and more like excuses to keep hanging on. She knew Miwa had been finding “excuses” for a long time, long before the incident. She didn’t exactly have an easy life growing up.

“...I hope you find what you’re looking for then,” she said after a while. Out of the corner of her eyes, she thought she saw a genuine smile cross over Miwa’s lips.

“...Me, too.”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Dinner with Iwaizumi. The thought shouldn’t have made Oikawa so nervous, but here he was, fretting over his hair and whether or not his bowtie would match better with simple, nondescript cufflinks or the more ornate pair, and not even to mention his makeup. Black eyeliner seemed the most sensible, but would it look too slutty? He really liked how smoky, light blue eyeshadow looked with a pale silver, but that would be a little over the top, right? Should he even worry about contouring, or hope the lighting in the restaurant would suffice? Gods, he wished he could get that little tuft of hair to lie flat.

“Dude, you need to stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Hanamaki chided from where Oikawa’s phone was propped up on his vanity, their video call still going. Oikawa glared at it, but Hanamaki couldn’t even see his face at this angle.

“You don’t get it, Makki,” he said with a groan, trying and failing to apply just the right amount of hairspray to make the little traitor stay in place without making the rest of his hair feel gross and stiff. “This is important. If Mattsun is going to see me on a date with someone, another alpha, it needs to be convincing. I can’t look too easy, or he’ll get suspicious, but I can’t look like I’m trying too hard, either, because we’d be in public. I have to look just the right amount of flirtatious, yet professional, like I’m having dinner with a fellow celebrity and I’m dropping hints that I might be persuaded to swing that way if the night goes well.” Hanamaki’s snort-cackle carried brokenly through the phone.

“Do you know how fuckin’ ridiculous that sounds? That’s so stupidly specific. You sound like a psychopath.”

“Says the one who’s never even tried to put effort into his looks a day in his life,” Oikawa mumbled, finally settling on the silver and blue eyeshadow. He held his head still and stared at himself in the mirror with all the intensity of a jaded school teacher just waiting to catch a student cheating on a test.

“I heard that, asshole,” Hanamaki shot back. “And I’m serious. You need to stop overthinking it.”

“Easier said than done,” Oikawa said distractedly. “Hey, so, what did you say to Mattsun? To get him to agree to this?” He started on his other eye once he was sure he was satisfied with the first.

“Uh… Fuck, what did I say?” Hanamaki muttered half to himself before snapping his fingers. “Oh, yeah. I told him if he didn’t let me take him out to dinner for one night, I’d trash all his Queen albums.” Oikawa gasped, genuinely horrified, and leaned back to gape into the camera on his phone.

“Evil, Makki!” The beta just snickered.

“You know I’d never do him dirty like that, but I figured I’d set the bar high so he had no choice but to agree.” Oikawa shook his head at him and returned to his makeup application. “So you gonna tell me about this fake alpha boyfriend of yours or what?”

“Uhhhhh.” Oikawa stalled, racking his brain for something to say that wasn’t entirely too incriminating. For one, he wasn’t quite sure what all Iwaizumi would want him to share with people, even his friends. For two, he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to share, even with Hanamaki. Especially after the way their conversation ended at the izakaya. “He likes Godzilla,” he said eventually, figuring that was a safe bet. He saw Hanamaki’s strawberry blond hair pop back into frame from where he’d bent over to put on his shoes.

“Oh shit, for real? Tell him to hit me up sometime.” Oikawa laughed and rolled his eyes.

“You sure about that? He gets real sweaty about it. Like, he knows everything about Godzilla. Everything. ”

“Bet. I wanna see the look on his face when I tell him Godzilla vs. Hedorah is shit and GINO is the best Godzilla incarnation ever.”

“...I have no idea what any of that means, but more power to you, I guess,” Oikawa said, chuckling to himself at the absurdity of whatever Hanamaki just said. He probably would never understand anything about Godzilla to the degree that Iwaizumi or even Hanamaki seemed to, and he was just fine with that.

“What’s his name, anyway?” Hanamaki asked.

“Iwaizumi.”

“First name?” Oikawa squinted at him in the camera.

“Who’s asking?”

“Me, Mister Paranoid. Come on, don’t I have a right to know who’s gonna be complicit in breaking the heart of the love of my life?”

That gave Oikawa pause, and his expression softened. He would admit he was still processing the fact that Hanamaki was in love with Matsukawa. The fact of his… condition hadn’t left Oikawa’s mind since it came to light, but it still baffled him that Hanamaki had kept his feelings to himself all this time. Actually, he realized he didn’t even really know how long Hanamaki had felt that way about Matsukawa, but he imagined those feelings must have developed somewhat recently, or at least Hanamaki himself hadn’t realized them before.

“No, you’re right. It’s—”

Uh.

“...It’s…?” Hanamaki urged, raising brows. Oikawa blinked. “What? Don’t tell me you never got his first name.”

“No, no, I definitely did,” Oikawa defended. “It’s… Crap!”

“Iwaizumi Crap?” Hanamaki snorted.

“No, shut up. It’s just that I always call him Iwa-chan and we only ever introduced ourselves the one time—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, ‘Iwa-chan’?” Hanamaki’s face scrunched up. “Didn’t realize you two were that familiar.” Oikawa bit out a sigh.

“We’re not. I just—gave him a stupid nickname when we met because he pissed me off and I was trying to make fun of him.” It sounded like a pretty feeble excuse, now that he was saying it out loud. “It’s—... Give me a second.”

“Might wanna figure it out on the way to the restaurant,” Hanamaki said instead. “I’m gonna go see if Matsu’s ready and we’re gonna head out. I told the staff to reserve our tables in view of each other, so just give ‘em your name when you get there.”

“Okay, yeah. Sounds good. See you soon.”

They ended the video call and Oikawa closed his eyes to take a deep breath. He was…unreasonably bothered by the fact that he couldn’t remember Iwaizumi’s first name. Was that bad? Would he be mad if Oikawa asked him for it again? Why didn’t it ever occur to him until now that he couldn’t remember it? Sure, sometimes he forgot to use proper names when introducing his friends to people, but he could correct himself. Now he just felt like kind of an idiot.

Oikawa finished getting ready and texted Iwaizumi that he would be there shortly to pick him up. Yes, they would be riding together. They mutually decided it would establish more credibility, assuming Matsukawa could stand to stay through dinner until the two of them left together first, as was agreed upon beforehand. Once he was in his car and driving down the road toward Iwaizumi’s apartment complex, it hit him all at once how very real this felt.

Before, Oikawa could have rationalized his actions as something of an experiment, like the demo version of a game. There were no real, long-lasting consequences and, if he wanted to, he could have easily explained himself to Matsukawa and apologized. He could have given up on his half-baked plan and opted instead to be there for his best friend as much as he could before…before the Hanahaki took him. He could have done that.

Now, though, once they stepped into that restaurant, there would be consequences. Matsukawa would have a face to put next to Oikawa’s callous behaviour. Maybe even a name, if the opportunity arose. He would have real, physical evidence that Oikawa had turned his back on him and it wouldn’t be left to interpretation. He would be one step closer to hating Oikawa and, if Hanamaki’s thoughts were anywhere aligned with Oikawa’s, one step closer to realizing that he had someone far more worthy of his love right there in front of him. It all seemed so simple. In theory.

Parked outside the complex, Oikawa let Iwaizumi know he was there, then waited for the alpha to appear through the front doors. He did, a few moments later, and Oikawa couldn’t help but stare. It was dark and the light coming from the street lamps was far from flattering, but it wasn’t hard to tell that Iwaizumi cleaned up well. His suit was a sharp, sleek grey with a salmon tie tucked into a crisp black vest that complemented the light blue tie Oikawa had opted to wear to match his eyeshadow. And when Iwaizumi got closer, passing in front of the headlights, Oikawa could swear there was just a touch of black around his eyes—not too much to be immediately noticeable, especially not to someone who had never met him before, but enough that Oikawa noticed.

He swallowed down the dryness in his mouth, pointedly keeping his eyes on the hood of his car as Iwaizumi opened the passenger side door and got inside.

“Hey,” the other alpha greeted, settling in and buckling up. “I didn’t keep us too long, did I?”

“Hm?” Oikawa almost, almost looked over at him, but thought better of it at the last second, diverting his attention back to the car as he put it into reverse and started to exit the parking lot. “Oh, no, not at all. We’ll be right on time, I think.”

“Cool.” They were quiet for a moment until Oikawa got back onto the road. “...So, where are we eating, exactly?”

Oikawa did look at him this time. Did he not tell Iwaizumi what restaurant they were going to? That seemed like a fairly important detail. He remembered mentioning that it was classy, so they wanted to dress smart, but did he really not give the name? Also, did Iwaizumi use hair gel? His black spikes seemed unusually tamed tonight, but still with a fair amount of ruggedness, like an intentional mess. It really worked for him. Was he wearing more earrings than normal? Oikawa never noticed that he had multiple piercings.

His head snapped back to the road when the shift of the traffic light ahead going from green to yellow caught his attention, his foot pressing down on the breaks with a bit more force than necessary. He eased back into a slow crawl until he stopped at the line, but he didn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s hand shot out toward the centre console, dangerously close to Oikawa’s thigh. He cleared his throat and proceeded to ignore the way Iwaizumi slowly turned his head to stare at him.

“Nihonryori RyuGin,” he said finally. Iwaizumi promptly choked on air.

“ What? Isn’t that place, like, super expensive?” he asked, losing a bit of colour in his face. Not that Oikawa noticed because he definitely was not looking at Iwaizumi anymore.

“Well, yes, but don’t worry. I’m paying,” he assured. However, that seemed to be the exact opposite of reassuring.

“Wh— I— Okay, no. ” Oikawa arched a brow, only sparing him a hint of a glance before returning his attention to the road when the light turned green again.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean, I’m not letting you pay for me again.” Oikawa couldn’t stifle his laugh in time.

“Iwa-chan, please. Some of the wine there costs upwards of twenty thousand yen. I’m paying.” It was like he could see Iwaizumi’s soul departing from his body.

“Twenty thousand? ” he repeated, barely making any noise with his mouth at all. Oikawa nodded with a hum. Iwaizumi was quiet for a moment, then, “...Okay. You’re paying.” Oikawa laughed again, this time more bright. He steered the conversation away from the cost of their night out for the rest of the drive, which thankfully wasn’t long.

When they arrived, Oikawa gave the host his name as Hanamaki had instructed, and they were led into the restaurant. On the walk there, he plotted quietly with Iwaizumi, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard nor disturb the other guests.

“Now remember, try not to be too obvious,” he said. “Mattsun doesn’t know my fake suitor is an alpha yet. He overheard our phone call that one time, so he knows that I call someone ‘babe’, but he doesn’t have to know that’s you right away. Given the general opinion about same rank relationships, particularly regarding alphas, it’s only natural we would want to be discreet in public.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi said in a way that indicated he had no idea what the hell he was being asked to do.

“Don’t sweat it. Just follow my lead,” Oikawa offered. Iwaizumi nodded and they were guided to their table.

When they sat down, Oikawa immediately scanned their section of the restaurant for a head of strawberry blond hair. Hanamaki had said their tables would be in view of each other, and he and Matsukawa had left a little before Oikawa even went to pick up Iwaizumi, so he figured they should be here already. He finally spotted his friends just down the aisle, their table on the opposite wall so that they were seated somewhat diagonally from each other. Not only that, but Matsukawa was seated facing their direction. Good. That was perfect.

The host disappeared with their drink orders and promised a waiter would be by shortly. Iwaizumi shifted around in his seat, glancing awkwardly behind himself as if he, too, were searching for the people he hadn’t even met yet. Oikawa reached across the table to tap his arm, snapping the alpha’s attention back to him.

“Relax. You look suspicious,” he warned. Iwaizumi cleared his throat softly and adjusted his cuffs, resting his hands on the table in front of him and sitting entirely too stiff. Oikawa huffed a laugh through his nose. “You act like you’ve never been on a date before.”

Iwaizumi just looked at him. Oikawa blinked.

“Wait— Is this really—?”

“Don’t rub it in,” Iwaizumi hissed. “I haven’t exactly had many suitors to take on dates before.” Oikawa pursed his lips.

“...Right. Sorry.”

“...It’s fine. So—are they here?” Oikawa nodded, leaning forward just a bit to incline his head in the direction of Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s table.

“Over there. Don’t look,” he added quickly when Iwaizumi made to look over his shoulder. “Just keep your eyes on me. Makki will make sure Mattsun sees what he needs to see.” He sat back again to fish his phone out of his jacket.

“Wait, which one is which again?” Iwaizumi asked, but Oikawa promptly shushed him as he started texting Hanamaki.

Oikawa lifted his eyes again to watch the back of Hanamaki’s head as it dipped down, presumably to read his text. He distantly heard him say something to Matsukawa before turning around, half-standing in his booth to make it very obvious he was looking for someone, until his eyes landed on Oikawa’s. They shared an indiscernible nod before Hanamaki looked around the restaurant for a moment longer and then sat down again, shrugging at Matsukawa and making some joke, by the sound of it.

The game was set.

Oikawa snorted quietly at that and then put his phone away. Iwaizumi furrowed his brows at him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just Makki being silly.”

“He say something about me?” Oikawa rolled his eyes.

“Self-absorbed much? We were just making sure we’re on the same page. Now…” Oikawa grabbed one of the menus the host left for them, flipping it open to start perusing the dishes. “What shall we have for dinner, Iwa-chan?”

It really was quite the lavish restaurant. It encouraged Oikawa to splurge just a bit, since he had the opportunity, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had been out on a proper date. Not that this was really “proper”, per se, but it was close enough. He chose not to dwell on the gaping span of time between now and what used to be a rather wild dating life. Sure, he’d had Alisa over for dinner at his place the other night, but that was practically business. She talked a lot about her band and wanting to do a collaboration (and don’t get him wrong; he loved listening to her talk), asked him about how he climbed the celebrity ladder so quickly (he didn’t), tried to debate with him about the pros and cons of live performance versus virtual entertainment.

Oikawa truthfully found her exceptionally engaging to converse with, but he couldn’t lie and say that that “date” had felt like anything more than an earnest attempt at networking. By the end of the night he was convinced she was only looking for a friend at best, a foothold in the world of stardom at worst, and he was perfectly content to step into either role. She was quite darling, and Oikawa could tell from the way she spoke with her whole body and eyes that she was passionate about her craft, so he was happy to help lift her into the spotlight. Even if that meant sharing it with Miya fucking Atsumu.

He still wasn’t sure what was up between those two. Miya had acted so possessive of Alisa that day that Oikawa might have thought they were courting. He wondered about that hypothesis after seeing the way Alisa coyly flirted her way into the idol’s good graces, but, then again, maybe they were all in on it. Wow, his train of thought was turning more bitter by the second and he really needed to stop obsessing about it. It was fine to be a little disappointed at how things had turned out, but for goodness sake, it was only one date. For all he knew, maybe getting really animated over how to navigate the music industry to one’s advantage was how Alisa opened up to people she was interested in. Or maybe he was just fooling himself to try to make himself feel a little bit better about being friend zoned. Gods, he was pathetic.

“Hey…are you okay?” he heard Iwaizumi ask from across the table, his head snapping up to regard the other alpha. “You’ve been burning holes into that menu for, like, three minutes now. Something on your mind?”

Gee, what a question. Perhaps Iwaizumi had forgotten all about the reason they were here. More likely, though, was that he was all too aware of it, and all too aware of how Oikawa constantly rationalized it to himself, so he had no trouble spotting the way his attention had shifted from their goal to an entirely separate point of consternation.

…Nah. Iwaizumi wasn’t that perceptive, even if he could be annoyingly sharp at times.

“Actually, I was just trying to decide between the stuffed squid and simmered daikon,” he fibbed, glancing back down at the menu he had completely ignored up until now and pretending not to notice the judgemental way Iwaizumi scrunched up his face. “You know, why don’t I get us a bottle of Soko Daiginjo to share, hm?” Iwaizumi’s brows shot up and he sat up straighter as if those words had jerked him out of a daydream.

“ Really? ” he challenged. “You wanna get drunk and throw up in the bathroom here. ” Oikawa squinted at him.

“I’m not gonna get drunk, and I’m not gonna throw up. That was one time after a bit too much to drink,” he said, folding the menu closed again and placing it back on the table so that he could cross his arms over his chest. “Not to mention that I won’t be drinking on an empty stomach this time.”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi chirped with a shake of his head, glancing over his menu one more time. “Whatever you say…” He proceeded to mutter something under his breath that sounded vaguely insulting. Oikawa’s eyebrow twitched.

“What was that?” Iwaizumi hummed innocently, slowly putting down his menu.

“Nothing,” he claimed, raising his eyes to look at Oikawa head-on again. “Nothing at all.”

Oikawa stared at him, head half-tilted, flexing his jaw as if to keep his tongue in check. He would question this sudden shift in demeanor, but grinding Oikawa’s gears seemed to come naturally to Iwaizumi, so really it wasn’t all that out of place. That didn’t mean Oikawa didn’t still kind of want to punch that smarmy look off his face, though.

Their waiter arrived with their drinks: jasmine tea for Oikawa, water for Iwaizumi. Of course. Oikawa discreetly rolled his eyes at the sight of the drink and sipped at his own, looking off to the side.

“Alright, what the hell?” Iwaizumi snapped, quiet but still affronted. Oikawa gave him a once-over that was at least twice as judgemental as the look he’d received earlier.

“Come on. Water? First black coffee, now this? Do you even know what the word ‘fun’ means, or do you actually enjoy having a shriveled knot?”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you,” Iwaizumi shot back in the most dramatic manner Oikawa had ever witnessed him use (which still wasn’t a fraction of how dramatic Oikawa could be, but it was still funny to see). “Second of all, there’s nothing wrong with water. Or black coffee.”

“Maybe your problem isn’t that you’re into alphas, but because you live like a crusty old windbag who gets excited for Bingo night,” Oikawa proposed as if stumbling into an epiphany. Iwaizumi blinked at him, staunchly unamused.

“Says the guy who covers up the moles on his neck with foundation because, and I quote, ‘it looks like someone took a handful of dog crap and threw it into a fan pointed at you’.” Oikawa gasped at that, a hand flying to his throat reflexively as he glanced around as if to see if anyone heard that.

“I told you about that in confidence!” he hissed across the table. Iwaizumi raised and dropped his eyebrows at him, bringing his glass of water to his lips. Oikawa narrowed his eyes and sat back in his chair, holding the other’s gaze as he none too subtly shoved the toe of his shoe into Iwaizumi’s shin.

The other alpha jumped so hard he inhaled water through his nose and sputtered, spilling a little on the table and the front of his shirt. Oikawa snorted unexpectedly, moving his hand to cover his face as he broke out into a fit of poorly suppressed giggles. He didn’t miss the wide-eyed glare Iwaizumi pierced him with, only making it that much harder to keep his laughter in check.

“Dude,” Iwaizumi whisper-shouted, hastily snatching a couple of napkins from the edge of their table to attempt to dry up the mess. “What is your problem? ”

“ My problem?” Oikawa repeated, quickly recovering to give Iwaizumi an incredulous look, though his lips still turned up at the corners. “ My problem is that you don’t know how to loosen up.”

“That’s what you think,” Iwaizumi muttered. Oikawa chuckled out an intrigued little “Oho?” as he watched the other dab at his shirt. “You haven’t seen me loosened up.”

“Maybe I’d like to,” Oikawa said before he could think better of it. Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered up to catch his, pausing his movement as they stared at each other.

For a moment, Oikawa considered back-pedaling harder than he ever had in his life and shatter the tension with another petty jab at some nonexistent insecurity. Because he was Oikawa, however, he did the exact opposite. He leaned forward on his elbows, one hand raised to prop up his cheek, and leveled Iwaizumi with an unblinking gaze.

“Maybe you should loosen up for me sometime.”

It was then that he noticed that, in the soft amber glow of the restaurant lights, Iwaizumi’s eyes were green. Not the slate grey he had met on the street, dampened by a miserable day. Not the sterling silver that caught the light refracting off the glassware at the bar. Not the smoky charcoal that soldered him in place in his kitchen with every intention of swallowing him whole. No, these eyes were deep like an everglade, shimmering on the surface but hiding something underneath, dark and powerful and inviting. They were the echo in a valley that beckoned him into the trees, closer, curious, exciting.

Dangerous.

Those eyes were dangerous.

The sound of muffled coughing broke the spell between them with inelegance. Oikawa jerked his head up, his eyes searching behind Iwaizumi for the source of the noise. It shouldn’t have shocked him to find that it came from none other than Matsukawa, but it did, and a new wave of guilt settled over him. What am I doing?

He didn’t need anyone to tell him that he was being foolish. Sitting here, mere feet away from Matsukawa, getting lost in the eyes of another alpha.

But wasn’t that the plan?

No, no, the plan was to pretend. He was supposed to pretend to be smitten, to be cruel, to be someone Matsukawa could hate. He wasn’t supposed to become that person.

It seemed like the distinction was becoming less clear the longer this dragged on.