The next day, after a fitful slumber that left him feeling just as tired when he woke up as when he went to bed last night, Oikawa sent a simple text to Matsukawa: Can we meet today? It was cryptic at best, but Oikawa knew that if he tried to be more forward, more apologetic, then he would end up badly over-explaining himself and that just wasn’t something he wanted to do over a text message.
He didn’t get an immediate response (and why would he?), so Oikawa made breakfast for himself while he waited. Now that it was the weekend, he had a couple days to himself that he intended to take full advantage of. He was in the middle of his blueberry waffles when his phone started ringing, nearly making him jump clear out of his seat as he dropped his fork and scrambled to answer it. When he noticed the caller ID, though, his brows furrowed.
“Makki?” he asked once he answered the phone, quickly dabbing at his lips with a napkin. “I thought you were still busy preparing for your—”
“Yeah, I am, but listen,” Hanamaki cut in through the other line. His tone of voice had Oikawa falling quiet and pursing his lips. “Matsu got your text, but...he’s not feeling that great right now, so he wanted me to ask you for a rain check.”
The first little bubbles of panic gripped Oikawa’s heart. He really, really wanted to believe it was just some cold or maybe a fever at worst, but then why make Hanamaki a proxy between them? Why not just tell Oikawa himself? He tightened his grip on his phone and tried to keep his voice steady.
“I could call him then,” he reasoned. “It’s more of a conversation that should happen in person, but if he’s not feeling well—”
“He doesn’t really wanna talk to anyone.”
“Well, I really need to talk to him—”
“That’s not a good idea right now, Oikawa.”
Hanamaki’s voice carried like ice through the speaker. Oikawa wanted to be mad, wanted to growl about how Hanamaki had no right to keep him from seeing his friend, especially if he were as ill as it sounded, but he just...couldn’t. He didn’t know how much Hanamaki knew about the situation. He and Matsukawa had always been thicker than thieves, inseparable from the start. Oikawa was sure they must have talked about this. Gods, what if Hanamaki had known that Matsukawa was going to confess that day? What if, like the good, supportive friend he was, Hanamaki had given him the encouragement to do it? How must he feel about Oikawa now, undoubtedly privy to his silent, cowardly rejection? What did Hanamaki think of him?
He swallowed, a thick lump forming in his throat.
“...I understand. Will you let him know I hope he gets better?”
“...Yeah, I will.”
“And Makki—”
“I gotta go meet with my lawyer. Talk to you later.”
The line went dead. Oikawa sat there for a few moments longer, staring down at his black phone screen. He couldn’t help but wonder—was Matsukawa really...sick, or was he just avoiding him, too ashamed to face him? Selfishly Oikawa hoped for the latter, but neither option was pleasant to think about. How was he supposed to feel knowing that his best friend was either wallowing in shame or choking on it?
He winced at the thought. Just imagining Matsukawa coughing up bloody flower petals (and who knew for how long) all because of him made him squeeze his eyes shut to banish the imagery. He was disgusted with himself. But what could he have done differently? Even if he had stayed and faced Matsukawa while he broke his heart, it wouldn’t have mattered. That was how Hanahaki Disease worked. Once it had its claws in you, there was only one way out of it.
Well, two in all technicality, but the second option was downright unthinkable for most. Who could ever willingly give up their heart (in a metaphorical sense) in exchange for a longer, but emptier life? Was it even worth it at that point? What was the point of getting to live if it meant you could never feel love again? Many people felt the same way. The surgery was thus a heated point of controversy. How many had taken their own lives afterward? How many people did it actually save?
Oikawa felt sick to his stomach. He picked up his phone again and called the only person he could even think about talking to about any of this.
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Yahaba, despite his age, was wise beyond his years. Still petty and immature just like Oikawa (and some of that might be his own fault for rubbing off on the omega during high school), but wise nonetheless. Yahaba had gone on to become team captain after Oikawa graduated, an accomplishment he was endlessly proud of, considering how difficult it was for an omega to be recognized in that way. Sports had always been a vicious world for omegas, that much was certain. And while he never developed any flashy, special moves to catch anyone’s attention, his masterful strategizing on the court caused quite a stir and earned him a reputation of his own as some sort of volleyball mastermind.
“Tell me you didn’t,” Yahaba pleaded, eyes wide and desperate. Oikawa buried his face in his hands.
“I did,” he groaned. “And then this morning I texted him to see if we could talk and Makki called me to say—”
“Makki?”
“Yeah! Apparently Mattsun can talk to him, but not me.” He really tried not to sound so miffed about that, but he didn’t have much luck. “Anyway, he said Mattsun was...sick.”
He watched the realization dawn over Yahaba’s face as he leaned back in his chair at the dining room table in his house, hands clutching at his cup of tea.
“Sick…?” he asked, clearly fishing for a very specific answer.
“I don’t know if it’s...that,” Oikawa admitted, lowering his hands to stare into his own tea instead. “Makki didn’t say. But he would, right? If it—”
He glanced up at Yahaba, hoping for some kind of reassurance or insight or anything to make this feel less like Oikawa was inadvertently killing his best friend. Yahaba looked thoughtful for a moment, a crease in his brow.
“Even if it is,” he began quietly, staring intently at the grain on the table, “that doesn’t mean he’ll—… I mean, all he has to do is stop loving you, right?” Oikawa’s eyes widened and then he scoffed.
“You say that like it’s so easy. And besides...there’s no guarantee that would work. Name five people who’ve ever recovered from it like that.”
Yahaba pursed his lips, clearly aware that Oikawa had a point, yet reluctant to admit it. Oikawa sighed and smiled sadly down at his tea.
“Falling out of love isn’t as simple as falling into it,” he said. “That’s kind of messed up, isn’t it? I’d have to make him really hate me…”
“...You’re not actually considering doing that, are you?” Yahaba asked, glaring at him accusingly across the table now. “You can’t make Matsukawa hate you. That’s—that doesn’t even make sense! You two are best friends. He could never hate you. And—and that’s just stupid, anyway! What would happen to all of us if he hated you that much? Do you know how awkward team reunions would be?”
Oikawa knew Yahaba was trying to make light of it, make it seem like a laughable, pointless notion, but now that Oikawa had said it, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. If Matsukawa truly did have Hanahaki Disease, if he truly were lying in bed and suffering for what his heart couldn’t help, then the solution seemed clear.
Oikawa had to find a way to make Matsukawa hate him.
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Back at his flat that he shared with two roommates, Iwaizumi went about his morning routine as usual. Wake up, brush his teeth, take a shower, shove his headphones as far into his ears as he could to drown out the sounds of his roommates fucking like rabbits in the other room with music that was way too loud, make breakfast, then go for his morning jog.
He couldn’t get out of the house quick enough, quite honestly. He was very fond of his roommates, make no mistake. They were great people, but their libidos were insatiable and Iwaizumi had a hard enough time sleeping as it was. The only reason Bokuto even tolerated Iwaizumi being in the same flat during his rut or Akaashi’s heat was because of Iwaizumi’s suppressants. In addition to keeping his ruts and baser instincts at bay, they also served to mute his scent, or at least the more dominant aspects of it that would normally throw another alpha into a raging frenzy if he were anywhere near their omega in heat.
Still, Iwaizumi preferred to stay out of the house as much as possible during these times. His morning jog was a welcome reprieve and he relished the refreshing, misty autumn air that still carried hints of last night’s storm. It was a bad one for sure. Some areas closer to the coast had been completely flooded. He’d heard about a couple of wrecks around town due to hydroplaning last night, too. He hoped no one got seriously injured, at least.
Halfway through his run, Iwaizumi stopped to stretch and rest at the same bench he always did. His jog normally consisted of a few laps around the block, or sometimes he would take to the nearby hiking trail for a little more of a challenge. He’d thought about doing that today, but decided against it. The ground was probably too wet and unstable after the storm and there was probably debris along the path that still needed to be cleared.
He chanced a glance up at the treeline across the street from him that fed into a cemetery. For a split second, he caught a flash of white standing at the far end, just barely obscured by tombstones and trees, and a striking splash of red. Iwaizumi did a double-take, nearly toppling over when he tried to regain his balance after stretching out his leg, but when he looked back at that spot, the figure was gone.
Iwaizumi idly scratched the back of his head, glancing around as if to determine if literally anybody else had just seen a girl with long black hair and a red flower dressed in white, but it seemed he was the only one around at this hour. He took one last glance at the cemetery before deciding it was time to continue his jog. As he turned his back to continue on his way, he felt a chill run down his spine as the wind picked up and stung at his cheeks, the strange feeling of being watched keeping the hairs on the back of his neck raised all the way back to the flat.
Now, Iwaizumi wasn’t really one for superstitions, so he was content to dismiss the non-encounter as the product of lack of sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time he started seeing weird things when he was exceptionally tired. He yawned as he twisted the keys in the door to the flat and stepped inside, happy to be met with the sound of the TV playing in the living room. Of course, the heady scent of sex still hung heavily in the air, but he could at least appreciate Akaashi’s attempts to hide it with the incense he was burning on the coffee table.
“Welcome back,” the omega greeted from where he and Bokuto were wrapped up in each other on one side of the couch. “Have a good run?”
“Yeah. Was fine,” Iwaizumi answered, tugging out his headphones and wrapping the cord around his phone to set it on the counter for the time being. “Have a good marathon?” he asked as he wandered into the kitchen to grab an apple out of the basket on the table.
“We actually just started this series—” Bokuto began to answer until the true meaning of Iwaizumi’s question struck him. Iwaizumi snickered and dodged the throw pillow Bokuto launched at him over the back of the couch. “Shut up, dude. You know I can’t deny my beautiful little omega when he gets like that ~”
Bokuto nuzzled his face into Akaashi’s hair, seemingly oblivious (or perhaps all too aware) of the way Akaashi’s face burned and how he tried to hide deeper in the blankets drawn around them. Akaashi was a pretty outspoken guy who constantly challenged stereotypes and encouraged Bokuto to do the same, but his guilty pleasure was having his alpha dote on him. Iwaizumi only knew because he was privy to it literally every single day. Any other time, especially out in public, Akaashi was very much the independent, free-thinking omega others looked up to. Really, he was the one who had Bokuto wrapped around his finger. That alpha was just an obedient little puppy dog for his darling omega.
“Did you guys check in with Kenma and Kuroo this morning?” Iwaizumi asked as he joined the two in the living room, taking a seat on the arm chair rather than the two-thirds of the couch that was still empty. His suppressants may have muted his alpha scent, but he still didn’t dare to get too close to Akaashi with Bokuto in the same room. That was just a brawl waiting to happen. “Their neighbourhood was one of the ones that got flooded.”
“Yeah, Kuroo actually called us to let us know they were okay,” Akaashi said, peeking out from under the blankets again finally. “They stayed with Kenma’s family last night to wait out the storm. Apparently the damage wasn’t too bad and they said their insurance would cover it all anyway.”
“That’s good,” Iwaizumi said, relaxing. “I was worried.”
“Speakin’ of which,” Bokuto chimed in, eyeing Iwaizumi warily. “You got in late last night. Everything okay on the way home?”
“Yeah, I just got caught out in the thick of it and hunkered down in a little coffee shop until the worst of it passed,” Iwaizumi assured. “I took a cab back after that.”
“You didn’t take your umbrella with you?” Bokuto asked. Ah, right. That. Iwaizumi lightly cleared his throat, diverting his attention to the show playing on the TV.
“I did, yeah, but I ran into someone who didn’t have one, so I let him take it.” He tried to play it off as casually as possible, but he knew better than to expect mercy from Bokuto. Or Akaashi, for that matter. Both of his roommates were daemons in disguise.
“Oh?” Bokuto cooed, bobbing his head in that way he did when he was far too interested in something he shouldn’t stick his nose into. “So you got caught in the rain with a helpless damsel and you just couldn’t resist their charms, huh? That’s my little Casanova!”
“Okay, first of all, fuck you, I’m not little. Second of all, it’s not like that—”
“But you gave him your umbrella,” Akaashi noted.
“And?”
“You could have called a cab for him instead,” Bokuto added.
“So?”
“So you wanna see him again,” they both concluded in unison. Iwaizumi let his head fall back against the chair with a groan.
“He’s an alpha, assholes, not a ‘helpless damsel’, and I didn’t fall for anyone’s charms, thank you very much.” He lifted his head to pin the two of them with a glare. “He was just some guy on the street with a shitty attitude who forgot to bring an umbrella. I didn’t really analyze all my options at the time. I kinda just wanted to get him off my back.”
He wasn’t about to go into detail about how bumping into that alpha had been entirely his fault because he’d been so taken with Oikawa’s beauty and how the thick scent of honey and sea salt had beckoned him forward like a siren song and before he knew it they’d walked right into each other, both of them evidently blind and deaf to any of their surroundings. He had to wonder what had been on the alpha’s mind back then. He’d looked so lost in thought, like he was contemplating a life-changing decision. Maybe he was.
“So what if he’s an alpha?” Akaashi’s voice rang through the memory replaying in Iwaizumi’s head, much like it had for most of last night. Akaashi kept his eyes on the TV, but his expression was serious. “If you want to see him again, there’s nothing stopping you.”
Iwaizumi never liked these conversations. Well, he did, kind of, seeing as his roommates were two of the most supportive, open-minded people he knew, but the topic never failed to remind him of just how...broken he was.
“I know that look,” Bokuto warned with an accusing stare. “You’re about to start moping around and feeling sorry for yourself again.”
“I don’t mope around,” Iwaizumi defended, crossing his arms. He wasn’t some kind of brooding, tragically lovesick protagonist. He read enough about those in comic books to know how to avoid becoming one. Surely. “It’s just...pointless to think about it. You know?”
“It’s not pointless,” Akaashi said, looking at him now with the same eyes that had won him countless arguments in the past. “It’s who you are. You shouldn’t let your fears hold you back.”
“Shouldn’t I?” Iwaizumi asked, meeting his gaze head on. “There’s no good ending for someone like me if I try to act like this is all normal.”
“It is normal—”
“No it’s not!”
He didn’t really mean to raise his voice, but Bokuto’s warning growl was more than enough to cool his head marginally so that he could huff out a sigh instead.
“I’ll be in my room.”
With that, he got up and stormed down the hall to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and counted to ten before letting it out slowly. Then he walked to his bed, stripping off his jogging clothes until he was just in his boxers before sprawling out over his mattress. The air was cold against his skin, especially since he still ran a bit hot after his jog, but it helped to clear his mind a bit.
He appreciated Akaashi for trying to be supportive. He knew that was all it was. They were both his friends and they wanted him to be able to pursue what he wanted to pursue and love who he wanted to love. It wasn’t that easy, though.
He was broken. His whole chemical makeup was ass backwards. He never gave half a shit about omegas. Not as in he didn’t care about them, but they didn’t affect him the same way they affected other alphas. Sure, if he weren’t taking suppressants and he happened to be in the same room as an unclaimed omega in heat, he would probably feel a stir, but it was nowhere near as intense as the way other people described it. He just wasn’t drawn to petite omegas or the idea of claiming them into submission or filling them with his pups. That in and of itself was cause for concern when it came to an alpha.
And to top it all off, what did manage to affect him, as fucked up as it sounded, was other alphas. Of course, on the surface, there was still the same aggression, the same territorial response, but more than that, there was an excitement to it, a certain thrill that accompanied posturing against another alpha, finding ways to show that one was more dominant than the other.
And don’t even get him started on being around alphas in rut. Iwaizumi had never been more turned on than the first time he accidentally found himself in an enclosed space with another rutting alpha who naturally took his presence as a threat to any prospective mates in the area and proceeded to try to rip out his jugular with his teeth. This was back when he was still in high school, of course, so it was easy enough to blame his not so subtle arousal on teenage hormones, or the simple fact that fighting another alpha for dominance instinctively implied the need to impress a prospective mate and it had triggered his own rut early or something.
Needless to say, Iwaizumi had started taking suppressants after that. Not only did it limit his own reactions to other alphas, but it prevented those situations from happening again. Most of the time. Sometimes there would be a particularly belligerent alpha who was just hellbent on fighting regardless of whether or not his instincts demanded it. Iwaizumi was no pushover, though, so he handled those instances in stride.
He dragged his hands down his face and then rolled over onto his stomach. He extended his arm to feel around his nightstand for his phone until he realized that he left it out on the kitchen counter. He groaned into his pillow. Right now he wanted nothing more than to drown out his thoughts with loud music the same way he’d done for years, but the thought of having to walk back out there just to get his phone was much too daunting after the way he’d stormed off. Maybe he should just take a shower. He needed one after this morning, anyway.
Reluctantly dragging himself back out of bed, he rummaged around in his dresser for a change of clothes. He didn’t bother to put anything on since the bathroom was just across the hall. With one arm full of clothes, he unlocked his door and opened it to step out. Unfortunately, his path was blocked by none other than his two extremely nosy roommates, who looked up guiltily from the device Akaashi held in his hand.
His phone. Which had a certain idol’s contact photo on the screen and a text message that, from a glance, seemed to mention something about an umbrella. Iwaizumi swallowed. Why did he have this dreadful feeling that he was never going to hear the end of this?
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“You have a solid case,” said Hanamaki’s lawyer, Midori, as she continued to sift through the documents in his file. “The only thing we’re missing is a witness.” She looked at him expectantly.
Hanamaki tried not to think too hard about the fact that Oikawa’s sister was acting as his defense attorney. She was an accomplished omega, brilliant even amoung her peers, and she genuinely cared about helping him win this. He just wished he didn’t feel so bitter about it all.
“Hanamaki,” Midori said, recalling his attention. “A witness is a key part in winning any case. More is always better, but one good testimony is all it takes. Can you think of anyone we could contact?”
Hanamaki sighed, feeling rather deflated in Midori’s office. He had been here countless times by now, but it never ceased to be a suffocating space. It was probably just due to the looming possibility that he could be facing years in prison after all this was over.
“I don’t know,” he said for the umpteenth time, reaching up to run an agitated hand through his hair. “It was dark. There weren’t that many people around. Nobody I knew, anyway.”
“What about the girl?” Midori pressed, leaning forward over her desk. “She must have seen some of what happened, right?”
“I don’t know!”
The silence that followed his outburst was deafening. Midori pursed her lips, leaning back in her chair again and folding her hands in front of herself. Hanamaki looked everywhere else but her. Right now, her big brown eyes and matching hair only served to remind him of how much he wanted to beat Oikawa Tooru to a pulp and then go sit in Matsukawa’s bedroom with him while they listened to sad songs and try to cheer him up by making fun of all the cliches in the lyrics.
“I don’t know,” he repeated, quieter this time. His nails picked at a loose sliver of pleather on the arm of the chair he sat in. “She ran off pretty quick. I have no idea if she even lives near that bar or works there or if he just chased her there to—”
He clenched his jaw to keep himself from finishing that thought because he knew that if he did, he would want to hunt the motherfucker down and break his fingers all over again. That was what had landed him in this mess in the first place. There he was, minding his own business at a bar during a night out; he went outside to the back alley to take a piss because the bathroom was occupied and he really had to go, and that was where he found some deplorable lowlife alpha trying to stuff a gagged omega into the back of his car while she kicked and tried to scream.
Instinct had kicked in and before Hanamaki knew it, he had that alpha on the ground with a dislocated shoulder, three broken fingers, and the sole of his shoe on the back of the fucker’s neck. The omega was quick to take off in the opposite direction and he didn’t blame her one bit.
Betas like himself weren’t exactly known for their aggressive outbursts or Olympian feats of strength, but in that moment, Hanamaki felt like he could take on a whole bus full of alphas. He had never been so angry in his entire life. People always read or heard about that sort of stuff happening and it took weeks for cops to track down the perpetrator and rescue the trafficked omegas. Sometimes it was alright in the end and sometimes it wasn’t. It was what he heard about the latter half, the times when rescue and help had come too late, that had made Hanamaki’s blood boil at the thought of something like that happening to that poor omega.
Alphas like Hagimura Souta, the bastard who was now pressing assault and battery charges against him, were the absolute scum of the earth. They gave all alphas a bad name and many of them would agree to that. What Hanamaki wouldn’t give to be blessed with fangs or claws that he could have used to end the bitch then and there. But, then, he would have landed himself in a much more troublesome position than he was in now and there was no guarantee Oikawa Midori would be so willing to defend him under those circumstances.
“Have you asked?” Midori questioned then, dragging him back out of his thoughts. Hanamaki glanced up at her through the hair hanging in front of his eyes.
“...Huh?”
“Have you gone back to the bar to ask if she works there?” Hanamaki blinked.
“Uh...no. I didn’t really think I was allowed to?” he said. Midori’s influence in the court system had granted him a number of privileges most people in his position wouldn’t normally be afforded, but he wasn’t in the interest of trying to press his luck by giving anyone more reasons to incriminate him. It was already bad enough that he was up against an alpha with, as Midori had pointed out previously, an extensive network and more than enough resources to plead his case.
“You may be under investigation, Hanamaki, but they haven’t arrested you yet,” Midori said with a knowing smirk and a mischievous glint in her eyes that reminded him all too much of her little brother. She closed the file in front of her and slipped it back into her desk drawer, then stood from her chair as she grabbed her keys to swing around her finger. “I think it’s time we did some investigating of our own. Let’s go get your witness.”