It was around one in the morning, the weekend after Hanamaki’s triumphant court hearing, when Matsukawa heard a knock at the front door. He didn't move at first, sure that whoever it was must have had the wrong house, or heaven forbid it was someone trying to rob them at this hour. When he heard the knock again, though, he sighed, hauling himself off of his floor where he had been whittling down another joint from his stash.
Hanamaki wasn't here, having gone to spend the night at Yahaba and Kyotani's place for drinks and a movie marathon. They had invited Matsukawa as well, of course, but he declined. Hanamaki almost backed out himself because of that, but Matsukawa insisted that he went. He had done a lot around the house and for Matsukawa personally during his sickly slump. He deserved to spend some time relaxing with their friends, even if Matsukawa couldn't join them. It would be a real party killer if he started hacking up flowers in the middle of a movie or something.
He dragged his feet as he descended the stairs to the front door. There was another knock just as he neared, lighter this time, less like a fist and more like an open palm. Matsukawa opened the door slowly, guard raised in anticipation of someone trying to shove their way in, but instead he was met with the dim silhouette of the last person he expected to show up at his house this late at night--or at all, for that matter.
His tired eyes widened when Oikawa, of all people, dazedly grinned up at him and more or less stumbled forward to wrap his arms around Matsukawa's neck.
"Mattsun! I'm so glad to see you ~" he sang, though his pitch wasn't exactly perfect in the state he was in. Matsukawa stared down at him, speechless, as Oikawa peered up in kind, cheek pressed against his chest and eyes glossy. "I've missed you," he said with his signature pout. Matsukawa's throat itched.
"You're drunk," he surmised. Oikawa giggled.
"Nooo," he drawled. To his credit, he still had enough coordination to use his foot to push the door closed behind him without letting go of Matsukawa. "I'm tipsy. There's a difference."
"There is, but you're way past that," Matsukawa said. He wanted to push Oikawa off of him, but he wasn't sure where to put his hands, so he was relegated to standing there while the idol hung off of him like a shelf decoration. "How did you even get here? Were you driving like this?"
"Silly Mattsun. You know I don't drive after drinking," Oikawa said. "I walked."
"That— How far? The closest bar is almost three miles from here." Oikawa shook his head, burrowing it into Matsukawa's shoulder.
"Wasn't at a bar. Yahaba-kun and Kyoken-chan kicked me out," he said. "Makki got mad... I don't think he likes me anymore."
Matsukawa wished he didn't sound so genuinely heartbroken over that. Still, he was surprised it took Hanamaki that long to blow a fuse at Oikawa. He figured that, if they had invited Oikawa, too, then Hanamaki would have just left or not gone at all. Maybe he was trying to play nice for their friends. That sounded like something he would do, but Matsukawa knew his roommate to be supremely bad at keeping his thoughts to himself when he held a grudge, so it wasn't surprising that he finally hit his limit. He had no qualms about griping to Matsukawa about all the ways Oikawa was bad for him and that he should try to move on. The problem was that both of them knew that wasn't true. If it were, they wouldn't have been friends for so long.
Matsukawa sighed.
“Why did you come here?” he asked, his voice softening. Everything they said sounded far too loud in the silence that pervaded the house, the silence had been not so peacefully basking in while he had the place to himself. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have any time alone—Hanamaki still had to go to work throughout the week—but it was rare that he spent an entire night by himself. His roommate was always around when he could be and Matsukawa had grown dependent on his presence to the point that he didn’t know what to do with himself in times like this.
“I wanted to see you,” Oikawa mumbled into his shoulder. “Wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“...For what?” He had a feeling he already knew, but he asked anyway.
“For being a bad person,” Oikawa said. His voice, too, had gone quiet, barely audible with the way he spoke into the collar of Matsukawa’s turtleneck. This close, though, it wasn’t difficult to hear him. “For making you sad. I don’t want you to be sad, Mattsun.”
Matsukawa could feel the walls he had painstakingly built brick by brick around his heart being chiseled away every second Oikawa stood in front of him, with every word he muttered. He felt it in each pang in his chest that sent a stinging itch up his throat and to his eyes. Like fire. Not the passionate, entrancing fire that often consumed young lovers in its hunger, but the cold kind of fire that crept silently forward like a plague, inescapable and inevitable.
Against his better judgement, Matsukawa slowly wrapped his arms around Oikawa’s middle, because even though his fate was a vice that stared him down every day without falter, he still couldn’t bring himself to blame Oikawa. He couldn’t watch him blame himself, either.
“You’re not a bad person,” he whispered. “It’s not your fault.” He was, of course, talking about the fact that Oikawa didn’t return his feelings. There was no reason for him to think this was about anything more than that.
“It is, though. I’ve done an awful thing, Mattsun.”
Oikawa finally lifted his head. Despite the obvious inebriation on his face, his eyes still held all of that hidden depth Matsukawa had lost himself in countless times over. Even in the darkness in the house (because Matsukawa refused to leave on the lights in any room he wasn’t using), the distant light from the street lamps that spilled in through the cracks in the window curtains illuminated his face perfectly, like a spotlight on his grief. One of his hands slipped away from Matsukawa’s shoulder to cup his cheek ever so gently in his palm. It was as if he were afraid of breaking him with a single touch.
“You’re dying because of me.”
Maybe he should have been surprised that Oikawa knew, but he wasn’t. He didn’t think Hanamaki told him, at least not outright, but it was only natural that he had come to that conclusion. Matsukawa hadn’t been entirely subtle over the past couple of weeks about the way he sequestered himself in his home, avoided all interaction with him, and didn't go out to see their friends anymore. Even if they all knew by now, he still wanted to keep his distance. It would be easier that way, he thought. If he could keep pretending like he didn’t exist anymore, it would be as if he were already gone.
He couldn’t tell Oikawa that he was wrong. This was just how Hanahaki Disease worked. It was stupid and unfair and terrible, but there was nothing that could be done about it. Scientists all over the world had tried to discover the antidote to a slow, agonizing death by heartache, but it evaded them at every turn. The only solution they had come up with was almost worse than death. Sometimes, it didn’t even work. Every day he clung to life was just delaying the inevitable.
He felt Oikawa leaning forward, but Matsukawa did nothing to stop him. He closed his eyes when their lips met, a tear squeezing through his lashes unbidden. He trembled against Oikawa, against his lips, but even though every part of him knew this was wrong and ultimately pointless, he drank it in like his life depended on it. It did, in a way. While they kissed, it was almost as if the flowers budding in his chest weren’t there, the persistent itch in his throat abated, and for a moment he could breathe. This close, that breath was filled with the scent of Oikawa.
He smelled like a hot cup of tea in the window seat of a library on a rainy day, book in his lap. Like the smile he wore when he stood in the sun at the beach and his hair glistened with water and sand. He smelled like a revelation. Like everything Matsukawa ever wanted.
For all of the romantic imagery he had spent far too much time fantasizing about every time he caught this enthralling scent, however, it had never conjured any specific memories from the dregs of his mind. That was, perhaps, what hurt the most about all of this. He already knew from the very beginning that this was doomed and yet he didn’t even try to stop himself from falling in love. It wasn’t because they were both alphas. It was because they were simply never meant to be.
His arms tightened around Oikawa, holding him close. The bittersweet relief kissing him provided was only temporary, he knew, but he craved it like an addiction. This was bad for him, letting this go on as if it meant anything, as if it would change anything. It turned out that Matsukawa was a little selfish after all. He wanted to savour this. If he were going to die, he could at least have this.
Their feet moved blindly, shuffling around each other until the back of Matsukawa’s knees hit the sofa. He stumbled onto it, their lips only separated for a moment before Oikawa was on him again, crawling over his lap to straddle his thighs. He had his hands in Matsukawa’s hair, while the latter found purchase on his hips. This was...a little more than he had anticipated. Not that he hated it, per se, but there was something gnawing at the back of his head, a nagging kind of guilt that he couldn’t shake.
“Aren’t you seeing someone?” he murmured against Oikawa’s lips, barely able to manage the words with how fervently they kissed. It was strange. He didn’t really smell anyone else on Oikawa. Maybe there was a faint trace of someone, but it wasn’t enough to make out any specifics. He was always, constantly around so many different people already.
“Doesn’t matter,” Oikawa replied hastily. “I want you.” He kissed Matsukawa’s cheek. “I want this.” His jaw. His hands retreated from Matsukawa’s head, dipping down between their chests, and Matsukawa heard him fiddling with the buttons on his own shirt. “Let me do this for you.”
Matsukawa’s eyes flew open and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to grab Oikawa’s shoulders and pry him off his neck. With his kiss-swollen lips and shirt half-unbuttoned, Matsukawa immediately regretted the decision, but that didn’t stop him from quickly shoving Oikawa to the side and off his lap so that he could lurch forward and retch over the coffee table. It started with a couple of petals, but rhododendrons were far from easy to expel, and his gagging quickly became wet and bloody and unpleasant as two full blooms clawed their way out of his throat in leisurely succession.
“Mattsun?! Mattsun!” he heard Oikawa gasp, understandably panicked, followed by the hands on his back and arm as if holding him could stop the flowers from tearing up his lungs and heart and ribs.
The plants rattled in his chest every time he coughed and heaved to try to get them out. The thing about Hanahaki was that it was a steady progression, the roots gradually spreading and taking hold. In most cases, if left untreated, it would get to the point that even surgery wouldn’t be feasible. The way that it formed, though—the slow and methodical expansion and subsequent blooming—made it difficult to gauge the severity until moments like this. He could feel the roots clutching around his heart, woven through his ribs, the petals scraping against the walls of his lungs, falling loose in the disturbance.
Eventually, however, his retching ceased. Not all at once, but enough to get it under control and prevent it from spiraling even further. There was a pile of petals on the table now, spotted with blood, some of it dripping onto the floor. And just like that, his throat burned raw again after having healed up enough from his last episode to speak with only mild discomfort. He still had to say something, though.
“...You should go,” he croaked, immediately closing his mouth to swallow down the sensation of bloody bile that threatened to escape from the meager attempt at speaking.
“I— What? No, I should call an ambulance, or—”
“ Please. Go. ”
He didn’t really mean for that to sound so damn venomous, but he really didn’t want Oikawa to linger around any longer. The rational part of him knew it was smarter to have him stay just long enough for Hanamaki to make it back after Matsukawa woke him up with a call to ask him to come home, but that was out of the question. It was bad enough that Oikawa had to see what just happened. Matsukawa wasn’t ecstatic about the prospect of him bearing witness to anything else. Besides, the longer he stayed here, the more everything hurt. Especially after that.
Oikawa looked like he wanted to argue, but even he seemed to understand that he had overstayed his welcome. The horrified look on his face gave way to shame, albeit with a notable amount of reluctance to leave Matsukawa like this. He quietly stood from the sofa and made his way across the living room to the front door again as if on autopilot. Matsukawa didn’t look up to meet his eyes when he paused after opening the door. He had his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands as he focused on breathing.
When he finally heard the door close, he let himself cry. He had been doing a lot of that lately.
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The next morning, after he had somehow managed to find his way home in his drunken cocktail of shame and regret, Oikawa was awoken by furious knocking at his apartment door. The hangover that accosted him the moment consciousness returned left him blissfully ignorant of his stupidity the night prior for just long enough to roll out of his bed and groggily make his way to the door to answer it. He thought that it was probably one of his more temperamental neighbours coming to give him hell for making a racket so late at night when he got back or something of the like. However, when he opened the door, he was met with a second, far more rude awakening in the form of a fist to the face.
It was hard enough to knock him flat on his ass and he barely had enough time to look shocked, let alone register the pain, before his assailant grabbed him by the collar of the same disheveled shirt he had worn to bed and forced him to sit up. He distantly heard Mao’s paws tapping across the floor, followed by her protective barking and growling, but that didn’t deter the man looming over him.
“ Who the hell do you think you are?! ”
He had to blink several times in order to recognize the enraged countenance of none other than Hanamaki. Oikawa was still far too out of it to form the words to ask him what he meant, what he was doing here, why he had punched him. Hanamaki didn’t give him the chance, anyway.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?! You had no right to go see Matsukawa last night! Do you have any idea how much of a fucking asshole you are?!”
Last night… Right. He wound up at Matsukawa’s after Yahaba asked him to leave their little get-together. After Hanamaki had snapped at him for what had happened that day Oikawa drove him home from his trial. Yahaba had tried to be diplomatic about it, but he felt it was better if Oikawa had simply left. Kyotani was far less forgiving. Oikawa hadn’t had much to drink by that point, but once he left, he bought a cheap bottle of wine at the nearby convenience store to drown out his spite and guilt. Evidently, that hadn’t been the smartest decision, considering his intoxication led him to Matsukawa’s doorstep.
“Makki, I—”
“Don’t fucking ‘Makki’ me, you piece of shit,” Hanamaki spat. “How dare you? How dare you pull that kind of bullshit when you know what he’s going through? Are you stupid or something? Or do you really hate him that fucking much?”
“I don’t hate him!” Oikawa cried. Mao gave a disgruntled half-whine, half-bark in response to the pitch in his voice. “How can you say that? You know I don’t—”
“I don’t know anything about you anymore!” Hanamaki scoffed and released his shirt, standing up to scowl down at Oikawa with more loathing than he had ever seen on the beta’s face before. He was petrified under those eyes, a cold vice coiling around his chest. “I have no idea who you are. You’ve changed, Oikawa. The person I knew would never play with someone’s heart like that. Your best friend —”
“Makki, please —”
“No,” Hanamaki cut him off. “No. You don’t get to make excuses. You have no excuses. Listen to me: you don’t fucking talk to Matsukawa anymore, got it? Maybe your cute little phone call last time was an accident, but not this. This was not an ‘accident’. You fucked up, and if he dies because—”
He cut himself off this time, undoubtedly due to the way his voice cracked on the word. He clenched his jaw, swallowed down whatever he was going to say, and shook his head down at Oikawa as he turned to leave.
“Lose my number.”
He slammed the door behind him. The sound echoed in Oikawa’s mind, carrying with it a sense of finality. He stared at the door for a long time, not moving from where he still sat on the floor with a sore ass and an aching jaw. You fucked up was the understatement of the century.
Then again, it wasn’t like he didn’t have it coming. He knew this would happen, didn’t he? He knew it would be a possibility that his actions would drive his friends away from him. Given, he had planned to use Iwaizumi as the catalyst rather than emphasize the fact that he didn’t reciprocate Matsukawa’s feelings by way of a poorly thought-out visit in the middle of the night that had all the makings of a spontaneous romantic confession but was twisted into a sadistic travesty that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was only leading Matsukawa on. Mission accomplished, he supposed.
Except he couldn’t even use that as an excuse for his actions last night. He didn’t go to see Matsukawa because he wanted to reinforce the bitterness he already felt toward Oikawa. He didn’t really go there for any reason at all, actually, apart from his admission that he wanted to see Matsukawa. In his drunken stupor, that was where his feet had taken him. He hadn’t even realized where he was until Matsukawa opened the door.
Then there was...the kiss, and what almost followed. Oikawa felt sick to his stomach. What was he thinking? Stupid question—the answer was that he wasn’t thinking. All of that was born of some desperate, last-ditch effort to try to take away Matsukawa’s pain and maybe convince himself that he could learn to love him back the way Matsukawa loved him. Love wasn’t just some arbitrary feeling someone developed whether they wanted it or not; it was also a choice, and Oikawa wanted to choose it. He wanted, more than anything, to take the easy path and simply give his best friend what he desired.
The problem was that he didn’t want it because he thought he could love Matsukawa like that. He wanted it because the alternative was watching him die. He wanted it so that he didn’t have to watch him die. Oikawa was inherently selfish and that was why it could never work between them like that.
Which put him back right where he started. The plan to make Matsukawa hate him.
Guess that’s gonna be a walk in the park from now on, Oikawa thought as he rubbed gingerly at his face. He winced a little at the throbbing ache that was beginning to shape around his jaw. That was going to bruise. He glanced over when Mao came into view, worriedly sniffing at him and trying to step onto his lap. Oikawa managed the smallest of smiles as he brought his hand to her head and pet her reassuringly. Getting an emotional support animal was one of the better suggestions his therapist had ever given him. He may not take her with him everywhere, but she was always right there when he needed her.
Eventually picked himself up off the floor to go about his usual morning routine. He would have liked to have slept for a while longer, but that sure as hell wasn’t happening now, so he figured he might as well deal with it. He tried calling Yahaba after he got out of the shower, but it went to voicemail. That was...to be expected, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Even so, Oikawa did leave a message with his apology for what had happened before he left last night. It only seemed right, even if Hanamaki had been the one to cause all the fuss. Not that Oikawa blamed him in the slightest.
Afterward, he took Mao for a walk down to the park a few blocks away. She loved it there and even got along well with the other dogs they came across. Well, most of them, anyway. There was always this one darling little old lady with the meanest chihuahua Oikawa had ever met, but other than that, it was fine.
As he was circling around the park to start making his way back home, Oikawa stepped to the side of the sidewalk to let a jogger pass. He wasn’t paying that much attention, scrolling through his phone and frowning at the way his social media had blown up after that disastrous interview. However, when the jogger came to a sudden stop just a few feet after passing him, Oikawa curiously lifted his head to see the man tugging out his headphones as he looked at the idol in slight bewilderment. Oikawa matched his expression with wide eyes, noting the mostly healed cut on the other’s lip and the light bruises that still bloomed across his nose and eye.
“Oikawa-san?”
“Iwa-chan?”
They stared at each other for a moment longer before Oikawa physically shook his head with an uncertain chuckle.
“I mean—Iwaizumi-san. Sorry.” He wasn’t sure why he apologized, or why he corrected himself, for that matter. It probably had to do with the fact that he had all but thrown Iwaizumi out of his apartment a few days ago and they hadn’t spoken to each other since. “...What are you doing here?” he asked and immediately felt stupid for it.
“...I’m just out for a run,” Iwaizumi said. Duh. If the fact that he was, you know, running through the park weren’t enough of a hint, then his gym shorts and form-fitting T-shirt should have been. Oikawa dutifully kept his eyes on Iwaizumi’s and definitely did not let them stray down to his glistening biceps or his sculpted calves.
...There was no reason for his brain to insert those adjectives, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it.
“...And you?”
“Huh?” Oikawa asked, silently cursing himself for doing exactly what he said he wasn’t going to do as he forced his gaze to meet Iwaizumi’s again. Judging by the subtle curl to the other alpha’s lips, he must have found it rather amusing. Well, that was just great.
“What are you doing out here?” he clarified. Ah, right. Oikawa gestured toward Mao with the leash in his hand, the other still holding onto his phone.
“I’m just...walking my dog,” he said. Wow, this was awkward. Which was weird because Oikawa didn’t really do “awkward”. When it came to Iwaizumi, though, that didn’t seem to matter one bit.
“Oh. Right. Hey, Mao-Mao.” Iwaizumi took the initiative to crouch down and hold out his hand to Mao and let her sniff it. Having already gotten acquainted with Iwaizumi, she didn’t hesitate to loll out her tongue and roll over at his feet in a silent request for belly rubs. The alpha seemed all too happy to oblige, chuckling a little as he ruffled her fur.
“You remembered,” Oikawa noted, more so to himself. Iwaizumi glanced up anyway, apparently realizing the position he was in as he quickly stood and dusted himself off, much to Mao’s disappointment.
“Remembered what?”
“Her name. Well, her nickname.”
“Nickname?”
“Yeah.” Oikawa glanced down at his dog with a fond smile, bending over a little to scratch at her ears. “Her name’s actually just Mao, but I call her Mao-Mao.”
“Cute.” This time Oikawa looked up, finding Iwaizumi’s eyes on him instead of his dog, but he quickly averted his gaze and gestured back to Mao. “I mean, cute nickname. For your dog,” he amended. Oikawa gave him a tentative smile, an inexplicable flush on his cheeks that he would blame on the early morning sun. “...Hey, do you...wanna get breakfast? Or something?” Iwaizumi asked then. “I usually grab something for my roommates on my way back, so just...thought I’d offer.”
Oikawa hesitated, squinting his eyes as he stalled his response. Iwaizumi was quick to back-pedal his offer.
“You know what? Never mind. You’re probably busy. Forget I asked. I’ll just—”
“No, no! I— It’s—” Oikawa took a moment to collect himself once he was sure Iwaizumi wasn’t going to stick his earbuds back in and run off. “...I would love to. It’s just...I’m worried about...you know. What happened at the movie theatre and there was this...weird...interview thing that happened and— Long story. Is your...face okay, by the way?” Damn, he was as smooth as the United States infrastructure.
“...Yeah. Yeah, my face is okay, thanks for asking,” Iwaizumi answered with a chuckle, giving him an incredulous half-smile as if he weren’t sure what to make of Oikawa’s behaviour. He couldn’t be blamed for that. “Weird interview thing, huh? Wanna tell me about it over coffee?” Oikawa stared at him in mild amazement for a moment before he huffed out a laugh and shrugged.
“Why not?”
So they ended up at that same little cafe where they had waited out the storm together. This time, they were actually there to order something, which seemed to come as a pleasant surprise to the baristas. However, when they took note of Oikawa’s dog, they made mention of their no pets policy, to which he offered Mao’s certificate as a therapy dog. With that aside, he and Iwaizumi placed their orders—they agreed on a plate of avocado nigiri to share as well as a green tea latte for Oikawa and, once again, black coffee for Iwaizumi—then took a seat at the same window booth as before.
“You didn’t tell me she’s your emotional support dog,” Iwaizumi said, glancing down at the sheltie who was enjoying a slice of sweet bread the baristas offered as a free treat. Oikawa smiled down at her as well before taking a sip of his coffee.
“I didn’t think it was that important,” he said. It wasn’t as if he told everyone he met that he regularly went to therapy for PTSD that eventually warranted the need for a therapy animal. That just didn’t seem like a good conversation starter. “I...also didn’t think you wanted to see me again.” He had been relatively certain he’d royally screwed the pooch with Iwaizumi, too, after their… Well, it hadn’t been an argument, exactly. They just...kissed and then Oikawa yelled at him to get out of his apartment. Yeesh, when he thought about it that way, it sounded even worse.
“Yeah, well,” Iwaizumi began, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand while the other curled around his coffee mug, “I didn’t think I wanted to either. But truth is...I feel like we kinda left things at a weird place?” He met Oikawa’s eyes across the table. “I know I probably came on a little strong—”
“ Yeah. ”
“—and not everyone is into that...sorta thing—”
“Mmmhm.”
“—so I completely get that you needed space and...I’m sorry if I made things awkward or... uncomfortable for you. I...really didn’t mean for that to happen.” Oikawa let out a sigh that he felt like he’d been holding in since that morning.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. It was...uncalled for. And I’m glad that you still wanted to get coffee with me… You are a lot more forgiving than some people I know.” He tried for a chuckle, but it sounded kind of pathetic. He busied his mouth with a sushi roll instead.
“...Well, thankfully, I have good friends to knock some sense into me when I need them to,” Iwaizumi said, though his voice trailed off a little as he squinted over at Oikawa. “Hey, did...did someone hit you?” Oikawa looked up suddenly, a hand flying to his cheek. At first he tried to play it off as an itch to scratch, but Iwaizumi’s eyes were already trained on the spot that had begun to swell a little and his reaction didn’t do him any favours. Oikawa sighed again, glancing off to the side.
“I—… Yeah,” he admitted. “You know that...that guy? ” He paused. “ The guy, I should say. I mean, the one who—” Iwaizumi nodded, so Oikawa stopped trying to elaborate. “Right. I, uh...I got kinda drunk last night and went to his house.”
“Shit, did you get in a fight with him or something?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Well, not quite.” He took a deep breath as he tried to gather his thoughts enough to explain the situation. “Um. I may have...made out with him? A little bit?” He waved his hands at the way Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows at him. “I know, I know, it’s… Anyway. I...kinda...saw him...and the flowers…” He gestured vaguely toward his chest and a look of understanding crossed the other’s face. “So he asked me to leave and this morning my other friend—former...friend?—showed up at my door totally pissed off and... Well.” He motioned to the side of his face. “I guess you could say I started off the morning with dessert.”
“Damn.” That was all Iwaizumi said for a moment and Oikawa could only nod in agreement. “You really went to his house? ” Oikawa put his face in his hands.
“ Yes, ” he groaned. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was so, so stupid.”
“...So you didn’t come to a sudden revelation that you’re actually in love with him?” Iwaizumi asked. Oikawa narrowed his eyes at him through his fingers.
“No,” he said. “If I did, do you think I would have gotten punched in the face, or watched him barf flowers all over the living room? This isn’t a joke, Iwa-chan.” He lowered his hands to grab his chopsticks and poke Iwaizumi’s arm with it. The other alpha clicked his tongue and moved his arm away from the offending utensil.
“I didn’t say it was, Shittykawa. ” Oikawa stuck out his tongue at that, then shoved another sushi roll into his mouth. “Just...trying to keep this whole thing straight. It’s a pretty messed up situation, you know that?”
“Of course I know that. I know that better than anyone by now,” Oikawa said. “I just don’t know what to do about it. My friends all hate me now, I’m trying to make my best friend hate me, and on top of that, my manager thinks I’m not seeing my therapist enough and my career’s about to take a dive because of that stupid interview.” He jabbed his chopsticks at another sushi roll a bit harder than necessary, nearly flipping the plate over in the process, but Iwaizumi’s quick hands were there to steady it, thankfully. Oikawa huffed and put his chopsticks down. He’d had enough to eat for now, anyway.
“...You mentioned that earlier,” Iwaizumi said. “About the interview. What happened?”
“You haven’t seen it yet?” Oikawa asked, glancing up at him again. He shook his head and Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I keep forgetting you don’t know who I am.”
“Hey, I know who you are,” Iwaizumi shot back as Oikawa fished his phone out of his jacket pocket. “I just don’t keep up with all this TV sensationalism or whatever.”
“Maybe that’s for the better, but here. Just watch.”
Oikawa brought up the interview clip from a news website and propped it up against the napkin dispenser while the video played. Hearing that conniving hostess’s voice again made him grimace, but still he let it play until the part where they pulled up his Instagram photos. He watched Iwaizumi’s brows furrow as he reached forward to take the phone and pause the video so he could take a closer look at the photos.
“...I don’t understand. These are...from when we hung out together.” Oikawa nodded.
“Yeah. Keep watching.”
Iwaizumi pressed play again, the crease in his brow growing deeper by the second as the show hostess spun her tale about Oikawa’s alleged affair. He found the light blush that coloured the other alpha’s cheeks to be a little amusing, but he wasn’t going to point that out. That would probably come off as a bit insensitive right now, all things considered.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Iwaizumi said once the video finished playing, returning the phone to Oikawa. “Nobody’s just gonna assume you have a partner just ‘cause you have a social life.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. They have and they will keep doing it because apparently no one has anything better to gossip about than who a celebrity is dating at any given moment,” Oikawa said dryly. “Which wouldn’t be so bad, except my fans are raging lunatics who evidently have a habit of beating the snot out of anyone I seem to be having a good time with.” He waved his hand in the direction of Iwaizumi’s face. That face crinkled up in response.
“Okay, first of all, that guy didn’t ‘beat the snot’ out of me,” he said. “It was an even match. Actually, I would have completely crushed him if I was prepared for a fight.” Oikawa scoffed.
“When are you ever gonna be prepared for a fight? Now who’s not making sense?”
“That— Shut up.” Iwaizumi held up a finger, to which Oikawa raised his brows but remained silent as he nursed his latte. “Second of all, I think you’re making a bigger deal out of this than you need to. Maybe you just need to relax.” Oikawa gave him an incredulous look.
“I have been relaxing,” he claimed, perhaps a bit too defensive. He shrugged his shoulders and gestured to the coffee shop they were sitting in. “I’m relaxing right now!”
“Nuh-uh.” Iwaizumi shook his head, sitting back in his seat as he picked up his own coffee. “I can see it on your face. You’re way too stressed out. Are you tensing any muscles right now? I feel like you’re tensing up somewhere.”
Oikawa opened his mouth to argue, but the mention made him acutely aware of the tension in his thighs. He relaxed them automatically once he felt it, along with his shoulders that had been just slightly hunched. Jeez, couldn’t he even loosen up while he was sitting down? He pursed his lips.
“...No.” Iwaizumi smirked at him.
“Caught ya, didn’t I?”
“Wh— I—” Shit. “...So what?”
“ So what, is that, in my professional opinion, I think you need a massage.”
Well, if that didn’t sound like the best idea Oikawa had ever heard, he didn’t know what would. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a spa day for himself. He desperately needed to and, while this may not include a mani-pedi and sauna combo package, it may just be the next best thing.
“...And where might you suggest I get one of those?” he asked. Iwaizumi grinned.
“I happen to know a guy who specializes in Shiatsu. I also happen to know where he lives,” he said, grabbing his own chopsticks to stick a sushi roll in his mouth.
“Oh, yeah?” Oikawa leaned forward on his elbows against the table, returning the other’s smile with one of his own. “How much is that gonna cost me?”
“For you? At least a new car.”
“What?!”
Iwaizumi laughed. Oikawa couldn’t help but think laughter was a good look on him, even if he were a bit of a cheeky prick.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
Some time after Iwaizumi and Oikawa got into the flat, a certain mated pair’s beauty sleep was tragically interrupted by the series of moans and other sounds coming from the living room. Akaashi grumbled and attempted to burrow deeper into the nest of pillows and blankets he regularly made of the bed he shared with Bokuto. Bokuto himself was beginning to lose his patience as he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in an effort to force himself back to sleep.
“Kotaroooo,” Akaashi groaned, voice muffled by the many layers of fabric he was hiding under. “Go tell him to shut up.”
“Why don’t you?” Bokuto protested, sliding his arms underneath the pillow on either side of his head to squeeze it against his ears. “He listens to you.”
“Don’t wanna,” was all Akaashi could offer to justify his inaction.
Bokuto inhaled and let out an exaggerated, put-upon whine before he reluctantly started peeling back the covers and moving pillows out of the way so that he could get up. He had to dig around the mess of clothes and other scattered belongings to find a decently clean pair of underwear to pull on. To be clear, the mess was only the result of having had a little too much to drink last night (or rather more so the kinds of drinks they mixed) in celebration of Akaashi’s award-winning manga getting the greenlight for an anime adaptation. Bokuto was certain Akaashi would pitch a fit about the clutter when he actually bothered to get up, but he would deal with that later.
He yawned wide and scratched his chest as he opened the door of their bedroom and padded barefoot down the short hall toward the living room, undeterred by the seemingly lewd noises that came from there.
“Ohh, Iwa-chan~ Right there.”
“Here?”
“Mm, yeah. That’s a big knot.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. I can feel it. You’re really tight here.”
“Ahh, that feels good. Keep doing that.”
“You want it harder?”
“Please.”
“Iwaizumi-kuuuun,” Bokuto drawled. “I know Kei-chan and I got kinda rowdy last week, but we at least had the decency to keep it in our bedroom.”
He paused at the mouth of the hallway, looking tiredly at his roommate, whose upper half was visible over the back of the couch, and the head of brunet hair propped on the arm of the couch. Iwaizumi’s head snapped up to look at him, his expression far too innocent for all the racket he’d been causing. The brunet turned his head over to look at him, as well, and Bokuto got that jarring feeling of falling in a dream. He had to brace his hand against the corner of the wall to keep himself steady as his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
“Oh, hi there! Sorry to do this in your living room, but Iwa-chan said the bed would be too soft.”
...Did his eyes deceive him, or was that Oikawa fucking Tooru lying on their couch? And was Iwaizumi—
“Yeah, sorry about that. We were just gonna do it on the floor, like I recommended, but he kept complaining about it being too uncomfortable,” Iwaizumi explained, clearly unimpressed with Oikawa’s apparent dismissal of his suggestion.
Bokuto could only blink owlishly at them. Thankfully, the love of his life came to the rescue as he heard shuffling from behind. Akaashi slumped into his peripheral with a big yawn of his own as he rubbed at one of his eyes.
“Why’d you leave the door open? I’m still trying to…” He trailed off as his half-asleep gaze slowly focused on the scene in front of him. For a moment, he only blinked, then recognition seemed to hit him all at once as his eyes widened in like fashion to his mate. He even shot out a hand to grab Bokuto’s wrist as if to steady himself. His mouth appeared screwed shut, unable to conjure another word in the presence of his idol.
“Right, sorry. Oikawa, these are my roommates, Bokuto and Akaashi,” Iwaizumi introduced. “Guys, this is… Well, you know.” Oikawa brought his arm over the side of the couch to offer a wave and a polite smile. Iwaizumi then removed himself from behind Oikawa, standing up to show that he was surprisingly fully dressed. As Oikawa moved to stand up as well, they could see he was the same way.
Bokuto and Akaashi let out simultaneous breaths. It was just a massage.
Iwaizumi walked over to grab two paper bags off the kitchen counter that he then presented to his two roommates.
“Here. We brought you breakfast,” he said. The two glanced at each other before accepting the bags that smelled of warm cinnamon bread (Akaashi’s favourite) and berry tartlets (Bokuto’s favourite).
“...Thanks,” Bokuto said after a few seconds too long when it became obvious that Akaashi was still too starstruck to say anything. “Should we…?” He gestured back down the hallway behind them.
“Oh, no, that’s okay! I think we were just about finished anyway,” Oikawa assured. He folded his hands together in front of him and bent over at the waist to give them both a proper bow. “Sorry again for disrupting your morning. I had no idea Iwa-chan was so talented with his hands~”
“I told you. I’m a professional,” Iwaizumi said, waving his hands for emphasis. “Um.” He paused then, glancing at his roommates and making an awkward sort of gesture toward them. “Could you guys maybe get dressed if you’re gonna hang out here?”
It was then that Bokuto realized he was still standing in nothing but his underwear. Akaashi wasn’t much better in his loosely tied off silk robe that really didn’t leave much to the imagination. As soon as their mutual state of undress was pointed out to them, they nearly trampled each other to scramble back to their bedroom and fix that post-haste. Akaashi’s face was pure red as he closed the door to their bedroom as quickly and quietly as he could before turning to Bokuto with still wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The alpha was no different.
“Is that—”
“Oikawa Tooru.”
“In our—”
“Apartment.”
Once they settled that query, they resumed their scrambling to get dressed, yanking open drawers for something to wear that had not already been worn in the past three days. Bokuto had an easier time with this than Akaashi, it would seem.
“What am I supposed to wear?” the omega wondered aloud. “He just saw me half-naked. How am I supposed to top that?”
“Just wear what you normally do,” Bokuto suggested. “Turtlenecks always look nice on you.”
“I need to look better than ‘nice’. Besides, it’s too hot out for turtlenecks,” Akaashi said, throwing clothes this way and that as he searched for something to his standards.
“Are you plannin’ on goin’ out?”
“No.”
“Then why’s it matter?”
“Because! It just—” Akaashi cut himself off, looking up at Bokuto from where he knelt on the floor in front of his dresser. Acknowledging the pointed look his mate was giving him, Akaashi closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. I’m freaking out over nothing.”
“Well, it’s not nothing, ” Bokuto corrected, stepping over to crouch down beside his omega and cup his cheek to make him look at him again so that he could see the reassuring smile on Bokuto’s face. “That’s your idol out there. Of course you wanna impress him, but Keiji, you already impress everybody just by being you.”
Akaashi gave him the sweetest smile, red still tinting his cheeks as he leaned up to press a chaste kiss to Bokuto’s lips. Bokuto responded in kind with a peck to his forehead before they both stood up to finish dressing. When they made their way back out into the living room, they joined Iwaizumi and Oikawa around the coffee table, claiming the loveseat to snuggle on while they enjoyed their breakfast.
They were afforded the chance to hear all about how, exactly, their roommate got tangled up in the life of a celebrity, up to and including the interview that evidently led to Oikawa being so stressed out that Iwaizumi offered him a free massage. It was for this reason that Bokuto convinced Oikawa to take a group picture of all four of them to post online so that his fandom wouldn’t think he was just spending all of his time with one person (even though he actually was).
Unbeknownst to them, Oikawa was over the moon with the opportunity to consider the both of them friends. It certainly helped to lift the weight of secrecy off his shoulders a bit when it came to his predicament. They were genuinely kind people and he could tell just how much they all cared about each other. Oikawa longed for this sort of kinship again. It wasn’t just the events of last night that had driven him apart from his friends. They had started to fall out of touch a while ago. Maybe Hanamaki had been right when he said that Oikawa had changed. A part of him certainly felt like it had, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on how.
He didn’t have to think about that right now, though. He was having too much fun laughing with these people who had such different lives than what he was used to hearing about and watching them fawn over his Mao-Mao (with his permission, since Iwaizumi felt the need to warn them about her being a therapy dog). Considering the way his morning had started, it was turning out to be a really, really good day.