Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m renouncing my citizenship.”

That was it — the moment time stopped and Iwaizumi’s heart broke.

What really did it was the lack of hesitation. There was no question mark at the end and no “I’m considering” at the front. Oikawa had already decided, and Iwaizumi had not even been informed it was a possibility.

“I can’t leave Japan.” Iwaizumi wanted to say so much more, but it was all he could manage.

“I know.”

*******

Even now, almost a year after Oikawa broke his heart, Iwaizumi is still haunted by his memory. Practically all of Miyagi is ruined for him of course, and Tokyo is not much better. 

About nine months ago, in a fit of frustration and grief, he had gone to a small onsen town as far away as he could manage, but he found Oikawa was even there in the silence, whispering to him every moment. Then shortly after that he had gone to Hokkaido when it was snowing. Tooru hates the cold, but apparently Iwaizumi’s memories of him do not mind it. A few other short trips had followed, all producing the same result. Iwaizumi was continuing to burn a small hole in his savings by traveling up and down the length of Japan, always finding that nowhere was enough to outrun the shadow of Oikawa Tooru — the stupid, selfish, asshole love of his life.

His mother finds him sitting right outside their front door, staring at the pavement of the road. He and Tooru had worn down that pavement together for years, first on foot, then on bikes, and then eventually on an ill-advised motorcycle. Iwaizumi had later sold it in favor of a sensible car after Oikawa had called him from Argentina one night, panicking that Hajime might get into a terrible accident while he was on the other side of the world.

“Hajime?” His mother’s voice is soft and kind.

“Are you okay to be outside, Mom?” His voice is faint, and his eyes are still fixed outward, unfocused.

“Yes, I feel okay today.”

His mother sits down on the stoop next to him and leans against him. They say nothing for a while. She knows her son and knows no words can really help right now. All she can do is let him know she is there, to tether his mind’s little lifeboat to the real world until he is ready to row it back to shore.

A gentle squeeze as he takes her hand signals  that he is slowly returning. She gives him a few more moments before clearing her dry throat.

“I think maybe you should take some time away darling,” she says. Her voice is still soft but sounds assured.

Iwaizumi turns to her with his brow furrowed and mouth ajar.

“I’ve already done that though. It feels like I’ve done nothing but take time away.”

“I guess I meant a bit further, and maybe for a bit longer. Like maybe going to California for a while.”

“No,” Iwaizumi says immediately and stands. 

“Darling —“

“I can’t go that far from you and grandma for no good reason,” he says, sounding more agitated than he would like. “And I was just in Paris. I was already worried every day, and that was during a required trip.”

“I just think that you should maybe try a drastic change of scenery for a bit — one without work — maybe for a few weeks.”

“Mom..”

She continues to push forward. 

“Listen, you’re not in season, and the Olympics are over now. I don’t mean to suggest you’re not useful now too, but it’s less high stakes right now. And it’s somewhere you know, and your mentor is still there, right? Maybe you could even help him out for a bit if just relaxing wouldn’t help.”

“Okay, but that still doesn’t change the fact that I’m not leaving you to go across the world, not even temporarily.”

Iwaizumi had gone to graduate school and worked with Utsui there, but things had been different then. His grandmother still had her mobility, and his mother’s condition had not been so severe.

“Hajime, I’m going to be frank. I think you need this. I’ve been doing well lately, and so has Mother. And we can certainly have relatives look after us for a couple of weeks. My cousin has been asking to visit anyway. Please consider it.”

*******

Two weeks later, Iwaizumi is boarding his flight. He still does not enjoy the nervous feeling in his stomach telling him that something is going to go terribly wrong while he is away, but he is doing it anyway on his mother’s insistence. 

His phone call to Utsui had sealed the deal.

“Of course, Iwaizumi-kun! You’re always welcome, and I’ll always take the chance to impress our interns with my Olympic-caliber protege. If you’d be up for that, that is! Are you just visiting or wanting me to put you to work?”

“Well, I’m not looking for a paid job or anything if that’s what you mean, but I would probably welcome some distraction.”

“Ahh, that kind of trip, huh?”

Iwaizumi’s throat had dried up.

“Well, I can surely find you plenty to do if that’s what you want. Actually, why don’t you just stay with me? You said you’re thinking of staying a couple of weeks, right?”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose like that..”

“It’s not imposing at all! And actually, Wakatoshi might still be here then as well. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some better company.”

“Ushijima-san is there?”

“Yes, he arrived a few days ago. Schweiden cleared him for an extended break since his shoulder is still recovering. They’re trying to make sure he’s good to go by October. I’m sure you know more about all that than even I do.”

“Well I’m glad to hear he’s taking a break to recover. He might be sick of seeing me by now though.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Utsui had laughed. 

“Seriously, it’s no trouble at all. My coworkers are over a lot, but you can stay in the casita out back. You can be as sociable or reclusive as you like, and you won’t have to spend a small fortune on a hotel.”

Iwaizumi had hesitated, though it did sound pretty ideal.

“C’mon, I insist.”

“Okay, very well then,” Iwaizumi had finally conceded.

He thinks about it again now as he settles into his seat on the plane. Utsui really is too good to him, he thinks. Iwaizumi buckles in and puts on his headphones, dreading the long flight ahead.

After many hours and one plane change, Iwaizumi finally lands at LAX. Utsui had said he would pick Iwaizumi up himself, but when he makes his way through the baggage claim and out, he is met by someone different — Ushijima Wakatoshi, the one and only. 

It is early in the morning, about 5 AM local time, but Ushijima looks perfectly put together even in joggers and sneakers. Iwaizumi tries not to think too much about how he himself probably looks by comparison. 

“Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima greets him in his low, steady voice. 

Iwaizumi tips his head in return. “Good morning, Ushijima-san.”

Ushijima smoothly relieves Iwaizumi of his rolling suitcase, and Iwaizumi adjusts the strap of his duffle bag.

“I’m sorry you had to come out this early to meet me,” Iwaizumi says as he follows Ushijima. 

“Not at all,” Ushijima says over his shoulder. “My father said to convey his apologies for not being able to come himself, but I volunteered in his stead.”

“Thank you, I will be in your care then.” Iwaizumi always seems to let his speech drift slightly more formal around Ushijima, despite having known him for many years. It just seems to match Ushijima’s own way of talking.

They arrive next to a sleek black sedan, and Ushijima opens the trunk to hoist Iwaizumi’s bags inside.

“Don’t you have a bad shoulder right now?!” Iwaizumi protests.

“I have a recovering shoulder,” Ushijima corrects, “one which was recently medically cleared to bear light weights for short periods.” He slides Iwaizumi’s rolling bag into place. “Do not worry Iwaizumi-san. I am making sure to take proper care of myself.”

The thing is, Iwaizumi knows it must be true. Ushijima is one of the most weirdly fastidious athletes he has ever met when it comes to maintaining his physical condition. He is not sure he has ever even seen him with so much as a cold.

Iwaizumi flops his duffle bag next to the suitcase and shuffles to the front passenger seat. He has grown used to Ushijima’s company, especially since working with him as part of the Japanese national team. He hopes that maybe this trip will be a good break for him after all.

They make the trip to Irvine mostly in companionable silence. Some jazz plays softly over the speakers, the exact kind of thing Utsui would listen to in his car. Iwaizumi wonders if Ushijima shares his father’s music taste or just has not bothered with changing it.

“So you’re able to drive here?” Iwaizumi asks. He doubted Ushijima would be breaking the law just to pick him up. 

“You can drive with a foreign license if you are only here for a short period, but I also have an international permit,” Ushijima explains, never taking his eyes off the road. “I thought that would be best since it is valid in several places. I can drive if I need to when we go abroad for matches.”

“Ah, yeah I got one of those when I lived here before. I ended up not driving much though.”

They fall into silence again, and Iwaizumi entertains himself by studying the way Ushijima drives. He is certainly a careful and methodical driver, as Iwaizumi expects, but he shows none of the tension and anxiety of the other ”careful drivers” Iwaizumi has known. There is an ease and efficiency to the way Ushijima turns the wheel, flicks the blinker on, smoothly accelerates and decelerates.

“You are staring, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says after a while. 

“Just watching the way you drive, Ushijima-san,” Iwaizumi explains, a bit startled at having been caught. He is not even sure how Ushijima had been aware of it.

“Is it really so interesting?”

“Hmm, maybe not. But I think it fits your personality perfectly.”

“How do you mean?”

Iwaizumi considers how to explain. “You just do everything very confidently,” he says finally. “All your movements are very… I guess I would say efficient? Assured, maybe?“

It’s attractive, Iwaizumi thinks to himself. He does not share this with Ushijima, who he is certain is unaware that Iwaizumi finds men attractive at all. Iwaizumi does not want to make Ushijima uncomfortable. Nor does he want to be on the very-much-less-likely, minuscule-odds-at-best opposite end of the spectrum — piquing his interest. 

”It’s just very like you,” Iwaizumi says instead.

“Thank you for the compliment, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says.

Iwaizumi supposes he had meant it as a compliment, but hearing Ushijima specifically mention it is somewhat embarrassing for him.

When they finally reach Utsui’s house, Iwaizumi slides out of the passenger seat and looks it over. It is clearly a mid-century house, but it looks well maintained and has a tall wood fence surrounding it. Iwaizumi can see a palm tree in the back yard poking up over the fence.

Ushijima turns off the ignition then gathers Iwaizumi’s bags from the back. He hands the duffle to Iwaizumi before he can even begin the protest already forming on his lips. 

“I was instructed to take you to the casita first, then to give you a tour of the rest of the place as soon as you are ready,” Ushijima says. He leads Iwaizumi up to the gate in the fence and into the back yard.

The palm tree is in the corner nearest them, and it has a hammock underneath it. There is a pool in the center of the yard, and on the far side of it is a collection of adirondack chairs surrounding a small fire pit. Back at the very back of the large yard is a small detached guest house, which is where Iwaizumi surmises they are heading.

Ushijima opens the door to the guest suite and lets Iwaizumi enter first. There is a small living area with a loveseat, coffee table, TV, and small wet bar. On the counter, Iwaizumi can see a coffee machine and a set of bar tools. Under it, there is a small black mini-fridge. At the back left corner, a built-in partition separates the bed from view, and the bathroom is in the back right corner. 

Iwaizumi sets his duffle down on the coffee table, and Ushijima begins to open the blinds revealing the giant windows that look out over the yard. 

“These windows are nice, especially around sunset. I have stayed out here a couple of times, but now I mostly stay in the room right down there.” Ushijima points to the far side of the main house. It has french doors that lead out to the concrete pad where the fire pit is.

“I can show you,” he says. “And the rest of the house as well, if you are ready.”

Iwaizumi nods and they turn back out of the guest house and cross the yard. 

“Utsui-san said to tell you that you are welcome to use anything in the back yard whenever you like. He usually has guests over one or two times a week, and they will probably be out here when they are over.” 

Ushijima opens a door close to the gate and gestures for Iwaizumi to enter. They take off their shoes and put them in a boot tray beside the door.

“This is the kitchen,” Ushijima continues. “Do you like to cook Iwaizumi-san?” 

“I do most of the cooking at home now, so I would say I’m decent in the kitchen, but it is not a particular hobby of mine.”

Ushijima hums in acknowledgment.

“You are welcome to use it as you like. My father is not much of a cook, so I generally handle dinner when I visit, and sometimes breakfast on the weekends. You are welcome to join us if you would like.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Iwaizumi says.

“It is not an imposition at all, Iwaizumi-san. I am actually quite accomplished in the kitchen and can cook a variety of Japanese and Western dishes, so please let me know if there is anything you would like.”

“Is there anything you can’t do, Ushijima-san?” Iwaizumi muses.

Ushijima stops and thinks for a moment.

“I do not have very good penmanship, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Me either actually.”

“Let me show you the rest of the house.” Ushijima leads him through the living room and down the hallway. He points out the bathroom, a bedroom that is used as a study and gym, Utsui’s room, and his own room last.

“You may come in if you like,” Ushijima says as he opens the door. 

Ushijima steps in first and Iwaizumi hovers by the door for a moment looking in. He can see the room is perfectly kept and has a full sized bed, a dresser, and a small desk with a lamp, laptop, and small stack of books on top.

Ushijima turns, looking at Iwaizumi in invitation, so Iwaizumi steps into the room carefully. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Iwaizumi says. He feels he should when coming into Ushijima’s personal space like this. 

“Thank you for showing me around,” Iwaizumi says quietly while he looks out at the yard through the french doors.

“Of course, it is my pleasure Iwaizumi-san.”

Ushijima sits at the foot of the bed, and they both look outside quietly.

“Utsui-san mentioned you are planning to stay for two weeks?”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi confirms. “That is the longest I can be away from home.”

Ushijima nods. “I will most likely have to return to Japan around then too.”

Iwaizumi hums in acknowledgment, then they are silent again.

“I hope you will have a good trip here, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says as he stands up. “And I am very glad to have your company.”

*******

Iwaizumi quickly discovers that Utsui and Ushijima are excellent hosts. They know exactly when to leave him at his leisure and when to invite him into their routine. Dinner together the first night of his stay also confirms that Ushijima is in fact an accomplished cook.

Because of this, Iwaizumi spends his first few days in peaceful contentment lounging by the pool or reading in the hammock before dragging himself into the main house in the late afternoon to offer to help Ushijima. He usually assists with chopping vegetables or other simple tasks he can perform from what has become his spot at the kitchen island, but other times he just sits and quietly keeps Ushijima company while he works.

Ushijima’s way of working in the kitchen is similar to his way of driving — confident and efficient. Iwaizumi has never seen Ushijima’s more domestic side, but he finds that the way he smoothly moves from surface to surface combining ingredients also makes perfect sense.

“What made you get into cooking like this, Ushijima-san?” Iwaizumi asks on his third day while he sits peeling potatoes.

“Hmm, I suppose it was probably my first partner, back when we were in high school. We liked to take over the dorm kitchen on the weekends and host dinners for our friends. I learned how to cook, and my partner was very interested in desserts and actually later became a patissier in France.”

“Oh wow, she sounds like a catch,” Iwaizumi says offhandedly, focusing on his task.

“He,” Ushijima corrects, “and he was.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, straightening up and letting his hands drop back to the counter.

“My first partner,” Ushijima explains, “was a he.” 

“Is that so strange?” he asks, turning around to Iwaizumi.

“Not at all, just maybe a bit unexpected,” Iwaizumi hedges. “I had no idea.”

Ushijima nods, “Mmm. Well, now you know.” He turns back to his work.

“Actually I think I would likely be called pansexual if I decided I wanted to label it. I have previously been attracted to men, women, and people who are neither.” Ushijima shrugs casually when he says this, as if he is recounting the day’s weather and not revealing some of the most surprising information Iwaizumi has ever heard.

“I see,” Iwaizumi says, then they are quiet. Iwaizumi’s potatoes sit half peeled and the only sounds in the kitchen are the quiet clinks and scrapes as Ushijima works.

“Umm, Ushijima-san,” Iwaizumi starts after a while. He is still hesitant, but feels more at ease about revealing a part of himself now.

Ushijima turns and Iwaizumi looks down at his hands.

“Since you told me that, I feel like I can tell you about myself too. I am actually only attracted to men,” Iwaizumi spits out quickly.

Ushijima stays quiet, and after a moment Iwaizumi steals a glance up at him. Ushijima just looks at him carefully and nods.

“I am glad you felt you could share that with me, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says. “You do not strike me as the sort of person to be very open about that with most people.”

“I’m not,” Iwaizumi agrees. “But you shared with me, so I felt more confident you would not find it… I don’t know, disgusting or something.”

“I would never, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says very seriously. “Even if I was straight.”

“That’s good to know.” Iwaizumi chuckles and returns to his potatoes.

Iwaizumi finishes his task quickly and hands off the potatoes to Ushijima. Iwaizumi keeps silent vigil over Ushijima’s work, letting his mind meander over the new terrain that has been placed in front of it.

Ushijima is both exactly the same and entirely different in Iwaizumi’s eyes now. He had perhaps expected, given what little he knows of Ushijima’s very traditional upbringing and stoic nature, that he might be a more conservative sort. Before, he could not have pictured Ushijima openly condemning anyone, but imagining him being silently judgemental had not seemed outside the realm of possibility. 

But then, he supposes, there is also Utsui’s influence to consider. Iwaizumi vaguely knows that Ushijima spent most of his school years having almost no direct contact with Utsui, and at first glance they seem vastly different from each other. 

Utsui is outgoing and sociable, and his years in the states have made him more outward with his opinions and affection. Ushijima, by comparison, is Ushijima — not exactly unsociable, at least with the people in his small circle, but also not nearly as approachable to those outside it. He tends to be more quiet and inward, and less likely to broadcast his emotions. 

The one thing the two share, Iwaizumi has realized, are their immensely caring hearts. In Utsui it is easy to spot — the way he watches out for his interns, the way he still dotes on Iwaizumi and checks on him at least once a month, the way he opens his home so freely, the way he so easily reconnected with his son and did so patiently, on Ushijima’s terms. Though Ushijima does so more quietly, almost covertly, he is exactly like his father in this respect. 

Right as Ushijima is putting the finishing touches on dinner, Utsui arrives home and joins Iwaizumi at the kitchen island. 

”It smells amazing in here,” he says with a fond smile. “I always get to eat such good food when you are here, Wakatoshi.”

“Thank you,” Ushijima says, turning off the stove. “It makes me happy to have other people to cook for.”

They all eat around the kitchen island in a comfortable quiet. 

“Well, have you settled in, Hajime-kun?” Utsui asks when they are midway through dinner. “Ready to come see everyone yet?”

Iwaizumi glances at the date on his phone for not the first time today and feels the sinking in his stomach more acutely. 

“Yes, I definitely want to go with you tomorrow.”

“Perfect!” Utsui says, lightly smacking his shoulder. “Let us take you out after work then too! I know they’ll all be itching to.”

“Let’s do that,” Iwaizumi says, trying to sound cheerful and pushing his food around. 

Ushijima pauses to look Iwaizumi over carefully. He sees his demeanor has changed to something anxious, almost quietly frantic. 

Utsui also slides his eyes toward Iwaizumi for a moment before adding in his usual upbeat tone, “You are welcome to come as well, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima looks from Utsui back to Iwaizumi. “Yes, I think I will.”

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi sits in the living room of the main house waiting for Utsui and Ushijima. When his nerves are frazzled like they are this morning, they always seem to make him too early. His mind involuntarily conjures up memories of him waiting for Tooru like this, Iwaizumi having sat for at least half an hour getting more and more anxious and Tooru making them late. He tries to swat it away. He is not thinking about that today.

Ushijima appears at 5:53, seven minutes before their agreed upon time. He is freshly showered and wearing chinos and a grey polo. 

“Good morning, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima greets as he adjusts his watch band.

Ushijima takes a seat on the other end of the couch and crosses one leg over the other. Iwaizumi has long been baffled at how someone like Ushijima, whose body has been maximized for strength and force, can still manage to look so elegant on occasion. 

Iwaizumi’s right leg begins to bounce, though he is unaware of it. Ushijima’s eyes slide to Iwaizumi’s knee, then to his face, and then back again, but he remains quiet on the subject.

When Utsui joins them at 5:59, Iwaizumi feels grateful for his hosts’ punctuality. The three of them walk to Utsui’s car together and Iwaizumi slides into the back seat. The music in the car now is city pop, and Iwaizumi wonders if the jazz from a few days before had been Ushijima’s taste after all.

The drive to the Irvine Polar Bears’ practice gym is fairly short. Iwaizumi feels more at ease now, perhaps because of the familiar environment. He had spent almost three years working here under Utsui, and not much has changed since that time.

When they arrive, the team has just started an early morning practice. Iwaizumi recognizes a few of the players, including the captain and starting libero. He gives a wave as they walk by toward Utsui’s office and gets enthusiastic waves back. 

“Hajime!!” the libero calls loudly.

“Hey Alex,” Iwaizumi hollers back as they keep walking. A couple of others turn to look and give Iwaizumi waves or smiles.

Once they are back in the office spaces, Iwaizumi is greeted by a few of the staff. Everyone also seems to know Ushijima, and he is quickly engaged in conversation with Utsui’s interns.

“Iwaizumi-san,” he calls softly, gesturing for him to join them. 

“This is Hajime Iwaizumi,” he says by way of introduction. Iwaizumi thinks it is the first time Ushijima has ever mentioned his given name. 

“He was previously an intern here and now works for a Japanese professional team and our national team.”

“Oh! I recognize you from the Olympics!” one of them says as he shakes Iwaizumi’s hand. “There were a bunch of memes about you.”

“Ah, yeah, that was me,” Iwaizumi confirms bashfully.

“Really?” Ushijima asks and turns to him. “What were they about?” Iwaizumi is unsurprised that Ushijima has not kept up with the online chatter. 

“Uhh,” Iwaizumi balks and can feel his face heating up.

“They were calling him ‘Hot Guy’ and meming a picture of him checking a player’s injury during a match,” one of the interns explains. 

“Yeah, it was when I was assessing your shoulder actually, Ushijima-san,” Iwaizumi adds quietly. “It’s a bit embarrassing, but I’m glad it’s died down since the Olympics ended.” He laughs nervously, and Ushijima studies him quietly. 

“You’re an attractive guy, Hajime,” the intern who had recognized him says. “You should own it,” he adds with a wink.

Iwaizumi feels ill at ease, no longer used to open flirting or casual use of his given name. He is also not particularly in the mood for being called attractive today. 

Ushijima is also speechless and is still quietly observing Iwaizumi. That is the reason he sees the exact moment when Iwaizumi's eyes go dull. The change is slight, but Ushijima catches it and silently files it away for later. 

“Oh not at all!” Iwaizumi settles on saying, his smile slightly too bright. “But thank you for the compliment.”

Utsui mercifully comes and collects them, also giving his interns tasks for the morning. He takes them to his office then says he will return shortly before going back out the door. Iwaizumi sits quietly, but his mind is anything but quiet. 

At the time of his five minutes of fame, he had tried to make himself feel better by spinning it in his head — see, you are a desirable person, and Tooru is missing out. But underneath it all, it still felt hollow. In his mind, any charms he possessed were supposed to be for Tooru, to be appreciated by only him. It was a particularly potent sting for him to think that the world might think him attractive, but it really did not matter at all.

“Do you not like being called your given name, Iwaizumi-san?” Ushijima asks quietly.

“Hmm?” Iwaizumi hums, wrestling himself from his cloudy thoughts. “Ah, yeah that was a bit abrupt just now. I’m not used to that anymore like I was when I lived here. But I suppose I don’t mind it.”

Ushijima nods but looks troubled. “I thought not. The libero earlier. And Utsui-san. They both call you.. that.. and it seemed fine.”

“Why do you ask?” Iwaizumi says, not missing that Ushijima stops short of saying it himself. 

Is Ushijima about to ask if he can call me Hajime, wonders Iwaizumi. Would that mean I’d call him Wakatoshi? That’s hard to imagine.

Ushijima goes quiet and unreadable, the gears of his mind silently sliding behind his stoic face.

“Something about the conversation in the hallway changed your demeanor, and I was trying to figure out why.” 

“Ah,” Iwaizumi says, then looks down at his hands. He decides it is best to not try to directly deny anything in the face of Ushijima’s blunt, confident assessment. 

“You are always very direct, Ushijima-san.”

“I am sorry about that,” Ushijima says. “I have been working with a professional on how to be more tactful and some other things to do with interpersonal skills, but since you asked it was difficult to avoid it.” 

Iwaizumi thinks he sees a slight tinge of red appearing on the tips of Ushijima’s ears. 

“Why are you trying to change that about yourself?” Iwaizumi asks, trying to shepherd them away from the topic of his own feelings.

“It sometimes makes people uncomfortable,” Ushijima says glancing away. “I was not concerned about it when I was young. I made friends with the people who understood me and did not worry about the people who did not.”

Iwaizumi thinks he sees a fondness coloring Ushijima’s gaze, much like he has seen in Utsui when he praises his son. On Ushijima now, it flashes and then disappears just as quickly.

“However, I am a somewhat public figure now,” Ushijima continues, “so I want to do my best to make sure my fans are comfortable any time I interact with them.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth parts and hangs slightly ajar. “I… don’t even know what to say, Ushijima-san. You already work so hard and are so good at what you do. To think you were considering all that too... You really are amazing.”

Ushijima’s face flushes fully now under Iwaizumi’s praise. 

“It is all part of the job, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima deflects. “At least, that is what I believe.”

“I apologize for my comment earlier,” Ushijima continues, bringing them quickly back around to Iwaizumi’s problems. However, much to Iwaizumi’s relief, he leaves it at that. 

“No need to apologize, Ushijima-san,” he says. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”

The rest of the day passes rather quickly. Through the morning they talk with the interns and staff and Utsui, when he can spare a moment. There is a long break around midday, which they spend getting lunch and talking at length with Utsui and Alex the libero, who all but monopolizes Iwaizumi’s attention. 

They all return to the gym at around 2 in the afternoon, and Alex and Utsui leave to go to a team conditioning session in one of the weight rooms.

When they are alone, Ushijima jogs over to retrieve a ball from one of the bins then turns back to Iwaizumi. “Would you pass with me, Iwaizumi-san?”

“You sure it’s okay with your shoulder?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Yes, I am sure,” Ushijima affirms. “I am clearly not prepared for anything strenuous,” he adds, gesturing at his attire.

“Fair enough,” says Iwaizumi, and they get into position across from each other on the sidelines. 

Ushijima bumps the ball to Iwaizumi, and they send soft, leisurely passes back and forth. 

“Why did you not continue volleyball after high school, Iwaizumi-san?” Ushijima asks after a while.

“Hmm. Someone very close to me was chasing the volleyball dream. He even chased it half way across the world.”

“Oikawa-san?” Ushijima asks, and Iwaizumi hums an affirmative. 

“It was like, I felt like I couldn’t do it half way. I either had to keep myself on the same level as him, or I needed to stop playing entirely. I already knew I wasn’t going to be world caliber. I probably wouldn’t have wanted to be even if I had the ability for it.”

Ushijima nods thoughtfully.

“But I did know I liked learning about nutrition and recovery and injury prevention,” Iwaizumi continued. “Tooru is probably too proud to admit it, but the only reason he is able to have a volleyball career is because I kept him from any irreparable injuries all through middle and high school.”

Iwaizumi’s voice tapers off as the weight of what he says hits him, not for the first time. Tooru is able to do this — to have his career, to give up his citizenship, to be an Olympian, to break Iwaizumi’s heart — all because of Iwaizumi’s love. Thinking about it always makes him feel like screaming until his lungs give out.

“Anyway,” Iwaizumi coughs, refocusing on his passing, “that’s why I decided on athletic training. It lets me still be involved in the sport I love, I get to be at the Olympics and so many other incredible places, and honestly, not to brag, but I’m damn good at it. I really love my area of expertise.”

“You are an exceptional trainor, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says. 

Iwaizumi is nearly crushed under the weight of the compliment. Ushijima is not one to give them very freely, nor does he give ones he does not mean. Iwaizumi, and everyone else who has been around Ushijima, knows that if he says it, he believes it. 

Exceptional. The word rolls around in Iwaizumi’s brain. Ushijima Wakatoshi, a Mr. Exceptional if ever there was one, had called him exceptional.

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi says back.

The afternoon passes much like the morning, with the addition of Alex at times. Around 5:30, Iwaizumi, Ushijima, and Alex are all sitting in Utsui’s office. 

“You’re going to let us take you out tonight, right?” Alex prods. “We haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Sure sure,” Iwaizumi agrees. “Still a party boy then?” he adds.

Alex scoffs, “I am legitimately wounded!” (He is not in the least.) “Actually I started listening to you and found I do in fact practice better sans hangover, so I cut way way back. I have a beer or two about once a week, but that’s it.”

“Imagine that, me being right,” Iwaizumi retorts with a laugh. “Though I actually am proud of you. All your other habits were always so good, but you were wrecking yourself with that. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Okay okay, don’t get mushy about it.” Alex laughs. “You’re getting soft in your old age.” 

Iwaizumi swats his shoulder with a magazine. “If I’m getting old then what are you, you jerk! You’re older than me!”

“By a year,” Alex shrugs. “Plus, it’s a state of mind thing, Hajime,” he says, tapping his index finger to his temple three times.

“If that’s the case, I’ve been a grumpy old man my whole life.”

That even gets a small chuckle from Ushijima, who has been watching them playfully spat in silence.

Utsui joins them just before 6:00. “So,” he begins, addressing Iwaizumi, “you still good with us taking you to dinner?”

“Yep, I’m good with that,” Iwaizumi responds. 

“Okay great, I’m about to make a reservation. You coming too, Alex?”

“Of course!” Alex says, bounding up out of his chair. “Lemme get changed.”

Their group ends up being ten people, and they get to the restaurant at about 7:00. It is Brazilian. Iwaizumi knows the food will be great, but he just happens to be nursing a decade-long, unjust, petty hatred for the entire country of Brazil. Why is the universe determined to kick me while I’m down today, he thinks. 

He knows he can get over his silly Brazil thing for the sake of dinner. It is as unserious as it can be at this point, and on a normal day it would not be a problem. Today though, Iwaizumi is beginning to feel like he is being slowly rubbed raw with fine grit sandpaper — each conversation, each memory grating across his skin. 

Dinner is excellent, as Iwaizumi had expected, but he also puts away two mixed drinks to mellow himself out. Ushijima has never seen Iwaizumi drink before, even after they had finished their Olympic run and had free time in Paris. He starts watching Iwaizumi carefully, but he seems to be fine, if slightly more chipper and sociable.

They finish eating around 8:30, and three people have to head home. “Are you alright with moving this party to a bar next?” Utsui asks. “Our athletes here don’t really imbibe,” he says, patting Ushijima and Alex on the shoulders simultaneously, “but I guarantee the staff will.”

“Yes, that is fine with me,” Iwaizumi says, then they quickly spirit him away to one of their favorite spots.

The bar they choose is a rustic sort of place that has dollar bills stuck to the ceiling with people’s drawings or signatures. There is a small crowd of regulars at the bar or playing pool, but it is not overly crowded or noisy. If Iwaizumi is going to get shitfaced in public, which is looking more and more likely to him given the way Alex is steering him to a table by the shoulders, this does not seem like a bad place to do it.

A waitress comes over and Alex appoints himself in charge of ordering the first round of drinks, quickly asking Ushijima what he wants. “We need five tequila shots, one Leinenkugel’s dark, and one water with lime.”

“Any food?” the waitress asks. “Kitchen closes down in ten minutes.”

“Nope, we’re good,” Alex says with a smile.

“Okay great,” she says. “Are you guys opening a bar tab?”

“Yep,” Utsui says, holding out his card. Iwaizumi thinks he should protest, but the waitress immediately turns and takes it to the bar.

Before Iwaizumi can fully consider the ramifications of him consuming straight tequila right now, their drinks arrive. Alex takes the beer, Ushijima the water, and the rest of them grab a shot. 

“Cheers!” Alex says, holding out his mug. They all clink their tiny shot glasses against it before banging them back down to the table then taking their shot.

Salt, shot, lime, Iwaizumi reminds himself. It has been quite a while since he has done this. He has also forgotten the burn of it, he realizes after the shot slides down his throat, and he quietly sucks on his lime with a slightly sour look on his face.

“You’re out of practice,” Alex jokes, poking an elbow against Iwaizumi’s ribs. 

“I was never much in practice to begin with,” Iwaizumi says after taking the lime out of his mouth. 

Since Alex has had to give up his partying ways, he seems to be on a mission to make sure Iwaizumi is well and truly drunk by the end of the night. Iwaizumi gets him to switch to mixed drinks at least, so he ends up drinking three cocktails with some vulgar name he cannot quite recall.

For the most part Iwaizumi is feeling alright. He has a relatively high alcohol tolerance and is just laughing more easily and feeling sociable. Inside his head, everything feels just a little bit fuzzy. The harsh, needling edges of his day have been rounded out. 

Everything is all good until about the time Alex brings Iwaizumi a fourth cocktail. His mind, the nasty traitor, conjures up a memory from years back, when he had been home over summer break and Oikawa also had a break during the offseason. They were both in Miyagi for Oikawa’s 20th birthday, and they got to share their first (legal) drink together. 

Oikawa, ever the lightweight, had been down for the count after a couple of drinks, and Iwaizumi had taken him home. They laid together in Iwaizumi’s bed with Tooru talking and giggling until the sun began peaking through the curtains. It had been one of the only times Iwaizumi could so clearly picture their future — that Tooru would come home to Japan, that they would live together, that they would go out dancing on the weekends because Tooru loved it and Hajime loved Tooru, that they would have brunch, go to farmers markets, cheer for Takeru at his games, and stay up late talking like this until the sun closed down their party for two.

A tear slides down Iwaizumi’s face and into his drink before he even realizes it has formed. He lightly touches his face, surprised that his finger comes back wet. He quickly slams back the drink in front of him then stands. “Bathroom,” he explains, and then he is gone.

Everyone else seems unconcerned, but Ushijima has a hard knot forming in his throat that he cannot swallow around. He has been watching Iwaizumi carefully all day, out of the corners of his eyes. He sees the tear, sees the look on his face, and he places it into the file in his brain he has been quietly compiling since he picked Iwaizumi up from the airport.

Iwaizumi does not come back for a while, and Ushijima is becoming more and more concerned. He does not want to pry or to seem smothering, but he knows something is amiss and feels distressed that Iwaizumi might be going through something difficult on his own. Iwaizumi has not directly said anything to him about it to confirm it, but Ushijima’s own anxiety is still spiking with each passing second. 

Eventually he cannot wait any longer or the feeling is going to swallow him, so he stands and quietly slips away to the bathroom.

He opens the door slowly, almost timidly, and leans inside. He can hear snuffling noises coming from the accessible stall at the end of the bathroom, and his heart sinks. Iwaizumi is one of the most stable, strong men he knows, but he is here, thousands of miles from home, clearly very upset, and Ushijima seems to be the only person who is aware of it.

Ushijima moves quietly toward the stall door then knocks on it. He can hear Iwaizumi startle, and his crying noises stop.

“It is me, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says. “Are you alright?”

Iwaizumi is still startled into silence and says nothing. His mind whirs too quickly to latch onto any words.

“Are you able to come out of there?” Ushijima asks, leaning near the door, but Iwaizumi is still quiet. Uneasy silence stretches between them.

“Can I come in then?” Ushijima asks very gently. Something in his tone must rouse Iwaizumi’s limbs to action, because before either of them realizes, Iwaizumi has unlatched the door and let Ushijima into the stall.

Ushijima enters and latches the door behind him, then he sees that Iwaizumi is standing in the corner facing the wall with his fists clenched. He cannot see his face, but Iwaizumi’s ears and neck are red. 

“Something has been… uncharacteristic about you all day today,” Ushijima says, deciding to lay his cards on the table.

“Yeah, I imagine so,” Iwaizumi sighs, trying to keep his voice even.

“So you are aware of it?”

“Hahhh.. yeah, I am,” Iwaizumi confirms.

“Can you talk about it?” Ushijima tries his best to sound calm.

”If I do I might fall apart.” 

Ushijima’s anxiety flares again, worrying himself that Iwaizumi is probably dealing with something quite heavy. 

“It is safer to do that with someone else present, right?” Ushijima asks cautiously.

Iwaizumi turns around confused. His entire face is bright red and damp. “How do you figure that?” 

“It can be dangerous not having any help when things are as difficult as this seems to be for you.” 

“Well, I suppose that’s not the worst take, but you sort of seem like the kind of guy who has never actually had a breakdown.” 

Ushijima stands up straight and blinks slowly, replaying Iwaizumi’s words again to be sure he heard correctly.

“Do I really?” 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi affirms with a nod, ”you kind of give off the vibe of someone with perfect mental fortitude actually. Like with annoyingly good mental health.” 

Ushijima sputters as if he is beginning to short circuit before the absurdity of the notion takes him over and he lets out a full, booming laugh that ricochets around the stall. The sound of it shocks Iwaizumi all the way to his bones. He has never seen Ushijima give more than a dry chuckle or covert smirk before.

“My apologies. It is very strange to hear anyone thinks that about me,” Ushijima says. “Perhaps since you mostly know me from work it would be possible to get that impression.” 

Ushijima’s brows are crashing together as he considers how much to explain.

“I suppose I can be open with you,” he begins. “I can sometimes be one of the most mentally distressed people I know.”

Iwaizumi’s hands have fallen to his sides, and the tension in his shoulders and neck begins to release.

“Sometimes I get… really really overwhelmed,” Ushijima explains. “Everything is too much, and I get to the point of not functioning properly. Sometimes what sets it off is something other people consider insignificant.“ 

Iwaizumi nods along, trying to understand. 

“My apologies, I never really explain it very well. I suppose it is best to say it is part of a neurological condition I was born with. It is… something in my wiring, I guess you could say.” 

“So I know painfully well how lonely it can be going through something like that alone,” he continues, “feeling like everyone either cannot help or would never even want to.” 

Iwaizumi is quiet, considering what to say. The alcohol and Ushijima’s disarming comments are now swirling around inside his skull urging him to loosen his lips. 

“Today is the first anniversary of the worst day of my life.” 

He says it, and it hangs in the air between them, but at least it is no longer crushing Iwaizumi’s lungs from inside his chest. Iwaizumi knows he sounds dramatic, but he figures he is allowed to be about this. What else do you call the day you watch your whole life plan disappear?

Ushijima does not press him past that, only nods in acknowledgment. “I am sorry, Iwaizumi-san. Do you want to leave? I can just take you home if all this is too much.” 

Iwa thinks about the phrase “take you home” and its connotations, but he knows Ushijima does not mean it like that. It makes him feel at ease, the way he knows he can trust Ushijima in a way that he might not even trust Alex and definitely would not trust the intern from the hallway. 

“Yes,” he sighs, slumping against Ushijima’s shoulder, “take me home please.”

Chapter Text

Ushijima wakes up not in his own bed. Instead he is folded up on the loveseat in the casita, limbs hanging over the edges. He stretches and knows Iwaizumi would chide him for endangering his shoulder by sleeping like that. 

Iwaizumi. It comes crashing back down on Ushijima exactly why he is there. Ushijima unfurls himself and walks bleary-eyed to the bed where Iwaizumi is starfished on his back, still completely out cold. 

Ushijima sits on the edge of the bed and watches Iwaizumi’s torso rise and fall with his breaths. When his breathing begins to change, Ushijima looks at his sleeping face and sees the muscles of his brow squishing together. When he begins to mumble, Ushijima thinks he might be waking, but his eyes stay shut. He is talking in his sleep. A small smile starts tugging up the corners of Ushijima’s mouth. It is… sort of cute.

His smile is short lived though, because Iwaizumi’s breaths are becoming more rapid and ragged now. His mumbles turn to fully formed words when a freightened, breathless “No!” chokes out of his throat. It comes out again, louder this time, and Ushijima is unsure of what he should do — leave him be or wake him. All his deliberating flies out the window when a single “Tooru” leaves Iwaizumi’s lips, heartbroken and strangled.

Ushijima has suspected he knows the culprit behind Iwaizumi’s general malaise, which he realizes in retrospect has been present at least since the Olympics, if not before. The tone of Iwaizumi’s voice when he says the man’s name sends earthquakes through Ushijima’s chest. It pulls and prods in ways that will probably take him many long hours of introspection to fully understand.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says softly and pushes lightly on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He watches the muscles in Iwaizumi’s face begin to strain, and he shakes him a bit more firmly. He can feel the pilot light of his anxiety down in his stomach close to ignition. 

It is a stream of tears that start to run down Iwaizumi’s face and an accompanying choked off sob that tips Ushijima over the edge.

“Iwaizumi-san,” he says more urgently with both hands shaking his shoulders. 

“Iwaizumi-san!” Iwaizumi is still not waking.

“Hajime!” Ushijima calls sharply. Iwaizumi’s eyes pop open and he jerks upright, gasping for air. His eyes are blown wide, looking frightened, blurry and lost until they alight on Ushijima’s.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi breathes, and Ushijima watches some of the panic melt from his eyes and face. Something lights up in Ushijima that is not his anxiety, and he tries to catalog as much as he can about the feeling so he can think it over later. It is a generally positive feeling he thinks, and he suspects it has something to do with the way Iwaizumi’s expression changes.

Iwaizumi rests his head on his own bent knees and looks at Ushijima, catching his breath.

“Did you just call me Hajime?” Iwaizumi asks, clearly amused. It has been rattling around in Iwaizumi’s thoughts, taking up space so that some of the details of his interrupted nightmare fade away into the haze between dreams and waking.

“Yes, my apologies,” Ushijima says, a bit bashful now. “It seemed like you were having a bad nightmare.”

“I was,” Iwaizumi confirms, sitting up.

“And I think I panicked a little,” Ushijima adds lamely. 

It sounds a bit silly to him now. He knows nightmares cannot physically hurt anyone, and Iwaizumi probably would have woken up on his own. However, he is not sure how else to explain how it felt so imperative that he do something to make Iwaizumi’s distress stop.

“You… started crying in your sleep. And talking,” Ushijima explains. “It made me concerned.”

Iwaizumi nods. He is calmer now, if maybe slightly embarrassed.

“Well, either way,” he says, “you don’t have to apologize. I don’t mind, and I understand you being worried.” He leans his arms on his bent knees, loosely clasping his fingers together. “I haven’t had a nightmare in a while.”

“What was it about?” Ushijima asks, though he has a vague idea already. 

“Hmm. What did you hear me say in my sleep?” Iwaizumi asks cautiously. He is not sure why, but telling the whole truth feels wrong. He had at least partially hidden his relationship with Oikawa for the entire time they were together, so it would likely feel awkward and perhaps even painful to tell someone now — just another clear admission that their partnership is long over.

Ushijima chooses to withhold some information of his own. “You kept saying ‘No!’ and sounded quite distressed.” He leaves out the part about Oikawa’s name. For some reason he feels that it might be insensitive to admit that he had heard something so personal.

“I see,” Iwaizumi says. “Well, it was about the bad thing that happened to me a year ago. Just having to relive it.”

This confirms some of Ushijima’s suspicions. Though he still has no definitive confirmation of what happened between them, he can hazard an educated guess. 

“I used to have dreams like that all the time right after it happened. I haven’t had one recently though.”

The more they talk, the more Iwaizumi comes back to his body and becomes acutely aware of the pounding in his head.

“Damn, how much did I drink?” he says, lightly pressing his palms flat against his aching eyes. 

“Quite a lot,” Ushijima answers. “I believe your final count was 6 cocktails and 1 tequila shot.”

Iwaizumi chooses not to consider why Ushijima was watching him closely enough to know that.

“I have never seen you drink before, Iwaizumi-san.”

So back to family name and honorifics then? Iwaizumi notes.

“I don’t really make a habit of it. I can hold my liquor fine, but I generally dislike the idea of drinking to get drunk. I also spend most of my time with pro athletes who don’t drink, and my family’s house is also dry — absolutely no alcohol — so I usually don’t.

“Your family does not drink at all?” Ushijima asks, curious. 

“Yeah, there are reasons for that, but not ones I especially want to get into at the moment.” Iwaizumi squeezes his eyelids together and flops back down on the bed.

“Jeez, I feel awful,” he says, and Ushijima believes it.

“I am going to make sure everyone else is okay and then cook something. Do you require anything before then? Water? Medicine?”

“Yes. Both. Please.” Iwaizumi keeps his eyes firmly shut. 

“Everyone?” Iwaizumi echoes while Ushijima is fetching water from the mini fridge and painkiller from a first aid kit in the bathroom.

“Everyone who came with us to the bar stayed over last night,” Ushijima explains as he hands the water and medicine to Iwaizumi. “Alex, two of the interns, and one of the assistant coaches.”

Iwaizumi nods, takes the medicine, and slings back the entire bottle of water.

“Would you like me to get you when the food is almost ready?” Ushijima asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” Iwaizumi says, settling back on his pillows. “Though I feel guilty for not helping you.”

“I do not think you would make a very capable sous chef this morning, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi cracks an eye open just enough to see the slight upward turn of Ushijima’s lips that he had expected, hoped, was there. Iwaizumi sighs in defeat. “Too true,” he says with a soft smile of his own.

Ushijima quietly pads away from the bed toward the door where he slides his shoes on.

“Ushijima!” Iwaizumi calls, flinging himself to the end of the bed to peek around the partition. He grits his teeth and rubs his eyes. “Damn, too fast,” he adds in a whisper.

“Umm, thank you,” Iwaizumi finally says quietly, “for all of it. Everything.”

Ushijima nods then watches Iwaizumi disappear back around the partition into the soft nest of pillows and bedsheets. Ushijima feels a warm sort of satisfaction as he closes the door behind him.

When Ushijima enters the main house everything is quiet, but Alex is sitting upright on the couch scrolling through his phone.

“G’ morning!” He greets Ushijima a little too brightly. 

“Good morning,” Ushijima offers back. “Where is everyone? 

“Mmm…” Alex hums, looking around. “Well, coach is here on the other end of the sectional,” he says, pointing, “and the two interns are down the hall somewhere.” He swirls his wrist to gesture vaguely toward the hallway.

“How is Hajime?” Alex asks with a twist in his smile.

“He has a severe headache, but otherwise he seems to be doing well,” Ushijima says.

“Any other aches?” Alex asks. The twist in his mouth grows wider and one of his eyebrows arches. 

Ushijima is aware enough to think Alex must be implying something, but not enough to understand what it could be.

“No, he did not mention any others,” he answers in a serious tone.

“Alright then,” Alex says, and he seems to leave whatever he has been driving at alone after that.

Ushijima goes and rouses the interns, who are piled in a tangled mess of limbs on the pullout couch in the study.  Alex works to wake the assistant coach, who is proving particularly difficult to rouse. Ushijima is fetching medicine for everyone when he sees Utsui exiting his room into the hallway. 

“Ah, I thought I heard people out here. Everyone alive?”

“Yes, everyone appears to have survived the evening,” Ushijima says.

“Mmm, good to hear,” Utsui yawns as he rifles a hand through his messy hair. 

“Could I get a couple of those?” he adds, inclining his head toward the medicine bottle. Ushijima shakes two pills out into his hand, and Utsui swallows them dry. 

“I thought I would make some food for everyone. Alex seems to be fine, but everyone else is having a difficult morning.”

Utsui laughs and then quickly squeezes his eyes shut, his head pounding from his own noise. “Yes, I imagine so. That would be perfect Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima sets to work in the kitchen while everyone else stumbles around the house aiming to feel (or at least look) more like a human being, sometimes with Alex’s assistance. Ushijima squeezes several oranges first and pours the juice out as people join him to watch from the island. 

“That is Iwaizumi-san’s spot,” Ushijima says quietly when one of them pulls back the bar stool where Iwaizumi usually sits. 

The perpetrator glances at Utsui, who just says “his kitchen, his rules,” with a shrug.

Alex bounds up and asks Ushijima if he can help with anything, and Ushijima wipes his hands on the kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder.

“I am nearly finished, but could you wake Iwaizumi-san? I was going to, but I am still working on this here.” 

Alex is out the back door almost before Ushijima finishes his thought. He flings open the casita door and immediately takes a flying leap onto the bed, crushing Iwaizumi.

“Okay, spill it!” Alex says, far too loudly for Iwaizumi’s liking. 

Iwaizumi pushes him off and to the side before burying deeper into the covers. “Spill what, you scrub?”

“What do you mean, spill what?!” Alex says, ripping the covers away from Iwaizumi’s face. Iwaizumi groans and covers his eyes with his arm.

“I mean what did you and Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Serious get up to last night?”

“Ushijima?” Iwaizumi asks. His brows scrunch together and he reluctantly sits up. “We didn’t do anything. What are you talking about?”

“You mean to tell me,” Alex begins while touching his fingertips together in front of him, “that you were out here… away from the main house… all night… alone… with that specimen of a man… and nothing happened?!”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you,” Iwaizumi deadpans, too exhausted to deal with any of this.

“Umm, are we sure you’re gay? I mean what the fuck, man?”

“Okay, the blatant homophobia!” Iwaizumi teases. “I’m not exactly sure how that’s homophobic, but it feels like it is.”

Alex giggles and Iwaizumi’s head throbs. 

“No but seriously, what makes you so sure he’s into guys in the first place?” Iwaizumi asks, secretly knowing full well that Ushijima is. ”Or that I would be into him for that matter?”

“I just have a gut feeling about it! Bro is into dudes,” Alex says with a shrug. “As for the second thing, if you think you aren't, you are being so ridiculous that I am not even going to dignify it with a response.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “I’m really not interested though. Like for real, I’m not looking to start something with anyone, much less a guy I sometimes have to work with…”

“Work, schmirk!” Alex interjects.

“…and who is also my mentor’s son…”

“So you already know and like your future father in law is what I’m hearing.”

“Uggghhh!” Iwaizumi groans, flopping back on the bed. He shifts to his side, facing Alex.

“For real, Alex,” Iwaizumi says, his face falling. “I’m not sure if I can ever want anyone but my ex. But he and I are done, forever.”

Alex turns serious too and his features soften. “Are you ever going to tell me who he is? I want to know what god among men was able to make my Hajime this lovesick.” Alex envelopes Iwaizumi in a hug and rests his chin on top of his head.

“Maybe I will one day,” Iwaizumi says. “I just don’t like telling people, even now. I hid it for a really long time, mostly for his sake.”

“It’s been a year now, right?” Alex asks, smoothing down Iwaizumi’s hair.

“A year and one day,” Iwaizumi answers. 

Alex’s hand stops and he looks at Iwaizumi. “Is that why you were weird yesterday?” 

“Am I really that obvious?!” he huffs and covers his face.

“Only to me,” Alex smirks.

“And to Ushijima, apparently,” Iwaizumi adds.

“Really?” Alex asks. His eyebrows arch upward in surprise and interest.

“Yeah, he figured me out last night and that’s why he came to the bathroom to find me,” Iwaizumi explains.

“Interesting,” Alex purrs.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks snappishly.

“Well even if you aren’t into him, it seems he is already down bad for you.”

“He is not, Alex. He’s just really kind.”

“To you. He’s kind to you.”

“And to others too!”

“Look, he’s a fine guy, okay. I’m sure he’s lovely enough to everyone he meets. But if there’s one thing I know he is, it’s disinterested. He is always plenty pleasant and cordial, but he doesn’t go out of his way to get close to people. Except, it seems, to you.”

Iwaizumi is silent. His brain is still working too slow to out-think Alex on this.

“Oh right, I forgot,” Alex smirks as he gets up, “he asked me to come fetch you for brunch. Said he would get you himself, but he has to finish up in the kitchen.”

Alex is wearing his I-am-so-right grin as he slinks back to the door. “So don’t keep him waiting there, loverboy,” he says before disappearing back out to the main house.

If Iwaizumi had not wanted to die before, he certainly did now. He enters the main house, and Ushijima immediately turns to the door. 

“Good morning!” Ushijima says, a bit too stiffly, as if he has been startled. He sets a large glass of water and a smaller cup of hot green tea in front of Iwaizumi’s spot, which is conspicuously still vacant.

“I was not sure what you would like, so I made something more American and something Japanese,” Ushijima says, gesturing at the food spread across the island. There is toast, bacon, fruit, and a vegetable frittata, alongside rice, miso soup and some rolled eggs.

“He went overboard,” Utsui says with a smile and a light smack on Iwaizumi’s back in between bites, ”but it’s all incredible.”

Iwaizumi quietly takes a sip of his tea and makes eye contact with Ushijima over the rim of the cup. If Ushijima focuses a little too much on Iwaizumi’s bed head and perfect arms, and if Iwaizumi’s eyes linger on the hand towel slung over Ushijima’s broad shoulders for just a fraction too long — well, that is nobody’s business.

Chapter Text

The phone trills against Iwaizumi’s ear — once, twice, a third time. In the middle of the fourth ring, the other end of the line connects and a sleepy voice answers across the miles.

“Hajime?” Oikawa asks, still not fully awake.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi answers back, his voice shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Oikawa is alert now, and Iwaizumi can practically hear him sitting upright in bed.

“Talk to me, love,” Oikawa presses when Iwaizumi remains quiet for too long.

“I can’t do it,” Iwaizumi says, tears finally springing out at the sound of Oikawa’s soft concern. “I can’t be here anymore Tooru, I can’t be away from you anymore. Please come get me out of here.”

“Hajime, it’s okay. Are you just missing me or did something else happen?”

“I miss you. And I miss being home with you.”

“I know. I miss you too.” Iwaizumi can hear the hurt in Oikawa’s voice that matches his own. “Don’t worry. It won’t be like this forever. We’re both just going to have to do our best for a couple more years, and then we won’t have to miss each other anymore.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flinch wide open and he gasps.

“Fuck,” he whispers and tries to relax his shoulders back into the bed. He wipes the uncomfortable moisture from his face, sweat and tears mixing and stoking the embers of his mingling heartache and irritation. He has been having uneasy dreams for days now, ever since the night at the bar.

He rubs at his eyes and flings himself up out of bed. His mouth feels dry so he pours an entire bottle of water down his parched throat. He knows already that there is no going back to sleep now.

Iwaizumi parts the curtains slightly and looks out at the yard. The pool is shimmering in the cool moonlight, and he wonders if it could ease the sting of the past that he feels blistering his skin like a sunburn.

He slips silently out the door and over to the water’s surface where he looks down at himself. He can see the years written there on his tired reflection. They stretch uncomfortably between their awkward mutual confession at age fourteen and now, trying to cover over Iwaizumi’s many tearful phone calls and the many pretty promises Oikawa made to soothe the persistent ache. They were promises that never came true, ones he chose to break.

Iwaizumi pulls off his shirt, burning and suffocating. He sits at the edge of the pool then quietly slips into the water in just his shorts. He swims from one end of the pool to the other and back again, trying to will himself to stop replaying his dream over and over to agonize over the nauseating details.

The water does actually feel soothing against his skin like he had hoped it would, so he paddles to the deep end then completely submerges himself before immediately popping back up.

“You cannot sleep?” 

Iwaizumi jerks around to look in the direction of the main house and sees Ushijima strolling toward him.

“No,” Iwaizumi admits.

Ushijima sits at the edge of the pool and dips his feet into the water. Iwaizumi swims up close to him to rest his arms and head on the warm concrete.

“Bad dreams?” Ushijima asks, and Iwaizumi hums an affirmative.

Ushijima is perfectly silent, contemplative. 

“Are they all about Oikawa?” he asks, dropping the bomb on their companionable quiet without warning.

Iwaizumi freezes then tries to get his brain and his tongue to work together, but they refuse. A litany of questions all enter his head at once and fight for dominance.

“I am deeply sorry, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima continues. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I know more than I think you are aware I do, and I did not know how else to make you aware of it. I did not want to keep it from you any longer.”

Damn, if that isn’t just so Ushijima of him, Iwaizumi thinks, almost fondly. Iwaizumi’s stomach is still turning flips, but he is trying his best to calm down.

“What do you know already?” Iwaizumi asks when his tongue finally unknots itself.

“I know about you and Oikawa being in a long-term relationship, and I know that the difficult thing that happened to you has to do with him. I… do not know for certain exactly what it is, but I have a guess,” Ushijima says. “That is all really.”

“I see,” Iwaizumi says, feeling a bit dazed. Their secret had not exactly been an ironclad one. The evidence was there if someone really wanted to dig — he knows that. However, he would not have imagined Ushijima on his list of People Who Know.

“How did you find out about it?” Iwaizumi asks.

“One thing was very recent,” Ushijima says. “Before I woke you up from your nightmare the morning after we went to the bar, you said his name in your sleep. I did not mention it at the time, because I did not want to make you uncomfortable, but then you mentioned that the dream was about what happened to you a year ago, so that is how I know it has to do with him.”

Iwaizumi nods slowly. “Yes,” he confirms. “The bad thing was our breakup.”

Ushijima nods in return. He had suspected as much.

“The rest, knowing about the two of you being a couple, that I found out several years ago. It was…  accidental knowledge, so I just kept it to myself.”

“Accidental?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima shifts uncomfortably.

“Yes. I overheard someone mention it.”

“Who?” Iwaizumi asks, very confused. They had especially been careful in their work life. Only their immediate families and a couple of close friends knew, so who?

“Hinata Shouyou,” Ushijima says. 

That name makes Iwaizumi want to shatter.

“Wait.” Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow and his voice darkens. “He knew?”

Ushijima does not easily scare, but the tone of Iwaizumi’s voice sends an eerie creeping chill up the center of his back and out to the rest of him.

Iwaizumi is holding his gaze now, and Ushijima stumbles at what he sees there. Though Iwaizumi can be gruff and intense, Ushijima does not think he has ever seen the flicker of true rage cross his face, until now.

“And what’s more,” Iwaizumi continues in the darkest timbres of his voice, “he went running his mouth after?”

“I was roommates with Kageyama for an away game,” Ushijima spits out quickly. “While we were in the locker room before the game, he got a text from Hinata that was a photo of him with Oikawa in Brazil. I guess they ran into each other by chance on the beach. But he showed me the photo. Then later in our room I was coming out of the shower and he was speaking with Hinata on speakerphone and I heard Hinata ask if Kageyama knew about the two of you being together. Kageyama took him off speaker and went into the bathroom once I came out so I did not hear anything else, and neither of them have ever mentioned it again. To anyone else either, as far as I know.” 

Ushijima is quiet after rapidly flinging everything he knows at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi does not appear to be any calmer.

”Do — do you really dislike people knowing that much?” Ushijima asks, hoping he has not made Iwaizumi upset with him as well.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and sighs it all back out. “It’s not that,” he says.

Iwaizumi rubs at his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

“Do you know anything else about their meeting in Brazil, Ushijima?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima shakes his head and swallows around the lump in the back of his throat.

“Well, they did more than just play beach volleyball,” Iwaizumi says bitterly. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I — I am sorry, I — ”

Iwaizumi squeezes his eyes shut and breathes.

“The two of them did something, together, that almost caused me to break up with him,” Iwaizumi says. He looks at Ushijima with pleading eyes and prays that he will not make him say it.

Mercifully, Ushijima begins to understand. 

“Oh,” Ushijima says, and he looks confused and maybe somewhat pained at the same time. “You mean… something… intimate?”

Iwaizumi nods and feels a bit queasy. Even so many years later, he still hates it.

“Why… would he do that? I do not understand.” Ushijima looks at Iwaizumi, who has even less answers. “Why would he do that to you?”

“You would have to ask him I guess,” Iwaizumi says, trying his best to keep his cool. None of this is Ushijima’s fault. He is not the one that deserves his bitterness and anger.

“He said he was lonely,” Iwaizumi adds quietly. As if I wasn’t fucking lonely too, he thinks.

“That… is not a good excuse, Iwaizumi-san.”

“I know that,” Iwaizumi says. 

His eyes find Ushijima’s, looking for some comfort or understanding or anything really, besides his own simmering thoughts. Their gazes linger, clinging and caressing in ways their hands do not, trying their best to soothe each other across the wall of decorum they still have not brought down.

Iwaizumi clears his throat then tips his upper body down to the surface of the water to float on his back. Ushijima watches him then slides his shirt off over his head before dipping into the pool.

Ushijima treads water quietly while Iwaizumi’s eyes are fixed on the bright waxing moon.

“So Hinata knew?” Iwaizumi asks. Whether to him or the moon, Ushijima cannot be sure.

“I do not know,” Ushijima says, “though he does not seem like the kind of person to do that with someone he knows is in a relationship.”

“Yeah, well I thought Tooru was not the type of person to do that with someone else while being in a relationship,” Iwaizumi fires back.

Ushijima is not usually a tactile person, but Iwaizumi is making him want to put his steady arms to good use. He wishes he could reach out and press the jagged bits of him back together in his firm hold, but his arms just feel useless right now. They hang down listlessly at his sides. It is a feeling Ushijima is not used to — feeling useless.

“Is Oikawa-san the only romantic partner you have had? You were with him a long time, right?”

“15 years,” Iwaizumi says. “Yes, he’s the only one.”

Iwaizumi sits up and treads water now. 

“I never expected to lose him,” he says, sounding a bit dazed. “We’ve known each other since we were children, and we were together for so long. I was supposed to be his, for my whole life. So what am I supposed to do now?” 

Ushijima stays quiet.

“I tried dating a bit after,” Iwaizumi continues, “but it didn’t really work. I mean, it’s only ever been him, since the time I was old enough to even know what attraction was. But it just feels kind of pathetic to be hung up like this at 30.”

“Nothing about that is pathetic,” Ushijima interjects. “You maintained your relationship for so long, sometimes over the longest of distances. That takes more courage and effort than most people can even imagine.”

“Maybe so, but where has it left me? I’ve never even kissed anyone other than Tooru,” Iwaizumi says in a miserable tone.

Ushijima hesitates, then in a somewhat uncharacteristic fashion throws his caution away. 

“Do you want to?” 

“I mean, probably?” Iwaizumi continues, uncomprehending. “I guess I’m still holding out hope that someday I’ll be over this and be able to give someone affection again.” 

“I think it is a good thing you still have hope for that. But I meant do you want to kiss someone other than him right now.” 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says. Oh.

Iwaizumi should say no, he thinks, but he hesitates. He should flatly refuse. That is what the responsible part of him says. However, he pauses at the subtle something-else feeling lapping at him softly — a temptation, like a serpent’s tongue flicking at his ankles. Or… it whispers.

Iwaizumi’s throat has gone dry. He studies Ushijima, who stands unflinching, unhurried, unruffled by his silence. 

Or. 

Or. 

Or, I could kiss one of the most objectively attractive men I know… 

Or, I could do something I know for a fact would piss Tooru off if he knew…

Or, I could find out what it’s like. To touch someone else and be touched, for my lips and my skin to know someone other than him…

“May I?” Iwaizumi asks before he can change his mind.

“Yes, I would like that very much,” Ushijima says. 

It is disarming, his effortless candor. Refreshing too, Iwaizumi thinks, but also terrifying. Oikawa would have definitely teased him.

They stand close to the edge of the pool near the middle of its length where the water comes up to Iwaizumi’s shoulders. Ushijima is nearly five inches taller, so the water laps lazily against the contours of his chest. Iwaizumi draws closer to him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin into the cool night air.

Ushijima stays perfectly still, as if he is afraid he might spook him. He looks down longingly at Iwaizumi’s lips, his eyes heavy and half lidded. 

Iwaizumi’s breath catches. He had not stopped to consider what Ushijima’s part in this is, what it is he intends. Until now he would have guessed that this was an offering of friendship, maybe a “quick platonic smooch to help you get over your trauma, bro!” 

He should have known better, he supposes. He thinks back to their lingering glances, their small mutual kindnesses, the how-are-you’s and let-me-in’s. No, this in front of him is an Ushijima who wants — specifically, an Ushijima who wants him. He is not prepared for that, but he does not want to run away from this either.

“May I touch you?” Ushijima asks quietly.

Iwaizumi nods, and Ushijima slowly slides his hands around Iwaizumi’s waist. His hands are warm and move over his skin more gently than Iwaizumi had expected.

Iwaizumi knows all too well what it is to be touch starved, having spent far too many years in a long-distance relationship. He realizes only now, when Ushijima’s fingertips are igniting aching little bonfires over his neglected skin, that that is what he is: Starving — for affection, for touch, for closeness, for kinship, for caring and interest and need.

Iwaizumi leans against Ushijima to more fully experience the glow of him, the safety and comfort of him. His hands skim up Ushijima’s arms, over his shoulders and to the back of his neck where they clasp together. Iwaizumi pulls himself upward and Ushijima leans down. 

Their lips meet, just barely touching. For one quiet moment, they pause at the edge. They can back away now, make this no big deal, bail before this turns noteworthy. Instead they both press forward.

Nothing about it is hurried, despite the feverish aura of want that is quickly overtaking both of them. Their lips slide softly against each other, dragging each other deeper and further removed from the world. 

Ushijima moves his right hand up to Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades and wraps his left arm around his waist to pull him even closer. Iwaizumi slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss, and Ushijima quickly follows. Iwaizumi can taste the fading remnants of Ushijima’s mint toothpaste and vanilla chapstick.

Everything else has gone out of Iwaizumi’s head, and in the blissful, cavernous quiet, that serpentine temptation returns. It is alone there now, coiling itself under the heat of the spotlight. 

More, it insists. It echoes through every corridor of his mind. Iwaizumi slides his tongue into Ushijima’s mouth.

More, it cries again, reverberating. Iwaizumi wraps his legs around Ushijima, who is startled but holds him steady, never removing his mouth from Iwaizumi’s.

More! It is practically screaming now, rattling Iwaizumi’s skull. Ushijima’s hands are under his thighs holding him up, and he is pressing Iwaizumi’s back against the side of the pool.

Iwaizumi pulls back, and he is panting. Ushijima kisses his face, his jaw, his neck. Iwaizumi shudders and tips his head back to the concrete. He opens his eyes to the cold, indifferent moon that is not quite full.

It is not until Ushijima tastes something mingling with the chlorine on Iwaizumi’s skin that he realizes something is amiss. When he tries to place it, his lips freeze in panic — salt, the salt of tears. 

Chapter Text

“Iwaizumi-san?” Ushijima asks gently. They look at each other, and Ushjima can see the tears streaming down Iwaizumi’s face and neck. Ushijima brushes his face dry and tries to move away, but Iwaizumi’s legs stay firmly wrapped around his waist. 

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi whispers. “I don’t understand.”

“We should get out of the pool,” Ushijima says. Iwaizumi leans forward to cling to Ushijima’s chest and hides his face there where his neck meets his collarbone. 

Ushijima is not quite sure what to do, so he keeps one hand under Iwaizumi’s thigh and one on his back and walks him out of the pool. Iwaizumi is not a small man by any means, but Ushijima carries him fairly easily. 

“Hold on to me tight, okay?” he whispers to Iwaizumi before reaching the steps of the pool. Iwaizumi clings to him.

Ushijima does not set him down until they get to the bathroom of the casita, where he helps Iwaizumi sit down before crouching down to be eye level with him.

“Please forgive me, Iwaizumi-san,” Ushijima says as he brushes more of his tears. “Did I push you too far?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says quickly. “No, I wanted this. I — really liked it.”

Ushijima places his hands on Iwaizumi’s knees and quietly waits. He feels that Iwaizumi has more to say.

“I’m not sure what’s happening, what made me cry. I don’t think I’m sad exactly, just feeling a lot. And…”

“And?” Ushijima prompts him gently when he wavers.

“And I wanted more.”

“More?” Ushijima asks. His stomach gives a little flip.

“I don’t know what I mean either. I just know everything got a bit hazy and I kept thinking it so loud, just ‘More!’ Over and over again.” 

“It is okay to want that,” Ushijima says quietly. He feels his heart picking up speed now. Oh, I want that too.

“Is it?” Iwaizumi asks quietly.

“It is. What if that is what I want to give you?” 

Iwaizumi looks at him for the first time since leaving the pool, and there he is again, the Ushijima who wants, staring back at him so unflinchingly.

“How can you know that? You don’t even know what I mean. I don’t either. What if I ask for too much?” 

Ushijima regards him in silence for a moment. “Has someone told you that before? That you ask for too much?” 

Iwaizumi’s breath hitches. “Not in those exact words,” he whispers.

“But in other words?” Ushijima asks. Iwaizumi has gone very quiet. 

“Here,” Ushijima says, popping up to stand, “we need to get clean. I will leave to go shower in the main house, but I will be back.”

Iwaizumi’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist to stop him from going. 

“Sorry, but could you stay here?” Iwaizumi asks, looking a bit surprised himself.

“Do you mean here in the bathroom with you?”

Was that what Iwaizumi had meant? He is not sure anymore. He keeps having these impulses, speaking them aloud, and then finding himself confused when Ushijima asks the smallest of clarifying questions. 

Ushijima seems endlessly patient, a foil to Oikawa’s frenetic energy that was always pushing him to respond, to react, to be more immediate. Ushijima, in his communication as well as his volleyball, is at his leisure, powerful enough to mean he does not have to be quick and insistent. This is like when he appears to hang in the air when he spikes, Iwaizumi thinks. He is there now — waiting, patient. It is equal parts refreshing and unsettling for a man so used to his time alone with Oikawa sometimes feeling more like a high intensity tennis match than a conversation. 

“I don’t actually know.” Iwaizumi finally says. Not even that non-answer seems to bother Ushijima. 

“Then I will stay next to you until you tell me to leave. Does that sound agreeable to you?” Ushijima asks.

Iwaizumi just nods quietly.

“Okay. You should shower,” Ushijima says, helping Iwaizumi to his feet.

“What about you?” Iwaizumi says. Ushijima looks at him and tilts his head slightly.

“Don’t you need to?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima nods.

“And you said you’d stay with me, so…”

“Oh! My apologies! I do not mean to imply anything, Iwaizumi-san. I just meant I would stay in the room. I would not…”

Fuck all of this nonsense, Iwaizumi thinks. He is so very tired, so very past the point of caring, and he seems to want him close. So fuck it.

Iwaizumi raises a finger to Ushijima’s lips, cutting him off mid-apology, then he leans and turns on the shower. His eyes stay on Ushijima’s as he silently sheds his remaining clothes, then he turns to get into the shower and glances behind him.

“Come on,” he says simply before stepping in and pulling the frosted glass door mostly closed. 

Iwaizumi’s entire face is burning and his pulse is dancing wildly. He had tried to sound cool, and he dearly hopes he had. When Ushijima does not immediately follow, Iwaizumi begins to fret in earnest and plunges himself into the stream of warm water. 

Suddenly, Ushijima appears and quickly closes the sliding door behind him. Iwaizumi is too afraid to check whether he has fully disrobed or not, so he closes his eyes and continues to rinse himself under the water.

Ushijima watches the way it cascades over him, streaming down Iwaizumi’s neck, shoulders, and chest. He stops his eyes as they skim over Iwaizumi’s waist and flicks them up to the ceiling.

Ushijima wants to ask Iwaizumi if he is sure this is okay, them being this close in this state, but he feels maybe he should not. He has showered next to his teammates in locker room settings, but he has never been in a situation like this. 

He is not even sure what he would call Iwaizumi now. About a week ago he was not sure he would even label them friends exactly — maybe more like friendly work acquaintances. But what about now, after he has sampled the taste of his tongue and the feel of his skin under his fingers?

“Ushijima.” 

His eyes return from the ceiling, and Iwaizumi has turned around to face him. Iwaizumi steps backward until he is under the shower head out of its stream, and he motions Ushijima forward so that the water can hit him. Ushijima lets it fall against his chest and run down him before he turns around to rinse his back.

“I have never done this before,” Ushijima says once he turns away, because he is unable to voice any of the other hundred things occupying his thoughts.

“Really?” Iwaizumi asks, and Ushijima gives a low “mmh” in confirmation.

“I always used to like it, whenever Tooru and I were in the same place. It was like, you don’t even want to spend a second apart, you know? And washing together, it just seemed very intimate. Not even sexual really, just, I don’t know. Usually it’s when you’re most by yourself and laid bare. And sharing that made me happy. But it’s kind of embarrassing to be that clingy, so I never even told him that.”

Ushijima straightens and looks over his shoulder. “I do not see that as embarrassing, Iwaizumi-san.” 

“No?” Iwaizumi asks quietly, hardly a whisper.

“That is just loving someone, is it not? Never wanting to be apart from them.”

“Perhaps,” Iwaizumi says. His eyes are open but not seeing.

“Can you hand me the shampoo please?” Iwaizumi says in a far-away kind of voice.

Ushijima turns halfway to look at him with an appraising glance. “Trade places with me, Iwaizumi-san.” 

Iwaizumi just does as he asks. When their bare hips brush against each other during the shuffle, he flushes at the revelation that they are indeed both completely unclothed.

Iwaizumi hears a cap open, but he continues to stare at the back shower wall. He flinches in surprise when Ushijima’s hands slide across his scalp, working shampoo into his short, dark hair. 

“Is it okay?” Ushijima asks before continuing. 

Iwaizumi stays quiet but nods.

Ushijima’s fingers work methodically through Iwaizumi’s hair. It feels so comforting to him, and he hums happily and dips his head back.

“I am going to rinse it,” Ushijima says after a while, then he pulls Iwaizumi’s shoulders back into his chest so that the water hits his head. 

Iwaizumi runs his fingers through his hair to rinse out all the shampoo. Ushijima’s hands, no longer busy, find something to do by sliding over Iwaizumi’s waist and running back and forth over his sides. He is dutifully making sure to keep their hips apart to avoid all of this becoming more than Iwaizumi might want.

Once Iwaizumi’s hair has been rinsed, Ushijima dips his head and kisses the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Iwaizumi stretches his neck to the side in invitation, so Ushijima lightly kisses him up his neck again.

“That feels nice,” Iwaizumi says quietly with his eyes closed.

Such a small compliment, but it really gets to Ushijima. It feels nice. I make him feel nice. Though much to his horror, Iwaizumi apparently makes him feel nice too, because he can feel the intensifying reaction that is happening below his waistline.

“I am glad,” Ushijima says. “I should probably wash though,” he adds quickly.

Ushijima removes his lips and hands from Iwaizumi and uncaps the shampoo again. It is fine, he thinks as he squeezes some into his hands then runs them together. I just need to settle down, and everything will be…

The second his hands thread into his hair, Ushijima realizes his fatal miscalculation, the demise of his best laid plans, because without his hands on Iwaizumi’s waist, they inadvertently drift a bit too close together, Iwaizumi’s body now nearly flush with Ushijima’s.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi breathes out, sounding flustered, but he does not remove himself or flinch.

“I — my apol…”

“Don’t.” Iwaizumi says quickly. “We’re too old for that I think, right?” Iwaizumi tips his head from where it rests against Ushijima’s shoulder to look at him. Iwaizumi had sounded confident, but the red blush that runs from the tips of his ears down his neck and chest tells Ushijima a different story.

“It’s a natural reaction,” Iwaizumi continues, “and not something I want you to feel bad about.”

Ushijima’s hands are still stalled in his hair, and his mouth is parted ever so slightly. Iwaizumi looks down and away, unable to meet his spellbound gaze for long.

“I’m just going to be honest, because I don’t know what else to do,” Iwaizumi begins again. “I’m not going to have sex with you. I don’t think I can do that.”

“That is completely okay,” Ushijima says quickly. He cannot quite place the look spreading across Iwaizumi’s face, but it makes him anxious. “I — this is not how I thought I would be talking to you about this,” he adds as he rinses his hands then wraps his arms around Iwaizumi.

“I want however much of you you are comfortable with letting me have, Iwaizumi-san. However much ‘more’ you feel like giving me, or not, I will receive it. If that means you only want me to be your work acquaintance, then I will live with that, but if I could maybe be more to you…”

“Why are you saying this, Ushijima-san?” Iwaizumi asks, his heart thrumming loudly.

Ushijima gently turns Iwaizumi around to face him and looks directly at him with a gaze that implores him not to turn away. 

“Because I like you, Iwaizumi-san.”

“You like me how?” Iwaizumi asks, though if he is honest he already knows.

“I have a romantic, emotional, and physical interest in you,” Ushijima says, very matter-of-fact. “Is that clear enough?”

Iwaizumi is caught between an urge to melt and an urge to run. It is so sublimely attractive of him, Iwaizumi thinks, this straightforward, earnest nature he has. However, it is also slightly terrifying, as if Iwaizumi is a wave and Ushijima is the unyielding seawall he is about to break against.

“I have been examining my own feelings quite carefully the last few days,” Ushijima says, and Iwaizumi gives a small smile, because of course he has.

“I am attracted to you, I think you are a wonderful person, and my feelings have become romantic in nature.”

Iwaizumi sighs and rests his forehead against Ushijima’s shoulder. “How did this happen?” he asks. “All these years we’ve known each other and worked together, so why now?”

“Well, this is not the first time I have… taken a sort of interest in you actually,” Ushijima says, turning quiet toward the end of his thought. Iwaizumi freezes, then looks up at him.

“No?” Iwaizumi asks, trying to keep his voice even.

“No,” Ushijima confirms. “Though, the first time… I am not sure. I just thought you were helpful and nice and quite smart. I am… sometimes not very smart.”

Iwaizumi puffs up, ready to protest, but Ushijima’s almost bashful smile cuts him short.

“It was that time we ran into each other here. When you came to meet my dad for the first time. We, ahh, well we spent the day together and you talked to me about my technique, and just… I suppose I really enjoyed that,” Ushijima explains.

“But there was a lot going on, not least of which was us being in different countries and also me not even knowing yet if you liked men or if what I was feeling was infatuation or just… maybe admiration?”

Iwazumi nods, but his head is becoming a bit of a mess. All this time? he wonders.

“Not that I was lying in wait or anything,” Ushijima says quickly, as if answering Iwaizumi’s unspoken thought. “Because about a year later I found out about you and Oikawa, so I just stopped trying to figure out what sort of interest it had been exactly, because I do not consider the attractiveness of people who I know are in relationships.”

From someone else that might ring a bit false to Iwaizumi, but coming from Ushijima he can believe it. 

“This time though, I do not know, I had somewhat of a feeling that… perhaps your relationship status had changed. And I think your behavior toward me has also changed slightly. So I started to… attempt to figure it out again.”

Iwaizumi sighs. He hates being so closely (and though he hates to acknowledge it, accurately) perceived.

“You’re probably right,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “We should probably get out and talk about this properly, huh?” 

Iwaizumi swiftly banishes the thought of just how fun it might be to talk about it improperly. He is nowhere near ready for something like that, he thinks, and this already messy whatever-it-is he has going on with Ushijima does not need to get any more complicated.

Iwaizumi gets out first, drying off and then quickly pulling on a t-shirt and the cotton shorts he usually sleeps in. He rifles through his clothes and chuckles to himself before placing some in the bathroom for Ushijima, then he sits on the bed waiting for him to emerge.

“I do not mean to sound ungrateful, Iwaizumi-san, but I think I must protest,” Ushijima says as he comes out of the bathroom wearing an old Aoba Johsai t-shirt.

“You know I had to, just once,” Iwaizumi says with a smirk.

“C’mere,” he adds, patting the bed next to him. Ushijima sits down as he instructs, and Iwaizumi pulls the too-tight shirt up and off of him.

Something unexpectedly stirs in Iwaizumi that he does not want to acknowledge, a flickering want stoked by the action of undressing him. Iwaizumi tries to shove it away and quickly pops an oversized Joshua Tree t-shirt over his head instead. 

“Better?” he asks, and Ushijima nods and hums his agreement.

Iwaizumi settles back against the headboard and studies Ushijima for a moment. 

“So, you like me?” Iwaizumi says hesitantly, unsure of how any of this is supposed to go.

“I like you,” Ushijima says back. Iwaizumi is quiet. 

“How do you feel about that?” Ushijima continues, trying to get Iwaizumi to say something.

“I suppose… conflicted would be the right word,” Iwaizumi says. 

Ushijima nods slowly, his eyes roaming over Iwaizumi, taking in all of him.

“May I sit next to you?” Ushijima asks, and Iwaizumi nods. 

Ushijima climbs further onto the bed and sits with his back to the headboard, mirroring Iwaizumi’s posture. He crosses his legs and hesitantly touches Iwaizumi’s hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it like a nervous habit.

“I believe I have some idea, but can you tell me what factors are making you feel conflicted?” Ushijima asks.

It is difficult for Iwaizumi to figure out where to even begin. 

“A lot of it has to do with Tooru,” he says, deciding to start there since it seems to be the baseline truth of his entire existence.

“Not that I still want to be with him, because I don’t. Not… the him he became anyway. Ahh, it’s complicated to talk about.”

Iwaizumi sends a sidelong glance at Ushijima, who is listening intently in that somewhat unsettling way he does, unhurried and steady.

“I don’t want to be with him, but I also still can’t imagine having feelings for anyone else. And I  don’t want to date someone as like an experiment to find out, then just have him living in Tooru’s shadow. I also don’t want to make someone a rebound, especially someone who I occasionally work with and who also happens to be my mentor’s son.”

Ushijima nods along, and appears to be very seriously considering Iwaizumi’s words.

“Is any of this making sense?” Iwaizumi asks. Or am I just making excuses here?

“Yes, I understand your concerns,” Ushijima says carefully, still in thought.

“I also — ” Iwaizumi starts and then stops again. “I’ve only ever known a serious relationship, and I was… kind of intense about the one I was in. I’m worried that if I ever did somehow get over all that stuff, I still wouldn’t know how to navigate a normal, adult, we-just-started-dating kind of relationship. I feel like I’d come on way too strong.”

Ushijima’s heart twangs at that, and his immediate gut reaction is please, for the love of god, come onto me too strong. He swallows dryly, knowing that is irresponsible of him. He is not entirely sure how he has become so quickly enamored with Iwaizumi, or how Iwaizumi suddenly has him uncharacteristically thinking about five steps too far ahead.

“What if I said that would not be a problem?” Ushijima says quietly, cautiously. 

Iwaizumi looks at him, and he feels immediately ill. It is like the first time Oikawa held his hand in a boyfriend way, or like when he first suggested that maybe, possibly, at some point, he would want to have sex with Hajime. It is a fever that blisters and bakes instead of burning like an open flame, concentrated entirely in the base of his skull, and a nauseating flip of his stomach accompanies it. It feels like if he had not been sitting he might collapse, and he hates it. He hates himself too.

“It would be,” Iwaizumi says low and quiet, hugging his knees to his chest to try to fold in on himself. 

“Iwaizumi,” Ushijima breathes out softly, sweeter than Iwaizumi imagines him being capable of, “I’m not here to push you, and I don’t want to make you upset.”

“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” Iwaizumi insists. “You’ve done nothing for me to be upset about.”

“Be that as it may, something has upset you,” Ushijima says, and it is soft and cautious but matter-of-fact.

Everything is now impossibly aggravating. Everything is both too much and not enough. Iwaizumi feels crazy, just fucking kiss me to make me forget and never fucking touch me again both flopping messily and wrathfully against each other in his mind. He feels sick, both physically and in the head, and he wishes someone would just knock him out. He figures Wakatoshi’s strength could do it, put him out cold in one punch, but he also knows he would never do that.

“Have you ever punched anyone before?” Iwaizumi asks, flinging out the non sequitur and baffling Ushijima.

“Once,” Ushijima admits, still looking startled.

Iwaizumi lays down and rolls on his side facing away from Ushijima to try to calm the frustrated thrumming of his head.

“Why do you ask?” Ushijima adds, but Iwaizumi does not feel like explaining.

“Can you tell me about it?” he asks instead.

“Mmm,” Ushijima hums. “It was in high school, during my second year. We were away at a tournament and someone said something really nasty about my partner.”

Ushijima slides down the headboard to lay more flat on the bed.

“He usually is very thick skinned and can handle himself, but it… what this person said… I still remember the way he looked. That asshole shattered his heart, so before I even realized what I was doing, I shattered his face.”

Iwaizumi flips around quickly, startling Ushijima again. He searches his face with an expression Ushijima is not sure he can decipher.

“What?” Ushijima asks, flipping to his side more gently than Iwaizumi had to be able to look at him directly. 

“It’s just unexpected maybe,” Iwaizumi says, finally distracted from his own nauseating physical reactions. “Or maybe not, actually. Though I’ve never heard you curse before.”

“I try not to make a habit of it,” Ushijima says, “or of punching people either. I… never want to become a violent or scary person. I know that it would be easy for someone like me to be thought of that way.”

Iwaizumi’s heartstrings twist and he reaches a hesitant hand out and places it over Ushijima’s nearest hand.

“I know you aren’t like that,” Iwaizumi says quietly, unable to meet his gaze.

“Iwaizumi-san, I do not want to make you feel worse,” Ushijima says, “but would you maybe let me hold you?”

The agitated sickness threatens to flare up in his core again, but Iwaizumi shoves it down as hard as he can. “Okay,” he concedes.

Ushijima shuffles closer to Iwaizumi and wraps his arm around his waist. He gently pulls him in close so that Iwaizumi’s head rests on his other arm and his face slots perfectly into his neck and shoulder. The arm Ushijima has around Iwaizumi’s waist tightens momentarily before relaxing again, and Ushijima tangles their ankles together. 

“How can you do this so casually?” Iwaizumi asks, feeling the heat rising in his face.

“It does not feel casual to me,” Ushijima says back, and Iwaizumi is silent again, opening and closing his mouth not knowing what to say.

“Ushijima,” Iwaizumi says, trying his best not to completely melt into his soft, warm touches.

“Iwaizumi,” Ushijima says back, and the low sound of his voice luxuriating through each syllable is quite stirring, Iwaizumi has to admit.

“I have no wish to push you toward anything,” Ushijima says, “but if you are alright with me holding you and kissing you, well, could I maybe keep doing that?”

Iwaizumi looks like he might protest right away, but Ushijima quickly cuts in again. 

“I know your reasons for being hesitant to pursue a relationship with me, and thank you for considering it so carefully. That of course does not change my feelings, and I would like to continue to be close to you.”

Iwaizumi considers this carefully. Part of his mind is still screaming, begging him to be reasonable and establish clear, platonic boundaries here and now. He knows Ushijima will honor them if he does. However, another part of him recognizes his own gnawing hunger for touch and affection, whetted by Ushijima’s body against his and the way he is absentmindedly rubbing little circles over the small of Iwaizumi’s back.

“Ushijima-san,” Iwaizumi says looking up at him, “have you ever heard the phrase ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?’”

Chapter Text

Ushijima quickly learns what the phrase means, and that it is not necessarily limited by geography as he had initially assumed. For him it means he gets to hold Iwaizumi, for now at least.

It is a dangerous proposition to be sure. He worries about what might happen after getting to be this close with him, about the ache he is sure to feel at the loss of it. Right now though, he chooses to experience it and deal with the consequences later.

In some respects, it is against his usual careful nature. Though on the other hand, no one has ever accused Ushijima of not being persistent either. He would never push Iwaizumi, but a small but vocal part of him keeps insisting with a terrifying, serene certainty that Iwaizumi is meant to become important to him, in some way or another. It is a conviction he finds he cannot easily ignore.

The last few days of their time in California pass far too quickly for their liking. They spend the days either going to work with Utsui or whiling away their time with each other in comfortable quiet.

Alex continues to poke fun at Iwaizumi about Ushijima, but Hajime steadfastly denies everything — even though each night when the mood changes, they end up feverishly making out in the casita after Utsui has gone to bed. 

On the night before they are both scheduled to leave, Ushijima is straddling Iwaizumi’s lap on the bed and running his hands through his hair as his kisses become progressively more insistent. He does not want their time together to end, does not want to pull back from him for what he fears might be the last time.

“Iwaizumi,” he says softly against his lips. Ushijima tilts his head and kisses his throat on the spot he has already figured out Iwaizumi likes best.

“Hajime,” Iwaizumi says resolutely but so quietly it almost gets lost. Ushijima pauses the movements of his mouth and leans back to look at him.

“…What?”

“If you can stick your tongue down my throat, you can certainly call me by my given name,” he says. He grumbles a bit when he says it, but the red in his cheeks tells Ushijima it is because he is feeling shy about it.

“I — ” Ushijima is caught off guard, his eyes widen in surprise tinged with anxiety. On most of the teams he has been on, they have used given names. He has no problem saying Tobio or Kourai or Eita or even Satori, but this feels different somehow.

“And I kind of want to experience it again, for real this time,” Iwaizumi adds quietly, looking away.

It shoots through Ushijima like an arrow, and he is immediately done for. He runs a gentle hand up Iwaizumi’s neck and slides it into his hair before pulling him into a soft kiss, one that he tries desperately to pack all his feelings into. 

“Hajime,” he says near Iwaizumi’s ear, letting it rumble in his chest and tingle on his lips. He loves the feel of it in his mouth, the shape of it as it leaves. He feels Iwaizumi shudder and hears the barely audible little “mmm” sound at the back of his throat.

“Hajime,” he says again, more confidently this time, kissing up the side of his neck.

Iwaizumi’s body goes pliant, melting against him like it does whenever Ushijima does something he particularly likes. Ushijima enjoys the way Iwaizumi’s body gives him such clear feedback, almost as if it is coaching Ushijima in how to seduce him.

“W — Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi returns breathlessly. To Ushijima it feels quite unexpectedly intimate, and his lips tremble against Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Do I really have to give you up?” Ushijima asks, leaning his forehead against Iwaizumi’s shoulder and tightening his hold around his waist. It has been the unspoken question on his mind since the night they first kissed.

Iwaizumi swallows and takes a deep breath. 

“I just don’t know how we could possibly keep this up,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “We live hours apart and only see each other occasionally for work.”

Ushijima nods slowly. “Is that your only objection?” he asks, and Iwaizumi is quiet, thoughtful.

“It is,” Iwaizumi finally says.

“Then if there were a way…”

“I don’t foresee our circumstances changing,” Iwaizumi says simply.

“But hypothetically,” Ushijima says. “Indulge me, please.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Yes, in the very hypothetical universe where things are different, then maybe. But I just… I don’t think I will be leaving Sendai anytime soon, and you should not leave your team for mine.”

Ushijima gives a slight nod and looks thoughtful. “But when we do get to see each other…” Ushijima says, softly kissing his neck and collarbone again.

“Okay, maybe,” Iwaizumi says, involuntarily going slack with each press of Ushijima’s lips.

“Then I had better make sure to savor this, until I can see you again,” Ushijima says. He presses his lips to Iwaizumi’s and runs his hands over his sides.

“You know,” Iwaizumi says, pulling away, “that would mean we’re botching the ‘stays in Vegas’ part.”

“That will be the first thing in my entire life that I will happily fail at,” Ushijima says before capturing Iwaizumi’s lips again.

Soon after, Ushijima returns to his own room as he has every night, and Iwaizumi settles down into his covers to try to sleep. As he stares at the ceiling, feeling the long stretch of the seconds ticking by, he feels Ushijima’s absence more acutely than he had ever expected he might. With Ushijima gone from his bed and soon to be mostly back out of his life, he is left with only the confusing whirrings of his own mind that bid for dominance as he slips into another fitful sleep.

*******

They are leaving on the same flight out of LAX. Ushijima had managed to rearrange his own plans as soon as he knew more about Iwaizumi’s departure details. He does not even mind that it will land him at Narita, even though Haneda is so much closer to his part of Tokyo.

Utsui drives them to the airport and pulls them both into crushing hugs before they have to part for security.

“It was so good to see you Hajime,” Utsui says. “Come back anytime you like.”

Both Ushijima and Iwaizumi stride quickly to the security line and stand mostly in silence, save the occasional yawn. When their hands brush accidentally, Iwaizumi tries not to think about how it will be when Ushijima is not just a few yards away with nothing better to do than kiss his lips raw. 

Before he can think too much about it, Iwaizumi hooks Ushijima’s pinky finger with his own, barely connected but holding on tight. Ushijima says nothing, but his finger curls around Iwaizumi’s, and he does not part them until they have to put their bags on the scan belt.

They stay close but talk very little, both of them beginning to succumb to the unease of the unknown that is facing them. They are expected to return back to their usual life while feeling not at all like their usual selves. This unease is only punctuated when Ushijima leaves with an earlier boarding group and Iwaizumi knows that even though they are on the same flight, they will be apart starting now.

Stop it, he thinks. It is all fine, so just deal with it. It’s normal. He boards the plane while pep talking himself, but he stops the second he sees Ushijima sitting in the seat next to his. 

“What are you…”

“I struck a deal with the person who was meant to sit next to you. I hope that is alright.”

Iwaizumi feels his body relax, and he silently admonishes himself for that. Still, they manage to postpone the inevitable for a further 12 hours, and he immediately feels a degree of relief that he would never want to admit to.

Unfortunately, the moment still arrives anyway as they stand facing each other near the baggage claim, each bound for trains heading in opposite directions. They are slapped hard with cold reality and the magical, warm bubble of their California daydreams is finally dissolving.

Ushijima gathers Iwaizumi into a hasty hug and squeezes him, trying to convey what his scrambling brain cannot seem to string into words. 

“See you… soon. I hope,” Ushijima says before they step away from each other.

*******

Iwaizumi has been home less than a week when he receives a call from an unknown number. 

“Good afternoon, I am calling for Iwaizumi Hajime,” the caller begins. The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but Iwaizumi cannot seem to place it.

“Yes, this is Iwaizumi,” he says cautiously. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Suzuki Aoki,” the caller says. “I’m with Kanagawa.”

“Ah!” Iwaizumi exclaims as the pieces fall into place and he is able to recall Suzuki’s face. He is a coach for the Sagamihara-based Division 1 team, VC Kanagawa. 

“Hello Suzuki-san. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Iwaizumi asks politely.

“I am not certain if you are aware, Iwaizumi-san, but we have been searching for a new conditioning coach,” Suzuki says.

“Oh?” Iwaizumi says, now confused about the direction of the conversation. “No, I was not aware of that, Suzuki-san.”

“Yes. We are actively searching for someone to fill the post before the new season begins, and while in conversation about it, your name was mentioned quite frequently and favorably.”

Iwaizumi pauses, partly taken aback but also somewhat flattered. “I see,” he manages to say.

“I realize that this is likely coming quite out of the blue for you,” Suzuki says, “but I assure you that we would love to speak with you and are prepared to offer the right candidate highly competitive terms.”

Iwaizumi’s head is swimming, and it takes everything in him to not just give a resounding and immediate “no.”

“I appreciate your interest, Suzuki-san, but — ”

“I recognize that it is a lot to consider,” Suzuki says, steamrolling forward. “I understand that you have been with the Frogs for several years now and have roots in Miyagi, as well as your work for the national team that I assume you will want to continue, but as I mentioned Iwaizumi-san, we are prepared to make it well worth someone’s while. And you also come highly recommended.”

“By whom?” Iwaizumi asks, despite himself. Even if he has no real intention of entertaining the notion, he is curious about who has been ‘mentioning his name favorably.’

“Yamamoto Taketora,” Suzuki says, and that makes a bit of sense to Iwaizumi. They have worked together during a few special exhibition matches for the JVA, and he and Tora have always got on well. In some ways he reminds Iwaizumi of a more sociable and domesticated version of Kyoutani.

“And Oikawa Takeru,” Suzuki adds, and Iwaizumi freezes.

“Takeru?” Iwaizumi asks quietly.

“Yes, it was only just announced publicly last week, but he is joining the team this season. He has been quite vocal about your talents.”

“I see.” It is all Iwaizumi can say.

“Well, as you said there would be a lot to consider,” Iwaizumi says.

“Yes, certainly Iwaizumi-san, and we understand if we are not the right fit for each other. But we would like to at least speak with you about it, to interview you if you would be willing to give us some of your time. It would mean a promotion for you, and potentially a quite lucrative one at that. As well as the benefit of being located closer to Tokyo for when you are working with the national team.”

Suzuki does present a good argument, but Iwaizumi does not see how he can possibly leave behind all of his family responsibilities in Sendai.

“I am not certain, Suzuki-san,” Iwaizumi says. “Could I get back to you about this?”

“Why not set a tentative date?” Suzuki says. “The worst that happens is you decide it’s not for you and get to come spend a day with us in Sagamihara. And we will pay your travel expenses, of course!” 

Iwaizumi shifts nervously on his feet.

“I am sorry to be a bit pushy about it, Iwaizumi-san,” Suzuki adds, “but we really are very serious about this.”

“Okay then,” Iwaizumi agrees, already feeling regretful and anxious about it. “It can’t hurt to have a conversation, I suppose.”

“Excellent!” Suzuki exclaims before scheduling a date and time with Iwaizumi a few days in the future.

“That’s perfect! Okay, so my assistant will be in touch with you sometime later today about booking your transportation,” Suzuki says. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us, Iwaizumi-san!”

“Absolutely, Suzuki-san. Thank you again for thinking of me,” Iwaizumi says before hanging up. He is still certain he will not actually be taking the job, even if it is offered, but it is necessary that he remain courteous.

“Who was that?” his mother asks, rounding the corner.

“A coach from a different team,” he says vaguely.

“Oh?” she says, and Hajime knows she is pressing for further information. 

“What did he need?” she asks when Hajime remains quiet.

“The team wants me to come visit them in a few days,” he says, still trying his best to be vague.

“Ah, that’s unusual isn’t it?”

Hajime turns and looks at his mother, who is looking at him expectantly, then sighs.

“They are trying to recruit me to be their conditioning coach,” he explains.

“That’s wonderful, darling!” his mother says scooping him into a hug.

“Mom,” he says with a weary sigh, “the team is in Sagamihara.”

“And?” she asks, though she clearly anticipates what he is about to say.

“And I’m not going to just leave you and granny alone here,” he says, frustration bubbling into his voice.

“Hajime, come sit with me, please,” his mother says, and she leads the way to the kitchen table. Once they are seated, Hajime’s knee bounces fitfully, and he looks down at his folded hands on the table.

“I’ve wanted to talk with you about this, and it seems like now is quite an opportune time,” she says. “Mother and I have been discussing making some changes.”

Hajime’s head snaps up. “What sort of changes?” he asks, trying but failing to keep his voice in check.

“Well first of all, she has expressed her desire to go live with my cousin.”

“What?!” Hajime bellows before he can stop himself.

“Wait please,” his mother says calmly. “Let me finish.”

Hajime nods slowly and swallows to try to wet his throat.

“By living there, she would be much closer to all of her doctors and to the hospital in case of an emergency,” she explains, “and there are more people in their household who can give her more company and watch over her. My aunt also lives there, and my cousin has three older children who still live at home. It is all around a better situation.”

“But we can’t just push her off on someone else!” Hajime exclaims. “Wouldn’t we be failing to live up to our family responsibilities? And besides that, she’s not just some object, like something you put into storage in someone else’s garage!”

“You are exactly right, Hajime,” she says. “Which is exactly why I want to defer to her wishes about this. It is what she wants.”

“She… wants to?” he asks, incredulous.

“She wants to,” she confirms. “She had briefly discussed it with me a few weeks ago, and while you were away she made her decision.”

“I see,” he says quietly, staring back at his hands again.

“And what about you then?” he asks. “Would you expect me to just leave you here alone?”

“Darling you would only be a few hours away by train,” she says with a smile, “and I have already been arranging for someone to come in as an aide.”

“So I’m just supposed to entrust you to some random person on a daily basis?!” he asks, getting frustrated again.

“It would not be someone random. It would be Tae-chan,” she says.

“Tae-chan,” Iwaizumi echos back, dumbfounded. “You mean Taeko-neesan? As in Oikawa Taeko? That Tae-chan?”

“Yes.”

Just how many Oikawas have been meddling in my business lately? Iwaizumi wonders.

“Well, I guess that is a bit better, but — ”

“Hajime,” his mother says kindly but firmly. “Stop making decisions purely because of me, I’m begging you.”

Iwaizumi looks up at her and sees both love and hurt in her eyes. 

“You are such a good boy,” she says, “such a wonderful son.” She slides a hand across the table to cover his.

“I know you worry about me, but at this stage of life you are meant to be out taking the opportunities that come your way. When I continue to rob you of that, it hurts my heart and burdens my conscience.”

Hajime looks down again at his now trembling hands and his mother’s delicate hand on top of them. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in a quiet and low voice. “I wasn’t aware I was worrying you that much.” 

“You are my son, darling. What else is there for me to worry about?”

Iwaizumi can maybe think of a few things, but he keeps that to himself.

“I want you to really think about this opportunity, and if it is a good one I want you to take it,” she adds.

“Okay,” he says, nodding slowly.

She rises from her seat at the table and pulls him in close before kissing the top of his head. She leaves him there sitting at the table, knowing he probably needs some time with his own thoughts.

After a while Hajime pulls out his phone with still shaking hands.

*******

Ushijima and Kageyama are walking toward the players exit at the Schweiden practice gym. They have just finished practice and Ushijima is describing an Italian dish he just learned how to make when his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

He looks at the screen and stops dead in his tracks, answering immediately. Kageyama turns to look back at him with curiosity and slight worry.

“Iwai— ahh, Hajime,” he corrects, “hello.”

Ushijima sees Kageyama’s eyebrows fly upward and has to look away from him.

“Oh, um, hi Wakatoshi,” he hears Iwaizumi say through the phone. He sounds flustered already, and Ushijima can feel heat rising up his neck and cheeks.

“It is nice to hear from you,” Ushijima says. “How have you been doing?”

“I, umm, I’ve been good,” he hears Iwaizumi say. “Doing pretty okay.”

“That is good to hear,” Ushijima says. Even though Kageyama is trying his best now to look disinterested, he cannot help but be very aware of his presence.

“Listen, I… I’m calling because I have to make an unexpected trip close to Tokyo next week. It’s, ummm, well I have kind of conflicting feelings about it, but I thought maybe, if you wanted to that is, we could possibly meet up?”

Ushijima’s heart is beating far too fast. “Yes,” he says quickly. 

“Oh, are you sure?” Iwaizumi asks. “I get if you’re busy or…”

“My answer is yes. Whenever it is, I will make it work,” Ushijima says. “So, what day?”

“Uh, Wednesday,” Iwaizumi says, “the thing I have to do should be over by mid afternoon, and then if I’m coming to you it’ll be however long the train ride is after that.”

“I could travel to you if you prefer,” Ushijima says with a small smile. “I believe we only have morning practice that day.”

“Ah, it’s okay, I think I’m gonna need some time to clear my head in between anyway.”

Ushijima desperately wants to know what on earth has Iwaizumi like this, but decides he does not want to try to ask over the phone while Kageyama is listening/not listening.

“Okay then,” he says instead, “I will send you the information, and just let me know when I should pick you up at the station.”

“Okay, I’ll do that.”

After they have hung up, Iwaizumi pulls up his maps app and looks up directions from Sagamihara to Koganei via train. 55 minutes — there would be less than an hour between them. Iwaizumi groans and lays his head on the table. 

Maybe it won’t end up working out anyway, he thinks.

Chapter Text

Fuck, it’s going to work out isn’t it, Iwaizumi realizes fairly quickly after setting foot in the VC Kanagawa practice gym and offices. 

Suzuki is the first to greet him and takes him on a quick tour of the facility. Everything is thoughtfully designed and well maintained, and Iwaizumi looks with almost greedy eyes at the weight and conditioning rooms that have been recently upgraded.

Suzuki explains the scope of the position and the number of staff he would be in charge of, and Iwaizumi can tell from the conversation that the team takes conditioning, injury prevention, and recovery quite seriously. 

It had been Iwaizumi’s main concern really. He had heard murmurings before about other teams being understaffed in this area or throwing players back into practice and games before ensuring a thorough recovery or thinking about their longevity in the sport. VCK does not seem to have that philosophy.

After the tour, he sits with Suzuki and some other coaches and administrators in a conference room. Rather than the usual grilling, the interview is more of a conversation between them. They talk about how other teams are looking this year, what VCK hopes to accomplish, about how Iwaizumi has approached working with players in the past. An hour passes before Iwaizumi realizes it, and at the end Suzuki slides him a sheet of paper across the table. 

“We want to be transparent with what you can expect if you are offered the job,” Suzuki explains as Iwaizumi studies the page.

His eyebrows perk up immediately. The salary is more than he expects, and the offer includes funds for relocation with the option to live temporarily in the VCK dormitory while he finds a suitable apartment.

“These are very generous terms, Suzuki-san,” Iwaizumi says. “So what would be the next step in the process from here?”

“Can I take it you are interested, then?” Suzuki asks, his eyes practically sparkling with mirth.

“I am,” Iwaizumi confirms.

After their discussion ends, Suzuki leads Iwaizumi out into the gym where the team is quietly milling around and stretching before an afternoon practice. 

“You really should see them in action before you leave,” Suzuki says. “We really have high hopes this year because of — ”

“Hajime!” a loud, excited yell from the gym floor interrupts Suzuki, and all 190 centimeters of Oikawa Takeru comes bounding toward Iwaizumi before jumping into an embrace.

“Damn kid, you’re not 12 anymore!” Iwaizumi grumbles, but his smile is wide when Takeru stands up straight to greet him properly. 

A startled Suzuki regains his bearings and says, “I had no idea the two of you were close!”

“He’s my…” Takeru starts excitedly, but then his face shifts, as if he has remembered all over again. 

“Umm our families have been really close for a long time!” Takeru says instead.

“Ah, I see!” Suzuki says. “No wonder you were such a champion for him.”

Takeru looks at the floor, slightly embarrassed.

“Well, I have to get prepared for practice,” Suzuki says. “You are welcome to watch as long as you like, Iwaizumi-san.”

They watch Suzuki walk away and an uncharacteristic silence falls over them for a moment. Iwaizumi bumps his shoulder against Takeru’s arm.

“You know, it’s okay if you still want to call me your uncle. I don’t mind, and I don’t think Tooru would either.”

“Are you sure?” Takeru asks. “I don’t want to make you feel awkward or…”

“I’m certain,” Iwaizumi says, clapping a hand down on Takeru’s shoulder. 

Takeru nods slowly, but still looks ill at ease.

“You didn’t come to my graduation,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Iwaizumi says apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Takeru. I wasn’t sure I would be able to handle it, just… emotionally. And I didn’t want to ruin the day for you.”

“It’s okay,” Takeru says with a small smile. “I just worried, I guess. I worried maybe you wouldn’t want to hear from me anymore.”

“Never, kid,” Iwaizumi says while swooping him into a crushing hug. “You and your mom and your granny, you’ve all been family to me for a very long time, and me getting fed up with Tooru doesn’t change that for me. And I also know him — to my bones, I know him. So I know for certain he won’t mind.”

“That’s true,” Takeru says with a little sniffle. “He’s always been dumb and lame, but things like that he’s usually actually a decent person about.”

Iwaizumi loosens his hold on Takeru, then they are joined by Yamamoto soon after. 

“Iwa-san!” he calls brightly with a wave as he walks toward them. 

“How are you Tora?” Iwaizumi calls.

“Doing great since this guy got here,” he says, throwing an arm over Takeru’s shoulder. “Not to sound like an ass, but I’m finally on a team with a decent defense again!”

A whistle blows from the other side of the gym signaling for the players to circle up.

“You two go ahead,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m going to watch, so show me what you’ve got,” he adds, flicking Takeru on the nose.

Takeru smiles and bounds away just ahead of Tora, joining the circle of teammates forming around Coach Suzuki. Iwaizumi makes his way to the walkway above and leans against the railing to watch.

Iwaizumi has seen Takeru play many times before, all the way from childhood up through college. However, even he is not quite prepared for the improvements Takeru has made over the last year. 

Though Takeru is quite tall, he is the most gifted Japanese libero to emerge since Yaku Morisuke and Komori Motoya over a decade ago. He had begun playing libero when he was young and somewhat short for his age, but when a series of incredible growth spurts had rocketed his height into the high 180s during his first year of high school, his coaches suddenly started badgering him about switching positions. 

However, Oikawas are nothing if not hard headed, and Takeru had always flatly refused. 

“I am a libero!” Iwaizumi could remember him screaming at Tooru one day. “And I am going to make sure I’m the best damned libero in the entire country just to make you all shut the hell up!”

True to his word, Takeru had been the top high school libero in both his second and third years of high school and was pursued by Division 1 teams immediately. However, this too had been a sticking point. Takeru wanted a college degree, so instead he played for a Division 2 team that ended up dominating the league before finally trying out for Division 1 options after his graduation.

Iwaizumi has always been so proud of Takeru for always sticking to his guns and advocating for what he wants. Which is why he cannot really be too surprised at the idea of Takeru putting his name forward as a potential conditioning coach. He vividly remembers a day back when Takeru was in high school when he declared he wanted to be on whatever team Iwaizumi worked for.

“So I know I’m always in the best hands!” Takeru had explained.

When their practice ends, Takeru and Tora offer to take Iwaizumi out for food, but he politely declines. “Another time, I promise,” he says.

“Hopefully we will have plenty of opportunities soon enough anyway,” Takeru adds with a smile.

“C’mere,” Iwaizumi says, throwing his arms wide. Takeru barrels into him, completing another crushing hug that lingers.

“Love ya, kid,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “I hope you never forget that.”

“See ya, Tora,” Iwaizumi adds with a small wave, and then he heads off toward the station, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he goes.

“So,” Tora says after a sufficiently dramatic pause, “you two are close then?”

“Ah, yeah,” Takeru says. “He’s basically my uncle.”

“Basically?” Tora asks, arching a brow.

“It’s kind of complicated,” Takeru says with a laugh. “But our families have been really close for a long time, and he and my actual biological uncle… well they used to be pretty inseparable I guess.”

“Ahh I see,” Tora says and looks off at Iwaizumi’s form disappearing into the distance.

“So that makes sense then, that you would want him here,” Tora says. Takeru hums an acknowledgment, then his eyebrows squish together.

“So why did you recommend him, Tora?” Takeru asks.

“It’s kind of funny actually. I’ve worked with him before, and I know he’s incredible, but I didn’t really think about it until someone else mentioned him to me in passing, and then I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it myself,” Tora explains.

“Oh? Who?” Takeru asks, perking up.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi, weirdly enough.”

*******

Iwaizumi pulls out his phone and texts Ushijima.

———

Just finished up and I’m walking to the station now. 

The trip should be about an hour once I depart.

———

Iwaizumi gets to the station and waits for the next train to arrive. He buys a quick snack and begins munching on it while he fishes the book he has been reading out of his backpack.

About 15 minutes into his wait, his phone rings. Must be Ushijima, he thinks, but when he looks at the screen the caller ID reads “Suzuki Aoki.”

“Hello Suzuki-san,” he greets, already anxious. 

“Hello, Iwaizumi-san,” he returns cheerfully. “I know you’ve barely just left, but I wanted to call and let you know that we are extending you an official offer.”

“I — that was very fast, Suzuki-san,” Iwaizumi says trying to keep his fraying nerves in check.

“Yes, my apologies if we are catching you off guard. It’s just we’ve been looking to find the exact right fit, not just someone who can get the job done, and the staff unanimously agrees that that’s you. They were practically knocking down my door about extending you an offer,” he adds with a small chuckle. 

“Of course I understand that you’ll want to think it over,” he continues. “I know it would be a big change for you. Would you like me to send you the written offer via email and you can get back to me, maybe by the end of the week?”

“Yes, Suzuki-san,” Iwaizumi says, “thank you very much for your understanding. I am definitely intrigued, but I do want to make sure I consider everything carefully.” 

“It is no trouble at all!” Suzuki says brightly. “I’ll send the information over, and just give me a call at this number when you’ve decided.”

After they say goodbye and Iwaizumi hangs up, he sees that two texts have come through from Ushijima.

———

Excellent, let me know when your train departs so I can meet you.

I am excited to see you.

———

Iwaizumi hates to admit it, but he is too.

Chapter Text

The train pulls into the station, and Iwaizumi steps onto it. He sends Ushijima a message letting him know once it departs. Hajime is getting nervous now, his stomach plagued by fluttering little lurches every few seconds. He takes out his book again and reads the same sentence at least five times before clicking his tongue in frustration and shoving it back in his bag.

Why did I even do this, he wonders. He had been the one to call Ushijima and ask, and now that he is actually on a train bound for him, he thinks he must have been momentarily possessed. He certainly could not have been in his right mind, he thinks.

The hour passes quicker than Iwaizumi could have thought possible, and when they are about five minutes from his destination he begins to feel like he might actually vomit. 

You’ve seen him tons of times before. It’s no big deal, he tells himself. Although he knows that is not exactly true. This is his first time going somewhere just to see Ushijima, specifically. He knows what it must look like, and he chastises himself for being rash and making decisions that will likely get Ushijima’s hopes up.

Iwaizumi exits the train on slightly quaking legs and looks for Ushijima on the platform. He is not difficult to spot, being as tall and broad as he is. He also gives a quick wave and starts walking toward Iwaizumi, and Hajime nearly chokes. He has mostly only ever seen Ushijima in athletic wear, but today he wears dark fitted pants, a white collared shirt, and a maroon sweater over it.

“You look nice today,” Ushijima says with a softening of his gaze. Iwaizumi is dressed in a JNT official polo, khaki chinos, and a pair of slightly casual oxfords with a sneaker sole.

“Back attcha,” Iwaizumi says, still somewhat dazed.

“So do you have any preference about what you would like to do?” Ushijima asks. He waffles momentarily with one hand hanging awkwardly at his side as if he is about to grab Iwaizumi’s, but then he quickly shoves both hands into his pockets instead.

“I can take you to dinner if you are hungry. Or I could cook if you prefer that. I did not plan for too much since you said you had something to do earlier, and I thought you might be tired.”

“I am,” Iwaizumi admits with a sigh. He places his hands in his own pockets as well to combat the encroaching chill of evening. “I don’t want you to have to cook, but I’m also not sure I’m going to be very good company if we go out. I’m sorry.”

“Take out, then?” Ushijima asks. “I have a favorite place around the corner from my apartment.”

“Yes, that sounds perfect.”

Silence blankets over them quickly and Ushijima leads the way to his apartment. Iwaizumi can feel the nervous lump in his throat growing, especially when he allows himself to think about the circumstances he has placed himself in, and how it probably reads far too hookup-ish for his comfort. Not that Iwaizumi really knows anything about how people do hookups, but he imagines it might be sort of similar to this.

Ushijima’s apartment is somewhat surprising to Iwaizumi. It is clean and tidy, as he might have expected, but it is also much homier than he anticipates. Rather than a sleek, modern aesthetic, Ushijima’s personal style seems to be more traditional and laid back. 

The couch looks deep and comfortable and has a basket next to it that holds several blankets. There is a kotatsu table too, though it is still not cold enough to put the heater to use.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” Ushijima says after he has taken off his shoes at the door and carefully lined them up. Iwaizumi can make no promises, but he figures he had better try.

He sits on the couch, still feeling a bit out of place, and Ushijima pads to the kitchen, quite softly for a man of his build. He returns with a paper menu that had been stuck to the fridge with a Schweiden magnet, and he hands it to Iwaizumi before sitting down next to him.

“Just let me know what you would like, and I will place the order,” Ushijima says. “I can also sometimes convince them to bring it most of the way here if Honda-san is in a particularly good mood.”

Iwaizumi tells Ushijima his selection and resituates himself, scooching a little further into the couch. Ushijima places the call, and the woman on the other end greets loudly enough for Iwaizumi to hear her.

“Good afternoon, Honda-san,” Ushijima returns politely.

“Ah! ‘Toshi-chan! How come you haven’t called in weeks?! I was worried about you!”

“My apologies, Honda-san. I was in California visiting my father, remember?”

Iwaizumi smiles dopily and relaxes. Something about the familiarity of their conversation puts him at ease. It reminds him that even though Ushijima looks and sounds the way he does, sometimes people just cannot help but like him, as if they see straight to the fundamentally good core of him.

“Ahhh yes! I remember now!” she says. “Well I am glad you are back safe and sound.”

“Now, are you just calling to hear my sweet voice, or should I start making your usual order?”

“Ah, yes,” Ushijima says, “my order and then also a special with pork and extra vegetables.”

“Oh~?” Iwaizumi can hear her say, “you have company?”

“Yes, I do, Honda-san.”

“But that’s not Tobi-kun’s order,” she presses. Iwaizumi’s ears perk a bit, and he can hazard a guess about who she means.

“No, he is not here today.”

“Mmmmm, I see ~ ” Iwaizumi smiles at the way she draws out her words, and though he does not know her, he is certain Honda-san is about to try to poke her nose into Ushijima’s business.

“Well alright, ‘Toshi-chan. I will have it ready in about fifteen minutes, and how about I bring it to you, hmm?” 

“You do not have to trouble yourself for me,” Ushijima tries to say.

“Not at all! Not at all!” Iwaizumi can hear her loudly insist. 

“No trouble if it’s for you. Gotta go, see you soon!” she adds hastily then hangs up before he can protest.

“I suppose she must be in an especially good mood,” Ushijima says, still staring at his now silent phone.

“Or she wants to be nosey,” Iwaizumi says with a chuckle.

“Well, I suppose that is fine too. I think she worries about me,” Ushijima says. “She knows I am alone most of the time, unless Kageyama happens to be over.”

Iwaizumi thinks he had been correct then — “Tobi,” short for Tobio. However, that does not have much time to stick in Iwaizumi’s mind. Instead his heart twists at the thought of an alone-most-of-the-time Ushijima in his apartment, curled up on this couch. 

Iwaizumi is sure Ushijima leads a full enough life. He is not by any means friendless, and he also has teammates and work acquaintances and apparently little old ladies from shops down the street. 

However, Iwaizumi cannot help but wonder what it is like for him in those quiet hours — when the world is sleeping but Wakatoshi is awake. What does he look like when he wraps himself in blankets and stands out on his balcony in the evening glow of Tokyo? When it is late November and his breath is visible in the chill evening air? What does he feel then? Is it that aching kind of loneliness — the same kind Iwaizumi feels when he is out on his front stoop at night, sitting underneath the amber streetlight and watching the ghostly murmurs of the last two decades twirling in front of his bleary eyes?

“Wakatoshi,” he whispers without even thinking, and Ushijima meets his eyes. Iwaizumi has come this far, so he may as well let himself get well and truly sucked in. 

“Can I hold you?” Iwaizumi asks cautiously. “Would you hold me too?”

“Yes,” Ushijima says, low and almost breathless. “I have wanted to, but I was not sure… I did not want to push any boundaries.”

Iwaizumi understands his hesitation. He also thinks it is quite gentlemanly of him. 

“I’m okay with it right now. And thank you — that’s really considerate,” Iwaizumi says.

Ushijima slides himself back into the corner of the couch then opens his arms, and Iwaizumi tips forward to lay against him. He winds his arms around Ushijima’s waist and buries his head in his wide chest. Once Iwaizumi is in a comfortable position, he exhales and relaxes every muscle in his upper body into Ushijima’s comforting embrace.

Ushijima feels him melt against him and begins to slowly run his hand up and down the length of Iwaizumi’s back in a comforting gesture. It feels so achingly familiar, almost painfully perfect.

“It seems like you had a long day,” Ushijima says as he draws his hand further up, brushing up Iwaizumi’s neck and over the back of his head.

“It was kind of long,” Iwaizumi says into his chest as Ushijima gently smooths his hair down. “And there’s a lot on my mind now.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Ushijima asks.

Iwaizumi looks up at him for a moment then rests the side of his head back against him. “Hmm, maybe after we eat. I’m not sure if I should trouble you with it.”

“I would never consider you troublesome, Hajime,” Ushijima insists.

He continues slowly stroking Iwaizumi’s back and hair, and by the time the doorbell rings signaling that their food has arrived, Iwaizumi has very nearly fallen asleep.

“Hey,” Ushijima says while lightly shaking Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Honda-san is at the door, so I have to get up.”

“No, no, you continue resting,” he tries to add when Iwaizumi moves to fully sit up.

“It’s alright,” Iwaizumi answers back as he gets up from the couch. “She’s going to want to meet your ‘company’ anyway, right?”

Iwaizumi gives a sleepy little grin and runs a hand through his hair to try to get it to fall right again. He has been keeping it a bit longer these days — still not very long by other people’s standards, but much more than the short, spiky style he has sported most of his life. 

Ushijima also rises from the couch, trying his best not to acknowledge the difficulty of having Hajime absent from his arms. 

“Good evening, Honda-san,” Ushijima greets after answering the door. She is a short, stocky woman with deep, craggy laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. She wears a faded t-shirt with her shop name and holds a plastic takeout bag in her hands.

“Good evening, ‘Toshi-chan,” she says, “I have this for you.” Ushijima takes the bag from her hands carefully. 

“How much do I owe you?” he asks and pulls a money pouch out from a wooden bowl beside his door that also holds his keys and sunglasses.

“I hate that we troubled you to bring it to us,” Ushijima adds after gently placing the money in Honda-san’s hand.

“Ahh that’s right, you have company!” she says, feigning that she had forgotten, though Iwaizumi is certain she has not.

“Yes ma’am,” Iwaizumi says, stepping into the doorway, figuring they had better just get it over with.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Honda-san. My name is Iwaizumi Hajime.” Hajime inclines his head slightly then smiles broadly at her.

“Oh~!” she says with great interest. “What a dashing young man! And so polite too! Your friends are such good young gentleman, ‘Toshi-chan!”

“Do you know Tobi-kun then too?” she asks.

“Kageyama, I’m guessing?” Iwaizumi directs at Ushijima, who confirms with a low hum.

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says, turning back to Honda-san, “I have known him since middle school actually, and now we all sometimes work together.” 

“Oh! So you are also a volleyball player?” she asks with interest.

“Oh, no ma’am, not anymore,” Iwaizumi clarifies with a modest expression and a few waves of his hand. “I am an athletic trainer, and I work for the national team sometimes.”

“Oh~” Honda drags the word out, and Iwaizumi can see realization dawning across her face. “Oh wait! Yes, I recognize you now!” 

Excellent, the memes strike again.

“I was watching ‘Toshi-chan and Tobi-kun play in the Olympics, and you were there taking care of ‘Toshi-chan when he got injured!”

“Yes, that was me,” Iwaizumi confirms, just pleased she remembered him from actually watching the match rather than…

“You caused quite a stir online after that if I remember right,” she adds.

Ah, so close.

“You use the internet, Honda-san?” Ushijima says. His delivery is completely deadpan, except for a barely perceptible little upward turn at one corner of his mouth, and for the first time Iwaizumi realizes that Ushijima is in fact capable of making a joke. 

It makes him feel all fluttery and warm, seeing the tiniest sign of mischief on a man everyone thinks of as quite serious. It makes Iwaizumi want to worm his way in, to find out his weak points and figure out if he can purposefully elicit a full smirk from that stoic face of his.

“Are you calling me old, ‘Toshi-chan? What a betrayal!”

“My apologies, Honda-san,” he says, but the small tell remains on his lips, and suddenly Iwaizumi wants so badly to kiss them.

“You must be a bit of a little heartbreaker, huh?” she says teasingly, returning to the topic of Iwaizumi’s moment in the internet spotlight. It startles him back out of his longing thoughts, and his brain scrambles to catch up.

“Ah, unfortunately I am usually the one getting my heart broken, not doing the breaking,” Iwaizumi says with a small, bashful smile.

“Oh, I see~” she says, nodding her head slightly. “Well, you seem like a fine young man, so I’m sure someone will snap you right up!” She looks rather pointedly at Ushijima, deepening the wrinkles on the sides of her eyes, then she quickly winks.

“I’d better get back,” she says immediately afterward. “It was nice to meet you Haj’me-kun!”

Just like that, she disappears down the stairs, leaving Iwaizumi nearly sputtering and Ushijima seemingly unaffected.

“Did she just…” Iwaizumi says as Ushijima closes the door.

Ushijima tilts his head slightly, looking at Iwaizumi.

“It seemed like she was maybe suggesting… she just looked at you really intensely just then.”

“When?” Ushijima asks as he moves to place the food on the small table in the living room.

“When she was talking about ‘someone will snap me up’ there at the end,” Iwaizumi clarifies. “And she even winked!”

“Hmm,” Ushijima hums and looks into the middle distance, replaying the interaction in his mind’s eye. “You might be right,” he finally confirms, but he does not seem very phased.

“Was she trying to suggest you should?” Iwaizumi asks, very much still phased and perhaps a bit mortified.

“Actually that is likely,” Ushijima says as he sits down at the low table. “I remember now that she tried to suggest that Kageyama and I should become romantically involved after she first met him.”

Iwaizumi would rather not acknowledge the involuntary scoff that almost leaves his throat or delve into the small prickles of irritation he feels at the idea of Ushijima and Kageyama as a couple.

“That is… remarkably open minded,” Iwaizumi says instead.

“She is a bit of a remarkable lady,” Ushijima says as he begins removing containers from the bag. Iwaizumi finally sits down on the floor as well.

“She once told me that she and her partner have been together for about 50 years, and they started their business together at a time when it was quite difficult for two women. They are both incredibly strong,” Ushijima elaborates. 

Iwaizumi just blinks several times, now understanding how she could so casually suggest a relationship between them. “I see,” he says.

There is silence for a moment as they begin to eat, but Iwaizumi cannot seem to hold his tongue for long.

“But you and Kageyama, really? What on earth was she thinking?” Iwaizumi asks in just a slightly salty tone.

Ushijima looks over at Iwaizumi and quietly lets out a light puff of a laugh before looking away. 

“Why, do you have a better recommendation?” 

Iwaizumi suddenly feels much too warm around his collar. He notes that same slight upturn at the corner of Ushijima’s lips, and he cannot help but feel more than a little enamored with this side of Ushijima — the one that subtly teases. The tells are so minute, and no one ever expects Ushijima to be anything other than entirely serious. It feels like a thrilling piece of private knowledge, something only those close enough and observant enough are allowed to enjoy about him.

“Tobio and I are very close,” Ushijima explains, and Iwaizumi tries to not let the sound of him saying “Tobio” rattle around his skull too much. “We do not have any romantic attachment to each other though.”

“No?” Iwaizumi asks before taking a hasty bite of his food to try to act naturally again.

“No,” Ushijima confirms, “none on either side, I assure you.”

Iwaizumi nods just slightly, then a comfortable, domestic sort of quiet settles over them as they continue to eat.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” Ushijima asks when they have both finished eating. He clears away the take out containers and throws them away in the kitchen.

“Sure, did you have one in mind?”

“I can watch most anything,” Ushijima says. “My high school friends had… interesting tastes, and quite diverse ones.”

Ushijima sits down on the couch again, and Iwaizumi follows. He waffles for just a moment before deciding to sit directly next to Ushijima and lean against him.

“Now this I have to hear,” Iwaizumi says, shifting to get comfortable. Ushijima moves his arm to the back of the couch to let Iwaizumi slot into his side more comfortably.

“What kind of movies did they like?” 

“Hmm, well Leon liked period dramas, especially anything with samurai or war themes. But he could be a bit particular about them. I suppose he seemed to most enjoy them if there was some focus on civilians too, rather than just the battles and things.” 

“Eita and Satori both liked horror films, but Eita tended to prefer ones that were more… I suppose I would call them serious? Gothic maybe? With a supernatural theme a lot of the time.”

“Like vampires and such?”

“Right,” Ushijima confirms. “And Satori preferred, in his words, ‘shitty horror movies.’ He once told me that the more nonsensical or poorly written they were, the better.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head to look toward Ushijima, still startled at hearing a curse from his lips.

“But if he wanted to watch something more serious, it was usually foreign films, mostly French or German. Sometimes they were old, in black and white, and I usually liked those.“

“So you like older films?” Iwaizumi asks, and Ushijima nods.

“That is what I watch mostly. I think I like them because I used to watch them with my grandmother all the time when I was young, back when she still liked me.”

Iwaizumi’s mind stalls, unsure of whether glossing it over or prodding the subject is the better move here. It suggests an interesting piece of Wakatoshi lore, but Iwaizumi does not want to bring up something potentially upsetting just for the sake of sating his own curiosity.

“This is your mother’s mother?” he asks, attempting to take a middle road. He vaguely remembers Utsui mentioning that his parents had him much later in life and that they had died when he was in his late 20s to early 30s, when Wakatoshi was young.

“Correct,” Ushijima says. “We spent a lot of time together when I was growing up, but neither of us really preferred to talk too much. We mostly watched old movies together. I still like them a lot.”

Iwaizumi figures if he wanted to say more, he would have, so for now he lets the topic drop.

“Well, I think I know what we should watch then,” Iwaizumi says.

They decide on the original Godzilla from 1954 — something they should both enjoy.

“Would you like a blanket?” Ushijima asks right around the time on screen Yamane sees Godzilla for the first time.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi says, then sits up straight. Ushijima leans over the side of the couch and grabs a large, grey quilt.

“Most of the ones I have are weighted. I hope that is alright,” Wakatoshi says, then he turns back to Iwaizumi. He looks at the blanket, then at Iwaizumi, and then away in quick succession.

“Everything alright?” Iwaizumi asks, a smile involuntarily tugging at his lips. Bashful Ushijima is always so infinitely interesting.

“Would you mind if I… resituated a bit?” Ushijima asks.

“Not at all,” Iwaizumi answers quickly.

Ushijima lets out a breath then puts his back to the arm of the couch and swings a leg up behind where Iwaizumi sits. Iwaizumi looks up at his face, and the poor man seems like he might combust at any moment.

Iwaizumi smirks, then decides to put him out of his misery by tipping himself down to lay on him. 

“Is this what you were after?” Iwaizumi asks, winding his arms around Ushijima’s waist again and settling against his chest.

“It was,” Ushijima admits quietly as he arranges the grey blanket over them both. “We were interrupted earlier.”

“You can always just ask, you know,” Iwaizumi says, tipping his head to look up at him. 

“I did not want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way,” Ushijima explains. “I know that we kissed a lot before but… this just feels a bit different somehow.”

“I understand,” Iwaizumi says. 

“I… am sure you probably do a bit, but — ” Ushijima starts.

Iwaizumi pops his head up to look at Ushijima more fully.

“I do not usually let people come into my apartment,” Ushijima says carefully, quietly. “Other than Tobio, you are the only person who has been here.”

“That’s — ” Iwaizumi starts, propping himself up with his arms now. “Only me and Kageyama? No other teammates? Family? Friends?”

Ushijima shakes his head.

“Did I — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you into letting me come here!” Iwaizumi says quickly.

“No, not at all! That is not what I mean,” Ushijima says. “Just that, I have never had people in my space much before, and so I do not have experience at knowing when I might be making someone feel uncomfortable.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head slightly.

“Ah, it is a bit difficult to explain I suppose,” Ushijima says. “Well, for example, it is not as if I have not dated at all or been invited by friends or gone to team celebrations and things. So sometimes I have been the one to go into someone else’s space and, well first of all it usually feels strange and unfamiliar so that is already difficult, but then also sometimes I have felt like… hmm… sort of like I had to go along with their expectations in a way.”

Iwaizumi’s head tilts a bit more sharply and his eyebrows squeeze together in concern.

“Not that I would ever do anything I was not okay with,” Ushijima adds quickly, “just, it… hmm there is a phrase for it.”

“Ah!” Ushijima remembers suddenly, “it gives me the ick.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, and then a laugh bursts out of him involuntarily. Ushijima looks slightly confused.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says around a wide smile, “I’m not trying to make light of your feelings. I just enjoy it when you surprise me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Well, your usual way of speaking isn’t, like… It’s not very slang heavy, you know?”

Ushijima nods but does not seem much more enlightened.

“I just like the contrast of it, I suppose,” Iwaizumi explains. “I’ve been finding out a lot of new little things about you that I enjoy, actually.”

“Really?” Ushijima asks, and though Iwaizumi is not sure he has fully explained it well, at least he seems at ease again.

“Yeah,” he says, settling against Ushijima’s chest again.

“So in short, you worried I might get ‘the ick’ from being at your house?” Iwaizumi says after a moment.

“Maybe a bit,” Ushijima says. “I suppose I was anxious about if you might be uncomfortable being around me in a new context, when I also am maybe a bit out of my depth, even though it is my apartment.”

“I understand, but you don’t have to worry,” Iwaizumi says.

“And what about you?” Iwaizumi continues quietly. “How is it having someone new in your space?”

Iwaizumi’s face is turned toward the tv screen, though he does not spare it much thought. He could recite every line of this film in his sleep if he wanted. 

“It is a bit unusual,” Ushijima says, “but not in a bad way. I had a feeling it would be okay, since it’s you.”

Ushijima slides his arms around Iwaizumi’s back, where his hands clasp, holding him warm and steady as they both settle in to watch the screen.

Chapter Text

“I’ve never understood how he could do that,” Iwaizumi says, watching as Serizawa speaks to Ogata after cutting his own diving line.

”What?” Ushijima asks, slowly running his fingers over one of Iwaizumi’s shoulders as his eyes stay locked on the screen.

”Say that he wants them to find happiness together,” Iwaizumi says. Ushijima hums and continues sliding his fingers across the bare skin of Iwaizumi’s arm absentmindedly.

”Perhaps no matter what happened between them, he loves her enough to wish for her happiness, even if that happiness does not include him,” Ushijima says.

“Is that really something someone can feel though?” Iwaizumi asks.

Iwaizumi tips his face up to look at Ushijima, whose gaze quickly locks to his.

”Yes, it is,” Ushijima says seriously, looking at Iwaizumi rather pointedly. 

Iwaizumi can only stare, not able to stand Ushijima’s serious gaze but also not able to look away. He can feel his pulse in his own throat. He sighs fondly and untangles a hand to gently brush Ushijima’s cheek.

“You’re terrifyingly earnest sometimes, you know that?”

“Am I?” Ushijima asks, but he closes his eyes and nuzzles his jaw into Iwaizumi’s warm hand.

So fucking cute, Iwaizumi thinks. 

He shifts closer to Ushijima and presses their lips together, capturing him in a lavish, velvet kiss that lingers. The luxurious slide of Ushijima’s lips against his is making his mouth tingle, and the strong hands on his back pull him in closer, deeper. 

Iwaizumi could easily let himself slip into a full-on, heated make out session with Ushijima right now, but instead he summons all of his self control and pulls back, parting with one last little peck on Ushijima’s lips — a sweet, apologetic punctuation mark to end such a beautiful, sultry sentence.

“I’m probably going to have to head out soon,” Iwaizumi says. 

Ushijima puffs out a sad little exhale of air and lets his head flop back onto the arm of the couch.

“How long do you have?” he asks, wishing he could personally obliterate the entire concept of time and jobs and obligations so Iwaizumi could stay here, laying against his chest, slotted between his thighs, kissing him until his mouth goes numb.

“About half an hour maybe,” Iwaizumi says as he checks his watch. 

Ushijima hums and twirls his fingers through the hair at the back of Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Is that enough time to tell me about what is on your mind?” Ushijima asks.

Iwaizumi stiffens slightly, then tries to relax back into him.

“Maybe not all of it, but… probably the general idea,” he says.

“Do you want to? Whatever it is, I will listen. And I can also try to ask questions or give perspective if that is something you desire.”

Iwaizumi balks at first. A heat rises up slightly in his ears as he hesitates, but he knows Ushijima might actually be a good person to talk to about this. He sits up off of Ushijima, who also rises to a sitting position.

“I-got-offered-a-job,” Iwaizumi suddenly flings out wildly. He cannot look at Ushijima, just stares out at the living room floor.

Ushijima blinks a few times, caught completely off guard. “You…”

“I got offered a job,” Iwaizumi repeats, more measured this time, “with VC Kanagawa. That’s what I was doing today. It was supposed to be just an interview, but then right before I got on the train they had already called me and made me an offer and now I…”

“You applied for a different job?” Ushijima asks, still a bit dumbfounded.

“Not exactly,” Iwaizumi says, then quickly explains the turn of events that led up to this, that he was approached because of some recommendations within the team.

“And this is for the conditioning coach position they are trying to fill?” Ushijima asks.

“It is,” Iwaizumi confirms, then he crinkles his brow. “How did you —”

“Was one of the people who recommended you Yamamoto Taketora?” Ushijima asks, interrupting.

Iwaizumi’s alarms are nearly sounding, feeling uneasy without quite knowing why. Why does he seem to know so many details about this?

“Yes…” Iwaizumi says cautiously. “Why do you know that?” 

“Because I talked to him recently. Maybe a little over a week ago? And I mentioned you during that conversation, but —“

“What.” 

Iwaizumi’s voice shifts down into a darker tone that immediately snaps Ushijima’s gaze to him.

Ushijima too? he thinks. My family, multiple Oikawas, Tora, and now… is everyone just in on this?

Before he can catch himself, Iwaizumi tumbles down into somewhere deep and dark, to a place of bared teeth and clenching fists. His rational self who knows he should get the full story, should calmly hear Ushijima out, is now shoved to one side, cursed to watch as his other self, what he considers his ugliest and most unlovable self, takes him over by brute force. 

Ushijima can see it on his face — the light goes out, replaced by something that makes his stomach turn, something cold and hard coloring Iwaizumi’s features instead.

“What do you mean?!” Iwaizumi flings out quickly, all teeth and panic. “What are you talking about? Did you have something to do with this? Did you… plan this?”

Every subsequent question is sent like an intense volley, a spike right to Ushijima’s head. Iwaizumi is also physically retreating, scooting into the far corner of the couch.

“Hajime, wait —”

“Why are you so in my business all of a sudden?” Iwaizumi accuses sharply, his voice getting louder and shaking with what Ushijima can only assume is anger. 

“Hajime I’m not —” Ushijima tries and fails again.

“What are you trying to do?! I’m not going to just let you meddle with my life!”

Ushijima watches in horror and anxiety as the shades of true rage he has only seen once before begin to show on Iwaizumi’s face, this time actually directed at him. 

“Wait, I — ”

“I’m not going to be yanked around! This is crazy! We’re not even together!”

Iwaizumi’s breathing is becoming ragged and labored as he retreats further into his own dark thoughts.

“I’m not —  Why would I ever allow —“ he is clearly spinning out at quite a rapid pace. Ushijima shifts closer, but Iwaizumi flinches away. 

“You think you mean something to me?!” Iwaizumi throws at him, and Ushijima feels like he has been slapped. “You don’t! So stop med—“

Iwaizumi does not get the rest out before Ushijima is hovering in front of him, holding him firmly in place by his shoulders. Hajime immediately begins to flail like a cat in an alley fight, but Ushijima holds still, his gaze never wavering, never increasing or dropping the pressure in his hold. “Please stop, Hajime,” he pleads.

Then Hajime’s nails inadvertently make contact with Ushijima’s neck, leaving three angry, pink trails in their wake. Iwaizumi freezes, eyes wide, and his gaze slowly slides from the marks up to Ushijima’s pained and concerned answering gaze.

“Please,” Ushijima says, taking the opening to gently fold Iwaizumi’s quaking hands inside his own.

Hajime’s rage blinders have fallen away, and in their place he feels only shame and fear. He is openly panting now, his athletic frame shoved as small as he can make it into the corner of the couch.

“I… I’m…” 

“It is okay, you are okay,” Ushijima says quietly. 

Iwaizumi shakes his head vigorously. No, it’s not.

“I…” Iwaizumi still cannot bring himself to say what he wants to say. 

I’m sorry I scratched you. 

I’m sorry I said you don’t mean something to me. 

I’m sorry I freaked out.

I’m sorry I’m like this now.

“Hajime, I think we should maybe try to rest and talk about this more in the morning.”

“No, I —“

“I would like you to stay the night,” he says, lightly squeezing Iwaizumi’s hands. “I cannot possibly put you on a train all the way to Sendai like this.”

Iwaizumi’s entire body shakes, the comedown of the adrenaline that had flooded into him quicker than he could handle. He is not sure he can even make it to his train in this state, so he just hangs his head and nods solemnly.

Ushijima is quick to get him the things he needs to prepare to stay — an unopened toothbrush, a towel, a borrowed t shirt and shorts. Iwaizumi floats unfocused through taking a quick shower, brushing his teeth, pulling on the borrowed clothes. When he finally comes back to himself he is already in the dark guest bedroom of Ushijima’s apartment, staring at the ceiling and feeling both too achingly real and also not real at all.

He stays like that for seconds and minutes and hours, unable to sleep, unable to move, with the acidic guilt and shame and fear burning a hole in his guts. How did this happen? We were having such a good night.

After ages of this, Hajime suddenly becomes acutely aware of his body again and the stinging dryness of his mouth and throat. He attempts to ignore it, but it begins to slowly drive him insane, grating on him so persistently that he thinks it might actually bring him to frustrated tears if he has to sit with it for the rest of the night. So instead, Iwaizumi finally rises from the bed and quietly slips from the guest room into the kitchen.

Since he does not know where Ushijima keeps his cups, he begins opening upper cabinets as quietly as he can, searching for one. He has opened almost every upper cabinet when he hears a quiet “Hajime?” from behind him.

He whirls around quickly toward the voice and sees Ushijima standing just outside his bedroom door, framed by a beautiful, soft glow of light from inside.

“I was looking for a glass to get some water,” Iwaizumi explains, his voice pinched tight inside his sandpaper throat.

Ushijima begins to approach slowly, quietly, until he is right in front of Iwaizumi, almost too close. He reaches past him up to a cabinet, the last one Iwaizumi has not yet opened, then gently takes a cup in hand and passes it to Iwaizumi. Their eyes meet, and Iwaizumi feels as if he is somehow about to both drown and burn alive at the same time.

Iwaizumi knows that Wakatoshi is a caring man, but also quite a private one. He had already suspected that he does not often let people into his circle of friends, and now Iwaizumi knows for certain that he lets even fewer people into his own space. Iwaizumi had been allowed in, but he had immediately let things get away from him and damaged the trust placed in him.

Iwaizumi can feel himself losing the grip on his self control under Ushijima’s steady gaze as he is nearly overcome by the bog of shame and anxiety and self hatred that threatens to swallow him whole. He can feel all of his own seams and cracks, straining under the enormity of his screw up. His head keeps screaming at him you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up!

“Hajime?” Ushijima says again in an achingly soft tone that slices through it all. It is accompanied by a gentle brush of Ushijima’s hand against Iwaizumi’s cheek, and it razes Iwaizumi’s already cracking defenses to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” Hajime chokes, feeling too many emotions at once, not least of which is anger at himself for not keeping his emotions in check — again. Exactly how many times am I going to hurt him by being this mess of a person?

Ushijima does not wait another second before removing the cup from Iwaizumi’s hands and enfolding him in an embrace. Hajime begins to shake slightly and Ushijima squeezes, trying his best to hold together Iwaizumi’s crumbling pieces.

“Hold on,” Ushijima says quietly. He keeps one firm arm around Iwaizumi and uses the other to reach into the fridge then pour cool water into the cup.

“Come with me,” Ushijima adds, the cup now in one hand and one of Iwaizumi’s hands in the other.

Iwaizumi sputters and sniffles then follows blindly. Ushijima leads him, keeping his grip gentle but steadfast. They pass the guest room and Ushijima guides Iwaizumi to his bedroom. It is dark inside except for the low amber glow of a circular light on a nightstand.

They sit on the edge of the bed and Ushijima wastes no time in pulling Iwaizumi into his arms again. Iwaizumi’s face slots easily against his neck and shoulder. 

“I fucked up so bad,” Iwaizumi confesses miserably into Ushijima’s skin. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t —“

“I know, Hajime,” Ushijima says, slowly stroking the back of his head. 

“You have not done anything irreparable,” Ushijima says firmly. “I would not even consider this a fight between us.”

For a brief moment Iwaizumi looks up at him, clearly confused, and then he looks away again.

“Hey,” Ushijima says to gently call Iwaizumi’s attention. Then he tilts Iwaizumi’s chin with his forefinger and thumb to kiss him reverently over his tear stained cheeks, just under his eyes.

“Can you take a few breaths and try to drink some water for me?” Ushijima asks. When Iwaizumi gulps in some air and then nods, Ushijima raises the glass to his lips to let him drink. 

And damn it all, how badly Ushijima wants him in this moment, even as he is just trying so hard to stop him from falling apart. He wants him now not in a sexual sense, though that would certainly not be unwelcome at a different time — he wants him to claim and to keep and to care for. 

Wakatoshi thinks about the way the man he has known for years to be a strong and stable and wise man came apart over a simple misunderstanding. Rather than being angry, all he can feel is overwhelming sadness at the way Iwaizumi immediately reacted like an animal cornered, slashing its claws in fear.

“Here, lay down with me?” Ushijima says placing the cup on his night stand and peeling back the covers of his bed. He slides himself into the warmth of his bed sheets and pulls Iwaizumi in after him.

“Wait, shouldn’t I go back to —“

“I want to keep you close,” Ushijima interrupts, leaving no room for rebuttal.

“And I will not try to touch you in a sexual manner,” he adds, “so please just stay here with me.”

“I’m not sure I really deserve to,” Iwaizumi answers.

Ushjima covers them both with the comforter, his bed still warm from his body heat. One of his hands settles gently behind Iwaizumi’s head, cradling it against his shoulder, and the other moves to the small of Iwaizumi’s back to pull him flush against him.

“You’re always so warm,” Hajime murmurs, “like a space heater.” He nuzzles his face against Ushijima, and neither of them acknowledges the last few drops that fall from Hajime’s eyes onto Wakatoshi’s neck before their breathing slows and they both fall quickly and deeply into a pleasant, soothing sleep.

*******

When Iwaizumi awakes in Ushijima’s bed, he rolls over and very nearly falls back asleep. The bed is so comfortable, the covers so warm and soft. In an alternate reality where nothing else matters, he could easily stay here in this little nest for ages, made even warmer by Wakatoshi’s insane body heat.

Wakatoshi.

It is the thought that ultimately startles him a little more awake. He is alone in bed, but the bedroom door is halfway open, and he can hear some quiet cooking sounds and smell a pleasant aroma coming from the other side of it.

He steps out into the living room and can see Ushijima in the kitchen. He cannot help but smile a little at watching him work, and he quietly pads across the living room to sit down on a barstool at the counter that marks the border of the kitchen. 

“It smells amazing,” Iwaizumi says in a slightly raspy voice. Ushijima’s face brightens just slightly at the compliment, then he efficiently floats to the other side of the kitchen, fixes a glass of water, then floats back to place it in front of Iwaizumi. Hajime clears his throat and takes a long, cool sip.

“Tea will be ready soon too,” Ushijima says, returning to his work at the stove. 

It is not long before breakfast is complete, and Ushijima sets the food and a cup of hot tea in front of Iwaizumi. He places another plate and cup on his side of the counter and eats while leaning against it. They settle into a comfortable quiet.

“I would like to discuss last night now, if you feel prepared to,” Ushijima says once they have both eaten. Iwaizumi feels a jolt of panic rise up through his chest, but he just nods and gently puts his chopsticks down.

Ushijima nods once, decisively, then slides his hands across the counter to rest over Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi flips his hands underneath Ushijima’s gentle touch so that his palms are facing up, receiving the offered gesture of connection. 

“If something like this occurs again in the future, I would prefer if we could both approach it a bit more calmly and with the goal of working through it together,” Ushijima says quietly but firmly.

Iwaizumi stays quiet, taking a moment to not just immediately react to Ushijima’s words but rather to understand them and their intent. Ushijima remains patient as always, giving Iwaizumi time to collect his thoughts.

“Yes,” Iwaizumi finally says, nodding his head slowly, “I agree and would prefer that as well.”

“That is good. I am happy we agree,” Ushijima says then looks off, somewhat awkwardly, almost bashfully. 

Iwaizumi is also quite self conscious this morning, the shame from last night still bubbling just beneath his skin. He can hear the way his speech is beginning to skew more formal. He just wants to make sure he is selecting his words carefully, to be sure he is expressing his thoughts clearly.

“I want to apologize for escalating things far too quickly last night,” Iwaizumi adds. “I do not mean to make excuses, but at the time I was taken off guard, and I already had a lot on my mind. I still do, really. I… was already starting to feel that a lot of people seemed to be pushing me toward something, that they were making decisions about me or my life without my input.” 

The thought makes him feel nauseous, makes his chest pinch uncomfortably tight. 

“That is… well there is no other word for it, it’s a trigger for me now — a particularly nasty one. I let myself get swept away in that reflexively rather than thinking clearly or being coherent about how I expressed myself, and I should not have. I’m very sorry, Wakatoshi. You did not deserve that.”

Ushijima nods again and his thumbs begin to make absentminded little circles on Iwaizumi’s palms. 

“I do not want you to ever have to hold back or hide your feelings, and I know sometimes immediate reactions happen,” Ushijima says, “but sometimes when a lot comes at me very rapidly all at once I can become quite overwhelmed, and once that happens I am not much of an asset in the conversation anymore. That can make me feel… frustrated. Because what I always want most is to help or to make things clear, to put your mind at ease.”

Iwaizumi moves his hands to thread their fingers together and squeezes gently. 

“I just have to try to remember that I don’t have to immediately get defensive with you. You have been very good about giving me time to process, and I need to adjust to that.”

“Mmm,” Wakatoshi hums. “Is there anything I can adjust to help? To be a better… friend?”

Iwaizumi considers for a moment, and once again makes note of how Ushijima does not rush him, trying his best to cement in his mind that Wakatoshi is not the type of person to try to talk him into a corner.

“I think most of this is going to have to be me. I have to try to address it and find ways to not get carried away in my knee-jerk reaction. It… is probably going to take a lot of work and patience.” Iwaizumi looks over at Ushijima over their still-entwined hands. 

A lot of work you should not have to put in and patience you should not have to afford me, Wakatoshi…

Ushijima nods slowly, considering. “For now I will just attempt to help as much as I can and to try to stay calm if you are having trouble doing so. Though, you may eventually find…”

Iwaizumi rubs his thumbs over Ushijima’s in encouragement after he goes silent for a prolonged moment.

“I am by no means perfect either, Iwaizumi-san,” he starts again.

“Hajime,” Iwaizumi corrects, “but go on…”

“There are things about me you will likely find troublesome, if you decide to continue to spend time with me.”

“I would never consider you troublesome,” Hajime echoes. “Didn’t you say that to me, just yesterday?”

Hajime smiles but it is almost sad, pained, apologetic.

“Though, maybe you want to amend that after what happened,” he adds. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Not at all,” Ushijima blurts, “I would not.”

“You perhaps have some troubles,” Ushijima elaborates, “but I still do not find you troublesome.”

Iwaizumi nods very slightly but looks down at the counter. “I never used to be like this. I really don’t understand what’s happened to me.”

“But whatever it is, I just… it makes me feel like anyone I get close to now would just be getting the worst of me.” He looks back up to Ushijima and looks almost resigned. 

“No, that —“

“I hope you know that I lied,” Iwaizumi interrupts, “when I said you don’t mean anything to me.”

“I… suspected,” Ushijima says, “but it puts me more at ease to hear it said.”

“Do you feel like talking about things again now?” Ushijima asks. “Could I perhaps give you more information to clear things up for you?”

Iwaizumi nods slowly and tries to take full, steady breaths to remain calm.

“First, I want to assure you that I would never try to meddle with your life or manipulate you in any way. Nor would Yamamoto-san, I suspect.”

Iwaizumi nods again. It seems so painfully obvious now in the clear light of morning while being conveyed in Wakatoshi’s low, comforting voice.

“I also did not seek Yamamoto-san out to speak with him about this,” he continues. “We actually ran into each other at a park where I like to run sometimes. He saw me and called me over and said that he was visiting family for the weekend.”

Iwaizumi checks this against what he knows about Tora. He knows for certain he had grown up in Tokyo — Nerima Ward if he remembers right, which is not too far from where they are now.

Iwaizumi hums and nods, still focusing on breathing evenly.

“We got to talking about our teams, and that is when he brought up that they were trying very hard to find a new conditioning coach before the start of the season,” Ushijima explains, “and then he asked me if I knew of anyone.”

Ushijima looks at Iwaizumi quickly, assessing his face. 

“I promise that I had no intentions of trying to get you closer or anything like that. Of course I would love for you to be, but I would never purposefully do anything to affect your career, and I certainly would never give any sort of professional recommendation for my own ulterior motives.”

Iwaizumi knows this, he realizes, now that he is back in his rational mind. Had he not also been the one to nearly swoon over the simplest of compliments from Ushijima in the recent past, simply because the man never said anything that he did not fully believe in?

“I promise you, all that I said to Yamamoto-san was ‘Iwaizumi Hajime is currently the best in Japan in that field, but I do not think he would leave Sendai.’ I did not ask him to recommend you, nor did I even think he would on his own after what I told him.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth hangs slightly open, and he stares at Ushijima, unable to look away. 

The best... Iwaizumi Hajime is currently the best in Japan…

It rolls in his brain over and over. He has been complimented on his talents before, but coming from Ushijima this is not so much a compliment as it is a simple factual assessment. It short circuits him for at least an entire 30 seconds.

“I… feel so stupid right now,” is what finally comes out once his brain reboots.

“Why?” Ushijima says anxiously, squeezing Iwaizumi’s hands.

“Because my rational brain, it knows all the things you just said, the things about your character and what you wouldn’t do. It knows. But for some reason my body didn’t know. And it makes me feel so…”

Iwaizumi squeezes his eyes shut tight and crinkles his brows before exhaling the air he is holding in his chest. “I don’t even know what.”

Iwaizumi looks up at Ushijima again, nothing but apology in his eyes.

“I don’t like doing or saying things that hurt people,” Iwaizumi says, “but I’m worried that if we keep spending more time with each other, I am going to end up doing it again.”

Ushijima turns quiet and thoughtful, studying every curve and turn and pinch of anxiety on Iwaizumi’s frame.

“You know how sometimes when you are trying to complete a double or a triple block…” Iwaizumi is not sure what he had expected Ushijima to say, but it certainly had not been this, “…and one person has to jump into it from an angle and the other blockers try to absorb their impact?”

Ushijima begins to round the counter, then slides up to Iwaizumi and fits himself between Hajime’s knees against the barstool.

“Yeah…” Hajime says cautiously.

“Of course I would rather have us in sync, to make a full-stop jump together, so to speak,” Ushijima says, searching Iwaizumi’s eyes, “but if it is not perfect all the time, I do not care.”

Ushijima puts one hand on either side of Iwaizumi’s head, threading his fingers around his ears and into his hair, then he tips Hajime’s face up and meets his lips in a soft collision of apology and forgiveness, yearning and bestowal. 

His body and soul, his living and dying, everything he has — Ushijima is already foolishly and almostly recklessly prepared to lay it down as an offering, as a promise. He just wishes Hajime would ask it of him, wishes that he would selfishly and greedily possess him and keep him as his hoarded, precious thing, like a treasure fueling the fever that warps a goldsick mind. 

He backs away from Hajime’s soft lips and looks at him from under eyelashes weighed down by longing.

“What I am saying is,” Ushijima begins softly, lovingly, with a soft swipe of his thumb against Iwaizumi’s cheek, “crash into me Hajime, because I can take it.”

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi had not been sure what one is supposed to say to someone who declares you should crash into them with all the confidence of a person who has been relied upon by everyone around him since he was about 12 years old.

Though the problem for Iwaizumi has never really been whether Wakatoshi can take whatever mess Iwaizumi can dish out next, but whether he should even have to. Iwaizumi thinks about this on the long train ride back to Sendai, then at work, then at home as well.

In the end they had not had much time to discuss the job he had been offered, but Wakatoshi had made his position on the matter clear.

“Do not factor me in at all, either for or against” he had said. “Make your decision about you and your career.”

When Iwaizumi thinks about it, there are quite a few advantages — the promotion, the increased salary, the proximity to Tokyo. Really the only things holding him back are people — his family, the Frogs staff, Kyoutani and the other players who have relied on him.

He agonizes all day Thursday and most of Friday morning, but in the end it is his mother’s voice that comes back to him early Friday afternoon while he sits in one of the offices at the Sendai Frogs’ home gym.

If it is a good opportunity, I want you to take it.

If anything seems to fit the definition of a “good opportunity,” surely this is it.

He gets up and closes the office door then dials Suzuki’s number before he can change his mind. Coach Suzuki picks up quickly.

“Good afternoon Iwaizumi-san,” he greets brightly.

“Good afternoon, Suzuki-san,” Iwaizumi says in return, “I am calling to follow up about the job offer and let you know that I would like to accept it.”

He knows it is perhaps a bit inelegant, but he has to get it out as quickly as possible.

“That is excellent!” Suzuki says after quickly recovering. “Everyone will be so happy to hear it!”

They go over next steps and some logistics, then Iwaizumi hangs up with an audible exhale.

Now I have to tell everyone, he thinks with a slight sinking in his stomach. 

He looks down at his phone and the thread at the top of his messages is the one he has with Ushijima.

———

I accepted.

———

It is all he can manage at the moment, but he figures it is enough. 

He begins to try to type a more detailed message to his mother when someone knocks on his office door.

“Come in!” he hollers loud enough to be heard, and Kyoutani needs no further invitation before he yanks open the door and quickly flings himself into the nearest chair.

“This new guy is getting under my fucking skin Iwa-san!” he says in what is practically a growl. Kyoutani has always been and will forever be Kyoutani, though his teamwork and people skills have improved leaps and bounds since high school. 

“What now?” Iwaizumi says with a sigh. He tries not to acknowledge the little pain in his chest at knowing that very shortly he will no longer be here for Kyoutani to vent to about every minor inconvenience that stirs his seemingly limitless volcanic temper.

“He just says the stupidest shit, Iwa-san! Like remember what Kogane was like at 21 and then double it. I swear. What do I have to do to get Tsukishima back? Call up the Lions and get his ass back here! How do we get him fired from the museum?!”

Kyoutani pauses his tirade just long enough to finally really give Iwaizumi a look, and his eyebrows smash together immediately.

“The fuck is up with your face?” he asks. “Something’s… off.”

Iwaizumi threads his fingers together in front of him on his desk and looks down at them with a sigh.

“They made you an offer, didn’t they?” Kyoutani says quietly. He had been one of the only people to know the full story about the reason for Iwaizumi’s most recent day off. 

Iwaizumi looks back up at him with a half smile, still silent.

“…and you accepted,” Kyoutani says, his eyes widening, then Iwaizumi confirms with a nod.

“I literally just gave them my answer before you walked in,” Iwaizumi says, somewhat solemnly. 

“Well, shit,” Kyoutani says quietly, mostly to himself. 

“It’s good though, right?” he adds. “Well, good for you at least. Kinda bad for me, and probably for this poor sap who just joined the team. He’s likely gonna catch hell from me a couple of times without you here to stop me.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Iwaizumi says. “You were an insufferable ass once too, you know.”

“As if I’m not still,” Kyoutani jokes, then they both fall silent. 

“You’re going to be missed, man,” Kyoutani says as he gets up from the chair and moves toward the door. Iwaizumi has known him long enough to be aware of the unspoken I’m going to miss you in Kyoutani’s words.

“It’s going to be weird. I started the same year we moved up to Division 1… feels a little like I’m abandoning something I helped build.”

Kyoutani tilts his head and his face sets into one of his signature scowls. “You’re not abandoning anything, Iwa-san, just moving on to bigger and better things. That’s not a bad thing.”

Not for the first time, Iwaizumi tries to make out the lines and boundaries between abandonment and dream-chasing, or forfeiting and self-prioritizing. He finds even over a year after it had become a pressing existential concern to him, he still has no better answers for himself.

Kyoutani quietly takes his leave, closing the door as he goes and stranding Iwaizumi with his own jumbled thoughts. Thankfully a persistent buzzing saves him from his own mind shortly afterward when he glances at his phone then quickly answers. 

“Wakatoshi,” he says in greeting, then goes quiet listening to Ushijima on the other end. 

“Yes, I have time.”

*******

The next couple of weeks pass far too quickly in a flurry of activity. Iwaizumi busies himself with packing things for shipment, wrapping things up with the Frogs, a temporary move into the VCK dormitory, and getting to meet everyone at his new job.

He barely has time to get his bearings, because October brings the start of the season with it, and Iwaizumi has to hit the ground running with his new team.

On the bright side of things, he and Takeru are now dorm neighbors, and they get to spend their evenings cooking, catching up, and playing card games. Sometimes others even join them, and it is making getting to know everyone a bit easier.

In all of the activity the beginning of the new season brings, Iwaizumi and Ushijima do not find an opportunity to meet again in person, but they do keep in fairly frequent contact over the phone and via text. 

Though every time his phone buzzes with Takeru beside him, Iwaizumi feels a momentary jolt of anxiety. He is not keeping his… umm… intimately charged friendship a secret from Takeru exactly, but it somehow feels like he should not be quite open about it either. Iwaizumi is also having increasing difficulty pinning down exactly what titles he should ascribe to Ushijima these days, his not-quite-lover more-than-friend, and he does not particularly want to discuss that with anyone either, especially not Takeru.

It is October 28th, and Iwaizumi is walking with Takeru out of the VCK practice gym when his phone begins buzzing in his pocket again. He fishes it out, and it is exactly who he expects — Wakatoshi.

“Ahh,” he says, stopping short on the sidewalk just outside the door. He quickly looks at Takeru. 

“You go on ahead, I’ve gotta take this,” he says, then he quickly spins back around and enters the gym again.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi greets quietly as he tries to scope out the most unpopulated area to get to. Several staff members and players making their way to the exit send him their goodbyes, and he gives quick waves and smiles in return. 

“Sorry, our practice just ended. I’m trying to get somewhere quiet,” he says into his phone. He hears Wakatoshi hum in acknowledgment and hustles the rest of the way to solitude in the far corner of the gym.

“Okay, I’m good now. Sorry. How are you?” Iwaizumi asks.

“I am doing well, Hajime. How are you?” 

“Everything is good with me too. Still been really busy of course, but I can’t complain too much.”

“Mmm, yes that is good,” Ushijima says, and then their call falls strangely quiet.

“Are you sure everything is good?” Iwaizumi asks after a while. “Is there something on your mind that you wanted to talk about?”

“There is,” Ushijima confirms, “I have called with a particular purpose in mind.”

“Okayyy,” Iwaizumi says, “well how about you tell me what it is then, and we can go from there?”

“Right. Well. I am sure you are aware of the match between our teams that occurs in a few days’ time,” Ushijima says, skewing even more formal than usual.

“Yes, Wakatoshi I am aware,” Iwaizumi says with a hint of a laugh. A soft smile begins to form on his face as he so clearly pictures the little crinkle in Ushijima’s brow that he is certain is there right now.

“And you are planning to move around that time as well, if I am not mistaken?”

“Yes, I am.”

Iwaizumi had managed to find a place relatively quickly and in a decent location (about a 15 minute drive from work, about 45 from Wakatoshi, though he would never admit to that being a consideration).

“Well, I wanted to propose a — an idea…”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” Iwaizumi says, the smile on his face spreading now. 

“Well we have a Halloween fan event right after the game, but then after that there is also a Schweiden after party. So I was wondering if you might consider accompanying me to that, and then I could perhaps assist you with moving in the next day, if you would like.”

Iwaizumi is silent for a moment. He turns and faces the wall on reflex, feeling bashful all of a sudden, like he needs to hide his face even from the couple of people still trickling out of the gym. He had expected perhaps a request to hang out after their game, maybe either dinner or another night in at his apartment. The party comes as a surprise, and even more so his offer to help with Iwaizumi’s move.

“I… definitely would be interested in spending some time with you,” Iwaizumi says cautiously. “Are you sure me coming would be okay though? It’s not considered fraternizing with the enemy or anything?” He glazes it over with a short laugh, but can feel a little flicker of genuine anxiety somewhere in his stomach.

“Not at all,” Ushijima emphasizes, “we frequently invite friends from other teams to our holiday gatherings, so no need to worry about that.”

“Okay then,” Iwaizumi says, swallowing down any lingering misgivings, “sure, I’ll come.”

“Excellent,” Ushijima says, seeming pleased.

“But please don’t feel like you have to help me move,” Iwaizumi cuts back in.

“Hajime, I would like to,” Ushijima responds seriously, “if you will allow me.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please,” Ushijima says simply, “it is something I want to help you with.”

“Alright, alright,” Iwaizumi says, caving quickly to Wakatoshi’s request. “Just so you know though, there will probably be a couple of other people as well.” So no funny business, he silently adds in his head.

“That is excellent,” Ushijima says. “I am glad to hear you already have people you are close to there.”

“Actually, umm…” Iwaizumi stalls. “Well one of them is Tora, who you know. Uh, Yamamoto Taketora I mean. The other though… well, it’s actually Oikawa Takeru.”

There is a short silence, before Ushijima says, “Yes, I had heard that Oikawa-san’s nephew was playing for Kanagawa this season. I assume this means you are still on good terms then?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hajime says dumbly. “Very good terms actually.”

“Good,” Ushijima says, “that is a relief to hear. I had wanted to ask you about it, but I was not sure if it might be a sore subject.”

“You… you’re happy about this?” Iwaizumi asks, incredulous.

“I — of course, Hajime,” Ushijima says, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not… too weird or something though, is it?” Hajime asks. He has been not-exactly-hiding but not-exactly-disclosing anything about Takeru to Ushijima as well.

“I do not think so,” Ushijima says, “at least it does not seem so to me.”

“Even though…” Hajime huffs out a breath, not sure how to explain. He finds he craves both Wakatoshi’s reassurance but also in a different, probably sick way, his judgement as well.

“I mean like he still calls me his uncle and everything,” Iwaizumi finally says barely above a whisper, “and I still act like he’s my nephew, even though… I mean, he never technically was, but even less so now.”

“How old is Takeru-kun, Hajime?” Ushijima asks.

“He’s 22,” Iwaizumi answers, caught off guard.

“And how many of those years have you known him?”

Iwaizumi pauses, something tugging tight at his chest.

“All of them.”

“Okay,” Ushijima says, “so why should it be considered ‘weird’ for you to still treat each other like family, if that is how it has been for all those years?”

“Right,” Iwaizumi says quietly, the feeling in his chest both swooping and stinging. “Yeah. You’re right. I just… it makes me happy you see it that way, I guess. I think most people might not.”

“Then I find their conclusion both illogical and cruel,” Ushijima affirms, his voice carrying a slight twinge of distaste. “If you both want your familial relationship to continue as before, I fail to see why anyone should think it is abnormal.”

Iwaizumi sighs then huffs a short, soft laugh. 

“You’re lovely, you know that?”

“Am I?” Wakatoshi asks.

“You are,” Iwaizumi says.

*******

Halloween dawns and finds Iwaizumi a nervous wreck. He already has two messages from Wakatoshi as soon as he wakes up.

———

Good luck in your inevitable defeat today.

I am looking forward to seeing you tonight.

———

Iwaizumi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before exhaling it with a good natured half laugh. Ushijima’s straightforward, non-embellished smack talk, once the bane of his existence (and still slightly irritating), now also holds a certain previously undiscovered charm for Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi fires back quickly.

———

If you’re expecting the same old Kanagawa, you’ve got another thing coming.

So am I

———

He debates sending the second message for probably too long, but in the end he decides he does want to temper the challenge in his first message with something sweeter, something more fond. He stops short of adding a <3 on the end and decides that is acting in moderation.

It is still early morning, but Iwaizumi tumbles out of bed anyway. He still has far too much to do before he has to report to the gym in the early afternoon. 

The first thing he does is get dressed, brush his teeth, then finish packing away the rest of his belongings. He had not brought much with him to his temporary lodgings, only a couple of suitcases and a backpack with the most necessary items he would need for about a month. The rest is either being shipped from Sendai or newly purchased and all of it sent directly to the house he had recently rented.

He loads his suitcases into his car. Right as he does, Takeru happens by, returning from his morning run. 

“Uncle,” he calls, waving his hand and jogging up to him. “You’re going now?”

“Yep, I’m going to do a few errands, swing by the house, then be back to leave with everyone else in the afternoon.”

“Okay,” Takeru says, “and you still want Tora and me to come by tomorrow? You sure you don’t want us to help you tonight?”

“Nah, better to start fresh in the morning I think. I’ll be fine for one night.”

“Alright then,” Takeru says with a quick shrug that reminds Iwaizumi far too much of Tooru. 

Though he would probably hate to hear it said, Takeru begins to look more and more like him by the day, especially now that his hair has grown out some. It is slightly darker than Tooru’s, but Takeru has the same wavy swoops, the same eyes — the ones all the Oikawas Hajime knows have. They all look remarkably alike actually, exactly like Tooru’s mother. Then when Takeru’s few Tooru-isms (very few, Takeru would argue) show themselves, it sometimes feels a little like Hajime is looking back through a portal to eight years ago, back when he was still young and lovesick.

“See you this afternoon, Uncle,” Takeru says, then he heads off in the direction of the VCK dormitory with a little wave over his shoulder.

“Yep, see you then,” Hajime says.

He quickly slings himself into the driver’s seat of his car and pulls out of the parking lot onto the main road. The house is not far, but he makes a stop at a store to pick up two new futons and some extra linens and blankets, one of the few things he had not ordered ahead so that he could feel the fabrics before purchasing them.

When he pulls up to the house, he is met by his new landlord, a thin, soft spoken woman who gently hands him the keys.

“A few things arrived yesterday, and I had them placed just inside the entryway,” she says.

Iwaizumi apologizes for the trouble, but she just waves him off. “Not at all dear. I made them do all the heavy lifting, after all.” 

After conveying his thanks again, the landlord crosses the street to her own house, leaving Hajime to his work. 

It is a fairly traditional Japanese house in a quiet neighborhood. When he had first toured this house, the owner had told him it previously belonged to her mother before she eventually passed away, and she just could not part with it yet. He supposes he can understand that, especially given that it is in near pristine condition despite its obvious age. Clearly her mother had very dearly cared for this house.

Iwaizumi hoists out his baggage first and places it just inside before going back to his car and ferrying the new futons and linens in. He takes off his shoes in the genkan and pushes aside some of the packages in the now-quite-cluttered entryway.

He walks quietly through the house, looking into each room on his way to the wall of sliding doors that lead to a small garden in back. He still cannot believe how lucky he is in finding this house. He had been looking almost exclusively at apartments in Sagamihara when one of the other coaches had mentioned this house, which was about to be listed for rent by his mother’s cousin. 

As soon as he had stepped foot on the property, the decision was clear. Hajime prefers his peace and quiet these days, and a place to be able to escape to at the end of the day. The price, the drive time, and the short distance to the train station had all just even further sealed the deal.

He opens the sliding doors then sits dangling his legs and breathing the fresh, cool air. Other areas of his life are still the tangled mess they are right now, but at least he has these stolen seconds of quiet on a busy day to breathe and to savor and to be happy about something by himself for a moment.

******

VCK forces Schweiden to play all five sets, something that has only happened once or twice in at least the last fifteen years. In the end they lose, but it is by a slim margin. 

Everyone is at least fairly pleased with this, but Takeru, used to winning and wanting to make as loud a splash as possible during his D1 debut season wears a hint of a scowl. 

“What’s eating you, sourpuss,” Iwaizume says, swinging an arm over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you look like you just ate an entire lemon,” Tora says, mirroring Iwaizumi’s gesture on Takeru’s other side.

“We lost,” Takeru says simply. “Can I not be upset about that?”

Hajime sighs as they all three start to walk back to the locker rooms, still entangled at the shoulders.

“Sure you can,” he says, “and it’s probably good to give yourself a moment to be upset about it. But then you need to look at how you lost.”

“Meaning?”

“This was not a blowout game, kid,” Iwaizumi says.

“Yeah,” Tora chimes in, “and we usually never take Schweiden to five sets. We were so close!” 

Takeru nods but still wears a hint of a frown on his face.

“Takeru, you were able to dig Ushijma’s spikes,” Hajime adds, bumping into his side.

“I mean, I also shanked a bunch of them too,” he says.

“In the first set maybe,” Iwaizumi says, his eyes glittering with competitive drive, “but you adapted to him incredibly fast. Believe me, this is not about to be just another normal season for VCK.”

Tora hums his agreement then turns his head to the side to look out over the court.

“Yo!” he suddenly calls and raises his free arm in greeting. Takeru and Hajime both turn and see Ushijima walking toward him. To an untrained eye, his face looks stoic as usual, but Iwaizumi thinks he can see just a touch of softness in his eyes as he approaches.

“Good game, Ushijima-san!” Tora says, breaking off from their group to offer his hand. 

“Good game, Yamamoto-san,” Ushijima echoes back. 

“And you as well, Oikawa-san,” Ushijima adds, leaning to acknowledge Takeru and then finally looking at Iwaizumi. “Quite an exceptional nephew you have, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi immediately steps forward and closes the gap between himself and Ushijima to fling out an enthusiastic “didn’t I tell you!” In doing so, he misses the bewildered eye contact Takeru and Tora make with each other behind his back. 

“Well, I will not keep you,” Ushijima says to the group. “We have a fan event starting shortly, but I wanted to make sure I had the opportunity to say hello.”

“Sure, good to see you, man,” Tora says, and Takeru gives a polite nod. 

“See you later,” Ushijima says to Hajime, and then he turns to take his leave.

“What was that about?” Tora asks as they meander back to the visitors’ locker room. “You guys are friends? I thought you kind of disliked each other.”

“I mean, we were rivals in high school, so I guess I did back then. But actually his dad has been my mentor for years, and we also work together for the national team, so…”

Hajime decides his best bet is to keep things vague.

“But I mean, he calls you by your given name and everything. I never expected that,” Tora says. Takeru just regards him quietly.

“Ah. They call me that whenever I go back to California. Even his dad does. So that’s probably how it started,” he says. Iwaizumi hates fibbing, but he does not know how to explain that he had specifically requested that Ushijima call him by his given name, a fact that he still sometimes feels horrifically embarrassed about.

“Oooooh, yeah that makes sense,” Tora says. Iwaizumi is not certain it really does, but at least they put the subject to rest for the time being.

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi arrives at the address Ushijima had given him. He feels a bit anxious but pushes past it to walk up to the door of the sleek, modern house and ring the bell. 

When the door opens, he is greeted by a tall man with chestnut brown hair in a cozy blue sweater. 

“Hi there!” he greets cheerfully. “Come on in, I’m Hirugami. Oh, um, I guess I should specify  — Hirugami Sachirou.”

“Oh, hi. Iwaizumi Hajime,” he says quickly, thankful he does not have to awkwardly explain who he is or why he is here. 

“Nice to finally meet you in person, Iwaizumi-san,” Sachirou says with a warm smile. “You have been helping keep one of my favorite people in top condition for many years, so for that you have my thanks.”

“Oh?” Iwaizumi asks, his brows perking in interest. 

“Kourai,” Sachirou confirms. “Hoshiumi, rather.” 

Iwaizumi nods and hums his acknowledgment, then allows Sachirou to lead him further into the house where a sizable gathering is already forming. 

“Make yourself comfortable, Iwaizumi-san. And please let me know if there is anything you need,” Sachirou says. “It’s my brother’s house, but I am sort of his proxy for the time being.”

Iwaizumi scans the crowd and picks out some vaguely familiar faces, but he sees no one he feels quite comfortable latching onto until Ushijima arrives. The crowd also seems to be split nearly in half of those in costume versus those not, and Iwaizumi wonders if he should have dressed up, or if Ushijima will. He sort of doubts it, but the thought is a little amusing. 

Iwaizumi decides to grab a drink then lean against an empty spot on the wall to sip and take in the general atmosphere. Things are still fairly low-key for the amount of people here, and whoever has been given the aux has pretty good taste, in his opinion. 

Just as Iwaizumi is about to finish his drink, he hears a commotion from the direction of the door. People wearing Schweiden gear begin filtering through the front door, all smiles and hugs, quickly breaking off and finding their little groups, weaving to get to each other. However one thing about this picture is slightly… abnormal. Namely, that every person walking through the door in Schweiden white is also sporting an extra accessory — a set of folded white wings on their backs. 

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows raise, but he has no time to recover, because between the gaps in the crowd his eyes immediately snap to him as he walks through the door — Ushijima Wakatoshi, in a wing harness.

Ushijima. Wakatoshi. In a wing harness.

Hajime has to quickly snap his mouth shut, and suddenly his tongue feels far too wet for some reason.

Ushijima scans the room, his brow furrowed, but it does not take long for him to find Iwaizumi. He parts through the crowd, eyes never straying, and makes his way to him, stopping with barely any space between them.

“Hello,” he says simply. What else is there to say really?

“Hello, yourself,” Iwaizumi says in return. Then he just cannot help it — his eyes scan over him, taking in the full effect of what he is wearing up close. The shirt is long sleeved and made of a Dri-Fit athletic material that hugs every contour of his torso. It is white except for the blue and gold Schweiden logo in the middle of the chest. He is also in white shorts that hit him a touch short at mid-thigh, showcasing an anguish-inducing peek of his perfect thighs every time he moves.

Iwaizumi sends up a silent prayer for whatever staff member had convinced the Schweiden PR team to sign off on this. May you always have perfect hair days and get double drinks from vending machines.

“So what’s all this?” he says, gesturing up and down at all of him in general.

“Ah, our costume for the fan event. We are supposed to be eagles, I believe, to match our mascot.”

“I see,” Iwaizumi says, his eyes skimming over the plane of Ushijima’s chest and catching on the white straps that border it.

Then a second person in Schweiden white quietly appears next to Iwaizumi.

“Hello Iwaizumi-san, Wakatoshi,” Tobio says to them. 

“Nice to see you, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi says back, and Ushijima gives a quiet nod. 

The atmosphere of the party seems to swing into a kind of jovial frenetic energy with the arrival of the team; however, both Kageyama and Ushijima tend to be the wallflower sort, and Iwaizumi tends to match his company. He had been at the nucleus of his fair share of out of control parties, pushed up flush against Tooru’s feverish skin as they danced and sweated, others gravitating into Tooru’s magnetic pull. 

He had also spent his fair share of evenings jammed into coat closets and upstairs bedrooms and club bathrooms, sliding his lips and tongue over that same humid skin. These were mostly times when the spotlight had soured, when Tooru felt too much all at once and the press of other bodies, the heat of other glances, became too much. Iwaizumi’s job at these times was usually sequestering Tooru and demanding his undivided attention, so that Tooru would not have to see, would not have to feel anything else anymore.

Iwaizumi is not thinking about all that tonight, he has decided. Instead he is going to enjoy the experience of being on the outskirts, watching other people, having a quiet drink. Or at least, that is what he plans to do.

Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, about halfway through his second drink of the evening, Kageyama glances at his phone and his face falls. His grip on the half-filled water bottle he is holding reflexively tightens, sloshing some of the water out onto the floor.

“Tobio?” Ushijima asks quietly, leaning to take in his expression.

“Get me fucking drunk, Wakatoshi,” Kageyama says, his voice like ice. Iwaizumi has not seen this kind of jagged, painful look in Kageyama’s eyes in a very long time, and he can tell it concerns Ushijima too.

“Are you sure that’s —“ Ushijima starts.

“I said… Get Me. Fucking. Drunk.” Kageyama repeats.

Iwaizumi and Ushijima exchange a worried glance.

“I will get you a drink, but we are not overdoing it, Tobio,” Ushijima says then floats off toward the kitchen.

A few drinks and one hour later, the situation is now not yet quite out of hand, but not exactly in hand either. Kageyama has wandered to the kitchen himself and is slamming back a shot while Hoshiumi pours him another. 

“Perhaps we should slow down a bit?” Sachirou says, but Kourai continues pouring. 

“We hardly ever get to see drunk Tobio,” Kourai explains, “and we’re making sure to take care of him, right?”

“It’ll be okay,” Hirugami Fukurou adds, “I won’t let him do too much.” This might carry just a bit more weight if he himself had not been nursing a third drink.

Iwaizumi cannot help but think under normal circumstances this might be fine, but he all but knows that Kageyama is doing this to drown something out, to not feel right now, and that worries him. Ushijima seems to share the sentiment, since the little spot between his brows is crinkled.

Kageyama slams the second shot Kourai offers him, and sighs while looking at Ushijima with a dopey expression.

“This is so nice, I’m all… fuzzy-feeling,” Kageyama says.

“Kourai,” Ushijima says in his low, even voice, “he is cut off.”

It seems Ushijima’s word on the subject is law, because no one presses any further. Even Kageyama, who does pout out his lip a bit, seems to know better than to argue with Wakatoshi.

“I… think I want to lay down,” Tobio says suddenly, his eyes glazing a bit.

“Do you feel ill?” Ushijima asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“No, just… I just need a minute,” Kageyma says. Ushijima nods.

“Is it okay for us to use one of your bedrooms, Hirugami-san?” Ushijima asks.

“Sure, sure,” Fukurou says with a wave of his hand, “whatever you need.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sachirou insists, and Kourai looks like he is going to follow as well. 

Ushijima lets Kageyama lean on him and lightly grabs at Iwaizumi’s sleeve as they pass by, silently pleading with him to follow. Their little group of five ventures upstairs, somewhat slowly. Ushijima quickly opens the first door they come to, and before Sachirou’s “Oh! Wait!” can register, he flings the door wide.

“What the hell is that?!” Kourai says, trying to push his way through the door around Ushijima, who stands frozen.

“What does it look like, Kourai?” Sachirou says, just a tiny bit of exasperation coloring his voice.

“It looks like Fuku-nii is a bit of a freak,” Kourai says with too much mirth in his voice.

Ushijima, Iwaizumi, and an inebriated Kageyama all stare forward at the glinting metal pole that spans the height of the room from floor to ceiling. 

Kageyama steps forward into the room and Ushijima gives a quiet “Tobio” in warning, but he continues to walk forward until he is standing directly in front of the pole, slowly raising a gentle hand to run his fingers against the cool surface. 

“Is this like a sex room?” Kourai asks as the rest of them step through the door, causing Sachirou to bury his head in his hands.

“I don’t know! I don’t ask!” he says, exasperated. “It came with the house!”

Iwaizumi and Ushijima both step toward Kageyama, but before they reach him, he grabs the pole with his hand, points his leg out and then kicks it around the pole to swirl into an effortless spin.

Ushijima lets out a sigh that sounds to Iwaizumi a lot like a resigned “goddamnit,” and behind them Kourai gives a screech of surprise and delight. 

“Should we…?” Iwaizumi had been about to ask if it is really a good idea for Kageyama to be playing around with this, especially while he is not quite sober, but then Kageyama starts to complete a series of complicated graceful spins that eventually ends with his torso flipped upside down, one leg pointed out, and the other leg crossed over it so that the pole is gripped between his thighs. Whatever he is doing, “playing around” does not seem to be it.

Of the four people witnessing this, the only one who seems to not be in complete shock and disbelief is Ushijima, who instead sits down on the floor against the foot of the bed to watch.

“Your form has gotten sloppy,” Ushijima says, and Kageyama’s eyes narrow.

“Well you try doing this while half drunk,” Kageyama says, and Iwaizumi thinks he should maybe point out that no one should be attempting this right now, half drunk or otherwise. 

“Plus I’ve had nowhere to practice!” Kageyama adds gruffly. “Plus plus, these stupid wings!”

Ushijima beckons for Iwaizumi to sit next to him, and Iwaizumi, still dumbfounded, moves to do so.

“I thought you wanted to lie down,” Ushijima says just as Kageyama transitions into a move that has him upside down again.

“That’s called a butterfly,” Ushijima says quietly to Iwaizumi, who feels as if he has glitched over to a different universe altogether.

“Your back leg, Tobio,” Ushijima says in complete deadpan, and Kageyama grumbles then tries to correct himself.

“I wanted to clear my head,” Kageyama corrects, “and this is even better for that. Remind me to thank Captain later for letting me intrude on his private space.”

“I’m sorry, but what the hell is going on here exactly?” Iwaizumi finally asks Ushijima under his breath. 

“That’s what I’d love to know!” Kourai adds quietly, popping down next to Ushijima on the floor.

“You’ve seen him do this before?” Kourai asks. “Wait, are you two, like…” 

Iwaizumi feels an embarrassing little tug in his chest at Kourai’s implication. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“While he was in Italy, Tobio started trying out several different types of dance classes to help maintain his overall conditioning, and someone recommended this to him for his flexibility and core strength.”

“I have seen him do it before when I used to go visit him,” Ushijima adds with a small shrug, “that is all.”

“So do you actually strip when you do this, or what?” Kourai asks Kageyama.

“Hmm I don’t usually,” Kageyama says, mid-spin. 

“Why, did you want me to?” he adds with a small smirk.

“No thank you,” Ushijima says seriously. “We would like you to keep your clothes on, please.”

“I agree,” Sachirou says from his spot on the foot of the bed above them.

“Aww, no fun,” Kageyama pouts.

“I’m at least going to take my shirt off though, I’m sweating already.” 

Kageyama spins to a stop and fiddles with the clasp of his wings, unbuckling and sliding them off, before pulling his shirt over his head.

“Wait!” Kourai interrupts. “Put your wings back on!” 

Sachirou sighs, wishing they could be done with the entire ordeal.

“Why?” Ushijima asks. Iwaizumi already knows. 

“Just trust me!” Kourai says. 

“They’re so in the way though,” Kageyama complains, but he starts threading them back over his arms anyway. 

The straps perfectly frame Kageyama’s chest, emphasizing the slope of his pecs and the dip to the other beautifully curved hills and valleys of muscle down the rest of his torso. When he turns around, the wings just further call attention to the muscles of his back and shoulders as they engage with every turn and flip, accentuating just how athletic his body is. 

Iwaizumi feels no real attraction to Kageyama, but he is not blind either. Mostly he just tries not to acknowledge the thought of how a certain other Adler might look in nothing but his wings and shorts.

“Do you care if I film this?” Kourai asks, earning himself a smack from Sachirou. “What?! At least I asked permission first, didn't I?”

“That’s fine,” Kageyama says while continuing to spin.

“But don’t go posting it or anything,” Sachirou says with a groan. “Remember you have to be very specific with him, Kageyama-san.”

Kageyama is quiet for a moment, the gears of his mind turning. 

“Actually, I don’t care. Post it Kourai.”

“Your PR team will kill you!” Iwaizumi chimes in, trying not to choke on his own spit.

“Personal accounts only,” Kageyama adds, “and make sure you tag me in it.”

Kourai quickly agrees and perches himself next to Sachirou on the foot of the bed to get a better angle, then Kageyama does some of his more complicated tricks again while he records. Kourai gives an enthusiastic “woo!” and other encouraging exclamations as Tobio builds a bit of speed, executing spins and challenging holds, before finally ending with a spin that takes him all the way down to the floor, where he puts his arms up with a flourish, punctuating the end of his dance. 

“What the hell are you doing up here?” Fukurou asks with a laugh. He is leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and a semi-drunken expression. 

“Why do you have a sex room?!” Kourai asks loudly, bounding up from the bed to stand in front of him with his hands on his hips. 

Fukurou laughs loudly and claps Kourai on the shoulder. “It’s just a guest room. The pole came with the house.”

“What kind of guests?” Kourai asks, narrowing his eyes. 

“Good grief,” Fukurou says. “Out, all of you! Kageyama, you’re supposed to be lying down.”

He walks over to Kageyama and plants his hands on both of his shoulders to steer him out the door.

“Since you obviously can’t be trusted to rest in this room…” he says, pushing him down the hallway until his voice becomes unintelligible. Kourai and Sachirou follow close behind with Kourai saying something to Sachirou that apparently warrants another of his long-suffering sighs.

Ushijima leans forward to begin to stand, but Iwaizumi catches him by the sleeve to urge him to stay put. Their eyes meet, and Iwaizumi is caught up in a level of searing heat that nearly suffocates him, burning up all the air in the room. He leans forward and claims Wakatoshi’s lips, his entire body being pulled by a strong tug, a need to be closer. 

Iwaizumi straddles his lap without thinking, ignoring the little surprised whine at the back of Wakatoshi’s throat, to press his lips harder against his. He slides his hands along Ushijima’s broad chest with splayed, exploring fingers before hooking his thumbs into those blasted straps that so insistently command his attention in order to yank him closer, as close as Iwaizumi suddenly so desperately needs him to be.

They are interrupted by a tiny gasp from the doorway that has them parting their lips with a loud, rushed smack! — They both turn to see Sachirou standing there with his hand clapped over his mouth. For one agonizing second they all look at each other, no one making a move. 

Then Sachirou quickly glances down the hallway before drawing his thumb and forefinger across his closed mouth in a zip motion, winking, and quietly closing the door.

Iwaizumi sighs then collapses onto Ushijima’s shoulder with a short huffed laugh. 

“Sorry, that was almost bad, huh?” Iwaizumi says.

“What do you mean?” Ushijima asks, softly running his fingers up and down Iwaizumi’s spine and making him shiver. 

“Just that it might have been awkward for you, you know, if half your team had walked in on that.”

“It would not matter to me,” Ushijima says, then plants a soft kiss at the crown of Iwaizumi’s head. 

Iwaizumi looks at him again, and Ushijima begins kissing up the side of his face and neck and ears, setting Iwaizumi on the path toward becoming a whining mess if they continue.

“Wakatoshi,” he breathes, tipping his head back, “how about you take me home?”

They walk quickly but quietly out of the room and down the stairs. When they get to the main floor, Iwaizumi follows in Ushijima’s wake as he parts through the crowd and they slip out the front door.

Ushijima quickly unlocks his car and they both get in, scrambling to get their seatbelts fastened. He pulls out onto the main road with his usual self-assured, efficient manner of driving, but now he lets one of his hands drift to rest warmly on Iwaizumi’s thigh. 

“Still going to yours?” he asks, sounding far calmer than Iwaizumi feels.

“Yes,” Iwaizumi confirms, and he begins punching in his address for the directions. It will take them about 40 minutes. Perhaps that will be enough time for them to calm down and think more clearly, Iwaizumi hopes.

*******

The way they do not even make it to the front door before beginning to desperately kiss and paw at each other suggests otherwise. 

Ushijima barely still has the presence of mind to remember to grab his overnight bag or to lock his car as Iwaizumi pushes up against him and shepherds him through the door. They kick off their shoes with their mouths still firmly pressed together, and Ushijima parts his lips so that Iwaizumi’s tongue can smoothly slide inside.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” Iwaizumi pants when he backs away from his lips momentarily to get some air. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy! …Eagles!” he huffs before pushing back into Ushijima’s waiting lips for a quick kiss. “You do not look like an eagle in that, Wakatoshi.”

“Oh?” Ushijima asks, already half kiss-drunk and struggling to pay attention.

Iwaizumi slides his hands down Ushijima’s sides until they settle at his hips. “Certainly not, Angel.”

Something jolts up Ushijima’s spine at the unexpected pet name, and Iwaizumi notices.

“Mmm, you like that?” he says a little bit smugly, burying his self-satisfied smirk into Ushijima’s mouth. 

Iwaizumi pulls him in by his hips so that their bodies are snug against each other. Iwaizumi’s mouth is at the perfect height to nip and lick at Ushijima’s neck, making him gasp with each little action. 

“You look like an angel, and you act like one, so what else am I supposed to think?” Iwaizumi says quietly close to Ushijima’s ear. “You’re my Angel, right?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says with a hitching breath.

Hajime can feel Wakatoshi’s arousal intensifying, the evidence beginning to press heavily against his hip. This time it makes Iwaizumi want to touch him more, to have him. It makes him think thoughts he has previously never spared for anyone other than his ex.

“Come here then, Angel,” he says. Iwaizumi slides his thigh in between Wakatoshi’s legs and props his foot on the ledge of the genkan to press up into him. He tightens his grip on Wakatoshi’s hips and pulls them forward, rocking him against his thigh.

Wakatoshi’s mouth opens, and he lets out intoxicating little sounds of pleasure that spur Hajime on. His hands rest on Hajime’s shoulders for support, and Hajime continues to slowly rock his hips back and forth, over and over.

“Can you keep this pace for me, Angel?” Iwaizumi asks, and he can feel Wakatoshi’s erection twitch against his thigh. He cannot even seem to speak, just whines in the back of his throat and nods vigorously before continuing the motion of his hips on his own.

“That’s perfect,” Iwaizumi says as he removes his hands from his hips to unfasten the buckle of the wings. 

Wakatoshi moves his arms to let Iwaizumi slide the harness off of him, and then he raises them when Iwaizumi begins to tug the hem of his shirt upward until it is completely over his head and off.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Hajime says as his hands slide over the warm, bare skin of Wakatoshi’s shoulders and chest.

Iwaizumi kisses him again, and Wakatoshi moans into his mouth when Hajime slides both hands down to his ass and squeezes gently. 

Wakatoshi’s body has been called many things — strong, powerful, athletic, ideal… never once pretty, until now. He can feel Hajime’s words and the reverence in his touch stoking his arousal, making his body respond in ways that he will likely find embarrassing later. The friction of Hajime’s thigh, the slide of their lips, the tightening of Hajime’s fingers are all about to push him too far if he is not careful.

“Hajime,” he says quietly, stilling the motion of his hips.

Iwaizumi looks up at him and immediately moves his hands to softly cup Ushijima’s face, his brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ushijima says quickly. “I just think maybe we should slow down.”

“Alright,” Iwaizumi says, immediately sliding his leg out from between Ushijima’s. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Iwaizumi feels a small twinge of guilt. Maybe I misread things. I should have checked in with him more, made sure everything was still okay.

“Yes, I… It is not that…” Ushijima scrambles in the wake of Hajime’s touch missing from his skin. 

Frustrated, he gently takes one of Hajime’s hands and presses it into the apex of his legs so that his need can speak for itself. Hajime’s eyes widen, searching Ushijima’s face to find any scrap of understanding.

“It is not that I do not want you,” Ushijima explains. “I very obviously do, quite desperately.”

Iwaizumi nods and winds his arms around Ushijima’s waist. 

“I just know how sure you seemed before, that you did not want to take things as far as… having sex,” Ushijima explains. 

“If that has changed, then I am certainly not going to object,” he says, “but I do want to make sure that we are not rushing. I want you to be certain, to not have any regrets. I could not stand if things soured between us because we went too fast.”

Iwaizumi nuzzles into his shoulder, pulling him close. 

“I know you’re probably right,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m sorry, I was very… this is just the only time, except… well, you know, that I’ve…”

“Wanted someone?” Wakatoshi asks.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. He takes Wakatoshi’s hand, mirroring his earlier movements, and places it in the same place on his own body. “Yes.”

Wakatoshi flushes, uncharacteristically flustered from feeling the distinct rigidity under his hand.

“So, we’ll be intentional about it, yeah?” Hajime says, releasing his hand and looking at Wakatoshi fondly. “And only do things when we’re both certain about them.”

“Yes,” he answers with a nod, “I would like that.”

“And so, today?” Hajime asks, sliding his fingers lightly up and down the length of his arm.

“Today?”

“I know for certain that I can handle what we were doing before,” Iwaizumi says, “so is it okay for me to do that to you?”

Ushijima considers carefully, but he also craves the feeling of Iwaizumi’s body against him again.

“It is okay,” Ushijima says.

Iwaizumi begins to kiss Ushijima's chest and neck, skimming his fingers over his sides in a way that has Ushijima already twitching and trembling. He slowly slides his leg up between Ushijima’s thighs until it presses up against him again, a welcome pressure that relieves some of the ache Wakatoshi feels. 

“Move for me, Angel,” Iwaizumi whispers to him, grasping at his hips to drag them forward again.

Ushijima does as he asks and rocks his hips back and forth against him. He begins at a leisurely pace but moves slightly faster with each pass until he is eventually quickly thrusting forward with Iwaizumi’s fingers pressing roughly into the flesh of his hips. 

“You’re doing so good,” Hajime says between the kisses he places on his neck right over his thrumming pulse point. “Does it feel good?”

Ushijima just moans in response, thrusting faster and harder against him, and Hajime smirks against his neck.

“Are you going to cum like this, Angel?” he asks. “You should.”

“Hajime,” Wakatoshi says breathlessly, worried that this might be pushing things too far. His legs begin to tremble and Hajime tightly wraps his arms around his waist to steady him.

“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi whispers, “keep going. I’ve got you.”

Iwaizumi presses their lips together and swallows every pant and moan that falls out of Ushijima’s parted lips. Ushijima begins to thrust forward erratically, chasing his own pleasure against Iwaizumi’s flexed thigh. The tremors radiate up from his legs and spread to the rest of him, until his entire body is a hot button ready for Hajime to press just right. 

“Cum for me, Angel,” Iwaizumi says quietly, and it tips him over the edge. Ushijima’s little tremors become full-blown shakes as he moans and thrusts desperately to ride out the waves of intense release that course through him. He grips Iwaizumi tightly as his whole body twitches with the final aftershocks until he finally stills, completely spent and face nuzzled between Iwaizumi’s neck and shoulder.

“Did it feel good?” Iwaizumi asks, and Ushijima just nods emphatically, keeping his face tucked against Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Good,” Iwaizumi says, smoothing Ushijima’s hair with his fingers. He sways them both back and forth ever so gently, shifting his weight from one hip to the other to slowly rock them as they enjoy the glowing remnants of an intimate moment. 

“How about I show you where the bathroom is?” Iwaizumi finally says. “You can go ahead first, and I will get things ready for bed.”

Wakatoshi nods and hums his agreement before pulling back and placing a chaste kiss on Hajime’s forehead. 

Iwaizumi makes sure Ushijima has everything he needs to get cleaned up, then he sets out the futon and bedding in his bedroom so they will be ready for bed. While he waits, he flops back on top of the freshly made futon and stares up at the ceiling.

In all this time, he had somehow forgotten — what it felt like to be aroused, what it was like to make someone else quake with need, the feeling of bringing a man crashing to climax with his guidance and words. These are all things he once thought he might never want to experience again, might not be able to enjoy with someone new. However, what he feels after making Wakatoshi cum from just riding his thigh in his entryway is exhilaration, and perhaps a hunger that he cannot yet bring himself to fully acknowledge.

After Wakatoshi and Hajime both shower, dry their hair, and get ready for bed, they climb into Hajime’s futon together and lay facing each other, immediately tangling their legs together. 

“Thank you, for all of this,” Iwaizumi whispers before bringing one of Ushijima’s hands up to his lips and letting them linger on his skin.

“For what?” Ushijima asks.

“For… I guess for inviting me. And for being here with me now. For, I dunno… I guess I’ve just been realizing a lot lately that I can let my life look however I want it to. That my former plans falling apart doesn’t have to mean my entire life does. I think that has a lot to do with how close we’ve gotten recently, you know?”

Ushijima presses their foreheads together then softly kisses Iwaizumi’s lips while cradling his cheek with one hand. 

“That is good,” he says, then he slides his warm arms around Iwaizumi to pull him closer into his chest. 

They fall asleep quickly, tangled up in each other inside the comfortable glow of their shared body heat.

*******

The next morning, Iwaizumi jerks awake to the sound of insistent knocking and one loud drawn-out “Unnnnnncllllllleeee!” from the direction of his front door.

“Oh shit!” he says as he checks the time and jumps up out of bed. Ushijima grumbles, his eyes still squinty and mind not fully awake.

“Takeru and Tora are here!” Iwaizumi says as he scrambles to one of his suitcases and rifles for clothes before hastily pulling them on. 

“I will try to hold them up at the entrance if you can get dressed and fold everything away in the linen closet,” he says, turning to get to the door before even waiting for a reply.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Tora greets loudly as soon as Iwaizumi appears at the door. A hint of mischief flavors his smile, but Iwaizumi cannot even begin to puzzle out the reason.

“Good morning,” Iwaizumi says, squinting to block out the morning light that glints in his eyes. 

“Rough night?” Tora asks, that same mischief not leaving his expression. 

“The first night always is in a new house, right?” Iwaizumi says evasively. 

“Come on in,” he adds, standing aside to let them into the entryway.

“Is someone else here?” Takeru asks, noticing the other, clearly larger pair of shoes resting alongside Iwaizumi’s.

“Yes, actually Ushijima arrived first,” not technically a lie, so Iwaizumi goes with it. “We just started working on putting some things away in the bedrooms.” 

“Ushijima?” Takeru asks, his eyes widening a fraction in surprise.

“Right,” Iwaizumi confirms, “he asked if I could use any more help, so I told him he could come by if he wanted.”

“Ah, that’s really nice of him,” Takeru says, and he and Tora step further into the house.

Ushijima emerges into the living room and greets Tora and Takeru, then Iwaizumi begins to set them about their tasks.

“Tora, if you could come help me move some things into the bedroom, that would be great. Then Takeru, there are a few boxes there that go to the spare bedroom. And then Wakatoshi…” He internally kicks himself as soon as he says it, already giving in to his new force of habit despite how it might appear to others. “… if you could begin putting some things away in the kitchen, that would be excellent.”

They all set about their tasks, Tora and Iwaizumi hefting a couple of larger boxes into Iwaizumi’s bedroom. 

“Sooo,” Tora finally says, hands resting on his hips, “you had an eventful night last night, huh?”

Iwaizumi freezes, turning slowly to meet his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“That Schweiden party,” Tora clarifies. He unlocks his phone and taps and scrolls for a while, then he turns it around already open to a post on Hoshiumi Kourai’s private account. 

There are several photos, two of which include him standing next to Kageyama and Ushijima — the first when they had all been still quite sober, and the second in the kitchen as Kageyama pounds the shot that had caused Ushijima to declare him cut off. He and Ushijima are standing perhaps a bit close for normal friends, but not so terribly out of the norm that he thinks he needs to worry about it. He scrolls through the rest until he comes to the end, which is the video of Kageyama’s hidden talent. It appears to be the main topic of conversation in the comments.

“Looks like it was a wild time,” Tora says with a laugh, as Iwaizumi hands his phone back to him. 

“It was,” Iwaizumi groans, resting his face in his hands. “Does Takeru know?”

“I don’t think so,” Tora says. “At least, he hasn’t said anything about it. And I doubt he follows Hoshiumi.”

“Well, I hope it stays that way,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh.

As Tora and Iwaizumi talk in the bedroom, Takeru finishes ferrying the few boxes that go to the spare bedroom and quietly joins Ushijima in putting away the kitchenware in various drawers and cabinets.

They work in silence for a while, until Takeru suddenly lets the bowl in his hands settle on the counter, and he gets very still and quiet. 

“Ushijima-san,” he says quietly, and Ushijima hums a gentle “mmm?” and turns to face him.

“You like him, don’t you?” Takeru asks, still facing away. “I mean like, in a more-than-a-friend kind of way?”

Ushijima is quiet for a moment, weighing his options. 

“Yes, I do,” he admits, figuring it is fine since he is only revealing his own feelings.

“And do you know if he feels the same?” Takeru asks.

“I am not sure,” Ushijima says vaguely. “He has not really answered me properly yet.”

“You confessed?!” Takeru says, quickly whirling around to face him.

Ushijima just nods, then Takeru looks down at the floor with his brow squished together.

“I think he probably does,” Takeru says slowly. “If you’re the person he’s been texting all the time, I think he feels the same, at least, deep down.”

“Hajime has… been through a lot, it seems,” Ushijima says carefully, and Takeru agrees with a nod. “So I do not want to push him for an answer. He needs to be permitted to do everything in his own time.”

“Do you know about… umm, his dating history, then? And why I call him Uncle?” 

“Yes,” Ushijima confirms, “at least, I know the major details.”

“They never really told me what happened,” Takeru admits, “and I’m not certain I want to know anyway. But I do know it would have to be something bad for him to leave like that.”

He goes quiet and chews at his bottom lip. Ushijima waits patiently to let him sort out his thoughts.

“I just know it had to have been difficult for him, whatever happened,” Takeru adds quietly. “So it’s really good… to see him looking happy again.”

Ushijima nods, and they quietly go back to putting things away. Although under his quiet exterior, Ushijima’s heart is now thundering in his chest. 

I want to make him happy. I want to make him the happiest he has ever been.

Chapter Text

Wakatoshi would be lying if he said the off days he sometimes gets to spend with Iwaizumi are enough for him. He tries to be happy with the time they do have, partly because he knows it is much more than he would have gotten if Hajime had stayed in Sendai. However, it is difficult to stop himself from wanting more, from becoming greedy. 

Even though he is fairly sure they are becoming closer, maybe even close enough for Iwaizumi to consider him a bit important to him, he still has an unvoiced fear of accidentally letting himself get carried away and causing Iwaizumi to distance himself. Unfortunately, it has happened to him too many times before. 

Few people would ever approach Ushijima with friendship in mind in the first place. To most other kids he was just considered weird and too serious — somehow managing to both stare too intensely and to not look enough, using too many “fancy words” and talking “as if he is always bored,” when he even decides to talk at all. His stature also has not always helped matters, so he mostly spent his childhood keeping to himself and trying to focus on the things he liked to do, like volleyball. 

However, every so often, someone would happen along and somehow manage to ignore all of the warning signs — generally either guys who took one look at him and immediately thought “athlete” or girls who romanticized the strong, silent type. Usually though, even when he managed to strike up a tenuous friendship with someone, it was a short lived arrangement. 

For a long time he did not really understand this, and it was only into his adulthood that he began to realize that to most, the reality of him failed to live up to initial expectation. He came to somehow see himself as a slight inconvenience at best and more frequently a nuisance to anyone who ever actually got close enough to really know him.

This is the thought that comes crashing into his mind more painfully and loudly than all others on the day when his traitor nervous system finally decides it is time for Hajime to see it — All The Rest, the things Wakatoshi prefers to hide.

In retrospect, his doom had already been sealed in the days leading up to the trip. It is December now, but Ushijima keeps nearly overheating every time he is indoors, and the usual comfort he feels from a well-earned sweat is replaced by irritation. He drinks his Pocari and wipes his brow, taking deep breaths to drown the intrusive thought that he could scream, right now, and it would perhaps echo around the gym and back into his ears where it might rattle his brain back into ship shape.

He tries to take it easy, to wear his most comfortable clothes, to drink water, to do yoga. He even calls and texts Iwaizumi less than usual for a few days, just to avoid the blue glow of his phone. The first few things seem to help. He is not sure that the last does.

By the time Schweiden leaves Tokyo for the Emperor’s Cup, Ushijima is feeling a bit better. After several years and a lot of hard work, he can sometimes preempt a coming storm by catching it fast enough, making conditions more favorable before it gets to the point of board-up-the-windows-and-pray.

He re-reads the text from Iwaizumi saying that they are leaving for Osaka, and he sends one of his own in return. He settles down into his seat, pops in his noise canceling headphones, and pulls a light-blocking mask over his eyes in an attempt to fall asleep.

The first few days are fine, he supposes. He can feel that he is not in top form, but it is not enough for most people to notice. Not Tobio though — Tobio always notices. 

He looks at Ushijima quietly, a tilt of his head made by tucking his chin back and to the side. You good?

Ushijima answers with a single dip of his head, very little movement. I know, I am monitoring the situation.

Tobio seems satisfied, but Ushijima feels his assessing glance just slightly more often from then on. It is something he likes about Tobio, that he knows not to make a fuss when it comes to this. 

It is not that Tobio never makes a fuss. In fact, he can fuss with the best of them, especially when in the presence of his chaotic, ginger best friend. Ushijima sometimes feels a little guilty about being glad Hinata lives in Brazil most of the time — only a little. If anyone should be a bit more understanding about the allure a chaotic, ginger best friend holds over a too-serious volleyball idiot, he supposes it should be him. 

In any case, Tobio is one of the few people who innately understands how Ushijima feels at this moment and why he wants to try to go on in as usual a fashion as possible. So Tobio keeps his tabs on Wakatoshi silently at an acceptable distance.

One of the best parts of this trip, besides the whole getting to play volleyball and crush the competition thing, is that Ushijima and Iwaizumi have made plans for a proper outing together. Ushijima will not go so far as to call it a date, because whatever it is they are doing, he is fairly certain it is not dating yet. Iwaizumi would have mentioned if it was, surely. Even so, if it is not a date it is at least decidedly a something, and that is plenty to get excited for in his book.

It takes a while before they both have time off that intersects, at first having to settle for rushed smiles and pats on shoulders in passing, text messages in dark hotel rooms in the few stolen moments just before bed. However, the day finally arrives, and Ushijima’s skin feels like it is buzzing.

The restaurant is just slightly too loud. Not enough for most people to want to plug their ears, Ushijima thinks, although that is what he wishes he could do. It grates against him like sandpaper, punctuated every now and then by particular sounds that feel more cheese grater, taking off little chunks of his sanity.

He tries to distract himself by focusing on Iwaizumi’s voice or memorizing the color patterns of his irises, beautiful brown that tips just slightly green.

“You okay?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ah, right. Staring too much. Being too quiet. Gotta act more normal.

“I am good. You?”

“Doing fine,” Iwaizumi says with a soft smile. It makes Ushijima feel for just a moment like he might be doing fine too.

Running into Kyoutani Kentarou on the streets of Osaka had not been part of the plan — The Plan which Ushijima had repeated to himself a few times over the last few days if things ever started to feel a little too quicksandy under his feet. So he would know if this was part of The Plan, and it certainly was not.

He hardly registers what Kyoutani and Iwaizumi say to each other in the cadence of banter between old friends. He slips on his mask of stoicism and tries to go numb.

“ — Ushijima-san!” The words only wiggle through his mental wall when they are about him and accompanied by a light friendly touch on the arm, something he does not anticipate from Kyoutani. 

No. No no no no no no no. Don’t. No. Stop.

“Sorry?” Ushijima says, trying his best to attune his ears to a conversation he had never latched onto in the first place.

“I was just saying, good to see you too, Ushijima-san,” Kyoutani repeats. His voice sounds as neutral as Kyoutani Kentarou’s voice is ever capable of being, but his face pinches, as if he is either annoyed or trying to figure something out or both.

“Ah, good to see you as well,” Ushijima manages, trying not to think about the ghosting sensation of touch on his arm.

“Yes, very good to see you Kyouken-chan,” Iwaizumi teases.

“Now listen here!” Kyoutani says, his volume pitching up in a way that makes Ushijima squeeze his eyes shut, “that is some Oikawa-ass behavior right there! I’m actually disappointed in you.”

Kyoutani punches Iwaizumi in the shoulder which makes Hajime smirk. Kyoutani carries on for a moment longer about what betrayal and how he prefers knowing Oikawa from afar so that he can decline his phone calls if he wants. Then suddenly his voice gets blessedly softer.

“Oh, speaking of, have you heard from him recently? He’s…”

Ushijima does not bother to continue to listen to whatever it is Kyoutani is talking about (at thankfully a much lower volume).

“Yeah, Takeru told me.” His ears perk to Iwaizumi’s voice, because it sounds a little pitched, maybe worried. “It’ll be fine,” he adds, clapping Kyoutani on the shoulder. 

“Right,” Kyoutani says. “Well, I hate to leave on that note, but I have to get back. See you around?”

“Yeah, see ya,” Iwaizumi says with a wave as Kyoutani rushes off.

The mood seems well and truly demolished for one sobering moment, both of them suspended motionless in time and space, both feeling a bit bedraggled. 

“Should we get back to our plans, then?” Iwaizumi finally asks.

Right, The Plan. Ushijima recites it in his mind again, and it grounds him just a little, enough to get his feet moving again.

“Yes, I would like that.”

Osaka is a little bit overpacked at the moment, throngs of people going back and forth between restaurants and shops — scurrying, scurrying, scurrying — making traveling on foot feel rushed and insistent. He tries to block it out, all the people and noise and light, but he cannot. So then he tries to let it wash over him and away, hoping it will all meld into meaningless background, like it seems to for most people. Unfortunately, Ushijima is painfully aware that he is not most people, especially not right now. 

They go to a bookstore next, one that Iwaizumi had been interested in. Something that Ushijima had been delighted to discover about Iwaizumi is that he is, at his core, kind of a nerd. Upon the first discovery of this, Ushijima had quickly begun mentally cataloguing everything he could about this secret new side of him. 

First, Iwaizumi loves Godzilla and all other manner of giant monsters. This had been discovered as Ushijima was helping Iwaizumi move in. When they opened the spare room boxes, Iwaizumi had suddenly gotten somewhat sheepish, perhaps even a tiny bit embarrassed, about his collection of figures and posters and other things that were all Godzilla related. He told Ushijima that he had been collecting since he was a child, and described it as “his one childish indulgence.” Ushijima had found it incredibly endearing. His own childish indulgences are things like wanting to smear Hinata Shouyou into the boards of the court like a bug against a windshield. It does not happen quite as often now since getting to know him better and sometimes having to be his teammate, but it still flares up every now and again and feels all ugly and irrational and so very middle-school of him.

The second thing he finds out is that Iwaizumi also likes to read, particularly science fiction. This was revealed during a time when Iwaizumi had come to visit Ushijima overnight. He had asked if Ushijima could grab his phone charger out of his backpack, and when he opened it up he noticed a book in the main compartment. “What is this about?” Wakatoshi had asked, holding it up carefully. Iwaizumi had launched into an animated explanation of the premise, saying that this was the second book in the series, and that he had been waiting for its release and finally received it two days before his visit. A bookmark poking up from the pages had shown that he was already about two-thirds of the way through the thick book. After that, Ushijima had suggested they stay in. Iwaizumi ended up sitting with his back against Ushijima’s headboard and reading, slowly running his fingers in Ushijima’s hair without thinking about it. Ushijima had tucked his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist and let his head rest against his chest. He noted the way Hajime’s eyebrows crinkle, the way he slowly brings water to his lips while his eyes stay focused on the page, the little hitch of breath interrupting the gentle up and down of his chest when he gets surprised. It was all new and beautiful to Wakatoshi. 

The third thing is that Iwaizumi has a master’s degree, which he also obtained in a language that is not even his native tongue. Ushijima had already been sort of aware of this, he supposes, but had not thought in great depth about it until Iwaizumi mentioned it in a memory he was recalling about Utsui. Ushijima is aware that his own skills in English are perfectly decent. At the very least he gets understood, and he in turn usually understands. However, it is certainly not to the level that he would be able to complete advanced-level written work in English. Iwaizumi had once also revealed that he is fairly proficient in Spanish as well, a byproduct of the region of the US he lived in and his semi-frequent visits to Oikawa in Argentina. 

So on top of being beautiful and kind and interesting and talented, Iwaizumi is also one thing Wakatoshi has never really considered himself to be — smart. And damn, does he ever find it attractive.

So when Iwaizumi had suggested a bookstore, Wakatoshi had been quite happy about that. He wants to see the way Iwaizumi looks as he peruses the shelves, thumbs through pages, makes his selections, the way he moves quietly through aisles with his mind visibly turning and considering.

He tries to do so now, to pull his mind up from the state it is in to partake in one of its recent favorite pastimes, but he is still finding it hard. Everything is still too much but also somehow not enough. His brain is beginning to sear like the wires are overheating, just as his body is actually overheating, just as his vision is closing in, just as he begins to quietly pant, just as his clothes feel like prisons. 

No, no keep it together, take some breaths, just relax.

It is not until he picks up a book to distract himself that he knows he is well and truly screwed. It happens when he tries to flip a page and gets a paper cut, the sickening feeling of paper slicing and pulling the skin of his finger. Only a paper cut, and yet so much more. Suddenly the hurricane is here, and he is not prepared.

For a split second it all goes sickeningly quiet.

Then the dominant sensation is the itching, the crackling, the blistering of fabric on skin.

And it is warm, too warm, far too damned warm.

And too bright, too tight, but also not tight enough.

Too loud, too loud, too achingly loud! But also mind meltingly, infuriatingly silent.

Static in his veins, in his mind, marching up his spine, and there is no time left.

“Wakatoshi?” he hears it whispered, dripping with warm concern. It comes with the feeling of soft fingers on his arm hot on its heels, trying to make a bridge between where they are and where he is, but his arm involuntarily flinches away, volatile, ripping that attempted scaffolding down.

And oh, how the thoughts come rushing in — too damn fast, like trying to drink from a fire hose.

Stupid. Fuck up. Weird. You’ve done it now.

Can’t. Even. Do. One. Fucking. Thing. Right.

His hands grip, for something, anything. Just let me know I’m real, help me remember I’m real.

The book is a hard back, which he only recognizes from the way the spine stings when it connects with his forehead.

“Woah!” A sudden eruption of sound, and it comes with hands — hands wrenching the book from his grasp, touching his hands and his face and his shoulders, steering him with a firm grip in some unknowable direction. Hands, hands, hands. Too many to even flinch about.

Now he is somewhere with fluorescent lighting — goddamned hellspawned fluorescent lighting. He makes a frustrated sound deep in his throat and smacks the butt of his palms against his face.

“Hey, hey!” It comes out of Hajime hushed, placating, and scared, like it might if he had stumbled upon a wolf with a shattered leg, who still knows how to bite.

The tears have already started then, bursting out of Ushijima’s eyes in hot, thick, traitorous drops. He is sure he also wails, because he can feel the way his lungs shudder.

“C-call T-Tobio!” he wails in a voice that does not sound like his, shocked to have any presence of mind left. 

Ushijima feels Iwaizumi reach into his pocket with gentle fingers to extract his phone.

*******

“Wakatoshi, is everything okay?” Kageyama answers immediately.

“Kageyama, this is Iwaizumi,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Hello Iwaizumi-san. Is he okay?”

“I don’t think he is. He asked me to call you.”

“Tell me where you are,” Kageyama says, sounding immediately serious, “Does he need anything? Different clothes, food, drink, fan?”

“Umm, we are in a bathroom at a bookstore a few minutes from your hotel. I’ll send you our location,” Iwaizumi supplies. “ And… he didn’t say, but I don’t think he’s able to tell me right now.”

“Got it. I will be right there.” Iwaizumi can hear Kageyama rummaging for something on the other end of the line.

“I’ve locked the bathroom door, so let me know when you arrive.”

“Okay,” Kageyama confirms. “Iwaizumi-san, have you ever been with him when this has happened before?” 

“No,” Iwaizumi answers.

“Okay, just don’t touch him unless he gives you express permission. If he does, squeeze him as tight as you can. I’d tell you to literally lay on him, but well, you’re in a bathroom, so…” Kageyama trails off, then starts again. “From what I can hear, he may not be very coherent right now, so don’t ask too many questions yet. Sit tight and send me that location!” 

Kageyama hangs up without anything further, and Iwaizumi looks down at Ushijima’s phone. He quickly sends a location pin to Kageyama, trying hard not to panic as he does.

He quietly pockets Ushijima’s phone then squats in front of where he has slid down onto the floor. He is no longer letting out loud shuddering cries, but he is still panting and crying and collapsing in on himself. Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to touch him, to comfort him, but he sticks to Kageyama’s advice. He seemed confident in knowing how to respond. 

Iwaizumi cannot say he has experience with whatever it is that Ushijima is going through, but he has successfully coached Tooru through more than one anxiety attack. This was something that happened more frequently in high school though, so he might be just a bit rusty.

“Wakatoshi,” he says softly, hoping he can cut through to his conscious mind, “I want to help.”

Ushijima is still beside himself, taking great heaving breaths that rattle, but he looks up at Iwaizumi with pained, scared eyes. Iwaizumi nods in reassurance, using every ounce of self control he has not to touch, not to try to soothe with gentle fingers.

Ushijima begins to nod too, and he grasps for Iwaizumi’s hands, pulling them forward to circle around him. 

“Squeeze,” he rasps out, “hard.” 

Iwaizumi squeezes as hard as he thinks he possibly can without hurting him. He puts his all into it, not even knowing how it is going to help, but he will unflinchingly do whatever Wakatoshi asks of him right now. If a hard squeeze is what he wants, Iwaizumi’s biceps and shoulders and chest will deliver. 

A few minutes later, someone bangs on the bathroom door.

“It’s me!” Kageyama says from the other side.

“Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi says quietly and calmly, “Kageyama is here. I have to let him in, okay?”

“C-come back quickly, please?” Ushijima manages, his voice crackling and eyes red.

Iwaizumi nods then slowly releases the pressure before standing and unlatching the door. He lets Kageyama enter and then quickly latches it back.

Kageyama swings off the backpack he carries and looks Ushijima over while he stoops to open it.

“I brought everything. Tell me what you need.”

“Hajime,” Ushijima says insistently, looking past Kageyama.

Kageyama regards them both, quietly assessing. 

“Did he ask you to apply pressure to him?” he asks.

Iwaizumi nods, and Kageyama turns to Ushijima. “Would you like Iwaizumi-san to keep doing that?”

Ushijima sputters and nods insistently, and Kageyama lays out a towel on the floor. 

“Sit down here please, Iwaizumi-san.” 

Iwaizumi sits down as Kageyama directs him to with his back against a wall. 

“Now you,” Kageyama says as he helps Ushijima up and then to a sitting position in front of Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi wraps his arms around all of him, enfolding both his arms and chest, and squeezes him again firmly. He holds him there with his muscles dutifully engaged, never releasing the pressure that he applies. Kageyama continues to offer what support he can, talking in a soft, metered voice.

Just as Iwaizumi’s biceps are beginning to burn, he feels Ushijima begin to relax into him. He hears his breathing start to even out. Kageyama also notices and takes it as his cue to begin asking questions.

“Do you need different clothes?” 

Ushijima nods and Kageyama pulls out a t-shirt and cotton joggers. 

“Do you want to change now?” 

Ushijima nods again and Kageyama helps him stand. Iwaizumi quickly stands up too. 

“Do you want us to give you some privacy?”

Ushijima shakes his head and grabs Iwaizumi’s hand firmly, his eyes widening and tinged by fear. 

“Okay, we will stay,” Kageyama assures him calmly. 

Ushijima peels off his clothes like they are scalding him and puts on the ones Kageyama brought. He still pulls at them a little, but he seems a bit more relaxed. Kageyama also passes Ushijima a cool bottle of water, which he takes and drinks without any word of either thanks or complaint.

“Okay, let’s try to get you back now,” Kageyama says once Ushijima has drained the bottle and taken a deep breath. He pulls out a hoodie, sunglasses, earbuds, and a cotton face mask which Ushijima takes silently. 

They all pile out of the bathroom in one lump of tumbling limbs and walk briskly out of the shop, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Ushijima holds firmly to Iwaizumi’s hand, refusing to let it go as if it is his only contact point keeping him tethered. Iwaizumi just holds onto him resolutely. He would not drop his hand for anything right now.

As soon as they make it back to the hotel where Schweiden are staying, Kageyama suggests that Ushijima take a shower, and he grumbles his assent. He mostly looks tired now, a soul-deep kind of exhaustion broadcast clearly on his face.

Kageyama quietly takes a seat on the edge of his bed, and Iwaizumi sits in an armchair, staring into the middle distance. Neither of them says anything for quite some time. 

“Does this happen often?” Iwaizumi finally asks.

“Not very often,” Kageyama says, “This is the first time in quite a while.” 

“You just seem like an expert at knowing what to do for him is all.” Iwaizumi feels a small tug of something or other about that, but he tamps it down. It is a fairly straightforward task given just how tired he feels, how confused and concerned.

“Has he told you anything about this before?” Kageyama asks.

“Just that he sometimes gets really overwhelmed and it’s part of a neurological condition he’s had his whole life. But I didn’t know anything about what that meant, like, what it looked like in his life.” 

“Right, well Wakatoshi and I happen to have the same condition,” Kageyama explains, and Iwaizumi’s brows perk up. 

“I wasn’t the biggest fan of his in high school, but when we joined the same pro team, we actually became good friends fairly quickly. We sort of understand each other in a way most other people don’t, and we started to rely on each other in times like this.”

Kageyama shifts, sitting on the bed cross-legged to get more comfortable.

“I guess over time we both became experts in knowing what the other needs during a meltdown.”

“Meltdown?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called,” he explains. “Mine are… a little different from Wakatoshi’s. To an outside observer, it looks a lot more like anger.”

Iwaizumi thinks about the boy he knew a long time ago in middle school, about how he started with soft, inquisitive eyes and an open face, if not perhaps a bit of a dopey one. He thinks about how over the next two years he watched that face from afar twisting and mangling into something mean and hard and sharp, all sneers and furrowed brows to pair with bitter, biting words that snapped and cracked in the air.

“Do you know about what happened in my 3rd year of middle school, at our last tournament?” Kageyama asks.

“I wasn’t there, but yes I heard,” Iwaizumi says, nearly breathless. 

“Yeah. Well, that was me on the verge of a meltdown,” Tobio says. He accompanies it with a nonchalant shrug, the product of hard won self-forgiveness that often only comes from ample time and perspective.

“I know what it must have looked like to everyone else, but that’s how I behave when I’m reaching my sensory limit. No one knew how to help me then, or even recognized I needed help at all.”

Iwaizumi looks at him closely and feels an “I’m sorry” almost form on his lips. But in the end, what could Hajime have done, really? He was at a different school, hands already full from dealing with the absolute self-destructive emotional wreck that was Oikawa Tooru at age 16. By then he had gotten himself together some, but not that much. The boy had practically made monitoring for signs of overworking and overuse injury into Hajime’s full time job.

“Thankfully, in high school things were different. I had Hinata and Suga-san, and all the rest of my team too,” Tobio says, a small smile forming at the edges of his lips. “When I went pro, I was actually pretty worried that maybe it would get in the way again or get worse, but Wakatoshi has been a really good friend to me. Even when I was away in Rome, we would check in with each other, just to make sure things were going okay.”

Kageyama runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“He and I need different things. Like once he gets a bit more coherent, he responds really well to direct yes or no questions. But for me that would just piss me off more,” Kageyama adds. 

“There isn’t really a one-size-fits-all best way to handle it. You just kind of have to learn over time what a person needs. Thankfully, Wakatoshi is actually really good at doing what helps me, and I try to do the same for him. Knowing the person helping you really understands makes the aftermath not quite so bad.”

“The aftermath?” Iwaizumi asks, almost hesitantly.

Kageyama stays quiet for a tense moment, almost cringing. 

“Yeah,” he finally says. “The meltdown itself is bad enough. But once it’s over… at least for me, and for Wakatoshi too from what he’s told me… one of the hardest parts is the shame you feel immediately afterward. Especially if anyone saw you.”

Iwaizumi’s breath silently catches, and his forehead crinkles.

“You sort of lose yourself during a meltdown,” Kageyama explains. “Eventually you calm back down, but then you remember everything that happened, and sometimes that is really really difficult to deal with.”

The bathroom door opens and they both fall silent. Ushijima emerges and there it is, slowly spreading across his face — The Aftermath.

Chapter Text

There are quite a few things Iwaizumi Hajime knows about Ushijima Wakatoshi.

He is 30 years old

He is an opposite for the Schweiden Adlers and the captain of Japan’s National Volleyball team.

He loves to cook and is damn good at it.

His penmanship (allegedly) sucks.

He notices things others do not (even when you don’t want him to).

He uses weighted blankets and likes old movies. 

His natural body heat is insane. 

He packs a lethal punch of sincerity every time he talks about his feelings.

And sometimes he has meltdowns, which is something Iwaizumi does not know much about.

When Ushijima walks out of the bathroom, he looks a bit spent, if Iwaizumi is honest. He walks silently, not making eye contact with either Kageyama or Iwaizumi, and sits down on his bed across from where Kageyama rests on his own bed.

“Wakatoshi,” Kageyama says in a slow, even, low tone, “I should probably let the trainer know you are not feeling well and that you should be assessed in the morning.”

“Right,” he responds, still not looking up.

“Is that okay?” Kageyama asks, standing slowly.

“Mm,” Ushijima hums low and short, signaling his agreement.

Kageyama gives one last glance before slipping quietly out the door and closing it behind him.

For a moment they are both silent. It hangs thick around them, and Iwaizumi can feel how ill at ease Ushijima is. Iwaizumi thinks he should say something to try to cut the tension, but he is not sure what he can even say.

“I am sorry,” Ushijima says quietly. Iwaizumi looks over at him and sees him sitting with his hands clasped and squeezed between his knees and his head low.

Iwaizumi rises out of his chair and comes to stand in front of Ushijima, who does not look up at him.

“May I touch you?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima hums his agreement, and Iwaizumi touches him softly, placing a warm palm against the side of his face.

“It’s not something you can control, right?” Iwaizumi asks. Ushijima nods.

“There’s always a lot of things in life that way. Like we can’t really control illness, or other people’s actions, or our own feelings. We can maybe influence and try to avoid certain things, but in the end we only choose how we deal with what we’re given,” Iwaizumi says.

“And… I will get better,” he adds, “just like Kageyama. I will get better at being able to help you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t much help at first today.”

Ushijima looks up at him then, his eyes shimmering with an unspoken pain that it seems he is trying his hardest to shove down.

“I am… just so embarrassed, Iwaizumi-san. I did not want you to see me that way.” 

“I can understand,” Iwaizumi says, “so I’m going to try my hardest there too. I will just have to work harder to make us close enough… friends, that if this happens around me it doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed or worried.” 

Ushijima looks at him for a long time. Iwaizumi can see the flash of multiple micro expressions flicking across Ushijima’s features.

“I still feel the same as I did in the summer,” Ushijima finally says. “I still would want you as… more than a friend. But I cannot picture someone, you, ever agreeing to be with me when I could potentially complicate your life so much.” 

Ushijima slides his face into his hands. Iwaizumi sits next to him on the bed and puts his arms around his shoulders, holding him close.

“My hesitation about that never has anything to do with you, Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi says firmly. “Even now, it’s entirely about my own problems.” 

Ushijima breathes in deeply and Iwaizumi gently runs his hand back and forth over his shoulders in a comforting gesture.

“This is going to sound like a strange request, but could you maybe lay on top of me?” Ushijima asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Iwaizumi says, remembering what Kageyama had said over the phone. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I am… okay. Or at least, I am stable I suppose. But it still helps.”

Ushijima lays back on his bed against the pillows, and Iwaizumi climbs on top of him, settling his head into the crook of Ushijima’s neck and wrapping his arms and legs around him.

“Is this alright?” Iwaizumi asks after he settles.

“Yes,” Ushijima says with a contented sigh.

They lie like that in the quiet, both taking slow even breaths. Iwaizumi could easily fall asleep like this, but he feels he needs to stay awake to make sure Ushijima is being cared for, so he grasps for a topic of conversation to keep himself awake

“Did your previous partners know?” Iwaizumi asks after a while. “Or like, any friends or anyone else?”

“Satori, my first partner. He knew, but we were already dating before he found out the extent of it.” 

“And what did he say when he saw everything?” 

“He was… quiet. It was very unusual for him,” Ushijima says, “and he seemed… upset, I think. Though, it was most likely on my behalf, not directed at me. It is hard to remember much about that time though.”

“So what happened, after he found out?” Iwaizumi asks.

“He tried the best he could to help me. He had a lot of his own troubles too,” Ushijima says. “In retrospect, we both desperately needed professional guidance, but we were young and did not have many people to help us, except for our coach. He always tried his best to help us as much as he could.”

“Really?” Iwaizumi asks, perking up, “Washijo?” 

Ushijima huffs a tiny laugh at the back of his throat.

“I’ve never been so afraid of an old man in my life,” Iwaizumi explains, “I feel like he could beat me up even now.” 

“He has… what do they call it… a Napoleon complex?” Ushijima says with a small smile. “He can seem a bit brutal at times, but ultimately he is a caring person. He treated us as if we were his kids, especially those of us who lived in the dorms away from home, which was most of our team. He was very hard on us but would stick up for us when it mattered.” 

“I see,” Iwaizumi says, rolling this around in his mind.

“Your first partner, was he a volleyball player too? You mentioned before that he was at a tournament with you, right? Do I know him?” 

Ushijima’s small smile turns almost sly, if Iwaizumi is not imagining it.

“Oh yes, your team seemed to hate him even more than they did me.” 

“Really?” Iwaizumi asks, incredulous, before he starts to think back. 

“Ah! Red hair, middle blocker?” he asks. “I can’t remember his name though.”

“Yes,” Ushijima says, “Tendou Satori is his name.” 

“Ah yeah, I remember him. He was a pain on the court.” 

“And off it sometimes,” Ushijima grumbles.

Iwaizumi laughs a little at that. “Yeah, I know that life,” he adds, trying not to let his voice twinge with a bit of bitterness.

“So, what happened? I mean, why did you eventually split?” Iwaizumi says, “I mean, if that’s okay to ask?”

“Well, we graduated,” Ushijima says. “Satori worked for a while at a Japanese sweets shop, and I pursued volleyball professionally. We made it work for a few more months, but as I said, we were both young and both badly needed help we were not getting, and on top of that our schedules never aligned anymore.” 

Iwaizumi nods, because he knows what that part is like too painfully well too.

“We went from seeing each other all day every day to being lucky to see each other a couple of times a week,” Ushijima continues. “There were too many petty disagreements, and I was having more meltdowns than usual, and ultimately, we both loved each other too much to watch it crumble to ruin like that.”

Iwaizumi nods, then lets his head fall to rest against Ushijima’s neck again.

“For us, it was the right decision. He left to study in France not long after we broke up, and he stayed there even after he graduated. He is married now and has his own shop. He is still my best friend, and I visit him and his husband when I can.” 

Ushijima tips his head to rest his cheek against Iwaizumi’s forehead, as if he senses the ongoing shift in him, the thoughts that are beginning to bubble.

“Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I’d broken up with Tooru when he moved to Argentina,” Iwaizumi says quietly, “or when he cheated on me, or any number of other times over the years. I wonder if it would have made it easier to stomach somehow, or made it hurt less, or left me less damaged.” 

Ushijima wiggles his arms free and brings them up around Iwaizumi, squeezing him gently.

“I do not think so,” Ushijima says, moving to run a hand over Iwaizumi’s hair. 

“One of my previous therapists told me that even if something had happened differently, it would never be guaranteed that your situation would be any better than the one you are in now,” he explains. “There was a period of time when I was asking myself a lot of what-ifs too. Like what if I had not been born like this, or what if I had not broken up with Satori and fought for us to stay together, but I do not do that so much anymore.”

Ushijima falls silent for a moment, mulling over his next words carefully.

“I think no matter how or when you lost your relationship with Oikawa-san, whether that was years ago, or last year, or ten years from now, or when one of you eventually passed away, it would have hurt the same, because of the love you have for him.” 

Have — present tense, Iwaizumi realizes. Before he can even try to protest, Ushijima continues.

“It is one of the things I am finding I like most about you actually — how deeply you are capable of loving the people you care about.”

Iwaizumi looks up at him then gives a crooked sort of smile. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one comforting you right now?” he asks.

“This comforts me too,” Ushijima explains, lightly guiding Iwaizumi’s head back down to his shoulder. “Just you being here and talking to me helps.”

*******

Iwaizumi wakes up to a loud banging on his hotel room door. He blinks his eyes and is only vaguely aware of the soft ding of a phone notification. He rolls over to grab it but his eyes fall on the clock at his bedside table — 8:33. He had been hoping to sleep in until 9 today since the team does not have much going on until the afternoon.

Another round of loud knocks on his door startles him out of bed. He shoves his unchecked phone into the pocket of his sweatpants and groggily opens the door.

Standing there is a member of his staff, looking quite anxious, like he might either run away or combust where he stands at any moment.

“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi asks, his eyebrows crashing together.

“Iwaizumi-san,” he says, almost gasping, as if he had run here. Iwaizumi’s anxiety is steadily ticking up and up and up.

“What is it? Quickly,” he prompts, trying to remain calm while still spurring him along.

“Sorry to wake you,” he says, “but the JVA is asking for a meeting with you, immediately.”

“The JVA?” Iwaizumi clarifies. “With me? What about?”

“Umm,” his staff member hedges, shifting from foot to foot. “You haven’t checked your phone yet this morning, have you?”

As if on cue, his phone dings, the sound of three text messages sent in quick succession.

“No,” he says, the color beginning to drain from his face, “why?”

“Umm, you’re going to want to,” his staff member says. “It… you just need to see it for yourself.”

Iwaizumi quickly rips his phone from his pocket. As soon as the screen lights up, he sees it — a barrage of missed calls and texts from multiple people over the last half hour, then further down email notifications containing internet search alerts. He clicks on one of the email notifications then scrolls, his eyes going wide.

“Oh… fuck.”

*******

Iwaizumi strides in the direction of the boardroom in the offices attached to the stadium. As he makes his way down the corridor, he catches up to Kageyama, who is ambling in the same direction while typing away on his phone.

“G’morning, Iwaizumi-san,” he says grimly.

“Mornin’,” Iwaizumi returns.

“Do they know?” Iwaizumi asks, “or just about me and you?”

“They don’t,” Kageyama says.

“Good,” Iwaizumi says quickly, “and we are keeping it that way, yeah?”

“Yes,” Kageyama says seriously, “not a word.”

They walk into the boardroom together and are surrounded at a wide oval table by several people. Most of them he vaguely recognizes as being from the JVA, including Kuroo Tetsurou, who sits near the center. There is also one PR rep from VC Kanagawa, and he assumes at least one from Schweiden as well.

“I assume you know why we are all here?” a man next to Kuroo says, beginning the meeting.

“I have some idea, yes,” Iwaizumi confirms as Kageyama nods silently beside him. 

The man slides a newspaper, if one could really call it that, across the table. It is open to a page with the headline “Hot Guy Olympic Trainer Off the Market?” and his and Kageyama’s faces splashed across it. Underneath, the tagline reads “Iwaizumi Hajime, Japanese volleyball trainer heavily memed as ‘Hot Guy’ during the 2024 Paris Olympics, seen holding hands with mystery man, ‘chaperoned’ by Schweiden and JNT setter Kageyama Tobio.”

In the accompanying photo they are crossing the street, and Iwaizumi is holding hands with someone in a mask, sunglasses, and a hoodie, someone who is very clearly another man. To add insult to injury, Kageyama is in his Schweiden jacket standing right beside them.

“So do you want to explain what this is all about?” the man asks with the same tone of a father who has caught his teenage son smoking.

It makes Iwaizumi’s blood boil, and he can feel Kageyama stiffen next to him, his aura quickly tipping hostile.

Kuroo cuts his eyes at his colleague, then turns to them with a smile meant to try to sooth. “What he means is, could you give us any further information about this photo so that we can better manage the PR response?”

“I meant exactly what I said, Kuroo-san,” the man next to him spits out. “What is this?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Iwaizumi says coolly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. 

“Okay then,” the man says impatiently, “specifically, why were you photographed out on the streets of Osaka holding another man's hand in the middle of the Emperor’s Cup?”

“Because people have no respect for privacy anymore?” Iwaizumi flings out with an innocent shrug. He is trying his best to push the man’s buttons now, and it seems to be working. He sees Kuroo bite his bottom lip, trying to keep his face neutral.

“And who exactly is that?!” the man continues angrily, indicating the photos. 

Iwaizumi would recognize Wakatoshi’s frame anywhere now, but thankfully his face and defining features are all covered. 

“I’m not at liberty to say,” he says defiantly.

The man sputters, taken aback. His eyes wander from Iwaizumi over to Kageyama next to him, clearly hoping for any support he can muster.

“If you think you have a better chance with me, you’re mistaken,” Kageyama says in his impenetrable deadpan, “Iwaizumi-san is the reasonable one.”

“I see,” the man says curtly. 

Kuroo appears as though his body is battling between a sort of amused exasperation and the overwhelming urge to laugh.

“Well, I suppose you are not exactly implicated in this, Kageyama-san, so your part of this should be —“

“Implicated?” Kageyama snaps sharply, interrupting him.

“It means —“ the man begins to say.

“Yes, I know what it means,” he snips again, “do you? Because it sounds to me like you’re suggesting that what Iwaizumi-san did is wrong.”

The room is silent now, and everyone’s eyebrows are raised in the same dopey expression, as if some puppeteer above the ceiling has pulled strings leading to each face, except Tobio’s. His eyebrows are sharp, low, crashed together in simmering anger.

“Could you perhaps at least tell us who it is?” another person at the table asks. “If it is someone else in any way associated with the JVA or one of our teams, we want to be able to get ahead of it.”

“No,” Kageyama says firmly, before Iwaizumi can even speak up. “Honestly I don’t get how any of this is newsworthy. Iwaizumi-san and I were just enjoying our downtime like anyone else, then we were walking with a friend and trying not to lose each other in the crowd. What is the big deal?”

None of it is technically a lie, but it also leaves out much of the truth.

“The big deal is everyone now thinks Iwaizumi-san is a homosexual,” the man next to Kuroo says, “and it’s causing a stir.”

They can hear Kuroo’s exasperated exhale of air from across the table that matches the way his fingers worry at his brow. 

From the way things are going, Iwaizumi almost expects Kageyama to go apoplectic, perhaps begin yelling, but what happens instead is even more unsettling. Tobio’s face falls into an eerie disinterested expression laced with icy coldness. 

“So?” he says, and everyone in the room can clearly interpret the implied ask me if I give a fuck in Kageyama’s voice. The room goes quiet again. 

“We’ve given you our explanation, and we refuse to name the person with us. Anything else before we go?” Kageyama asks.

Iwaizumi is somewhat in awe. Is this what having “scary dog privileges” feels like? He has perhaps been on the supplying end before, but not really the receiving end. The way Kageyama shields him, does not budge, leaves no room for argument — it makes Iwaizumi’s chest swell with fondness and appreciation for him. 

The truth is Kageyama has more leverage here, can get away with more, can be a bit more impolite. Schweiden is not about to very easily part with the genius veteran player they had to pay a king’s ransom to coax back from Rome to mentor their green, next-gen setter. Even if they did, Kageyama would just get immediately snapped up by another foreign team or retire a bit early. Iwaizumi has decades of career left to think about, and even though he comes highly recommended and everyone at VCK likes him, he is also brand new and may already be on shaky footing after this. He cannot withstand the JVA being on his back too, so Kageyama steps up and says what needs saying.

“Your respective teams would like to coordinate posts for your social media accounts and also joint statements to be posted by the JVA and both clubs,” Kuroo pipes up, trying to save the conversation his colleague has managed to completely fumble.

“Easy,” Kageyama says, pushing his open phone across the table to who he assumes is the Schweiden PR rep.

“Kageyama-san,” she says quietly after a while, “I do not think this would be approved.”

“This or nothing,” he says with a shrug.

She sighs, clearly sympathetic to his feelings but knowing she has to work within the expectations of her job. 

“There’s no way that would be approved for your public socials,” she says, and Iwaizumi suspects she is choosing her words carefully. 

This is all but confirmed when Kageyama thinks carefully for a moment before saying, “so you're telling me that I cannot post this from my professional accounts, right?” 

“Correct,” she says simply.

“Right, well, I suppose I could just retweet the official statement. Retweets are acceptable, right?”

“Right,” she confirms. “If that is what you want to do, I will let the team know.”

The only ones catching on seem to be those two, Iwaizumi, and possibly Kuroo, if the twitch at the corner of his mouth is any indication.

“Yes, please do,” Kageyama says, seemingly calmed for the time being.

“What about you, Iwaizumi-san?” the rep from VCK asks gently. “Is there anything you want to say as far as a statement? Anything to address the rumors, or…?”

Iwaizumi considers it carefully. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he says slowly before gaining a bit of momentum. “I don’t see why I should have to talk about my sexuality either way, especially on a page that is supposed to be a professional account. And trying to refute any rumors would just feel too much like saying being gay is something bad or shameful. I’m not going to do that.”

Kageyama nods along, seeming pleased. 

“I guess what I’d like to put out there is exactly what Kageyama said, that I and two friends I’ve known for a long time were out in Osaka during some downtime, and the street was crowded, so we were trying not to get separated. It’s not some big scandalous story, and I just want all of it to quiet down so I can get back to my job.”

Iwaizumi runs a hand through his hair and sighs. 

“If the JVA statement could be something along this same line, I would be very grateful,” he adds while inclining his head toward their side of the table. 

The meeting ends shortly after with most everyone dispersing to go about their jobs. Iwaizumi and Kageyama stand together in the hallway, Kageyama still fiddling with his phone, when Kuroo walks up to them. 

“Quite a stir you two caused,” Kuroo says with his trademark crooked smirk. He leans against the wall with his arms slackly crossed in front of him.

Iwaizumi bristles a bit, but Kageyama stays relaxed, tapping away at his phone. 

“Hello, Kuroo-san,” Kageyama says distractedly.

“I have to ask,” Kuroo says, his voice dipping into low tones to avoid being overheard, “it’s Ushiwaka, right?”

Iwaizumi tries to keep his face and body from visibly reacting, but his breath is caught in his chest.

“We’ve already said we’re not revealing the third person,” Iwaizumi says firmly.

“Strictly off the record,” Kuroo says, meeting Iwaizumi’s gaze. “I promise it will stay with me.”

Iwaizumi eyes Kuroo suspiciously before Kageyama interrupts.

“Kuroo-san is a trustworthy guy,” he confirms, “he just likes to act like he has a bad personality.”

“Ouch, you wound me, Meanieyama-kun!” Kuroo says, his smirk perking up the side of his mouth again.

Suddenly Kuroo begins to remind Iwaizumi of Tooru. It is not necessarily in a painful or bad way, the way it sometimes happens with Takeru, who practically has his same face, but rather like recognizing him as a similar sort of person — a kind heart shielded with a mask of cutesy insults and snarky tones, an introvert pretending, someone who is uncomfortable with their foundational goodness being too out in the open for people to see. 

“Is it that obvious?” Iwaizumi asks with a sigh. 

“Probably not to the world at large, but perhaps to a few in our shared circles who pay close attention,” Kuroo says.

A pit drops out in Iwaizumi’s stomach, but he will just have to trust people to keep quiet and not pry, he supposes. He tries to calm himself with the knowledge that he and Oikawa had managed to stay secretive for ages, and they had been a full blown couple who on occasion did much more blatant things than he and Wakatoshi had. No, it will be fine.

“Well, what I said was true,” Iwaizumi continues, “we’re just close friends. And I am also never naming him. He is not getting dragged into this if I have any say in the matter.”

“Are you okay with this post, Iwaizumi-san?” Kageyama asks, interrupting and finally turning away from his phone. He thrusts it at Iwaizumi, who begins to carefully read the multi-post thread.

———

Slow news day? Because all of this has been confusing and honestly kind of dumb. 

I don’t get how me and Iwaizumi-san spending some of our free time out with one of our friends suddenly turns into a whole situation that has people speculating on his relationship status and everything else.

I have known Iwaizumi-san since middle school, and I can tell you that he is one of the most caring and hardworking and talented people I know.

So many times I have seen how good a friend he is and how he values his friendships over what other people think about him. 

So how about you print all that instead of wasting energy on pressuring him to tell you whether he’s gay or not? Ffs 

———

Iwaizumi would never accuse Kageyama of being the most eloquent person, but after reading it, he is feeling pretty touched anyway. 

“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” he says with a half smile, “but you’re not allowed to post it right?” 

“They said nothing about my private account,” Kageyama says, a look of wicked satisfaction beginning to cross his face. Iwaizumi had thought as much.

“You saw nothing!” Kageyama says very seriously with a finger flung out close to Kuroo’s face.

“No idea what you mean,” Kuroo says with a shrug, “nothing to see, right?”

They part ways with Kuroo and begin to walk out of the stadium together.

“By the way,” Kageyama says quietly, “I know you probably have things to do, but you should really walk back with me if you can.”

Iwaizumi meets Kageyama’s eyes and can tell that he is quite serious. 

“Is it our mutual friend?” Iwaizumi asks, and Kageyama just nods. 

“I’ll come then.”

They walk together all the way to Kageyama and Ushijima’s shared room. Kageyama scans his key card to open the door and motions for Iwaizumi to follow him in.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Iwaizumi says, and he sees Ushijima’s head quickly pop up to look at him. He is sitting on the edge of the bed and seems to have been waiting for Kageyama to return.

Ushijima is quickly on his feet after that, and he walks to Iwaizumi and scoops him into a crushing hug, leaning his face down onto his shoulder. Iwaizumi hears Kageyama let out a small huff of air behind him.

“Everything was fine, just like I told you it would be,” Kageyama says, “I promised I would not let them walk all over Iwaizumi-san, and I made sure of that.”

“Right?” he directs at Iwaizumi.

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says normally, then he leans in closer to Ushijima and speaks quietly. “Everything is okay Wakatoshi, you don’t need to worry.”

Wakatoshi just grumbles into his shoulder. For the second time in as many days, Kageyama blessedly makes an excuse to leave on an errand — getting them all drinks this time — and lets them have a moment alone.

“It is all my fault,” Wakatoshi says miserably once Kageyama has closed the door. “You were put through this because of me, because I had a meltdown, because I just had to cling onto you in public. You did nothing wrong, and I should be the one dealing with this.”

“Do you think you did something wrong, Wakatoshi?” Iwaizumi asks quietly. When he does not answer, Iwaizumi brings a comforting hand up to rest at the back of his head.

“Whether I did or not, the reality is that you are facing consequences, when I should be the one to face them. I deserve to be the one who is blamed, so please let me take responsibility!”

Ushijima’s low voice is insistent, almost desperate. It is a tone Iwaizumi does not think he has ever heard in his voice before.

“Absolutely not,” Iwaizumi says with a low, even finality that has Ushijima’s head popping back up to look at him. “I have done nothing wrong, but neither have you. Just because this is happening to me, it does not mean you deserve it happening to you too.”

Iwaizumi puts a firm hand on his shoulder while continuing to hold him with the other.

“Nothing about you is wrong — you liking me, you not being straight, you needing support — none of that ever deserves punishment,” Iwaizumi affirms. 

“Whoever took that photo could have marched right up to us at that moment, and I still would never have let go of your hand. So if you want to talk about responsibility, then we share it,” Iwaizumi explains, “but in this instance I want you to let me take on the honor of shielding you from any undeserved negative attention that follows. Please let me and Kageyama do that for you.”

Ushijima’s head hangs now, a darkness crossing his features. “But I told myself I would never do that again,” he says.

“What do you mean, again?” Iwaizumi asks, and Ushijima looks like he might start to crack and crumble.

“Come on, let’s get comfortable. Should we sit, or do you maybe want me to lay on you again?”

Wakatoshi considers, then he sits on his bed with his back against the headboard and pulls Iwaizumi down after him, settling him against his chest. Iwaizumi squeezes him once and lets Ushijima nervously push his fingers through his hair.

“Do you recall what I told you about the incident in high school, the time I punched someone?” Ushijima asks.

“I do,” Iwaizumi says quietly.

“Well, I never faced any consequences for it,” Ushijima says, “and… there is a reason for that.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says, his brows quirking up just slightly, “do you want to tell me about it?”

He can feel Ushijima nod and take a few measured breaths.

“At that time, Satori had gone off to the bathroom but the match before ours ended earlier than expected, so Eita and I went to look for him,” Ushijima explains, “and when we found him, he was in a hallway talking to someone, but I… well I could tell right away that something was not right about the whole thing. He just, it was in the way he was standing, the way he held his head… My apologies, I am not very good at explaining it.”

“That’s okay,” Iwaizumi whispers, “go on.”

“When we got closer, I — I heard what he was saying to him. Things that were… just vile and cruel,” Ushijima continues, his fingers moving more quickly through Iwaizumi’s hair in agitation. 

“And then I saw the look on Satori’s face,” he says, quiet and solemn, as if the image still haunts his memory. “He… I mean, you know him a little. He is generally a thick-skinned person. He is the kind of person to take the word kids used to bully him with and turn it into some cool nickname… but this was, it was regarding… it was some incredibly homophobic things. So… I just…”

Iwaizumi squeezes him lightly again in a gesture of quiet support and encouragement. 

“The guy never even saw me coming,” Ushijima says grimly, “but before I knew what was happening, my fist connected with his face and he got immediately knocked to the ground. I did not even really know how to fight, I just… I was just that enraged.”

“Eita was right behind me and started dragging me back. I was… a bit in shock, so I suppose it was not very difficult,” Ushijima says. “Both he and Satori walked me away from the guy, and I just, I kind of broke down a little. I had never been a violent person, and I had just hit someone before even really registering what I was doing.”

Iwaizumi nods, beginning to swirl small circles into Ushijima’s chest and sides.

“I started to freak out too, because I was not sure what this would mean for me. I was all but set to be captain, and to represent Japan internationally, but something like this, well…”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says quietly, sadly. “So what happened, then?”

“Eita just looked at me, made me look him in the eyes, and he said ‘you are not taking the fall for this shit,’” Ushijima explains. “He was insistent. He said that he already knew he was practically one step away from being replaced as our setter, that he could not let everything I worked for be ruined by ‘an asshole who deserved to get decked,’ he said.”

“I tried to argue, and I asked what about everything he had worked for? But he just… he would not hear of it,” Ushijima says with a sigh. 

“I tried to tell him that it would be wrong, because it would be a lie, but then the guy started to try to get up, so Eita went over to him and punched him himself and told him to stay on the ground. And then he just walked back over and quietly said, ‘there, now it’s not a lie.’”

They are both quiet for a moment, Iwaizumi still running his hands over Ushijima and just breathing, processing.

“So then what?” Iwaizumi finally asks.

“Eita took the blame, because the guy I hit did not see me throw the first punch, but he definitely saw Eita throw the second,” Ushijima says bitterly. 

“Eita was immediately replaced as starting setter, but he was allowed to stay on the team and keep his scholarship because Tendou told our coach what caused the fight, then Washijo-sensei gave the other guy’s school and coaches a few pretty irate phone calls from what I heard at the time.”

“And after that life continued. Everything changed for Eita, but there I was right next to him at practice getting to carry on as if I was not the one who deserved the blame,” Wakatoshi says. 

“I do not believe he ever resented me for it, but that just made me even more conscious of my debt to him, of my responsibility to meet all of the goals I set for myself, because someone else had sacrificed their own future for mine.”

Iwaizumi’s hand slides up to cup Ushijima’s cheek, and he places one small kiss near the junction of his neck and collarbone before looking up at him.

“I understand why you would feel that way,” Iwaizumi says, “but this is also not the same situation. Neither of us have done anything wrong, and I do not consider me wanting to protect you as a debt to be owed.”

“Please,” Iwaizumi adds, “just let the job of dealing with the momentary scrutiny fall to me and Kageyama. We both agreed that you will not be brought into this, so can you just trust us to handle it?”

Ushijima looks like he might like to argue again, but after a while he finally gives a quiet “yes, okay.”

*******

Iwaizumi is trying very hard to “handle it” during the VCK vs. Sendai match that night. His one saving grace is that while each team is bent on winning the match, they are both quite firmly Team Iwaizumi with regard to the other matters swirling in the background. 

He tries not to be too conscious of the extra camera lenses pointed in his direction, the additional seconds of video and photographs of him he knows are being captured. However, it becomes obvious enough for others to notice, and by the time they get to the second set, Takeru is so angry that he looks like he is ready to try to throw hands with every cameraman in the arena himself. 

“I’m about to fucking lose my shit!” he exclaims as he dashes back to the sideline for Chigaya’s serve. 

“Language,” Iwaizumi warns. “And it’s fine, kid. I know how to perform under pressure.”

“It’s not fine,” he grumbles back, his eyes narrowing and face squishing in a way that reminds Iwaizumi so much of his uncle.

“Mkay, Tooru Jr.,” Iwaizumi teases. 

Takeru’s face immediately falls slack.

“And what are you going to do when all these cameras catch me murdering you in 4K, Uncle Hajime?” he asks in an unamused tone.

Hajime just snickers with his mouth in a wide smile and his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Just trying to get you to chill out,” he says.

“I just don’t think it’s right,” Takeru grumbles, then shortly after he has to jog back out onto the court.

He makes it to his spot next to Tora and slides his eyes back over to Iwaizumi and the cameras clearly pointing in his direction. 

“Hey, Tora-san,” he calls, drawing his gaze and meeting him with his own shifty, scheming eyes, “ya gotta girlfriend or anything?”

“Uhh… no. Why?”

“Good, gimme your fuckin’ hand.”

Within a couple of rallies, the gesture quickly spreads to their teammates and across the net to the opposing team. While waiting for serves, on the sidelines, during substitutions, players begin holding hands with each other. 

Lenses quickly begin to turn from Iwaizumi back to the court — where Koganegawa is getting chastised by his coach for attempting to collect hand holds with every teammate, where Takeru, Tora, and Riseki are now swinging their connected hands back and forth, where each quick huddle and time out becomes a circle of joined hands.

It catches Iwaizumi off guard. He had talked a big game about protecting Ushijima and being fine under pressure, but seeing the effects of multiple people coming together to shield and support him… well, frankly he is incredibly moved by it.

When VCK gathers up to celebrate their win later that night, Iwaizumi finally gets a chance to check his phone and sees the thread Kageyama has posted to his personal account and then subsequently retweeted with his professional account. Iwaizumi is not certain whether he is stupid or gutsy or both, but he does know he is glad for everyone who has had his back in the last 24 hours. 

When everyone finally arrives at their meeting point and they set off through the streets of Osaka, they do so together, with arms flung around shoulders or hands firmly clasped.

Chapter Text

“Do you have any Christmas plans, Iwaizumi-san?” Kageyama asks when they are eating dinner in the hotel room on one of the final nights of the tournament. They had been lying low as much as possible rather than going out, so most nights when they all had free time had been spent in one of their hotel rooms or other.

“Yeah actually,” Iwaizumi says, and Ushijima shifts a little in his seat.

“Ah, it’s nothing major, just going home to see my mom,” he explains quickly. “I won’t get to spend the New Year with her because of the exhibition match, so I promised I’d come home before that.”

“Same here,” Kageyama says, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m going home to see my sister and to pay my respects to my grandpa. It feels like I haven’t been by there in ages.”

“He’s been on my mind a lot lately,” Kageyama adds quietly, letting his grip on his chopsticks go slack.

Iwaizumi and Ushijima exchange a glance, and Iwaizumi can tell that Ushijima is slightly worried about him.

“What about you Wakatoshi?” Kageyama asks, looking up again.

“I have no plans,” Ushijima says quietly. “I will be staying in Tokyo.”

“Alone?” Iwaizumi asks without thinking, his heart already twinging at the thought of Wakatoshi alone in his apartment.

“I thought about going to see Utsui-san, but the scheduling just did not work out,” Ushijima explains. “I would be on the plane and then basically straight back, during a peak travel season in the US. It just did not seem worth it this time.”

“Then why don’t…” Iwaizumi starts, “I mean, we could all go back to Miyagi together, if you want?”

Ushijima and Kageyama both look up at him in surprise.

“While I am not ever opposed to travelling with you, I am not… overly keen to visit my family,” Ushijima explains sheepishly.

“Then come stay with me,” Iwaizumi says quickly, “just… umm… well since Kageyama and I both will be gone… and I also kind of figured, well we could all probably use a nice break after all that’s been going on.”

“I do not want to be an imposition,” Ushijima says quietly.

“Nonsense,” Iwaizumi says immediately, “you know you wouldn’t be. And I’m sure my mother would also insist, given the hospitality you and Utsui-san showed me this summer.”

“You’re welcome too, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi adds. “I know you have your own things to do, but if you want to come visit at all, you can.”

“Thank you, Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama says with a slight incline of his head. 

This seems to ease Ushijima’s misgivings, because shortly afterward he says, “okay then, if it would not be too much trouble.”

“None at all,” Iwaizumi confirms.

“So… road trip then?” Kageyama asks, his eyebrows perking up.

*******

The three of them end up in Kageyama’s car driving the over eight hours up to Sendai. It is a perfect solution really, for avoiding being seen very much in public. Although things have died down some, they are still a bit wary of being seen out together to prevent anyone from connecting the dots about Ushijima’s identity.

It is also quite a comfortable solution, in Iwaizumi’s opinion. Iwaizumi had never imagined Kageyama might be a car guy, but the vehicle they are in suggests otherwise. Or perhaps, if he is not a car guy specifically, Kageyama might be a luxury guy, because the car is foreign, a beautiful deep blue color, with seemingly endless bells and whistles inside it. Iwaizumi would not call it flashy, like some ostentatious status symbol, but rather, it is just elegant and exquisite, the kind of expensive that does not have to shout about itself.

When they stop for a break to stretch and change drivers, Iwaizumi gets behind the wheel. 

“Do I even want to know how much this would cost to replace?” he asks, running his hands along the wheel.

“Probably best I don’t tell you,” Kageyama says apologetically. 

“Don’t worry about it, Iwaizumi-san,” he adds. “Even if you completely wreck it, they pay me plenty, and it’s not like I’ll ever need it for kids or anything.”

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asks as he puts the car in reverse and turns back onto the road. “How can you be so sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” Kageyama says. “I’m never having kids because I’m never getting married. I cannot fall in love.” 

“So, are you aromantic, then?” Iwaizumi asks, and even Ushijima sits up straighter in his seat to listen. 

“No,” Kageyama says, “it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I can’t.” 

Iwaizumi looks at Ushijima in the backseat with the rearview mirror, but he looks just as confused.

“I mean, if it’s something you want, then don’t give up,” Iwaizumi says, “that’s really not like you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve also never come up against something so impossible before,” Kageyama says, looking out his window at the world passing by. 

Iwaizumi decides to let the topic drop for the time being. He cannot fix Kageyama’s… what, exactly? Self deprecation? Whatever it is, Rome was not built in a day.

Instead they continue to drive and chat quietly with each other when the mood strikes. About three hours later, they take another break and Ushijima takes over driving for the last leg of the trip. 

Kageyama is now sleeping soundly sprawled across the back seat. The sun is beginning to set off behind them as they continue heading northeast, and the sky slowly tips from clearest blue into oranges, pinks, and purples, giving way to the night sky. 

Kageyama’s “no love” declaration suddenly returns to Iwaizumi’s mind. Whatever Kageyama’s reasoning, Iwaizumi feels perhaps he can slightly relate. What right does he really have to tell Kageyama to not give up hope when he himself is still struggling to imagine himself in any serious relationship again?

His eyes slide to Ushijima in the driver’s seat next to him. Maybe someday, that could change? 

By the time they reach the Iwaizumi house, night has freshly settled over Sendai. Ushijima puts Kageyama’s car in park and they all clamber out onto the doorstep with their various bags. 

Coming up to the door creates a new problem Iwaizumi had not expected — whether to knock or to enter with his key. In the end he does both, knocking softly once before putting his key in the lock and opening the door with a soft call of “tadaima!”

“Hajime?!” he can hear his mother call as her footsteps thump quickly toward them from the kitchen. 

“Welcome home, darling!” she says as they both fling themselves into a warm hug. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” both Kageyama and Ushijima say together quietly, and she turns to them with a fond smile. 

“Come on in, all of you,” she says. “I expect you’re all pretty tired.”

The three of them shed their shoes at the door and line them up neatly before coming further into the house. 

“I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Kageyama-kun,” she says, looking at Tobio with a smile. “You certainly have grown up since then.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kageyama says a bit bashfully.

“And you must be Ushijima-san?” she asks, looking up at Wakatoshi.

“I am,” he answers, “my name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she says back with a genuine grin that makes her eyes crinkle.

“Help them get settled, please dear. Everything is ready in the first bedroom, and dinner should be done shortly.”

“You’ve been cooking?!” Iwaizumi calls playfully after her as she rounds the corner back to the kitchen. 

“I’ll have you know I’ve been cooking with Tae-chan nearly every day, quite successfully I might add!” she pokes back around the corner, snapping a tea towel in his direction with a smirk that matches his own. 

“You just spoiled me too much,” she adds before disappearing into the kitchen again.

The three of them make their way upstairs to the bedrooms with Iwaizumi in the lead. The front bedroom has one made bed and one futon laid out next to it.

“Do you have a preference?” Kageyama asks Ushijima, who just shrugs in indifference.

“I’m going to put my bags down,” Iwaizumi says, then he walks further down the hall to his old room. 

It is mostly empty now, with only some furniture remaining and a few things in his closet that are of sentimental but not practical value — like his old high school blazer, volleyball uniforms, and his graduation regalia from college.

Iwaizumi places his duffle bag on the floor then drops his backpack on the desk. He takes out his phone and dismisses a missed call and two texts that have come in over the last few hours. Since the media situation, the number of people he is choosing to respond to has dwindled. If it has been from anyone other than his mother, someone from work, Takeru, or Ushijima, he has just not had the energy to deal with it.

“Are you feeling alright?” Ushijima asks as he appears in Iwaizumi’s doorway.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says as he turns around, “just grateful to have a bit of a break, you know?”

Ushijima hums his agreement, and Iwaizumi plops down softly on the bed. He pats the space next to him with a gentle hand, and Ushijima moves further into the room to sit next to him.

“So, bed or futon,” Iwaizumi asks, “which did you end up with?”

“Futon,” Ushijima says, and Iwaizumi smiles. 

“Well if I know you, there’s about an 83% chance you’re going to end up in my room anyway,” Iwaizumi says, “and if I know me, there’s about a 96% chance even if you didn’t I’d come looking for you anyway.”

“Those are some very specific figures,” Ushijima says, looking down at him with longing eyes and softly brushing the back of his fingers over his forearm. Then Ushijima kisses him quickly and sweetly, exerting great effort to back away from him.

“Hajime,” he says quietly, keeping their foreheads together, “I’m meeting your mother.” 

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says just as seriously, “you are.”

“I’m meeting your mother, and I’m seeing your childhood bedroom, and I’m spending Christmas with you,” Ushijima says, sliding his hand up to gently brush over Iwaizumi’s jaw. “Should I be reading something into this, or not?”

Iwaizumi’s stomach swoops, and he can feel the warmth rushing to his face.

“I…” he flounders, looking down at his hands. What can he even say? The inner conflict he feels sloshes and writhes, as if all his guts have turned into a thrashing tangle of eels. The pressure is building, even though Wakatoshi is his usual patient self, but Iwaizumi cannot hardly stand it. He can feel himself struggling and struggling, both unable to let him down or give him hope.

“I like you!” 

When it flies out of Iwaizumi’s mouth, it is a shock to everyone involved, including Hajime who covers his mouth with his hand as if real vomit might follow his word vomit, Wakatoshi whose eyes have gone wide, Kageyama who had been stepping out into the hallway to come find them, and Iwaizumi-san who makes startled eye contact with Kageyama from where she stands at the top of the stairs. 

Outside in the hall, Iwaizumi-san silently treads over to Kageyama and begins to steer him by his shoulders down the stairs. 

“Come along, Kageyama-kun. We may as well eat while it’s still warm.”

In Hajime’s room, his hand is still clamped over his mouth, and his eyes have melted into an expression that is equal parts pain, surprise, and confusion. Wakatoshi is sitting stock still, a bit afraid to move at all.

“I… I mean, yeah, that’s… it makes sense, doesn’t it? Obviously I like you. I wouldn’t kiss you or spend this much time with you if I didn’t,” Iwaizumi says, pushing the hand from his mouth up through his hair. His eyes stay wide and fixed on the middle distance. 

“Yeah, I like you,” he repeats, as if settling into a warm familiar blanket. “It’s probably kind of late to be saying it… like, maybe it’s been painfully obvious…”

“No, I… you know I prefer when things are said outright,” Ushijima interrupts.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, giving him a small smile.

“So,” Ushijima says, looking down at his feet.

“So,” Iwaizumi answers, echoing him in both word and action. 

“I still have all the fears I started with,” Iwaizumi says, his brows furrowing, “all those same problems are still there. So I…”

He tapers off, wishing more than anything he could stop the way his mind is turning, the way it fixates, the way it tells him he is still a sharp, jagged thing that is bound to wound. He wishes he could just fall, allowing himself to plummet face first into something so deliciously ill-advised, so exquisite in its delicate nature. He almost craves the concrete-hard slap of hitting the water from the highest diving board. How viciously, how superbly that would ache! How beautifully he would drown in Wakatoshi’s affection, with his lungs burning until it consumed him completely.

But he knows that Wakatoshi is worth so much more than that, that he deserves a partnership of equals and nothing less.

“Would it be too selfish of me,” Iwaizumi asks, “to ask you to wait?”

“Perhaps,” Ushijima says while scooping up his nearest hand, “but I think you can stand to be more selfish sometimes actually.” 

And what about you? Iwaizumi thinks. When will you get to be selfish?

“I will wait,” Ushijima says. “I would have waited even if you had not asked it of me.”

*******

Dinner is quiet, but the food is quite good. Afterward, Kageyama heads upstairs to make use of the bath, while Ushijima insists on helping with clearing things away, despite Iwaizumi-san’s protests about him being a guest. 

“You really should let him cook for you once while he’s here,” Hajime says. “He’s very good at it. He blows my cooking out of the water for sure.”

“I definitely can’t put my guest to work like that!” she protests as Ushijima dries a plate and carefully places it in the stack.

“It would be no trouble. It is perhaps my greatest talent,” Ushijima says offhandedly as he focuses on his task. 

“And that’s coming from an Olympian!” Iwaizumi says enthusiastically.

“Ah, no, I meant —“

“Nope, no take backs!” Iwaizumi says with his playful smirk. “You are just going to have to admit that your food is best-in-the-world quality now.”

Ushijima’s ears turn slightly pink. A warm, comforted smile settles over Iwaizumi-san’s expression as she watches them and Hajime begins to prepare the garbage to be taken out.

Hajime quietly steps out to the curb, his whole body practically buzzing with a domestic homey sort of happiness. He plops the trash into the bin then brushes his hands together, humming a nonsense tune softly to himself.

“Hajime?” he suddenly hears from behind him, and it takes only milliseconds for his face to fall and icy dread to run up the length of his body.

He turns around slowly and sees him there, looking the same as always on the same old patch of concrete, as if Hajime has clipped between dimensions. He is holding a half eaten milk bread and a canned coffee, wearing a jacket he has had since high school that at one point had been Hajime’s and his glasses, which are a new pair of frames since Hajime last saw him. His hair is also tousled in that just perfect way, like when he used to roll out of bed in the middle of the night and bother Hajime to walk to the konbini with him.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says quietly, his heart now thumping and aching with painful nostalgia and disgust in equal measure.

A heavy silence falls between them that threatens to suffocate.

“I didn’t know you were visiting,” Tooru says, his voice tipping perilously upward with a faux chipper lilt that Iwaizumi sees through. 

So much of Tooru is still so achingly transparent to him, even now. It is the product of years, decades really, of knowing him more completely than any other person on earth.

“I could say the same to you,” Iwaizumi says. “I just got in tonight.”

“Ah,” Tooru says with a nod. “Yeah, I saw the car when I walked by earlier. But I didn’t think… well, it just doesn’t really look like your style I guess.”

“Yeah, it’s not mine,” Iwaizumi says without thinking, then he internally cringes when his mind catches up. He is not sure how he would go about explaining why two of Tooru’s long-time nemeses are staying in his family home overnight.

“Oh,” Tooru says. “Umm, rented then? Or borrowed maybe?”

The whole conversation is making Iwaizumi want to run screaming. It had not even been this awkward at the Olympics. Tooru had, mercifully, still been Tooru then, and not whatever was going on now.

“Borrowed,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh, “from a friend.”

“A friend, okay,” he answers awkwardly. “Would umm… that wouldn’t happen to be Tobio-chan would it?”

Iwaizumi stares at him, not making a move or a sound. Hajime has always been so hopeless at keeping back the truth.

“What’s going on here, Tooru?” Iwaizumi asks, trying to turn it back around rather than answer.

“Nothing!” he says, “just…”

Iwaizumi shifts on his feet impatiently, trying to keep his shoulders squared.

“I tried calling you, like… a million times,” Oikawa finally says, his face scrunching up in confusion and pain.

“Yeah,” Hajime answers, only feeling slightly guilty.

“And you never answered,” he adds, prodding.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, his tone sounding more resigned and exhausted this time. “I’m sorry. I just… couldn’t. I haven’t been answering anyone.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa says, looking off and to the side at where the concrete of the sidewalk meets the road. “Makki and Mattsun both said…”

Oikawa tapers off, seemingly not having the energy to continue the thought, which is entirely unlike him.

“Hajime, are you… seeing someone?” he finally asks. 

Iwaizumi had not thought his face could fall any further, but somehow, it does. 

“No, I’m not,” Iwaizumi says in a low monotone, “but either way, why is that your concern?” 

Oikawa recoils as if he has been scalded.

“Because… well because of what you just went through! If you were seeing someone I feel like it would have to be pretty new, and to have this happen right out of the gate… I just…”

“Point, Tooru?” Iwaizumi says with a slightly irritable tone that he does not have the energy to truly mean.

“I just… I still care about you, obviously! You dummy!” he flings out, finally getting back some of his usual pepper. “And you were going through something awful!”

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh that deflates his entire upper body and bows his head. 

“It’s fine,” he finally says. “I’m okay, really.”

Oikawa does not seem entirely convinced, but he does appear to want to believe Iwaizumi. 

“Look I’d better get back in,” he adds, hoping to bring an end to this painful and awkward encounter.

“Right, yeah,” Oikawa says, stepping a few steps back. “Umm, see you in a few days though, right?” 

Iwaizumi’s skin prickles painfully with the reminder.

“Yes, right,” he confirms, then he gives a small wave and turns back to the house where he disappears into the front door.

Hajime has never felt so cursed by the fact that his house lies on the route between the Oikawas and the corner store as he does right now. And what are the odds of him putting the trash out at exactly the wrong time?! He flings off his shoes and does not bother to straighten them, cursing his rotten luck.

“Hajime?” his mother calls from inside the house, and he mindlessly lets his legs convey him to where she sits in the living room, flinging himself into her embrace.

“Everything alright?” she asks, stroking lightly at his back. They never used to be like this, but grown-up Hajime, who went to school abroad and had a long-term, long-distance partner had long ago developed quite a need for physical affection. It had taken his mother some time to get used to, but now she has come to cherish that he always looks to her to be his anchor any time he feels a bit lost at sea.

“I ran into Tooru,” he moans miserably into her shoulder.

“What, just now?!” she asks, looking down at him. Hajime just nods.

“Good grief,” she says, running her hands over his hair. “Tae-chan mentioned he was going to be visiting at some point, but I had no idea you’d just run into him on the street!”

“Just my luck, huh?” he says bitterly as he burrows even further into her comfortable arms and lets her smooth his hair back.

“Where is everyone else?” he asks after a while, looking back up at her. 

“They’re both upstairs,” she says. “I’m sure they’re pretty tuckered out, huh?”

“Mm,” Hajime hums in agreement. He flips over onto his back, resting his head in her lap.

“Speaking of,” his mother begins a hint of teasing in her voice, “am I allowed to ask you about Ushijima-san?”

“What about him?” Hajime asks, his eyes popping open. She looks down at him with one eyebrow arched.

“You know what,” she laughs. “Are the two of you dating, or…?”

“We’re… uhh… It’s complicated,” Hajime decides to say, rather lamely.

“Complicated how?” his mother asks, letting her eyes wander back to whatever is on the tv for background noise and smoothing his hair with her hand.

Hajime knows she is trying to appear as though she is just barely listening, attempting to give him space to think aloud.

“Well, he’s just… he’s a really amazing guy,” he starts.

“What a travesty,” she jokes lightly before returning her eyes back to the screen.

“As I was saying…” Iwaizumi says in faux exasperation to reward her efforts, “he is incredible, but that’s exactly why I feel like I can’t be the one he’s with.”

“Why is that, darling?” she asks, her eyes staying forward, the rhythm of her soothing hand never changing.

“I’m… afraid I’m always going to compare him to Tooru,” Hajime explains. “They are complete opposites in so many ways, and even though that is almost always a good thing, it also kind of hurts and scares me a little.”

His mother nods slowly to signal that she is following.

“But then when by chance something is similar about them, that also feels… like sore somehow? Just in a different way.”

“I see,” she says, seeming lost in thought.

“And I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but he is also my mentor’s son,” Hajime adds. 

“He is Utsui-san’s son?” she repeats in surprise.

“Yes, they don’t have the same last name,” he offers by way of explanation. “So I also don’t want to strain my professional relationship with him either if things don’t work out.” 

“Hajime, can I make an observation?” she asks quietly, and he nods, slowly at first then building in intensity.

“This all just sounds like details and excuses to me,” she says frankly, and it feels like it smacks him across the face at first. 

“I don’t mean to suggest that those things mean nothing. They can sometimes be important to talk about and acknowledge,” she explains, “but what you haven’t even once talked about is how you actually feel about him, sweetheart.” 

She finally looks down at him again, giving him a small smile of encouragement.

“I… don’t know if I know that yet,” Hajime says.

“Well you seemed to know when you confessed before dinner,” she points out quickly, her smile turning slightly to mischief.

Hajime groans wearily and puts his hands over his face.

“Listen,” his mother says, “just promise me to listen for what your feelings have to say from now on. You can acknowledge all those things you mentioned, but don’t make them the reason you let go of something you want, darling.” 

Hajime nods quietly and they sit for a time in the silence as she lets him mull it over. Eventually she moves to get up from the couch, and Hajime sits upright to give her space.

He tries his hardest to remember what it had been like to fall in love before. What had it felt like to realize he loved Oikawa? What had been the sign? Each time he tries, he can only remember it feeling like breathing, like existing, like something that just was. 

“One more thing,” she says as she passes behind him, just before walking away. “We all loved Tooru. We still do. And I think he was good for you in a lot of ways.”

Hajime tips his head back to look up at her, and she smiles down at him.

“I do not regret that he was my son’s first love. But, in the end, I do recognize some aspects of both of you that were perhaps.. mismatched, in a sense.”

Hajime blinks, then he sits up and twists to look at her fully. 

“When I think of the future, it’s not my own I have hopes for anymore,” she adds. “I — you know what my prognosis is.”

Hajime’s brows crinkle and he tries not to let his lips tumble down into a frown.

“So I think a lot about your future, about what I dream for you,” she explains.

“Maybe it’s silly. You are such a man now, and you have been for years. But I would love to know that, even after I leave you behind someday, you have someone who will love you, no matter what. Someone who is your exact match, your life partner. I want that for you so much, darling.”

Hajime’s mouth parts, but no words come out. She leans down and kisses the top of his head, then quickly disappears with a soft “good night,” leaving Hajime alone in the dim glow of the tv set.

Hajime rises from the couch, and he quietly takes out his phone. He is only really certain of one thing he wants at the moment. He dials and the phone picks up on the third ring.

“Good evening.”

“Yes, my apologies for calling so late, but it is a bit time sensitive.”

“Right, yes. I would like to ask about what I would need to do to switch teams.”

Chapter Text

Their Christmas is quiet and happy, which makes for the welcome change everyone seems to have needed. After staying one night at the Iwaizumi house, Kageyama heads on to his own family home to see his sister as he planned, leaving just Ushijima as their house guest. 

The days pass more quickly than anyone would like, and before they know it, Kageyama is back again on the cold morning of the 26th to take them all back to Tokyo. Kageyama seems a bit more at ease than before, if not exactly chipper, and Iwaizumi and Ushijima are both quietly glad about that. He leans against his car as they put their bags next to his in the trunk, his breath steaming and rising up into the frigid air.

“Come here,” Iwaizumi-san says, pulling Hajime into a warm hug that lingers. When they finally part, she steps back, drawing her coat tight around her.

“You two are welcome back anytime you like,” she says to Kageyama and Ushijima with a soft smile. They express their quiet thanks, then they all climb into Kageyama’s car and pull slowly out of the drive. She continues to wave to them from the sidewalk for as long as they are on the road, only stopping and disappearing back into the house as they finally make their first turn.

The trip back to Tokyo passes in somewhat of a blur. Iwaizumi vaguely remembers having driven, but not many details about the drive. He can feel the blanket of dread slowly descending back over his shoulders the further along the road they get. Because of this, even though it takes them over eight hours to get back, Iwaizumi still feels like they arrive at Ushijima’s apartment far too quickly. 

From the moment he and Ushijima get out of Kageyama’s car and bid him farewell, Iwaizumi is restless, shifting on his feet and letting his eyes glance around wildly. Coming back to Tokyo this time makes him itch, because he knows what it brings with it in just a few days’ time.

“Are you okay?” Ushijima asks as Kageyama pulls away to go to his own apartment. 

It pulls Iwaizumi back out of his own head, just a little. He hums low and short in affirmation, but Ushijima is not convinced. Iwaizumi steps forward to unlock his own car, but Ushijima catches him by his jacket sleeve with his fingers.

“Stay,” he says simply.

Iwaizumi just looks at him and breathes for a quiet moment. They both let out little puffs of steam with each breath they take, unconsciously settling into a rhythm that has them inhaling and exhaling in tandem.

Finally Iwaizumi pockets his car key and steps toward Ushijima in silent agreement. They quickly walk to the apartment arm in arm and shed their shoes and extra layers in the entryway before flopping onto the couch.

“Are you hungry?” Ushijima asks. “I could call Honda-san if you want something to eat. Or I could make something quick.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes are already shutting, threatening to make him drift off into sleep.

“I’m not really hungry,” he says, “mostly just tired.”

“We should sleep then,” Ushijima says, standing and putting a hand out to Iwaizumi.

“It’s only six o’clock, isn’t it?” Iwaizumi says, cracking one eye open. 

“If you want sleep, then we should sleep,” Ushijima answers back.

Iwaizumi takes his offered hand and lets Ushijima haul him up from the couch and away to his bedroom. He sheds his shirt and pants (with some help from Ushijima) then climbs under the covers. Ushijima does the same and settles in close, pulling Iwaizumi into his chest. 

True to his prediction right after their arrival in Miyagi, Ushijima had ended up in his bed during all but the first night of their stay, when he and Kageyama had shared the guest room. After that though, Ushijima would dutifully file into the guest room as everyone else went to bed, then softly walk to Hajime’s room within about half an hour after that to climb under his covers with him.

It is comfortable now, after spending some weekends at each other’s places and the few nights of their trip like this. The way they slip into bed and just fit together has started to seem right and easy, and Iwaizumi likes the comfort of having someone next to him during the night. 

Tonight the feeling of Ushijima’s warm, bare skin on his own quickly lulls Iwaizumi back into his sleepy mood. Before he knows it, his consciousness is slowly slipping away until he falls deeply into a contented, happy sleep. 

When Iwaizumi’s eyes lazily slide open again, the room is pitch dark, and he is almost too warm. He looks over to Ushijima, who is wrapped around him, cooking him with his intense body heat.

“Wakatoshi,” he whispers. 

He does not rouse, so Iwaizumi runs the very tips of his fingers lightly up and down the length of his arm in a way that he hopes will make him shiver. When Ushijima begins to flinch in his sleep, he knows he has got it about right and continues touching him, hoping he will wake.

Ushijima finally does, with a little gasp of pleasure and sleepy eyes blinking.

“Hajime?” he says, and his voice is gravelly and disoriented.

“Good morning,” Hajime says, kissing him slowly and continuing to run his fingers along Ushijima’s skin. 

Ushijima gasps again then whines against Hajime’s mouth. He winds his arms around Hajime’s waist to pull him closer. 

“Ah! That’s —!” Ushijima gasps out as Iwaizumi makes another slow pass down his arm with his fingertips. He seems unable to form full thoughts and throws his head back with a low “mmm” in the back of his throat.

Hajime had not meant to take it this far, just to wake him up a bit. But how can he possibly stop now, with Ushijima reacting like that?

Ushijima presses their mouths back together, and it feels like an unspoken plea of “please do not stop.” Iwaizumi slowly slides his hands to Ushijima’s back and runs his fingertips up it in that same way, causing Ushijima’s entire body to shiver.

“You’re sensitive,” Iwaizumi purrs near his ear, and Ushijima makes a sound in the back of his throat as he nods his head emphatically. “I had no idea.”

Iwaizumi grasps him firmly and engages his strong biceps and core to flip Ushijima on top of him. He splays his legs, allowing him to settle between his thighs, and suddenly he can feel that Ushijima is nearly entirely erect. 

“Oh?” Iwaizumi says teasingly, rocking his hips up against him while resuming running his fingers over his back and sides and arms.

Ushijima shudders again, letting out a delicious little sound of pleasure that only further spurs on the unlocked sensual side of Iwaizumi that he has been trying to keep put away for the time being.

Despite having ample opportunity, the two have not done anything overtly sexual in nature since the Halloween incident, both of them seemingly silently agreeing to keep their shared bedtimes chaste. However, in the face of Ushijima moaning and hard for him without even really trying, it would be a crime really, he thinks, to leave them both wanting. 

Iwaizumi takes one hand and slides it between their hips, palming Ushijima. He has had an idea for a while now about exactly what Wakatoshi has going for him. He has felt it a couple of times against other parts of his body and once for a fleeting moment against his hand, but it is not until now, as he puts his hand against him and strokes, that he really gets a full assessment of just how… proportionate… Wakatoshi is — In other words, big. Everywhere. 

Ushijima inhales sharply with the first upstroke and moans pitifully with the down. He keeps himself still, his only movement the shivers that are still tremoring through his body.

“You’re so patient,” Iwaizumi says, almost in awe. He has previously only ever really known Oikawa in a sexual sense, and with him the merest suggestion of physical intimacy usually had him leaping at the opportunity. “How are you even managing to keep still right now?”

“I do not —“ Ushijima’s face contorts with the pleasure from another upward stroke of Hajime’s hand.

“I never want to scare you,” Ushijima says breathlessly, all at once.  

Iwaizumi abruptly stops the motion of his hand.

“Scare me?” he asks, pressing on Ushijima’s shoulder to get him to look up. “Why would you scare me?”

Ushijima makes a little pouting noise in the back of his throat that gets Hajime even more hot and bothered.

“I only want to do the things you are certain you are prepared for, remember?” he explains. “I never want to make you feel as though I am putting any sort of… expectations on you.”

“Wakatoshi…” Hajime says quietly, looking up at him and brushing his hair aside with his free hand.

“That is why, I only want to do exactly what you ask, or what you start yourself. I… I am still too worried that I will mess this up,” he explains, the clear vulnerability slipping into his voice. 

“You’re not messing anything up,” Hajime says gently, “and if I don’t like it, I will speak up.”

Ushijima nods, but his brows are still scrunched up in worry.

“How about this,” Hajime says, bringing both hands up to cup Ushijima’s face, “you said you’ll do what I ask, right?”

Ushijima nods, his eyes going soft and curious. Iwaizumi leans in close to talk directly into his ear.

“Then I’m asking you to make me cum,” Iwaizumi murmurs quietly. 

“Can you do that for me,” he asks, pulling back to look him in the eye again, “without my help?”

Ushijima’s eyes are wide and surprised, but he nods his head eagerly.

“Alright,” Hajime says, pulling their faces together in a short kiss, the last move he is going to make. He lets his head fall back to the pillow and his hands drop limply onto the mattress to either side of it.

“It’s all you, then,” he adds, his eyes glittering partly with amusement and partly with lust.

For a brief moment Ushijima just looks at him, as if double checking that this is really what he wants.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and then he finally begins to move. 

First Ushijima rolls his hips, pressing his rather impressive intimate attributes against Iwaizumi’s. The pressure and the slow, deep stroke makes Iwaizumi gasp a little already, and he can feel himself hurtling more rapidly toward full arousal. He chuckles a little, low in the back of his throat. 

“See, it’s already good,” he whispers breathily.

Ushijima works up a rhythm, continuing to roll into Iwaizumi before lowering his mouth to Iwaizumi’s neck and kissing his way up and down from his jaw all the way to his collarbone. Iwaizumi lets out a contented sigh, threading a hand lazily into Ushijima’s hair because he just cannot help but do it.

“That feels so good,” Iwaizumi half moans, and Ushijima stops a moment to look at him again, as if to say, is this really allowed?

“Haven’t you thought about me?” Iwaizumi asks, prodding him some more, “maybe dreamed about me even?”

Ushijima’s mouth falls open, speechless, and Iwaizumi knows he is right on the money. He smirks, though his eyes are still half-lidded with salacious intent.

“Show me how you touch me in your dreams, Wakatoshi.”

What happens next is something Iwaizumi might only be able to compare to what he imagines the breaking of a violin string is like, or as if Ushijima has been bound all the way around by a tight rubber band, and it suddenly snaps.

The hungry, aching look in Ushijima’s eyes lets Iwaizumi know he has done it now, and his stomach flutters with both a kind of pride and an undercurrent of excitement.

All at once Ushijima finally lets go of his inhibitions entirely, pressing his hips down hard and touching Hajime with his lips and his hands in every place they can land. He kisses Hajime’s neck passionately, verging on roughly, and runs calloused, trembling fingers over the expanse of his bare chest.

Iwaizumi melts underneath him, letting his chin drop back and taking in every sensation Wakatoshi coaxes out of him. His nerves light up, his body blooming into ecstasy like snowdrops popping up through the final frost of winter.

Ushijima swipes his tongue over his neck, and Iwaizumi involuntarily bucks his hips upward into him. His neck has grown sensitive from the repeated pressing of Ushijima’s lips and the gentle caress of his breath. 

Ushijima slides his hands down from Iwaizumi’s chest over his shoulders, his sides, his stomach, until they finally land firmly on Iwaizumi’s hips and he grasps at them, pulling them upward into him to match each stroke he makes with his own hips. 

After a number of thrusts Ushijima retreats, stopping the motions of his mouth and hips to sit back on his knees, though his hands still stay on Iwaizumi’s hips. Hajime’s eyes snap to him, questioning and wanting.

“You truly want me to touch you how I dream about?” Ushijima asks cautiously, some of his fervor flagging just enough to check in with Iwaizumi again.

Hajime’s stomach gives an excited flip, so he decides to go against his usual methods and allow his libido to do the driving for a moment.

“Yes,” he confirms, “touch me, please.”

Ushijima quickly swings back into his uninhibited frenzy, grasping the backs of Iwaizumi’s knees and hoisting his legs up onto his shoulders before hooking into the waistband of his black boxer briefs and yanking them off in one quick motion. 

It should probably not be as hot a move as Iwaizumi finds it, but he feels himself getting embarrassingly warm throughout his entire body.

Ushijima lets one of Iwaizumi’s legs fall to the side so that he is completely exposed. He can feel the way Ushijima looks at him, hungrily, taking in his entire bare form. Iwaizumi throws one of his forearms across his eyes in embarrassment, but Ushijima quickly grabs his wrist with a tender hand and moves his arm away.

“I think not,” Ushijima says, voice low and amused. “You should see it all. You told me to show you, yes?”

Iwaizumi begins to think he may have poked a bear. Fuck around and find out, as they say. Oh well, his dick is in charge for now. Rational Thought Hajime is somewhere sleeping. Shhh, no waking him.

Ushijima’s fingers glance over Hajime’s exposed body, touching every inch of his skin. His left hand runs up Hajime’s stomach and chest while his right glances over the leg that is still slung over Ushijima’s right shoulder, grazing along the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. 

Hajime watches, burning red from the mingling arousal and embarrassment, as Ushijima takes his time exploring his entire body with his impossibly gentle fingers. It feels both erotic and reverent, the way his hands slide and slowly activate nerve endings Iwaizumi never even knew he had. 

Ushijima keeps at it for ages, and Hajime cannot begin to fathom how Wakatoshi is still doing only this much (but also somehow this much!) when his entire aura projects a palpable, desperate kind of sexual desire concentrated directly at him. Iwaizumi’s brain is melting, and the only sounds coming from him are embarrassing little whimpers and whines that he does not even have the presence of mind to be ashamed of. 

The frequency and pitch of Iwaizumi’s needy, desperate sounds only increases when Ushijima’s hand finally dips between Hajime’s legs and strokes him slowly. Hajime feels sure he is going to blow embarrassingly fast if this keeps up.

It is at this point that Ushijima pulls his own boxers down just low enough to free himself, and Iwaizumi finally gets a look at what thus far he has only felt. 

Holy shit.

He is fairly certain he only thinks it, but the almost smug micro-smile that shows up on Wakatoshi’s face tells him that either his brain to mouth barrier is completely shot, or his thoughts are so clearly broadcasting to his face that Wakatoshi can read them anyway.

It does not really matter in the end, Iwaizumi supposes. He figures Wakatoshi is old enough and experienced enough to be aware of how big he is, and frankly Iwaizumi thinks he is certainly entitled to be cocky about it — pun only halfway intended.

Next Ushijima rocks forward into Iwaizumi again and presses their erections together, skin against skin. His right hand grasps Iwaizumi’s leg near the ankle, torquing it back toward his head and making Iwaizumi’s eyes go wide. He does not have much time to think about this though, because the next second Ushijima’s palm and long fingers wrap around them both and begin to make slow, pleasure-seeking strokes that send Iwaizumi’s head snapping back against the bed. 

“Hajime,” Ushijima says, and Iwaizumi looks back up at him. Ushijima is openly panting now, his eyes covered over with the glaze of lust and pleasure. 

“Stroke with me, please.”

Hajime reaches his left hand up and curls it around Ushijima’s, latching on and following his pace. Ushijima lets out a pitiful moan and begins to rock himself forward with each downstroke, sliding himself with exquisite friction against Hajime. 

“Please tell me I have you close,” Ushijima sighs, “because I am not going to last.”

“Yes, angel. I’m so close,” Hajime pants.

Ushijima moans again low in his chest at the call back to the pet name Iwaizumi used last time the first time he made him cum. 

“I wish I had known beforehand what a menace you are,” Ushijima says, throwing his own head back and completely losing himself in the rhythmic strokes and thrusts. “You barely even have to try to get me this aroused for you.”

Iwaizumi flushes again and hurdles dangerously close to the edge.

“What would you have me do, Hajime?” Ushijima continues, looking back down at him and never stopping their persistent rhythm. “What can any man do when you are in possession of a body like this and a mouth like that, hmm?”

Hajime is shaking now, one last push away from tipping over into release. He pleads in his mind (at least he thinks it is not aloud) for Ushijima to keep talking, to keep moving. 

“You really have turned me pathetic,” Ushijima whispers as if he is suddenly on sacred ground. Then he gently holds up Iwaizumi’s left leg and places a soft kiss on the inside of it, right above the ankle. 

Wakatoshi’s kiss is devout, worshipful, an act of veneration. It feels like the kiss a chevalier plants on his sovereign’s ring, one of devotion and loyalty and promise. And Hajime will forever be embarrassed to admit it, but it makes him cum.

They both lay back against the mattress now. They are quickly but softly panting, covered in their mingled fluids, and looking up at the ceiling with wide eyes. 

Iwaizumi eventually reaches for his watch on the bedside table — 1:12 AM. He runs one hand over his face and feels the layer of sweat gathered on his forehead.

“We should get cleaned up,” Ushijima says, turning his head and kissing Iwaizumi’s sweat-dampened temple.

Ushijima gets up first, quickly doing a rough clean of his torso before returning to Iwaizumi with a warm cloth to wipe up with and a hand up out of bed. 

“Go ahead and take a shower,” Ushijima says, “I am going to make a little something to make sure we do not crash.”

He sort of wants to question it, but Iwaizumi’s stomach grumbles at the perfect time, only proving Ushijima’s point. 

“Go ahead,” Ushijima insists, “it should be ready when you get out.”

When Iwaizumi steps out of the bathroom feeling fresh and clean, the first scent that hits his nose is a strong aroma of coffee. 

“It’s the middle of the night!” he chastises with a laugh when he walks into the kitchen and finds Ushijima pouring out a cup. 

“I just felt like having coffee,” he says with a small smile and a half shrug. “Normally I would have tea if I am up at night, but I do not think I am getting back to sleep either way for a while now.”

Iwaizumi leans against the counter, and Ushijima places the first cup next to him along with a plate of simple eggs on toast. He gestures at the cream and sugar, which Hajime declines, then pours another cup for himself, adding enough cream to turn his cup dirty blonde but forgoing the sugar.

“Plus,” Ushijima adds, “I wanted to talk with you a while.”

“About anything in particular?” Iwaizumi asks, half hiding behind his raised cup and blowing on the hot drink to cool it.

“Mm,” Ushijima confirms, “about a couple of things.”

Hajime nods and takes his first sip, inviting Ushijima to continue.

“First, how are you feeling now, about the events of this evening?” Ushijima asks.

Iwaizumi is quiet for a moment, taking his time to check in with all parts of himself, knowing Ushijima will give him the space to.

“I think… good, actually,” Iwaizumi says, finally looking back at him. Ushijima nods his head and looks pleased.

“Yeah,” he confirms again, “I know it was sort of the heat of the moment, and I… kind of expected after it was over, my more rational self might have some slight objection, but… there is none. I just feel… content.”

“That makes me very happy to hear,” Ushijima says, his eyes going soft and looking fondly at Iwaizumi.

“How do you feel?” Iwaizumi asks, then takes another sip.

“Incredible,” he says without hesitation, and it makes Iwaizumi smile behind the rim.

“So what else?” Iwaizumi asks, finally taking a bite of the food in front of him.

“I wanted to also ask about whatever has been on your mind earlier today,” Ushijima says, turning serious again. “It seems like since we left Miyagi, something has been… maybe weighing heavily on you?”

Iwaizumi sighs. He could easily say something vague, or deflect, but he is beginning to wonder if there is really any use to with Ushijima.

“It’s the New Year’s match,” he says, letting all the stagnant air out of his lungs.

“Because Oikawa-san will be there?” Ushijima hazards a guess.

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says.

“And because you will have to be the athletic trainer for the team he is on?” Ushijima adds, feeling just a touch of bitterness about it.

“Well, actually…” Iwaizumi starts, and Ushijima stands up straighter, “I asked to switch teams.”

“So now…” Ushijima prompts, not trying to get too hopeful yet.

“So now, yes, I’m on your team,” Iwaizumi confirms.

*******

Ushijima thinks he probably likes this exhibition game the most of any in his career, because he finally has Iwaizumi as his team’s athletic trainer. Before Ushijima had never been placed on the same team as Oikawa for one of these special exhibition games, for obvious reasons, and Iwaizumi had always been the trainer for whatever team Oikawa was on. 

He steps into the locker room, already in a good mood. He knows most of the players on his team this time, and he is even getting to play with Goshiki again. Before the match starts, he is sitting on one of the benches and rocking very slightly from side to side as he talks with Goshiki and Miya, who is even uncharacteristically bearable to be around today. 

Mid-conversation, he is called over by Iwaizumi, who checks out the motion of his shoulder with firm hands that expertly assess its condition. 

“I can tell you’ve been treating it well. That’s no surprise,” he says with a smile, and Ushijima inwardly preens at his approval. Then Iwaizumi leans a fraction closer and speaks in a low whisper.

“But I also know what you got up to a few days ago, so I figured I’d check it to be sure anyway.”

Ushijima straightens and feels far too warm all of a sudden at the memory of being above Hajime, of pressing against him over and over on the night they came back from Miyagi.

“Right,” he manages to answer, trying to keep his voice even and low.

Hajime smirks and pats Ushijima’s good shoulder before heading off to tend to someone else. 

Yes, it is going to be an excellent game.

Ushijima’s team wins, 17 to 15 in the fifth set after Ushijima launches a serve like a canon that then shanks wildly off Inunaki Shion’s arms and results in a service ace. He quickly celebrates with his team, then excitedly wheels around, finding Hajime’s eyes and getting rewarded with a proud smirk and thumbs up from the sideline.

He turns back to his teammates, who are now smacking him on the back and buzzing with excitement before they eventually meander toward the net to shake hands with the other team. Oikawa’s bitter smile and stiff handshake feel just a little extra good to Ushijima this time. He jogs back toward the sidelines with his team, head swiveling to try to find Iwaizumi.

Ushijima is not sure how he manages it, but Iwaizumi seems to have disappeared in the short time it takes to wrap up the game. His eyes scan for him, but he is nowhere amongst the players, staff, or friends now walking around the edges of the court. His gaze even drifts over to where Oikawa stands, next to three other people who look eerily like him, including his nephew Takeru. If he would have expected Iwaizumi to be anywhere, it would probably be there, but he is not.

So Ushijima waits, and waits, and waits for far too long, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hajime anywhere on the court or elsewhere in the building, but he does not find him. He figures if Hajime does not want to be found, one of VCK’s home gyms is a good place for him to do it. They play half of their home games here in Yokohama, so he probably knows at least a few out of the way corners.

By the time he finally gives up and moves to the locker room to change, most everyone is already gone. Then by the time he exits the shower and towels off, it is completely deserted. 

Ushijima has just pulled his fresh joggers and t-shirt on and is still standing in the inner shower room when he hears the door swing open on the other side where the lockers are. 

“Tooru, I can’t do this,” Hajime’s voice cracks through the silence of the locker room. He sounds hurried and distressed to Ushijima’s ears.

“What do you mean?” Oikawa asks, hot on his heels.

“I can’t just take you to a bar or to dinner or any of that,” Iwaizumi explains, whirling around, “because you know it will end up being more than that.”

They are both silent for a tense moment, the air between them seeming to blister. Ushijima knows he should probably announce himself. He is hearing something he definitely should not be, but he cannot bring himself to do more than continue standing very still in the shadows of the adjoining shower room. He places a hasty hand over his mouth to will himself not even to breathe too loudly.

“I still miss you too much, still… love you too much,” Iwaizumi says, and Ushijima’s stomach gives a painful lurch. “It all just… We already did this. We can’t keep ending up right back here, because then I might fall into bed with you again like I did during Golden Week or allow you to do and say things you shouldn’t like I let you in Paris.”

Ushijima’s brows crash together and his mouth tumbles down into a frown, but he does the mental calculations and breathes a bit again when his mind confirms that it happened before their time together in California.

“And I can’t anymore, because you’re never here for the aftermath of any of that,” Hajime continues. “It’s always just me alone, crying my eyes out and hurting again. You just keep ripping the wound back open, over and over, and I can’t do that anymore!” 

Both Ushijima and Oikawa stiffen at the break in Iwaizumi’s voice, at the heartbreaking ache that underlies his words.

“I — then what about something else?” Oikawa tries, floundering. “We could get coffee maybe? Or ice cream even? I still miss you. You’re still my best friend!” 

“Oikawa.”

Tooru will forever remember this moment as the time he heard his own heart shatter. The reality finally comes slamming down on him in one word, uttered with cold hardness and flung out between them to mingle amongst the dust motes and moonbeams of a dim locker room. It is the moment he knows Iwaizumi is really, truly gone.

He had still been holding onto the idea that eventually they would find their way back together again — that like a planet and its moon, they could not help but find their way into orbit eventually. Tooru had regarded it almost as a natural law of the universe. Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime were inseparable, indivisible. Everything in their lives up to that point had proven it so. 

But hearing Iwaizumi call him by his family name again in a voice so cold it turns everything around them to ice, it makes him feel once again with hard and sharp sobriety the sheer enormity of all his mistakes. In the span of about thirty seconds, his entire universe is unmade and refashioned with the jagged shards of what once was, and it hurts — it bone-crushingly hurts. 

“I understand, Hajime,” he finally says, his voice shaking. “I… have been so incredibly selfish. So please forgive me for it one last time.”

Hajime’s breath catches and he meets Oikawa’s eyes.

“Would you.. let me kiss you one more time?” 

Iwaizumi’s mind spins out and his body locks in place. He wants to vehemently protest, but Oikawa cuts him off before he can gather himself.

“Please, Hajime,” he says quietly, softly. “I remember the first so clearly. Every detail is still fresh in my mind. I know it’s too big and selfish an ask, but I want to remember the last too. I want to remember it all.” 

Iwaizumi is silent, staring at Tooru, his ears thundering and heart aching. In the shadows, Ushijima’s fingers clamp harder over his mouth, as he has to force himself not to interrupt or interfere. 

He feels an ache in his chest and a sick, nauseating premonition that Hajime might grant him this request. He also feels an altogether new emotion, one that is ugly and twisted, a gnarled and gnashing thing deep in the pit of his stomach, that makes him want to chuck Oikawa right into the Pacific Ocean and tell him to swim back to Argentina.

“I remember the last,” Iwaizumi finally whispers. 

Ushijima’s ears perk, and he tries to listen carefully to catch Iwaizumi’s words.

“It was on our last night in Paris, when we’d both gone out late to that little jazz bar,” Iwaizumi starts. 

“We were walking back to the Olympic Village and it started to softly rain. Then you looked over at me, and I looked at you, and you had little water droplets catching in your hair and on your eyelashes.”

The raw emotion is leeching back into Iwaizumi’s voice, all of his heartbreak now free-bleeding out onto the concrete floor.

“And then you called me pretty, but I didn’t say anything back,” Iwaizumi continues, “because if either of us has ever been beautiful… for gods’ sakes, it’s you, Tooru. But I couldn’t tell you that anymore. And then you said you still loved me, and that you miss me, and I let myself pretend that was fine.”

Iwaizumi is looking down at the floor, unable to withstand looking anywhere else, and Oikawa’s breath is beginning to hitch and sputter with tears on the verge of falling.

“And then you kissed the life out of me in a cobblestone alleyway, in the rain, in the city of love, but we were no longer lovers anymore,” Iwaizumi finishes, pain etched in every word.

He looks up again, feeling he needs to look in Oikawa’s eyes and needs to somehow make him understand. The look he finds on Tooru’s face is one that nearly does him in. It is an aching look that at one time could have led Hajime to rip the world in half and fight all manner of gods and demons with his bare hands, as long as it meant erasing the pain from that beautiful face.

“There’s no beating Paris, right?” Iwaizumi says, his throat constricting painfully. “This isn’t the way we close this chapter, is it? Not in a dirty locker room in Yokohama, of all places, when all it will do is hurt both of us more. Please tell me that’s not how we do this.”

They both fall silent, and Iwaizumi can see the resignation spreading across Oikawa’s face. He had put in years of work to make certain that look never darkened those elegant features ever again, prodding him and encouraging him to never give up, to never surrender. Yet now here Hajime is, asking him, begging him, to give up on him.

“I… will never not love you,” Oikawa chokes, forever talking in circles. 

Hajime can feel the conflicted, pained ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Oikawa Tooru will be Oikawa Tooru, til the bitterest end. He never says what he means straight on, always has to say things as a double negative, always has to skirt around it. He is never happy, just “not unhappy.” 

And at the end of it all, Hajime finds he still loves him. He loves him. To the furthest, darkest, dingiest corners of his soul, he loves him. However, Hajime cannot be his anymore. He is a moon that is bereft of his planet, and Tooru a planet bereft of his moon.

Oikawa looks at him for a long moment, as if memorizing every line and contour of his face one last time, filling himself up for the bitter days that lie on the path ahead. He stands on the precipice for just a moment longer, dancing on the edge of the demarcation line between when he considered them Them and when he is forced to consider them Him and Me, entirely separate entities. Hajime just lets him look, just one moment more, to let him have this much of him one last time.

Eventually Tooru turns to leave, willing himself to move his tattered remains out the door and away from the person he is still certain he will forever be in love with. 

As soon as the door closes Ushijima unclamps the hard grip his hand has had on his mouth and lets out a quiet breath. His face feels like it is burning, his heart seizing with a pang of what he now thinks he recognizes as jealousy. He wishes it was him with Iwaizumi in Paris, him getting to kiss him in the rain, him getting to tell him how beautiful he is. He wants it so bad he can already taste it on his tongue. He needs it, craves it, has to have it, and not as former lovers too scared to let go or as not-quite-lovers too afraid to grab on — as partners.

His own thoughts are quickly thrown into panic when soon after Oikawa leaves he hears a sound, the faintest little whimper, coming from where Iwaizumi still stands unmoving. Ushijima cannot bear it.

He slowly steps out from his hiding place, his feet landing softly as he pads his way to the other part of the locker room. He leans out, peeking to see Iwaizumi’s back, and sees that his entire body is tensed and shaking. 

Ushijima takes a step toward him and prepares to softly call his name, but at that very second all of Hajime’s walls come loudly crashing down. A sound that is half sob and half yell issues from his throat, and once it does, it does not stop. 

It makes Ushijima remember a Ghibli film he had watched with Satori once, when the young protagonist had pulled something from the side of a grotesque spirit and wave after wave of toxic sludge and ugly, mangled trash had quickly rushed out. Hajime’s cry now sounds like that — like lancing an abscess, like digging out a festering wound.  He cries, and his sobs vomit out every bitter, ugly, painful feeling he has ever had, all the noxious muck of years worth of hurting gushing out into the room with them.

Hajime is still shaking, still wailing, when he steps forward and slams his clenched fist into the side of one of the lockers. There is a hitch in his cry, an extra little blip from the physical pain, but it gets quickly covered over by a fresh eruption of overwhelming emotion.

“Hajime,” Ushijima says nearly breathlessly, quickly stepping forward to try to stop him from further hurting himself.

Iwaizumi wheels around rapidly, his face wet, red, and scrunched. On seeing Wakatoshi standing there in the dim light of the locker room, his face immediately falls. He is blanching, sputtering, spinning out.

“No!” he wails mournfully. “Why are you here?!” 

He is gasping between his words. His breath shudders.

“No one — is — supposed to — be here!” he flings at Ushijima forcefully with great effort. His face is burning, with hurt and confusion and embarrassment in equal measure.

“Hajime,” Ushijima says calmly, trying to carefully edge his way toward him. “Can I comfort you, please?”

“Nooo!” he wails again drawing out his syllables. “You’re — not supposed — to be here. Not — supposed to — see me — like this. I’m awful — I’m hopeless — I’m… if you heard — then…”

His words are crashing and rolling together, becoming faster and faster.

“Hajime,” Ushijima says again, as gently as he can, “please. Let me do it anyway.”

Hajime finally looks him in the eye — silent, brows crashing together, lips pressed into a thin line, holding in his barely contained breath. It is not long before he can no longer hold it.

“Oh god…” he wails as the flood gates break once again, bowing him over, bending him in half.

Ushijima rushes forward, figuring it is as much permission as he is going to get. He gets to him just as Iwaizumi finally sinks to his knees on the floor, and Ushijima crouches and places one hand atop either of his shoulders. 

“Why — does it — still hurt so fucking much!” Iwaizumi forces out before dissolving into bitter sobs against Ushijima’s chest.

He is so sad and so angry and so bitter and so hurt all at one time. A small anxious part of him is also so scared of what Ushijima must be thinking right now — that he must believe Iwaizumi’s confession means nothing, that all the strides they have made intimately mean nothing, that he is still pining for his ex who without even trying can have him doubled over in anguish like this.

“Hold me, please,” Iwaizumi gasps out, despite himself. “Just hold me together, please, because I’m losing it.”

Ushijima wastes no time in wrapping Iwaizumi up and squeezing him, wishing for his heart of powdered glass to join back together into solid form. Hajime just continues to sob into him, his strength quickly waning.

“Can you stand?” Ushijima asks quietly. “We should get off the floor if we can.”

Hajime tries, but ultimately Ushijima has to hold him upright and steady and do most of the work getting him to one of the benches. Ushijima straddles the bench then pulls Iwaizumi down, having him straddle it as well, facing him. Ushijima winds his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist and brings him in close, settling Hajime’s legs over top of his own and letting him lean fully into his shoulder and chest as he continues to cry.

Suddenly the squeak of the locker room door alerts Ushijima and causes his head to snap to attention. He sincerely hopes Oikawa has not come back with more to say. However, when a head of platinum blond hair atop a face pinched with concern pokes through the door to peek inside, Ushijima relaxes just a fraction. 

Miya Atsumu — probably not Ushijima’s first choice of person to find them like this, but certainly not his last either. 

Blessedly, Hajime seems not to have heard the opening of the door, and he is facing away from it. Ushijima slowly runs his hand up and down Iwaizumi’s back in a comforting and protective gesture. He levels a silent look at Atsumu, one that he hopes does not seem mean but that clearly communicates — Get the hell out of here.

Atsumu seems to get the message, because he silently salutes then softly controls the close of the door until it is fully shut and they are once again alone.

“Hajime,” Ushijima whispers as Iwaizumi grows quieter, once his crying has started to sap all of his remaining energy. 

“Why did he have to seek me out like that?” he asks into Ushijima’s shoulder. “Why? I went out of my way to avoid him, even called insisting to switch teams with another trainer so I wouldn’t have to work with him, hung around much too late until most everyone was gone to try to keep from running into him, only for him to corner me anyway!”

Ushijima can feel the mingling sadness and frustration rising off of Iwaizumi.

“He… I think he is maybe just made that way, Hajime,” Ushijima says, “made to seek you out.”

Iwaizumi looks up at Ushijima with a frown. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. “Will this never end?”

“I just mean… well, for instance like his choice to go to Aoba Johsai instead of Shiratorizawa…” Ushijima starts, and Hajime’s eyebrow arches in a way that very clearly says, Really?

“I — no, I am not… I have a point, one moment,” Ushijima says in response.

“I think I know more now about what his reasons were, from both a volleyball perspective… and a personal one,” he says, sliding his eyes back to Iwaizumi pointedly.

“I never understood him then, but he… well, first off it seems like his own personal growth was actually more important to him,” Ushijima says. “I recognize now why he chose to nurture his talent there, why it was a fit for him. I always accused him of just being prideful, but actually he has quite a bit of foresight I think. I was chasing championships, but he was playing a bit of a different game.”

“Not that he did not want the wins too,” Ushijima adds quickly. “I know for a fact he did.”

“But then there is also the personal aspect, the you aspect,” Ushijima says quietly, “and well, if anyone other than him could understand even a fraction of what you mean, of how much you matter to someone who loves you… well, I hope it is not arrogant to say, but I think that would be me.”

Iwaizumi’s breath catches, his eyes finding Ushijima’s eyes in the now even darker room.

“Are you implying…” Iwaizumi whispers, unable to finish the thought. 

“I am,” Ushijima confirms.

Someone who loves you bounces through Iwaizumi’s skull on a secondary path of destruction, like two typhoons with back to back landfalls.

“I know you asked me to wait, and I will,” Ushijima says quietly. “I will wait however long it takes. But this is what you are dealing with. This is the level I am on. And you deserve to be aware of that.”

“So what would you have done then?” Hajime asks hotly, curtly, with fresh warm tears stinging at his bottom lids. “If you had been in his shoes, what would you have done?” 

It comes out potent, nearly accusing, even though he does not think he means for it to be. Ushijima regards him carefully, studying his face and the rapid, gulping breaths he takes.

“Which time do you mean, Hajime?”

It smashes into Iwaizumi all over again, slumping him over into Ushijima’s shoulder. He cries silently this time, letting the tears fall without a sound.

“I would have done the opposite,” Ushijima whispers quietly. 

It is tender and mournful the way he says it. He knows what Hajime’s question means, understands instinctively what he wants to confirm by it — If I do decide to let you love me, will you leave me? Would you hurt me like he hurt me?

“In high school, I would have gone wherever was best to put me in a good position for my career, and for me that was undoubtedly Shiratorizawa,” Ushijima explains. 

“But now…” he says softly, brushing Iwaizumi's hair back with a gentle hand. “If I was yours now, I would never let you go.”

Chapter Text

It is an unseasonably warm day in early March, and Tendou Satori is lounging on the balcony of a villa in the south of France.

He is wearing a pair of sunglasses, a light, open robe that has slid down from his shoulders to pool around the crooks of his elbows, and absolutely nothing else. He also reclines in a lounge chair, sunning himself and lazily popping some of the first cherries of the season into his mouth while half-heartedly skimming a newspaper.

The pace of this most leisurely of mornings is interrupted only when his phone starts buzzing from the ground next to him. He picks it up gently to check the caller ID then answers quickly.

“Moshi moshi, Wakatoshi,” he says, sing-songing the rhyme in a bright voice.

“Hello Satori,” Ushijima says on the other end of the line. “You seem to be in an excellent mood.”

“I am!” Satori confirms. “Valentine’s Day is finally behind me, and we left Paris a few days ago. I am officially on vacation.”

As he speaks, a man with light, perfectly coiffed hair comes out onto the balcony and raises an amused eyebrow at Satori’s lack of attire. He quickly abandons his coffee on a little table before moving to sit at the foot of Tendou’s lounge chair and run his hands up Satori’s bare legs.

“Wakatoshi?” he says quietly, and Tendou nods.

“I am glad to hear it,” Wakatoshi answers through the phone.

The man moves and wedges his chest between Satori’s legs then slides a hand over his soft, pale stomach. He follows it closely with his mouth, kissing a trail up Satori’s body.

“Alain is here too, if you want to say hello,” Tendou says. He pulls the phone down from his ear and switches it to speakerphone

“Bonjour, Alain,” Wakatoshi says, making them both smile.

“Bonjour, Wakatoshi!” he answers back happily.

“How are you?” Alain adds in English.

“I am doing well,” Ushijima says, “I hope you are enjoying your vacation.”

“Oh, I am,” he says, pressing his thumbs into the flesh of Satori’s hips.

“That is good,” Wakatoshi says, and Alain shifts his concentration back to pressing his lips to every bit of Satori’s torso.

“I was calling to see about finalizing the details of next week with the two of you,” Wakatoshi explains and Tendou gives a small, fond shake of his head.

“Of course,” Tendou says with a soft smirk. “Well, as you know we will be arriving on the 9th, and I think we will probably want to rest that day. Then we are spending the next few days in Tokyo. I can send you our itinerary later today, in case we both happen to have time to meet.

Itinerary? Alain mouths as he looks up at Satori in confusion, but he just waves him off for the time being.

“That would be appreciated,” Wakatoshi answers.

“Send me your schedule too, okay? So I can see if we should move some things around to have more opportunity to see you,” Tendou continues.

“Certainly, I will do that,” Wakatoshi agrees.

“And then the 14th we will be spending with you. We have plans for a cherry blossom viewing, and of course I’m bringing some things for White Day.”

“Ah, yes, about that…” Wakatoshi says, and Satori begins to arch a brow in piqued interest. “Would it be alright for me to include someone else in our plans that day?”

Satori jerks upright, startling Alain who looks at him with a bewildered expression. 

“Someone else?” Satori echoes, looking amused. “As in, like, someone you’re seeing, maybe?” 

“Ah, well… something like that I suppose.” 

Satori’s mind is whirring. He knows Wakatoshi has had some relationships in the past, but never anyone he was serious enough about to want Tendou to meet them.

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend? What are they like?” Satori asks quickly.

“Ah. No, neither. I mean… well he is a man, but he is not my boyfriend.”

The plot thickens…

“I think I may have to be the judge of that, Wakatoshi,” Satori says. “If you’re exposing him to me, there must be something going on.”

“Actually he has already met you before,” Wakatoshi says, “so he will know a bit of what to expect.” 

Tendou blinks in surprise.

“When?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. Alain brushes some of Satori’s loose hair back.

“In high school,” Wakatoshi says.

“Someone from our school?” he asks.

“No,” Wakatoshi says.

“So someone from volleyball, then.”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, it’s not Kageyama is it?” Satori asks. He had long been just a touch suspicious of their weirdo friendship. It was the exact sort of thing that had led to their relationship back in high school, after all.

“No, Kageyama and I have no romantic attachment to each other,” Wakatoshi says.

“Yes, so you’ve said,” Satori replies. “Well, who then?”

“I… would rather keep that quiet for the time being,” Wakatoshi says. 

Tendou, for once, is left at a loss. It is rather unusual for Ushijima to be purposefully evasive. 

“Well color me intrigued, Wakatoshi-kun,” Satori says, shifting to prop back on his extended arm. “Yes, fine. Bring your not-boyfriend. I can’t wait to re-meet him.”

“Perfect, I will invite him and let you know,” Wakatoshi says.

“Excellent! Well, then after that, we will be going to your game on Saturday,” Satori continues. “Will your paramour be joining us then as well?” 

“Unfortunately, no. He has to be at a game of his own.”

Well that certainly narrows it down, Satori thinks, already flitting through his mental rolodex of professional volleyball players they knew in high school. After first consideration, his money is on that sweet cousin of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s. He is certainly beautiful, and obviously he is able to handle a certain degree of eccentricity. However, a more chaotic part of him dearly hopes it is someone completely out of left field and wildly different from Wakatoshi — like maybe Bokuto Koutarou. Wouldn’t that be something?

“Very well,” Tendou says simply. “I suppose we will all have to spend more time together some other time. After your game we are going to leave for Kyoto and Osaka, and then on to see my gran.”

“Excellent, please give her my love when you do,” Wakatoshi adds.

“I will be sure to,” Satori says with a smile, knowing Wakatoshi will remind him again before they leave Tokyo. 

“I am sorry I cannot talk for much longer, but be sure to keep me updated, and I will send you my schedule,” Ushijima says, winding down the conversation.

“That sounds perfect,” Satori says. “Talk to you in a day or two then?”

They finish up their final farewells, then Satori hangs up and places his phone back on the ground with a little sigh.

“I will never get over how much your phone calls with him sometimes sound like a business meeting,” Alain says with a good-natured smile. Satori laughs lightly. 

“We have more casual talks sometimes too,” he says, “but if he is calling with a specific purpose, it has always been like that.”

“So…” Alain continues, “itinerary?”

“Ah, yes,” Satori says with a laugh. “What can I say, the man likes a detailed plan. We can still do whatever we like mostly, but I do want to give him some times he can plan on meeting up with us. It gives him time to like, mentally prepare I think.”

Alain smiles wider and bends to kiss Satori’s neck. 

“Mmm, so then what does your itinerary for this week say, chéri?” he asks, “10:15, scandalize the neighbors?” 

Satori laughs a full, happy laugh as Alain continues to kiss up his neck and nip at his ear. 

“What neighbors, love?” he asks. “They would have to use binoculars to see me.”

“Mm, the housekeeper then,” Alain murmurs between kisses.

“Marta already knows how we are,” Satori says, “that’s why she walks around with her eyes on the floor, you know. She must be an expert on every tile and board in this house by now.”

Alain laughs and then lightly bares his teeth against Satori’s neck while sliding a hand up one of his legs.

“Isn’t your coffee getting cold?” Satori teases, then Alain backs away to look at him and squeezes his hips.

“Perhaps I would prefer something that is always hot?” Alain quips, then he tips Satori to lay back against the lounge chair with a soft push on his chest.

“Oooh, but whatever would Marta say?” Satori jests with a salacious smirk, but he is already opening his thighs and sliding a hand into Alain’s hair to guide his head down.

*******

“WHAT. THE. FUCK!” Alex says as soon as the video call connects. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Hajime says apologetically. It has been over two and a half months since The Osaka Incident, and he is only just now getting around to returning Alex’s multiple calls and text messages since then.

“I was really worried about you!” he screeches indignantly.

Iwaizumi just sighs and nods. “I’m really sorry. I just… couldn’t for a while.”

Not only had Iwaizumi been through a forced public sort-of-outing, he had also had his big blow up with Oikawa and the resulting falling apart in Ushijima’s arms not long after. That was another thing that had kept Iwaizumi from calling Alex —

“It was Ushijima, wasn’t it?” Alex immediately asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Iwaizumi groans. He had known it would come to this.

“Yeah,” he says, utterly defeated. He does not have even half the strength to fend off a determined Alex right now. 

“But we are not giving that information out to anyone. Besides you only like four people know that for a fact,” he adds.

“Yes, absolutely. I will keep my mouth shut,” Alex promises.

“Soooo are we gonna talk about it then?” he asks after Iwaizumi falls silent for a moment.

“I’d rather not,” Iwaizumi says, scrunching his face up then relaxing it again.

“Well let’s start with, are you dating or what?” Alex asks.

“Uhh, not exactly?” Iwaizumi says.

“Why not?!” Alex says far too loudly.

“Because… we’re just not. I mean, we’re close and everything but we’re not together,” Iwaizumi says.

“But you’re like…?”

“Like, what?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Fucking,” Alex says plainly.

“No!” Iwaizumi says loudly, his eyes going wide.

“Well, the fact that you’re blushing like that suggests something is going on,” Alex says with a smirk.

“So what’s the deal then exactly?” Alex prods. “Spill your guts.”

Iwaizumi sighs.

“I mean, we’re… friends,” he starts.

“Aaand…?”

“And we spend quite a bit of time together…”

“Mmhmmm…”

“And, like, sometimes we maybe kiss.” Iwaizumi feels himself getting more and more red.

“Mhmm, and what else?”

“Umm… yeah, well, maybe there has been a little bit of… other stuff, a few times…”

“But not full-on like…” Alex bites his bottom lip to make an ungh noise and pushes his palms out slightly to get his question across. 

“No, not that,” Iwaizumi says, suddenly very interested in the tatami floor mats.

“I see…” Alex says. “So like, what’s the hold up?”

“Well, it’s just… complicated,” Iwaizumi says, “it’s a lot of different things.”

“So it’s you,” Alex says, his face falling.

Iwaizumi cannot even protest. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “it’s me.”

Alex lets out a soft sigh. “Is it your ex?” he asks.

“Not really,” Iwaizumi says after a moment. “Though there was kind of an incident…”

“An incident?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. He gives a very brief not-so-detailed account of his run-in with Tooru at the start of the year, and about Ushijima’s part in dealing with the aftermath.

“Hajime,” Alex says seriously, “I’m sorry, but what the fuck are you doing?”

Iwaizumi is not even sure if he knows anymore.

“That man is disgustingly in love with you,” Alex says seriously. “He had to listen to you have a fight with your ex, then he stayed and comforted you after? Like…” 

Iwaizumi knows that is not even the half of it, that Wakatoshi has already done so much more. If he told Alex any of that he would be, rightfully, even more flabbergasted.

“So why are you not dating him!” Alex asks. “Please help me understand.” 

“It’s —“ Hajime struggles, even more than usual. He lets out a frustrated puff of air. 

“It’s a lot of individual little things,” he says quickly, feeling irritated in his own skin. “But it all boils down to I don’t want to hurt him. And I don’t want to be hurt.”

“Hajime,” Alex says, his shoulders falling. He makes it sound so sad.

“I just, until I’m more sure of myself, that I’m not going to ruin everything, then I feel like… I can’t.”

“You’re not going to ruin everything,” Alex says, his eyebrows squishing together in concern.

And well, Hajime just figures they will have to agree to disagree.

*******

March 14th is chilly but relatively bright. Iwaizumi follows close behind Wakatoshi, who is carrying a basket in one hand and a picnic blanket under his arm. They cross to a beautiful park with several blooming cherry trees and a trail that leads around a serene pond with ducks and swans that leave trails through the top layer of pink petals on the water.

As they approach an open grassy area with other people already sitting out on blankets and up against the trunks of trees, Ushijima raises a hand in greeting and receives two wildly flailing ones in return. Tendou Satori looks mostly the same as when Iwaizumi last knew him, except for the way he styles his hair, though it is still his same unmissable red. A man of about his same height with blond, slightly silvering hair walks next to him, chuckling happily at Tendou’s wild waving.

“Well, this is quite a surprise!” Tendou says when they finally meet in the center of the green. “Hello there, Mr. Seijoh Ace.”

“Satori, Alain, this is Iwaizumi Hajime,” Ushijima explains in English.

“Tendou Satori,” Tendou says, extending his hand with an amused smirk.

“Oh, believe me, I remember,” Iwaizumi says, returning both the hand and the expression. Tendou laughs. 

“I can be a bit difficult to forget, I guess,” he says, the expression softening a bit.

“This is my husband, Alain,” he continues, gesturing to the man next to him.

“Nice to meet you!” Alain says brightly. “Do you prefer that I call you by your family name?”

“Either is fine,” Iwaizumi says. 

“I spent a lot of time in the US when I was studying, so I’ll answer to either,” he explains with a small smile.

With introductions finally out of the way, they find an open patch of grass to spread out their blanket and begin unpacking.

Wakatoshi has done most of the cooking, so of course it is excellent. The number and quality of dishes is nearly dizzying, and Iwaizumi cannot possibly pick a favorite from among them.

“I swear, it just gets better every time we see you,” Tendou says, and Alain nods happily in agreement, his mouth full.

What Wakatoshi had done for the food, Tendou seems to have taken the same philosophy for the dessert. It is an egregious amount of chocolate in different shapes, types, and flavors, more than Iwaizumi has probably ever seen at one time.

Tendou points out some flavors to Ushijima, and Alain pops a chocolate into his mouth.

“Which do you recommend?” Iwaizumi asks Alain in French, and three heads simultaneously pop up and snap to his direction.

“You speak French?” Tendou asks, bewildered. Alain looks delighted.

“Only a little,” Iwaizumi says “I learned some before the Paris Olympics. Enough to have basic conversations, just in case.”

Ushijima is sitting up straight, silently adding this to his mental list of Things He Knows About Hajime.

“I’m guessing you didn’t know that?” Tendou whispers to Ushijima, and he gives a stiff little shake of his head. 

Alain begins to rummage through Tendou’s chocolate boxes looking for something in particular.

“So,” Alain directs at Iwaizumi, continuing in French as he searches, “you and Wakatoshi are…?”

“I guess I would say… we are quite close,” Iwaizumi returns bashfully. Alain just smiles knowingly and finally hands him a chocolate.

“Try that one, they are particularly good,” he says before popping another in his mouth and thinking quietly for a moment.

“I’m glad,” he finally says, “it’s good he has someone he cares for.”

Iwaizumi nods and fights back a smile.

“So what do you do?” Alain asks him after that, and that gets them talking more. Iwaizumi tells him about his work coaching and training, and Alain tells him he was in banking and finance but has recently retired (at 48?!) and will now be overseeing the management of (several!) properties his family owns.

Despite very clearly leading radically different lives, Alain is a friendly and cheerful sort of fellow, and Iwaizumi finds he cannot help liking his company.

From then on they laze around eating chocolates and taking in the view. Alain crosses his legs and leans back on his hands, then Tendou lays perpendicular to him with his head in his lap. Ushijima and Iwaizumi sit close together until Iwaizumi finally lays back to look up at the tree canopy overhead and Ushijima follows his lead shortly after. All four sit in companionable quiet, enjoying the scattered rays of sunlight that hit them and light conversations nearly whispered.

“Would anyone like a warm drink?” Ushijima sits up and asks after the wind suddenly picks up, bringing with it a bit of a chill.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Tendou says, leading Alain and Iwaizumi to quickly agree as well.

Ushijima rises from the blanket and walks off across the park to where he knows there is a vending machine with warm coffee.

“I think I might take some photos, if that’s alright” Alain says, pulling a DSLR camera out of the bag he and Tendou had brought, “it’s so beautiful here.”

“Of course, love,” Tendou says, sitting up to turn him loose. Since everyone seems to be stirring, Iwaizumi sits up as well, bending his knees and resting his arms on top of them.

Once Alain goes, Iwaizumi and Tendou are quiet. He is not quite sure what one is supposed to say to a rival-turned-situationship’s-best-friend. So instead he looks out over the lake and the trees and the grass, taking in his serene surroundings until his eyes finally skim over where Alain stands with his camera in hand.

“Wow, laying it on a bit thick, aren’t they?” Iwaizumi says half to himself, regarding the ladies currently twirling their hair and asking Alain where he is from.

Tendou looks up then laughs in the back of his throat and smiles to himself. “You should see what we deal with in France.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Iwaizumi asks, quietly starting to search for Ushijima with his eyes before he even realizes it. Tendou looks at Iwaizumi quietly, his mind turning.

“Has Wakatoshi ever told you much about my husband and me?”

“Not much,” Iwaizumi admits.

Tendou hums, then looks out at Alain.

“We met during one of the most difficult times of my life,” Tendou explains. “I was not looking for love or anything of the sort, but he can be terribly persistent sometimes.”

“One day he told me, ‘just stay.’ He said it really seriously, you know? ‘Just stay. Just let it happen. You can stay for as long as you like and then when you want to leave, you’re free to go. I won’t even call you mine, just stay.’” 

Satori looks back up at Iwaizumi with a faint smile. “And so I ‘just stayed’ for nearly two years.”

“It was always the same, that entire time — ‘don’t worry, I won’t tie you down, I won’t stand in your way, I’m just happy you want to stay.’ But eventually that started to sit wrong with me,” Tendou says, leaning his chin in his hand atop his knees.

“So one night, he got home from work, and I was already there — I mean, Christ… I had a key to the place! But it was the same. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ ‘it’s so nice coming home to you,’ etcetera, etcetera, always said as if he was surprised that I was still there.”

“I got mad,” Tendou remembers with a smile, “I told him to stop acting like I was going to abandon him, that the only way I was going to leave was if he continued to refuse to recognize our relationship properly. I can clearly remember yelling at him, saying ‘has it ever occurred to you that perhaps at this point I’d choose to stay indefinitely?’”

Tendo laughs at the memory.

“So then he got really serious and said, ‘well why don’t you marry me then?’ and I was just floored. He said if I wanted him to take responsibility for this relationship that's how he’d do it, he was certain about it, he said.”

Tendou briefly looks out over the grassy area stretching out in front of them, dotted with fallen pink petals.

“So we got married,” he says, “like, the next week.”

Shock spreads across Iwaizumi’s face, and Tendou lets out a full cackling laugh at his reaction.

“Now was that the wisest decision…?” Tendou tilts his head half way to his shoulder and shrugs. “For us it was right I suppose, but there was still a lot we didn’t know about each other — like for instance I had no idea about Alain’s family background or upbringing.”

“Like I just had some vague idea about a family house in the country. I had no idea that it was like, an estate. I mean I’d seen the man’s apartment, I’m not dumb. But there’s a big difference between just well off and like, the generational wealth kind of well off.”

“Our differences sometimes caused disagreements, and for a while I had a particularly difficult time with the opinions people seemed to have about those differences — he’s older, he’s rich, and… well let’s be honest… he’s very conventionally attractive. I am none of those things, plus also a foreigner, so at first I think people thought of me like a weird-looking leech. They didn’t understand why he’d want to be with me at all.”

Tendou gets quiet for a moment, and Iwaizumi tries to think over all this new information. Suddenly they have gone from their awkward silence to an involved, vulnerable talk about Tendou’s life, and it is highly unexpected.

“All that to say,” Tendou finally starts back up, “it’s not just happily ever after and sunshine and rainbows. It takes work and trust and honestly probably a little bit of blind faith to maintain. But the one thing Alain has never made me question ever again is my place in his life, and I think that’s why it all works out. “

They watch as Alain quickly apologizes and abandons the people he is talking to to rush over to Wakatoshi and help him with the drinks he is carrying. 

“That goes both ways too, you know?” Tendou says with a smile. “A lot of people might feel threatened by the fact that I’m still as close with my first love as I am, maybe even intimidated by the kind of person he is, but Alain adores him too, and he never makes either of us feel bad for how close our friendship is with the other.”

“Don’t you, love?” Tendou says a touch louder as the two of them approach and hand off drinks to him and Iwaizumi.

“Of course, chéri, if you think so,” Alain says, having no idea what they are talking about. He takes an assessing glance of Satori and another of Iwaizumi, then cheerily asks if Wakatoshi would mind walking the path around the pond with him so he can get more shots of it.

Tendou and Iwaizumi watch them go, Alain already launching into conversation with Ushijima and ignoring any outside attention cast their way.

“Alain turns heads wherever he goes,” Tendou says with a fond, contented smile. “However, I am the only one who makes his head turn.”

The breeze blows through their hair and Tendou remains quiet. Iwaizumi studies him, looking at the ease in his posture, the way his mouth turns upward even when at rest, the way he seems happy and joyful, though not in the same mocking, twisted way Hajime had experienced from him in high school.

“You seem quite different from when I knew you before, Tendou-san,” Iwaizumi says.

Tendou thinks for a moment, looking across at Alain, now about to turn onto the path with Ushijima. “I am well-loved,” he says quietly, “and that changes everything.”

It snags against some broken piece of Iwaizumi’s insides and almost jerks loose the compacted, crumbled bits of wreckage in him that have still never quite cleared away. What exactly does it mean to be “well-loved,” he wonders. 

Had he been, at some point before everything fell apart between him and Tooru? He figures he must have, but cannot exactly point to when. Perhaps even more pressing, had he ever “well-loved” Tooru back? And if he had not, is it something he is even capable of?

“That got you thinking,” Tendou says slyly, gently lifting him back out of his cloud of swirling thoughts.

“Can I maybe be a bit presumptuous, Iwaizumi-kun?” Tendou asks. 

“Sure, why not?” Iwaizumi says, still in good humor but arching his brows a bit.

“What exactly is it you’ve been through? It feels like it's something big and bad.”

Tendou looks at him for confirmation and seems to find it somewhere on his face. He lets out a soft little “heh” noise and props back on his arms.

“My instincts aren’t just limited to sports you know?” he says. “It’s something that comes in handy, but it makes it extremely hard to not want to meddle.”

“I — well, to call what I went through a heartbreak is underselling it. I went through… basically what felt like a cataclysmic, soul-ripping event,” Iwaizumi explains. “Ugh, that sounds so dramatic though.”

“Is this anything to do with Oikawa-san?” Tendou jumps in quickly, and Iwaizumi startles.

“Did Wakatoshi —“

“No, no,” Tendou says with a laugh and a few waves of his hand. “In fact he has been remarkably tight-lipped, even with me. I didn't even know it was you I would be meeting today until we got here.”

“No,” Tendou continues, “it’s just, even in high school I could tell you were probably together.”

“Were we really that easy to read?” Iwaizumi asks, his stomach churning.

“Probably not to most people,” Tendou says with a little shrug, “I’m just gay and very observant. I guarantee almost everyone just saw you as best bros.”

“I mean, for instance, I could literally be hanging all over Wakatoshi in high school and people would still call us ‘such good friends,’” Tendou adds with a little laugh. “A lot of people won’t clock you, until suddenly one does out of the blue, and then… well.”

Iwaizumi nods solemnly. “Wakatoshi told me about the time in your second year, when he and your setter…”

“Ah, yeah,” Tendou says, “that was a pretty rough time. I was grateful they had my back though.”

“I’m actually kind of surprised he mentioned that,” he adds. “It’s not a very pleasant memory for him.”

“Yeah, well…” Iwaizumi starts before quickly hesitating then carrying forward anyway. “Has he mentioned what happened at the Emperor’s Cup to you at all? Like the stuff with the media?”

“Mmm, he mentioned he was nearly involved in some press thing, but he was pretty vague about it.”

“Well, it had to do with me and Kageyama, and him too, but he was not identifiable so he wasn’t really part of any fallout from it,” Iwaizumi explains. “He was struggling with the fact that he felt responsible but faced none of the consequences, but Kageyama and I refused to let him get involved and had to talk him into allowing us to take all the heat. I think that was wearing on him. So that’s why he told me about it.”

“He’s always been like that,” Tendou says, sighing and closing his eyes before tipping his head back into the sunlight dappling through tree branches. 

“He has always been consumed with trying to be the person everyone can depend on — the perfect ace, the perfect captain, the one who can always be leaned on.” 

“Most of the time, that’s fine,” Tendou adds, “but unfortunately it also means the few times he really needs someone, it is pretty difficult for him, and there are very few people he is willing to accept help from.”

Iwaizumi nods, even though Tendou’s eyes are still closed.

“I… am really trying to be one of those people for him,” Iwaizumi admits. “Even if whatever this is we have going now doesn’t end up working out. I want to be another person he can feel comfortable depending on. Although… I don’t always feel like I’m the best qualified.”

Tendou tips his head to assess Iwaizumi with one open eye then slides it closed and rolls his head back up again.

“It will work out,” he says confidently.

“How do you know?” Iwaizumi asks, his brows scrunching.

“Just a hunch,” Tendou says. “And you know firsthand how creepily accurate my intuition is.”

A little hint of a smirk twists his lips, a bit of the Tendou he had known in high school showing through.

“Unfortunately,” Iwaizumi grumbles, and it makes Tendou laugh.

“I’ll just say this, and then I’ll leave it be,” Tendou says. “Even in the vague information he’s given me recently, Wakatoshi seems more determined about you than I’ve ever known him to be about anyone else. If you still have any question about whether he’s invested… I’m telling you, as his best friend for years, I’m certain he is.”

“And you,” he adds, turning to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze, “well, I don’t know you quite as well, so I can only offer my outsider perspective… but that perspective tells me you’re a good guy.”

“Despite whatever the hell Oikawa put you through,” he explains, “and I mean… damn, I can only imagine… you are a sturdy and serious sort of person without being stern or mean or sour. Wakatoshi will thrive with someone like that.”

Tendou continues, bending back a finger with each new point. “You shield him from unpleasant things. You say things like you want him to depend on you. Hell, you come spend time with his weirdo best friend with a questionable personality on White Day just because he asked you to. My guy, it is so painfully obvious even from spending just one afternoon with you how much you care about him.”

“In other words…” Tendou says, “you’re already cooked, man.”

Iwaizumi can only smile and sigh. “Yeah, probably.”

Chapter Text

By the time the Kurowashiki Tournament comes around in May, Iwaizumi and Ushijima have settled into a bit of a routine. The times they stay over at each other’s places have increased since the new year. If Iwaizumi has to guess, he would say it started after the incident following the exhibition game, when Ushijima had insisted on going home with him. 

That night Ushijima had taken care of him like a precious, fragile thing, holding him gently, drying his hair, putting him to bed. When he kissed him goodnight, Hajime could tell he meant it, and that kind of hurt in its own way. Wakatoshi always shows him so much grace, too much in fact. 

Since that time, they spend nearly every opportunity they have with each other, often choosing to wake earlier and drive the extra miles to work, since it means getting to be next to the other at night. By the time they get to May, Iwaizumi cannot actually remember with certainty when he last spent a night without Wakatoshi in his bed — he thinks it must have been sometime a couple of weeks ago since in that time they have both only had games close by that have not required an overnight stay.

Iwaizumi cannot say he is looking forward to being apart for the entire week of Kurowashiki, but he quickly chastises himself for feeling that way. They had mutually agreed to try to avoid being seen with each other too frequently, still remembering the unpleasant sting of the last time they had been in Osaka.

That is perhaps why they cling to any stolen moments they can find, usually in out-of-the-way hallways of the stadium. During one of these times on the second day of the tournament, they both flinch when a loud greeting is thrown their way, and they grow immediately wary at the sight of Miya Atsumu in his MSBY uniform, followed close behind by a bounding and smiling Hinata Shouyou in his ASAS jacket and black joggers.

“How’s it goin’, you two?” Atsumu asks as he reaches them.

Iwaizumi and Ushijima exchange a glance then give a quick “fine” in unison.

“Aww, cute,” Atsumu says.

“Cute?” Iwaizumi asks distractedly, but his mind is quickly slipping into chaos as he tries to ignore the loud, orange, sunshiny presence of one of the people he least wants to see.

“Yeah,” Atsumu continues, then turns to Ushijima “aren’t you two like, dating or something?” 

“Or something,” Ushijima says, glancing at Iwaizumi in anxiety. He can practically feel his mood’s rapid deterioration.

“Did ‘Toshi-kun just make a joke?” Atsumu says, clearly amused.

“I was going for more of a quippy evasion of your question,” Ushijima says dryly.

“Ahhh, there he is,” Atsumu laughs.

“How are you Iwaizumi-san?” Hinata says brightly. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you since you went to Kanagawa! I haven’t been back home much, but I thought for sure I’d see you at the New Year’s match!”

Iwaizumi’s brain reaches critical mass and shuts down, his face falling. 

“Yes, apologies. They keep me quite busy,” he says in an icy monotone. “In fact I have to leave now. Excuse me.”

Iwaizumi brushes past and walks briskly down the hallway, leaving the other three dumbfounded, looking after him with their mouths slightly open.

“What the hell didya do to ‘im, Sho-chan?” Atsumu finally asks.

“I… have no idea,” Hinata answers. 

“I mean, there have been certain… hiccups,” he acknowledges, “a long time ago. I’m definitely not his favorite person, but he’s always been at least, I dunno, not… like that.”

Ushijima shifts his weight and clears his throat.

“My apologies, Hinata-san,” he says quietly, “Because of something I said, I may have inadvertently given him the impression that you knew… about him and Oikawa-san when the two of you… met in Brazil.” 

Hinata goes red, and Atsumu’s mouth hangs open. Ushijima had tried his best to leave it vague, not exactly wanting to drag out everything in front of Miya, but he seems to catch on anyway. He can be, sometimes unfortunately, very attuned to subtext, and Wakatoshi is not very good at layering all that in the first place.

“Really?” Atusmu turns to ask Hinata with a devilish smirk, “Oikawa?” 

“Listen!” Hinata says desperately, “it was ages ago! Before I came back to Japan to play for MSBY even! And I was super lonely! He was the first person to speak Japanese to me in months! And my wallet had just been stolen! And…!”

“Well you certainly do have a type.” Atsumu says, raising his eyebrow with a smirk. “Your weird high school homoerotic friendship with Tobio-chan I can almost understand, but that guy?” 

Ushijima’s brows crash in confusion at the mention of Tobio, who has never spoken about anything even remotely romantic or sexual concerning him and Hinata… or him and anyone, for that matter.

“I mean he is actually really similar to you, Atsu..” Hinata says under his breath. 

“Yep, just go on an’ keep diggin’ that grave, Sho-chan!” Atsumu smirks and runs his fingers over Hinata’s shoulders before walking away. 

“If you want me to pay any attention to ya tonight,” he throws over his shoulder casually, “you’d better be ready t’ beg.” 

Atsumu leaves with a mischievous smile, and Hinata and Ushijima are left standing there in the hallway awkwardly. 

“So, you and Atsumu, are…” 

“Yeah. I mean, we’re on opposite sides of the world and all, so it’s still a bit casual, but we’ve been… kind of involved here and there for a while now and officially dating for a few months,” Hinata explains.

“And he knew nothing about…”

“Right.”

“So I just…” 

Hinata just nods solemnly and Ushijima sighs. 

“I seem to continue making things worse for you. My apologies, Hinata-san,” he says.

“Don’t worry!” Hinata answers happily. “Tsum-Tsum isn’t really mad. He just likes to tease me!”

His face falls a fraction before he continues. “Iwaizumi-san though…” 

“Yes,” Ushijima says solemnly.

“I really don’t want him angry with me,” Hinata says with a frown. 

“Are you close with Iwaizumi-san?” Hinata asks, wiggling his eyebrows as if he already knows the answer. 

“Yes, I think we are, recently,” Ushijima says.

“Well, I’m not sure if he’ll believe me,” Hinata continues, “but I really didn’t know when it happened. It was only after that I found out. Oik’a-senpai started crying out of nowhere and that’s when he told me. I never would have if I’d known.” 

“I thought not,” Ushijima says, “for all your faults, you never seemed like the type of person to do that.” 

“I’m… just going to ignore the faults part you just said,” Hinata says grumpily, narrowing his eyes. Then Hinata draws a big breath and sighs it all back out.

“I was really angry with him when I found out!” he continues. “But I also felt kind of sad for him too. We’ve been sort of friends, I guess… after it happened I mean. Even though I was so angry with him, I’ve gotten to know him a bit more over time, and I think he is the kind of person who is always in a fight with himself.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Ushijima asks.

“Hmm, he’s like… not really one cohesive person?” Hinata says, his brow wrinkling as if trying to find the right words. “Instead of having a really strong sense of self that, like, works together, there are a lot of really strong parts and pieces of him — like his ambition, his pride, his attachment to people — and they all compete.”

Ushijima nods along, trying to follow.

“Sometimes those pieces can come together right, but a lot of the time it just seems like they don’t agree at all, and that can get pretty ugly.” Hinata pauses as if remembering.

“It’s like… if you had a volleyball team who are all Olympic caliber athletes, right? But they had no time to sync up to each other.” Hinata nods at his own analogy, looking thoughtful. 

“Yeah, that’s what it is. Oik’a-senpai has always been able to seamlessly integrate any team and use them to their best advantage, but he can’t seem to do the same for his own values and feelings,” Hinata says, his face scrunched up in thought. “I think it’s probably what he hates most about himself.” 

They are both quiet for a moment, letting Hinata’s assessment hang heavily in the air. 

“That’s what I think anyway,” Hinata says by way of conclusion, giving a small, sad smile. 

“It is difficult to have sympathy for him because of how I feel about Hajime,” Ushijima says slowly, “but I suppose I can understand him a little.” 

Hinata nods sagely, looking off down the hallway to where someone is approaching. They let him pass by before continuing.

“Not the infidelity though,” Ushijima adds, “that I will never understand.” 

Hinata puffs up, clearly still angry at the thought of it himself. 

“Me either!” he huffs. “He dragged me into all this! I’m still unhappy with him about that!” He deflates a bit and his brows furrow. 

“But, you should have seen him, Ushijima-san,” he says quietly. “I know I shouldn’t sympathize with him about it, but I still remember how he looked then. And the sound...” Hinata shudders even now, then looks off into the middle distance, replaying it in his head. 

“I’ve never seen a person break quite like that before. He just looked so… lost. So yeah, I’m mad, and disappointed, and so many other things that I likely always will be about the situation. But I also know he feels all that and worse about himself too.”

Ushijima is quiet, looking at Hinata, then at the floor, then down the hall, finding no good answers.

“I cannot promise Hajime will believe you,” he finally says, “but I think you should try to tell him anyway, Hinata-san. I think he is not truly mad at you as much as he is still angry with Oikawa-san, and you just happen to remind him of it.” 

Hinata hums in understanding, chewing the edge of his lip.

“Oikawa-san is still a very sore subject for him. I think he wants to move forward, but, well…” 

Ushijima thinks back to the sound of Hajime’s cries in that locker room in Yokohama, to the way his whole body quaked when he came apart. 

“… it might take some considerable time.” 

Hinata nods solemnly. “I know that’s probably true, but for his sake I hope it passes quickly. Hopefully having you will help?” he adds slyly. 

“I can only hope I will have that much effect on him, Hinata-san,” Ushijima says.

*******

Iwaizumi groggily answers his phone after it wakes him up out of a dead sleep on the night between the fourth and fifth days of the tournament.

“Hello?” He says wearily and checks the clock. It is past midnight.

“Iwa-san,” Tora’s voice comes through the phone sounding worried, “is Takeru with you?”

Iwaizumi sits up straight in bed. “No. Is he not in his room?”

“Riseki said that he was there when they went to bed, but he woke up when he heard their room door close and Takeru was gone,” Tora explains. “We’ve tried calling, but he’s not answering his phone.”

Iwaizumi swears and throws off his covers. 

“Do we know if anyone saw him?” Iwaizumi asks, suddenly awake and firing on all cylinders as he pulls on a shirt and light jacket. “Someone should check with the front desk to see if he left the building.”

”Yes, Riseki just checked, but they said they didn’t see anyone matching his description going out of the front entrance. Last I heard they’re checking cameras for the side entrances.”

”Shit,” Iwaizumi hisses, “this fucking kid. Do the other coaches know yet?”

“No,” Tora says, “we figured we’d involve you first then get everyone else in the loop if it turns out he’s truly missing.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi sighs in frustration, “I guess I’m going to go wandering around to see if I can find him. Call me if anything changes, okay?”

Iwaizumi hangs up and shoves his key card and phone into his shorts pockets, then wrenches open his door. He figures they probably already checked their floor, but he keeps his eyes open anyway as he strides to the elevator. Once inside, he presses the button for the lobby, figuring he should start from the bottom and work his way up.

As he searches, he cannot help but wonder what Takeru could possibly be thinking going out in the middle of the night like this. He wanders the lobby, down the corridor past the gym, hoping perhaps he is just trying to work off some nerves or restlessness, but Takeru is not there. 

Iwaizumi continues down the corridor moving toward the restrooms and conference halls, looking and listening for any sign. Then when he passes by the door to a small, secluded meeting room his ears perk up and he stops in his tracks when he hears a quiet voice on the other side of the door. It is soft and light and clearly not Takeru. He is just about to move on when suddenly he hears another person laugh, and it is a laugh he would know anywhere — that signature Oikawa laugh that all of them have.

He does not even think twice before turning and yanking open the door, prepared to scold. However, he is not at all prepared for the sight that greets him on the other side. Because inside is Takeru, shirt off and arms wrapped around someone as he kisses their neck and presses them against the conference table. Because that person, of all people, happens to be Hinata Natsu.

All the fire and irritation momentarily drains sickeningly from Iwaizumi’s body, replaced by the sight of fluffy brown hair next to fiery red, of lips on skin it should not be on, of an Oikawa and a Hinata.

”Uncle!” Takeru cries in surprise, and they both scramble to cover themselves with their discarded shirts.

It kicks Iwaizumi’s mind back into overdrive, and he starts to build up with disappointment and hurt and rage.

”What the hell are you doing,” he hisses wrathfully, and it makes Takeru’s breath catch.

”I — I’m sorry,” he says carefully, shakily. He slowly slides in front of Natsu, whose eyes have gone wide, and somehow that makes it even worse.

Iwaizumi is momentarily silent. He and Takeru are staring each other down in a high midnight showdown, both apprehensive, on the edge of unknown territory. Then suddenly, the firing starts.

”Do you have any idea what the fuck you’re putting at risk right now?” Iwaizumi asks coldly. “And for what? To get your dick wet?”

It is crass and it is cold and Iwaizumi does not currently have the presence of mind to care. He is only half here now, time traveling, clipping between tonight and another night happening far away and over a decade ago. Takeru becomes Tooru becomes Takeru, and the same is true for Natsu. Hajime’s mind just sees that same fiery hair that used to haunt his nightmares.

”Uncle…” Takeru says gently, both scared and concerned.

”Did you even spare a second to think about your career?” Iwaizumi asks, his voice breaking and angry, increasing in volume. “Did you think about anything? Or anyone?!”

”Did you think about the teammates who have been worried sick looking for you?!” he adds, yelling now. “Did you think about me?!“

Hajime’s face twists and his breath is ragged. At the sight of Takeru’s wide, sad eyes he squeezes the bridge of his nose and bends forward to let out a frustrated, weary exhale.

”I —“ he starts gently, almost apologetically. But what can he really say? He cannot remember ever having raised his voice to Takeru before now, or cursing in front of him either. How can he even begin to explain — I’m sorry, I got mad at you because your uncle is an idiot and broke my heart and you look too much like him? Natsu certainly had not really deserved his anger either.

Before Iwaizumi can figure out what to say, two more people come sprinting down the hall toward them. From Iwaizumi’s position in the doorway, he looks over and sees that it is Hinata Shouyou and a tall woman he remembers being a hitter for the Hikari Red Rabbits, Amanai Kanoka if he recalls correctly.

“She’s over here,” Iwaizumi says as they approach, and his voice comes out sounding listless and tired.

Shouyou peeks in past Iwaizumi and immediately begins scolding his sister, who is now thankfully fully clothed again. Shouyou brushes past into the room, his hands now on his hips, and bickers with her back and forth loudly while Iwaizumi and Amanai hover near the door.

”What are you even doing here?!” Natsu asks petulantly.

”Stopping you from doing something stupid, apparently!” Shouyou flings out. “Your captain called me and told me you disappeared in the middle of the night!”

“How does she even have your number?!” Natsu volleys back.

“Actually, Hirugami-san had to call her older brother, who had to call Kageyama, who had to call me!” Shouyou says loudly. “You’ve got your team, half of Schweiden, and poor Iwaizumi-san and probably more of VCK wide awake in the middle of the night right before they have matches!”

“How did you even find me?!” Natsu says, not backing down.

“Mom can still track your cell phone location, idiot!” Hinata says.

“You called Mom?!” Natsu shrieks.

The siblings continue to bicker fiercely. Takeru, now no longer shirtless, cautiously sidles up next to Iwaizumi, figuring he would rather be standing next to him, even if he is mad, than in the middle of… whatever this is.

In the midst of this, Amanai finally clears her throat. “Perhaps we should get everyone back to bed,” she suggests softly. “It is already late, and as you said, we do have matches tomorrow.”

Hinata nods then sarcastically puts out his hands in an “after you!” gesture to Natsu. They walk toward the door, and everyone steps aside out into the hallway to make room. 

“Please tell your captain thank you for contacting me, Amanai-san,” Hinata says with a bow. 

“I certainly will Hinata-san,” she says. 

“And we will talk again in the morning,” he adds to Natsu, who scowls back.

“Give Atsu-nii my best,” she says pointedly, as if to say, I know you’ve got him in your room. It makes Shouyou frown deeper, but Natsu and Amanai leave to return to their rooms before anything else can be said.

Iwaizumi sighs and runs a hand through his hair, feeling weary and spent. “We’d better get back too,” he says, but before he can, quick fingers dart out to catch the sleeve of his jacket.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Hinata says quickly. Iwaizumi is not in any frame of mind for this.

“I’m sorry, I know now is probably not a good time, but I have to,” Hinata begins, his eyes on the floor. Iwaizumi squeezes his eyes closed, trying to keep it together.

“I didn’t know,” Hinata says simply. Iwaizumi opens his eyes and meets Hinata’s serious gaze. He knows almost immediately what he is referring to.

“Please believe me,” he insists, “I had no idea at the time.”

Iwaizumi takes a full breath and slowly lets it out. He is very conscious of Takeru still standing beside him. After a moment he places a hesitant hand on Hinata’s shoulder. 

“It’s ancient history, right?” he says. “Still not thrilled of course, but I believe you.”

Hinata looks relieved, and Iwaizumi takes back his hand, rubbing at his wrist self-consciously. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds quietly, “for earlier in the week.”

”I understand,” Hinata says with a hint of his wide smile peaking through like sunshine coming out from behind thick clouds. “We’re okay now, right?”

”Yeah, I guess,” Iwaizumi sighs, “at least enough to be getting on with.”

When they part ways with quiet goodbyes, Iwaizumi and Takeru walk together back down the hallway and to the elevator in silence. Iwaizumi sends a quick update text to Tora then pockets his phone with a sigh.

”I’m sorry to you too,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “I should never speak to you the way I did. It was out of line.”

Takeru nods solemnly then looks across the elevator at him.

”During it, well… sometimes it almost sounded like you weren’t quite talking to me exactly,” he says carefully. 

Iwaizumi supports himself against the wall and rests the side of his head on the cool, mirrored surface. 

“The points I made were for you,” he says, “it was an irresponsible thing to do, something that probably would not have ruined your career but that would likely affect the way your teammates and coaches see you, how responsible and dependable they think you are.”

”However,” he continues, “the strength and… volatility of the way I expressed that had very little to do with you.”

Takeru nods then quietly crosses to Iwaizumi to lean against him apologetically. It is something he has done since he was little, like when he had accidentally damaged one of Hajime’s figures when he was in kindergarten or shrank a sweater he had borrowed while home for one of his breaks during high school. Hajime recognizes it for the silent apology it is, and he wraps his arm around Takeru’s shoulder tightly in silent forgiveness.

After he deposits Takeru back at his room and places him in the custody of Riseki, he quietly turns his footsteps down the hall to face the silence of his room alone. He finds that there in the uncomfortable quiet as he stares at the ceiling, the unsettling visions of the evening come back to him at full force and batter against his already injured psyche.

He has now chosen to believe and forgive Hinata, and he wants more than anything to be rid of Tooru’s lingering stranglehold of influence over his life, so then where does that leave him? He does not know where to place all of his rage and hurt, all the things he never quite made peace with. He feels ill, and more than anything he misses the calming, steady presence of Wakatoshi next to him in bed. He finds his fingers dialing before he can even think better of it.

”Hajime?” Wakatoshi's voice floats through the receiver, and Hajime lets out a broken kind of sigh, like he is finally letting the support beams that have allowed him to shamble his way through this night settle and crack.

”Did I wake you?” he asks, and his voice is strained. 

“No, I was awake,” Ushijima says softly. “Is everything alright?”

”Ah, yeah,” Hajime half laughs, “I wondered if you might be. Hinata mentioned…”

”Hinata?” Ushijima asks.

”Uh, yeah, umm, I ran into him. Well, rather we were sort of unknowingly working toward the same goal. Ummm.”

Wakatoshi stays quiet, letting Hajime have a chance to work out his words.

”It… well Takeru snuck out. Apparently to meet up with Hinata Natsu. So, well…”

”I see,” Ushijima says, “yes, Tobio got a call earlier.”

”I… I’m not… okay… right now.” Iwaizumi can feel the ache overtaking him as he admits it aloud, quaking through his body.

”Do you need me to come over?” Wakatoshi offers immediately, and Iwaizumi lets out a bitter little laugh.

”I really don’t want to be responsible for half of Schweiden being awake in the middle of the night again because their ace is missing,” Iwaizumi explains.

“Mmm,” Ushijima hums softly in agreement.

”Could you maybe… just stay on the phone with me a while?” Iwaizumi asks. “Just until I fall asleep? It’s just too quiet and… I feel too alone.”

”Of course,” Wakatoshi says gently, “whatever you need.”

Chapter Text

Wakatoshi knows that Hajime is in a funk of epic proportions after his midnight run-in with Hinata. He can feel it radiating off of him, see it in the way he crosses his arms and rolls his neck. 

On the next-to-last day of the tournament, both Schweiden and VCK lose to the Rockets and MSBY, respectively, in the semifinals. Wakatoshi is now just a bit more free to do as he pleases, so he spends the late afternoon before Schweiden’s team dinner in Iwaizumi’s hotel room. He sits with his back to the headboard, legs crossed with Iwaizumi’s head in his lap, running his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair as he replies to Goshiki’s texts about their game earlier in the day.

He looks down at Iwaizumi, who is lying on his side curled up with his eyes closed. Ushijima wishes he could do something more for him to free him from the storm cloud over his head. That is when the idea first blooms, a small little inkling of something that he just hopes more than anything he can execute. However, ever the planner, he wants to have a more fully formed plan before bringing it up to Iwaizumi.

He closes his text thread with Goshiki and opens another, one much less frequently used.

———

Good afternoon Hinata-san. I need a recommendation. 

Where are the best places to go in Osaka?

Ushiwaka!!! Why are you texting my man, hmm?? 🤨

What are you talking about Hinata-san?

Fufufu! This is Atsumu actually.

On Sho’s phone!

He’s in the shower.

And this man does not lock his phone 🙄

What kind of place r u looking for ‘Toshi-kun??

It needs to meet the following criteria: 

fun, not strenuous, preferably indoors, in or very near Osaka

Of course ‘Toshi-kun came prepared with a checklist 😒

Hmmmm. Mkay. Well, aquariums are kind of classic I guess, and that fits your description. 

But I think what I’d recommend is maybe going to the Science Museum to see the planetarium.

It’s indoors, relatively close to this part of the city, pretty chill, and you can sit in the dark and hold hands… 

Or whatever else it is you “totally not dating” people do 😆

Need a dinner recommendation too for your date with Iwaizumi-san?? 😉

It is not a date, Miya-san.

But yes, if you don’t mind.

I gotchu

———

Miya is a fast texter whose quick replies overwhelm Ushijima a bit, but since Miya is actually being quite helpful at the moment, he muddles through it — beggars and choosers and all that. Ushijima is also not quite sure how Miya somehow knows he is planning to go somewhere with Iwaizumi. Though he is content for the moment to just chalk it up to whatever personal magic all the best setters he knows possess that allows them to read situations and people. For some of them, like Tobio, this is an ability that is constrained to the court and perhaps a very select few people outside of that, but for others like Miya, it always seems to be something that bleeds out into their everyday life as well.

Atsumu sends a list of several different restaurants he recommends, and Ushijima spends some time looking them up to decide on which he should present as options to Iwaizumi. 

“Hey,” he says finally, gently stroking back Iwaizumi’s hair, "can I take you somewhere tomorrow?”

Iwaizumi agrees to allow their destination to remain a surprise. Ushijima leads them to the museum, and he can see a little smile start to form at the edges of Iwaizumi’s mouth. When they make their way to the planetarium inside the museum, Hajime closes his eyes and sighs a little.

”Of course it would be this,” he says, but he smiles at Ushijima before quietly stepping forward. “Let’s go in.”

They sit inside and watch the projected sky up on the large domed screen. There are very few people here on this particular day, and Iwaizumi quickly gets absorbed in the presentation with its soothing voiceover and slowly rotating view of the night sky.

Miya’s texts come back to Ushijima’s mind unexpectedly, and he reaches over and takes Iwaizumi’s hand in the dark. For all the kissing and other things they have done up to this point, somehow taking his hand like this feels terribly intimate to Ushijima. Iwaizumi’s hand is warm, and he silently turns it over to thread their fingers together. Then he gently flicks his thumb back and forth over the side of Ushijma’s thumb in a gesture of affection and acceptance. Ushijima can feel a fluttery sort of feeling building in his chest, but he tries to stay calm and focus on enjoying their time together as fully as he can.

After visiting the planetarium and walking around some of the rest of the museum, Ushijima takes Iwaizumi to dinner at a restaurant Miya had highly recommended where they eat and drink wine and talk in hushed, happy voices about everything and nothing at all. Ushijima smiles at the way Hajime’s shoulders have relaxed, the way his laugh actually sounds free and happy, the way his hands and face move without tension when he talks.

The building the restaurant is in also has an outdoor viewing deck that overlooks the city. Once the sun has finally set and night settles in, they go out to take in the view together. The glow of city lights in soft ambers and blues and purples glinting against Hajime’s face and neck is intoxicating to Wakatoshi. He wants to put his hands on him, wants to be alone with him in the dark, feeling his flushed, beautiful skin under his fingers.

“Thank you, Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi whispers, “tonight was exactly what I needed.”

He bumps his shoulder against Ushijima’s arm and continues looking out over the city. 

“It’s interesting you chose a planetarium,” Iwaizumi continues.

“Oh?” Ushijima says softly. Although really it had been Miya’s recommendation, but he supposes it is fine to not say that for the moment.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, “I used to go to them a lot. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve been to the one in Sendai. It’s got a full observatory too, and we used to go all the time.”

“Ah. We… as in me and Tooru, I mean,” he adds quietly.

“Ah, I see,” Ushijima says. They both stand quietly for a moment, looking straight ahead.

“Tooru kind of… had this thing about space,” Iwaizumi explains. “Other than volleyball and I guess maybe me, it was the thing he obsessed over — like planets, stars, black holes, aliens, all of it”

“He’s the reason I can point out constellations and why I got into science fiction. He’s the reason I have the job I do. Really, if I dig hard enough, I can find his influence in nearly everything about me, you know?” Iwaizumi says. 

Ushijima nods slowly.

“But I think,” Iwaizumi continues, “over the past few months everything keeps showing me that he doesn’t have to have such a stranglehold on my life going forward.”

“I can do things on my own or with… with other people,” he adds, cutting his eyes in Ushijima’s direction, “and that’s fine. It’s all fine, and a lot of times enjoyable even.”

They both fall silent again as the gears of Iwaizumi’s head continue turning. He leans forward onto the railing and looks out toward the horizon before straightening his stance again and tipping his head up to the sky.

“So much light pollution here,” he whispers to himself, then he suddenly goes rigidly still.

“Wakatoshi,” he says quietly, “how petty am I allowed to be on this new path to self-fulfillment, exactly?”

“Petty?” Ushijima asks, looking over at him. Iwaizumi turns his head to meet his eyes, and the wind whips through his hair.

“I used to go to these places with Tooru sometimes… they’re called Dark Sky Places,” he explains. “Basically they are places without a lot of man-made lights where you can see the stars really clearly.”

“There used to be three in Japan, and I’ve been to all of those, but now there’s a fourth,” Iwaizumi explains, “one that just got designated in the last couple of years, so Tooru and I never got to go. It’s… well, I mean it’s not exactly close close to here, but it’s closer to Osaka than it is to Tokyo, and I think… well, I think I kind of want to go.”

Ushijima looks at him carefully, quietly assessing.

“But is that, like… too petty of me?” Iwaizumi asks, and Ushijima thinks for a moment.

“Is it something you want to do for you, or something you want to do just because you know he might dislike it?” Ushijima asks, and Iwaizumi considers it carefully.

“Irritating him a bit might be a nice bonus, but no,” Iwaizumi finally says, looking up at the sky above them. “I always liked going. It always made me feel calm, like weirdly at peace. It makes me feel small, in a good way.”

“But I haven’t been to any since he and I broke up,”  Iwaizumi continues. “It’s maybe a little intimidating, and I don’t know what my head’s going to be like. But, I think it’s time. I just, I know I need to try to let more things go.” 

“Then, we should go,” Ushijima says firmly. “You’ll have a few days off after the tournament, right? So tomorrow, let’s just not go home yet. We can spend a couple of days there.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes go a bit wide, but then a soft smile settles on his face.

“I mean, if you’ll allow me to join you, that is,” Ushijima says.

Iwaizumi tips his head and raises a brow as if to say, of course.

“And if it's okay, I would really like to take care of everything,” Ushijima adds quietly. “Can I please plan it for you?”

His first ever last minute plan seems to be going swimmingly so far after all, and he really wants Iwaizumi to enjoy this as fully as he can. Ushijima understands that even if they have a great time, this trip might stir up some complicated feelings for Iwaizumi. He wants to take on as much of the tedium of logistics as he can, so that hopefully Hajime can have a relaxing time.

*******

Ushijima is really starting to maybe get the allure of this whole last minute plans thing, although overall he still acknowledges he could not live like this on a regular basis.

He had succeeded in booking a stay in a room with an adjoining private onsen they can stargaze from. Once he had managed it, he had been ecstatic to tell Hajime, feeling like he might somehow manage to vibrate out of his own skin from the excitement. After managing that, he confirms with his team to let them know he is making his own way back home, and he books their transportation both there and back to Tokyo. 

They arrive just as night falls and check into their room, which has a western style bed. It had been the only option left open, but since they are both fairly used to sleeping in either type of accommodations, it had not really mattered to Ushijima.

Upon arrival they quickly shower then step into the private outdoor bath that adjoins the room. Iwaizumi leans back against Ushijima’s chest and tells him about any constellations he can remember while Ushijima softly skims his fingers over his side and kisses his shoulders and neck.

“You know,” Wakatoshi says after a while, still looking up at the sky, “I looked and there are some of these dark sky places in California too. Maybe next time I visit my dad, if you would want to go with me, we could go to one of those.”

”You would want me to?” Iwaizumi asks. “I’m not bad company?” 

“Never,” Ushijima says quickly, sitting up a little straighter as if to defend Iwaizumi’s honor from his own question, “you are excellent company. I would be okay with going most anywhere or doing most anything if it is with you.” 

Iwaizumi begins to feel a little bonfire of want crackling in him, the warmth of fondness tipping over to become flames of need. His eyes smolder as he turns over to straddle Ushijima’s lap and slowly runs his hands up his arms and shoulders. 

“Are there things you want to do with me, Wakatoshi?” he asks, his voice low and purring. 

He closes the distance between them and kisses Ushijima gently, moving his lips slowly at first. One of his hands slides up to the back of his neck, and he presses their lips together more firmly, deepening their kiss.

Ushijima parts his lips, inviting him in, and their tongues slide against each other slowly. They savor the buzzing, beautiful feeling of growing hazy, of drowning in the intimacy and passion of the moment. Ushijima’s hands run down Iwaizumi’s body until they skim over his hips then land on the plush curve of his ass and squeeze. Iwaizumi gasps, breaking apart their kiss.

“Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi says in a low, breathy whisper that sends an intense warmth through Ushijima’s core and makes him shiver at the same time. “I think… I might be ready now.”

“Ready?” Ushijima asks, his mouth running dry. He knows what he thinks Iwaizumi means, but he is not getting his hopes up just yet. 

“I want you,” Hajime whispers. He is panting lightly, but his words are careful, slow. “I want to have sex with you.”

“You’re certain?” Wakatoshi asks quietly.

“I’m certain,” Hajime says. “I don’t really know exactly how I’ll feel, but… the last few days, this trip, it just has me wanting to keep taking steps forward, to do things I’ve been avoiding. I know this is what I want, and… I want it to be with you.”

“I do too,” Wakatoshi admits. 

They are quiet then, a little shy. A new path has opened before them and all that remains is to grasp each other by the hand and see what lies down it.

Hajime slides his hand into Wakatoshi’s and rises from the water, bidding him to follow. They silently towel off, the anticipation rising. Iwaizumi has to fight not to look to see how aroused either of them are. After drying off quickly, they wrap themselves up in yukatas for the time being. Hajime takes Wakatoshi’s hand again, and they sit together on the edge of the bed.

“We haven’t talked about it at all… umm, sex, I mean,” Iwaizumi finally says.

“Yeah,” Ushijima says bashfully. 

“So, how do you want things to be?” Hajime leaves it as open-ended as he can, hoping Wakatoshi can give them a starting point to work from.

“I do not like to do anything too rough,” Ushijima says. “I am… sort of boring I guess. So my apologies.” 

“Well you don’t have to be rough to be interesting,” Hajime says, smoothing Wakatoshi’s hair back. 

“I assume… you want me to bottom?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima looks away and shifts a little. “Is that what you prefer?” he asks.

“It’s just what I’ve most often done,” Iwaizumi says, studying him carefully.

“But do you… is that how you want things to be or?” Wakatoshi tries again, floundering.

“How do you want things to be, Wakatoshi?” Hajime asks, looking at him expectantly, leaving no room for wiggling away.

There is an awkward silence as Wakatoshi tries to form what he wants to say and Hajime tries to do what Wakatoshi normally does for him, give him space to think.

“It just seems like maybe my assumption wasn’t correct,” Iwaizumi says after a while of watching Ushijima’s conflicted, furrowed brow. “I’m sorry for assuming at all. Tell me, please. This is… I mean, I don’t need to tell you how big a deal this is for me, so I really want it to feel good for us both.” 

“I am okay with either,” Ushijima finally says, “but I have a bit of a preference for bottoming.” 

Ushijima spits it out quickly then hides his face, burying it in his hands. “I have previously been expected to top a lot, though.” 

“Why?” Hajime asks, gently taking Wakatoshi’s hands and sliding them away from his face.

“I suppose because I am usually bigger than the person I am with,” he explains, “and with my personality and job they expect me to be more… in charge of the situation, I suppose?” 

“Mmmm,” Iwaizumi hums low and long in acknowledgment. Now that he knows what Wakatoshi wants, he takes it as his cue to begin. 

“What a pity for them,” Iwaizumi says, his voice dipping low as he moves the fabric of Wakatoshi’s yukata aside with gentle fingers and kisses up the side of his neck. “Talk about a wasted opportunity.”

Hajime slides a hand up to Wakatoshi’s neck and kisses his lips briefly, leaving him chasing for more.

“Because I personally can’t imagine anything hotter than the thought of getting you to come apart on my cock.”

It is the exact kind of change that has happened to Hajime every time they have done anything physical. It is the switch he flips over into his sensual side, and it makes Wakatoshi shiver and sweat every time.

“Although,” he says, tipping Wakatoshi back gently, running a hand over his broad chest that begins to peek out, “do we have what we need to get you worked open? I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I — yes. I have some,” Wakatoshi admits bashfully. Iwaizumi looks as if he might want to tease him a bit, but he refrains. Instead he chooses to smile down at him while continuing to move his hand over his bare chest, under the folds of his yukata.

“Where is it, angel?” Hajime asks, and Wakatoshi already feels like he might die if he is going to keep calling him that every time.

“In the bathroom, the small black bag with my shower things,” Wakatoshi says quickly, glancing down at how Hajime's fingers splay and slide over his skin.

“Okay, sit tight,” Hajime says before placing a quick kiss on his lips and getting off the bed to walk to the bathroom.

Wakatoshi tries to just breathe and relax. He is hardly able to believe they are actually about to do this, and that he is going to get to experience their first time together in the way he prefers. 

“O-ho?!” Hajime exclaims excitedly from the bathroom. Wakatoshi startles and leans up on one of his elbows.

“What is it?” he calls.

Hajime comes out of the bathroom holding something in each hand. The bottle of lubricant is in one, which is no surprise, but Hajime slightly raises his other hand that holds something made of purple silicone. Wakatoshi blanches, cursing himself for forgetting.

“Care to tell me about your friend here?” Hajime says with a light smirk.

Wakatoshi flops back onto the bed and covers his eyes with his hands again. He is not very accustomed to embarrassment, even when it comes to intimate matters, but somehow this with Hajime feels different. Perhaps it is because of the months of anticipation, or perhaps just simply because he is already so in love with him, but he wants all of this to go perfectly.

“Hey,” Hajime says gently, and Wakatoshi can feel the bed dip as he sits. 

“It’s okay,” he says and begins to slowly smooth back Wakatoshi’s hair, “this is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Wakatoshi splays his fingers to peek up at Hajime and relaxes just a bit once he sees his kind face.

“I’m sorry for teasing you,” Hajime adds, “but I do want to know more about what feels good to you.” 

“Like, for instance, do you bring this with you everywhere?” he asks, holding it up to inspect again.

Wakatoshi snaps his fingers shut. “Not always,” he answers.

“Oh?” Hajime says, curious. “So why this time?”

“It is…” Wakatoshi wavers and then sighs.

“Sometimes, if I get too… mmm, keyed up, I suppose I would call it,” he begins to explain, “when I have excess energy or anxiety I mean — I can get easily overwhelmed if I do not do something about it. So, sometimes… I need to… find release, so to speak, in order to be in proper condition.”

“I see,” Hajime says softly, non-judgmentally. 

Wakatoshi hesitantly removes his hands from his eyes and instead fiddles with the narrow obi around his waist as he speaks.

“Typically if we are only away for a day or two, I do not feel the need to… ah, that is to say… well, I can take care of it with no extra… equipment,” he continues, and Hajime huffs a soft laugh at his choice of words. 

“But if we are away for longer, I find it easier to manage with… ‘my friend,’ as you called it,” he says. His face feels burning red now, and he still cannot quite meet Hajime’s eyes.

“That’s good to know,” Hajime says in a low, slow tone, and Wakatoshi’s eyes slide to him, unable to help it. Hajime’s gaze has once again turned hungry, wanting. 

“Will you let me use this on you, Wakatoshi?” he asks.

Wakatoshi knows he must be completely red now, if he was not already before, but he nods and gives a quiet “yes” that is met with Hajime’s understanding smile.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, taking one of Wakatoshi’s hands and placing a kiss on his wrist before dropping their hands back to the bed and tangling their fingers together.

“I am… very out of practice,” Hajime admits, carding his far hand quickly through the hair near the nape of his neck, “but I’m going to try my best for you, okay?”

Wakatoshi nods, feeling the affection in his chest swell.

“But here’s your job,” Hajime continues, “you have to tell me what feels good. No putting up with unpleasant pain or giving me faux enthusiasm, understand?”

Wakatoshi nods in agreement, and Hajime smiles back at him. 

“Okay then, ready?” he asks, and Wakatoshi can only breathlessly agree.

Hajime gently parts Wakatoshi’s yukata both at the chest and at the legs, laying him mostly bare. He ghosts his fingers over Wakatoshi’s skin, sliding along his chest, his thighs, then between his legs. Wakatoshi lays still, shuddering with each light flick and swirl of Hajime’s fingers.

“Can you spread your legs more for me, please?” Hajime asks as he uncaps the lubricant. Wakatoshi opens his legs, letting his knees fall to either side of him at wide angles.

Hajime starts with his fingers, first covering them in lubricant then slowly working in one, and then two, and then another. Wakatoshi gasps with each new addition, enjoying the warmth and stretch of Hajime slowly sliding and fanning out his fingers. Everything about it feels both leisurely and thorough, an act of care Hajime is doing for him to make sure he is going to be properly satisfied.

“More?” Hajime finally asks once he has spent plenty of time working him with his fingers.

“Yes, please,” Wakatoshi sighs, and Hajime wastes no time in spreading lubricant onto Wakatoshi’s unique travel companion.

He pushes it in slowly, almost agonizingly so. It makes Wakatoshi want to squirm and whine, but he tries to hold still.

“Breathe, angel,” Hajime says, and Wakatoshi tries to do as he says. 

“Already got you that worked up?” Hajime asks with a little smirk.

Once he has pushed it most of the way in, he leans up near his ear and asks, “how do you like it, Wakatoshi? Want me to start slow?”

“Yes, slow,” he breathes out, then his eyes flutter closed as Hajime begins to move it in and out of him with a gentle, dragging rhythm. 

After a few minutes of slow thrusts, Wakatoshi already begins to moan and get drippy, and Hajime cannot hold himself back anymore. He continues to move the toy in and out of him as he also takes the head of Wakatoshi’s cock into his mouth then quickly plunges his lips down almost to its base.

Wakatoshi gasps and his eyes fly open as Hajime pushes his accomplice into Wakatoshi as deep as it will go then begins to slowly work him with his lips and tongue. It builds him up almost far too quickly, and he begins to whine.

“Mmm,” Iwaizumi hums as he moves his mouth up and separates it from Wakatoshi with a sinful little smack. 

“You’re quite a big boy, aren’t you?” Hajime says. “I think I like it. I’m probably going to have to put in a bit of work in case we ever decide I should take yours.”

Wakatoshi  feels like his whole body is on fire just from Hajime’s words. He has known for a little while that Hajime can say some salacious things during intimate moments, but it has never been quite this intense.

When he moves his mouth back down to swirl his tongue over his tip, Wakatoshi whimpers and grips at his shoulder.

“Wait,” he gasps softly, and Hajime immediately stops and looks up at him.

“I will finish too soon,” Wakatoshi says, taking quick breaths and looking down at Hajime. 

“I want… I want more,” he says, “I want you.”

Hajime smiles and runs his fingers lightly through the soft hair over Wakatoshi’s pubic bone.

“Of course, angel,” he says, never taking his eyes off of him, “tonight you get whatever you like.”

Hajime undoes the obi at Wakatoshi’s waist with one hand at the same time he yanks off his own with the other, then he tosses them both to the side with zero regard. He never takes his eyes off of Wakatoshi, and his hands roam freely over the smooth plane of his stomach and chest. 

Hajime shrugs off his loose yukata and Wakatoshi can see that he is completely erect. He wants him so badly. He has been waiting for ages — about eight months since he first confessed in California.

“Ready?” Hajime checks one last time.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi confirms breathlessly, “I want it.”

Hajime uncaps the lubricant again and squeezes some into his hand. He makes himself slick with a few quick strokes then grabs the base of his opening act and slowly pulls it out of Wakatoshi. It is sent offstage somewhere (the other side of the bed) to make way for the headliner now.

“Put your knees up a bit, okay?” Hajime whispers, then he gently helps Wakatoshi into a comfortable position. He grasps himself in one hand and firmly presses the top of one of Wakatoshi’s thighs with the other as he aligns himself and slowly presses forward. 

Hajime lets out a shaky sigh as the head fully sinks into him. He keeps pushing forward slowly, and Wakatoshi grasps at his forearms, wanting him closer, deeper.

Hajime bottoms out with a soft little moan, then he stills, looking to Wakatoshi to see how he is doing.

“We are actually…” Wakatoshi says, a bit dazed. “It is really happening.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says with a smile and a soft kiss on his chest. “It’s really happening.”

“Does it feel okay?” he asks, and Wakatoshi smiles back.

“It feels incredible,” Wakatoshi says, “but I really want to feel you move, please. I am ready.”

Hajime does as Wakatoshi says and begins rocking his hips to push in and out of him. It has been such a long time for both of them, and the knowledge that they are actually, finally, truly having sex has both of their hearts nearly bursting from how overwhelming it feels.

Tears are already threatening to gather at the corner of Wakatoshi’s eyes, but he refuses to cry and make Hajime worry he might be hurting him. Hajime too feels like he could cry, but he also holds it back for Wakatoshi’s sake. Nothing about being the man Wakatoshi desires makes Hajime feel sad. Rather, it is simply a milestone that is full of emotion, the closing of a bitter, difficult chapter and the opening of what he hopes will be a better one.

Hajime’s senses are quickly getting overwhelmed. Wakatoshi looks so good underneath him, being rocked by his thrusts, panting and moaning from the leisurely pace Hajime uses to take him. Hajime cannot help but reach for him, holding onto him closely as he continues to thrust into him. Wakatoshi moans then winds his arms around the back of his neck and hooks his ankles behind his back, not wanting to lose any degree of closeness between them.

“I’m getting closer,” Hajime says, his breaths becoming a little ragged. “You want me to pull out when —“

“No!” Wakatoshi interrupts, tightening his hold reflexively then consciously relaxing his limbs back to how they were before. “I want you to do it in me, please. I — I like it.”

Hajime’s eyes blow wide, the corner of his lips quirking upward. Wakatoshi can practically see little glints and glimmers coming off of him, almost how he has sometimes seen spikers look when they are sent a perfect toss. Hajime snaps his hips forward harder, forcing a sinful sound out of Wakatoshi’s throat.

“What a slutty thing to say,” Hajime says, his voice full of barely contained glee and need. He ups the tempo of his thrusts, finally hitting deeper and faster.

“So you like being filled up?” he asks, his voice catching with each thrust. “You want me to cum inside you?”

Wakatoshi nods eagerly, his mouth parted. His breath is being drawn out of him with each thrust, and the abrupt change in the atmosphere from something sweet and tender to something colored with carnality and lust has his head spinning in the best possible way. 

Hajime moans low in his throat and grips into the flesh of Wakatoshi’s hips with his fingertips.

“And what if I plug you up afterward?” he asks. “Keep you full and stretched until you're ready for me to do it again? Hmm?”

Wakatoshi lets out a soft little mmm from the back of his throat, somewhere between a whine and a moan. Hajime can feel him tighten around him momentarily, and he feels almost prideful.

“Fuck, baby,” Hajime says breathily, “you feel so good. How the hell did anybody resist letting you bottom for them? Shit.”

If Wakatoshi thought ‘angel’ was rough, somehow ‘baby’ hits him even harder. His head tips back and his back arches up. Hajime slides his fingers into the space made under his hips to grip them tighter, and he begins to pull them into him with each thrust.

Wakatoshi moans and begins to feel like his brain may be frying. It is almost too good, too special. None of the people he has previously been with have been able to do this, to make him actually feel like he is truly being topped. 

Even all those many years ago with Tendou, who had always been a supreme pleasure seeker equally satisfied with anything that feels good, something had always not quite lived up to the fullness of Wakatoshi’s desires. Since that time, he has mostly been with partners who prefer to, or sometimes even only, receive. 

People tend to cast him as an always-top in their minds before ever even asking. Then in cases when he had gotten a chance to talk about his true preferences, they had usually quickly been disregarded. Wakatoshi knows what he looks like — big and tall, ungodly stamina, able to manhandle just about anyone if they desire it, and the downstairs equipment to match. One previous partner had even mentioned that to have Wakatoshi bottom would be “a waste.”

To hear Hajime insist that it would be a wasted opportunity not to let Wakatoshi have what he desires, to know that he enjoys the way it feels to be inside him, to have him suggest that everything about this is irresistible even… well, how could that not have an effect? Wakatoshi had perhaps expected sex with Hajime might feel a little special, given his own intense feelings and the months of pining. What he had never anticipated, or even quite dared hope for, is Hajime using his 180 cm frame, which is significantly shorter than Wakatoshi’s own 194, to completely smash through any preconceived notions about how Wakatoshi can be (and deserves to be) fucked.

All of this already has Wakatoshi feeling slightly off kilter, but in a way he finds gratifying and perhaps even pleasant. So when Hajime lightly pushes his shoulders back down to the mattress and moves a hand down to stroke his length in time with the thrusts, it tips him even further into a sea of overwhelming sensation that causes his mouth to open and any number of positively indecent sounds to fly out.

“C’mon, angel. You’ve gotta cum for me, please,” Hajime pleads, nearly panting. “I want to make sure you get off before I’m allowed to fill you up like you want.”

Wakatoshi gasps, eyes alternately blowing wide and then tightly scrunching closed. It is too much, too good, so perfect… and he knows it will not be long at all. It begins with a slight tremble, just a tiny little shake in his legs. However, as Hajime starts hitting deeper and faster, brushing up against that just-right spot that makes Wakatoshi want it loud and messy and wild, his limbs begin to fully quake. 

“You look so pretty like that,” Hajime says, now practically gasping himself, “so perfect when you’re about to lose it for me.” His hand and hips never stop, continuing their relentless pursuit of Wakatoshi’s pleasure.

“Ahh, you’re so close, aren’t you?” Hajime asks. “I can feel it.” His eyes slip closed and Wakatoshi can hear him panting openly. 

“Do it for me, baby. You can do it,” he adds pitifully, trying, and succeeding, to coax Wakatoshi further to the edge with his words. 

“C’mon, baby. Cum for me,” he pleads. The tempo of his hips reaches its peak until he is thrusting into him with each word as if for emphasis. “Cum. On. My. Cock!”

Wakatoshi suddenly bursts, shooting onto his own stomach and chest with unusual force, then continuing to drip down Hajime’s hand. At the same time, he tightens involuntarily, and Hajime lets out a half-strangled cry of need and pleasure as he bottoms out and finds his own release immediately after. 

“Mmmph… fuck!” Hajime exclaims. He keeps himself mostly buried deep in Wakatoshi but rides out every wave of his orgasm with short little rocks forward and back to coax out every last drop. Wakatoshi can feel it twitch with each spurt, and the knowledge that Hajime is cumming inside him has him feverish through his entire body. He feels cock-drunk, overstimulated, insane. He only wants more — to be gluttonous, debaucherous… slutty, as Hajime had said. He wants so many things he has never wanted before.

Hajime plops down on top of him, not caring about the cum on Wakatoshi that smears all over his chest. He does not retreat, rather remains inside him and wraps his arms around him to enjoy the warmth of his skin.

“Wakatoshi,” he whispers, trying to even out his breaths, “do you actually want me to keep you full?”

Hajime turns his face, still resting it against his chest, and looks up to meet Wakatoshi’s gaze.

“Can we really?” Ushijima asks, and Hajime smiles at the sparkly look in his eyes.

“We can do whatever you like, angel,” Hajime purrs. He stretches out his arm to grab Wakatoshi’s “friend” and bring it into view.

“I can use this to keep you ready and full of my cum, if that’s really what you want,” he says.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi breathes out, “I want it, please.”

“Then you can have it,” Hajime says, planting a kiss near his shoulder and using his arms to tip himself back up.

Once he is back to his knees, he begins slowly pulling himself out of Wakatoshi. When only the tip is still left, he readies his temporary replacement, and begins to slide it into him the exact moment he slides himself the rest of the way out.

Wakatoshi whines and moans in the back of his throat quietly as Hajime slowly pushes it back into him. Once he has nearly taken it to the base, Hajime repositions his hand with his palm against the flat bottom surface and gives one final press to push it in place. 

Wakatoshi shivers and sighs, relaxing fully into the bed. Hajime rises and pads quietly to the bathroom to wipe himself off and returns with a warm, wet cloth to clean Wakatoshi. 

“Do you like it?” Hajime asks as he swipes the cloth gently over Wakatoshi’s chest.

“Mmm,” Wakatoshi says with a slow but emphatic nod. His eyes are closed and his breathing has evened.

“I feel like I’m learning a lot of new things about you tonight,” Hajime says. He rises again to take the cloth back to the bathroom then returns to the bed, lying down beside Wakatoshi.

“So am I,” Wakatoshi says, and he knows he means both about Hajime and about himself.

“Although now I worry that every time our teams play each other I might get hot and bothered wondering if you’ve gotten off beforehand,” Hajime says with a little laugh.

“Well, if I had my way…” Wakatoshi starts quickly, then he thinks better of it and clamps his mouth shut.

“Mmm? Tell me,” Hajime leaning against him and whispering close to his ear.

“If I had my way,” he begins again, slowly this time, “then you would not have to wonder, because you will have been the one to do it.”

Hajime moans lightly in the back of his throat, closing his eyes. “Damn, you’re killing me already.” 

Wakatoshi can feel the beginnings of Hajime already gaining his arousal back pressing against his hip, and his stomach swoops with the knowledge that Hajime has implied he is nowhere near done with him yet.

“It’s kind of interesting, though,” Hajime adds, looking back up at the ceiling.

“What is?” Wakatoshi asks.

“Well, I’ve been with a professional athlete before, right?” he says. Wakatoshi does not particularly love to think about that, but he nods anyway. 

“The reason I’ve mostly bottomed in the past is because I always figured it would potentially mess up… my partner’s game, you know? Like it would have them not in the best condition,” Hajime says.

Wakatoshi does not miss how he avoids saying his name, and he is pretty thankful for it actually. Perhaps the most awkward part of hearing anything about Hajime’s intimate past is that there is no potential anonymity to it, like if Wakatoshi himself were to refer to “a man I used to date.” Hajime’s sexual history is just entirely Oikawa. Well, it used to be, he reminds himself, quite pleased about that.

“But then here you are,” Hajime continues, “sometimes even needing it to feel like you’re in top form. That’s just really interesting.”

“I will say that it can be a hindrance if it is too roughly done or if it is for a prolonged period,” Ushijima explains, “I am certainly not invincible.”

He looks over at Hajime again, drawing his gaze.

“But thankfully I do not have to worry about that right now, since I have a few off days,” he adds.

Hajime smirks, his eyes suddenly half-lidded again. “Is that your way of saying you want me to mess you up?” he asks.

“That is my way of saying I expect you to,” Wakatoshi says, giving in to the banter and sounding bolder than he usually feels.

Hajime makes sure to live up to Wakatoshi’s expectations. His stamina is surprisingly good, especially for someone very out of practice in topping. Hajime takes him again and again, switching to any position he requests at any tempo. He has a particularly pleasant time gripping finger marks into Wakatoshi’s hips as he thrusts into him from behind, hard enough that Wakatoshi has to really try to keep from accidentally being pushed forward into the headboard. Hajime misses seeing his face though, so he pulls out of Wakatoshi and has him turn around to straddle him while he remains in a kneeling position. 

Hajime slips his cock back inside Wakatoshi and thrusts upward. He has Wakatoshi’s back up against the headboard, and once he is inside him he grasps at his ankles and pulls them up and back the rests them on his shoulders. All of Wakatoshi’s weight is now concentrated straight down on Hajime’s hips so he can use gravity and Wakatoshi’s own body weight to get even deeper.

“Tell me if anything is too much, okay?” he says softly, but he has seen Wakatoshi stretch before. He knows what an unexpected pretzel he is.

After a while, Hajime catches Wakatoshi’s eyes wandering elsewhere, so he checks in with him gently.

“Everything okay?” Hajime whispers, slowing his thrusts. “Do we need to take a break?”

“No, I… was looking at the mirror,” Wakatoshi pants heavily, “I can see you, the way you look when you thrust into me, and I just…”

Hajime turns his neck to look over his shoulder to the full-length mirror across the room. Wakatoshi is correct, he can see Hajime’s entire body from here, including the way his back and shoulders and glutes engage as he thrusts into Wakatoshi.

“Ohh, I see,” he says low in his throat, looking back at Wakatoshi with lustful intent. “So you like a show.”

He slowly removes Wakatoshi’s legs from his shoulders then pulls out and backs away slightly to bend and stretch them with his practiced hands.

“What are we doing?” Wakatoshi asks shakily as Hajime climbs off the bed and offers his hand.

“I’m moving you to the front row, baby,” he says with a smirk as he strips the bed of its fluffy comforter then does a quick, messy fold before placing it on the floor in front of the mirror.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “gotta protect your knees though.” 

Hajime tells Wakatoshi to get on his hands and knees facing the mirror, then he immediately slots behind him with his legs fitting just inside Wakatoshi’s. He pushes his cock back into him, and Wakatoshi thinks he will resume as before, but instead he grabs both of Wakatoshi’s arms and hauls him up to a kneeling position with his arms pulled behind him and held in place at the wrists by Hajime’s right hand. 

His left hand winds around to the front of Wakatoshi’s neck, guiding his head back so that his gaze falls on the mirror in front of them. He can see Hajime’s eyes practically glittering behind him just over his shoulder. 

“If you really want a show, you should see what you look like when I fuck you,” Hajime coos in his smooth low tones near Wakatoshi’s ear. Hajime uses his knees to spread Wakatoshi’s legs further apart and thrusts up into him roughly, drawing a gasp out of his throat. 

“You just look so fuckable, don’t you think?” Hajime says, his hips beginning to move in a smooth, slow rhythm. Wakatoshi looks at his own face, but he finds a man he barely recognizes staring back at him. 

He has gotten somewhat used to seeing his own face plastered across all manner of websites, social media posts, newspapers, and sometimes even giant banners. Wakatoshi knows from both his own mirror and everything else around him what his face is supposed to look like — stoic but not mean, serious but not too intimidating. It is a coached face, actually, at this point in his career, meant to make him more palatable to the world at large. 

The face he sees in this mirror now is nothing like that. His eyes are half-lidded partly from carnal desire and partly from pure sexual exertion. His mouth hangs half open letting out pants and gasps and moans unchecked, his tongue practically falling right out. His skin is pink, completely flushed from the heat and overstimulation of Hajime taking their amorous activities deep into the evening, nearly to the middle of the night. Then directly below his face is Hajime’s hand splayed against his neck, guiding his gaze and holding him in a way that feels at once both mildly possessive and comforting. He takes it all in and then instinctively knows that this is the face that is most palatable, perhaps delicious even, to Hajime in particular, because the look in his eyes when Wakatoshi makes this face says he wants to devour him whole.

”Look at your body, angel,” Hajime whispers, moving the hand on his neck slowly down the rest of his torso, “this wide chest, your perfect stomach…”

”Just look at the way your hips flex,” he says, grasping at his left hip and pulling down as he thrusts up.

”And your thighs,” he continues, running his fingernails over them lightly to make Wakatoshi shiver. 

“And of course, we can’t forget this,” Iwaizumi says, wrapping his hand around him and beginning to stroke. “You have the most beautiful cock, Wakatoshi.”

All of Hajime’s words of praise have deepened Wakatoshi’s light pink flush to a darker, blotchy red. His entire face and chest feels hot, like he is burning a deep fever.

”Wanna see what I get to see when I watch you cum?” Hajime asks.

Wakatoshi just squirms and moans, because as deeply embarrassed as he feels, his stomach also swoops with need at the idea of watching Hajime take him apart.

Hajime begins to move faster, thrusting as deep as he can and trying to stroke Wakatoshi at the same time. However his energy is beginning to wane from the hours they have spent enjoying each other. He has perhaps topped too close to the sun, as it were. 

Wakatoshi tries to be helpful, moving his hips up and down as best he can in his restrained position. If he wanted to move out of Hajime’s grasp it would take absolutely no force at all, but Wakatoshi finds he likes Hajime’s hands on him, gently moving him or holding him in place.

”Let me,” Wakatoshi gasps after a while, “I can touch.”

Hajime lets go of his loose hold on his hands, and Wakatoshi brings one around to stroke himself. Hajime’s hands both move to Wakatoshi’s hips and with his last burst of energy, he moves as quickly and deep as he can manage. At this point, their bodies both ache, but the soreness also feels somehow transcendent in nature or deliciously, delicately divine. Continuing feels like the comfort of flat consistent pressure against a forming bruise.

Wakatoshi climaxes first, cumming with a dripping seep and a shattered cry from his throat. Hajime tries to reach his peak as quickly as he can, then he finally does with little fanfare and great gasping breaths.

When they try to stand, their limbs are both shaky, but they manage to make it to the bathroom, take a record-breaking quick shower, towel off, then wrap themselves in the comfort of plush blankets and each other’s warm embrace back in their bed.

”Wakatoshi,” Hajime says sleepily into the now dark room.

”What is it?” Wakatoshi whispers, sounding just as spent.

”I hope you know that the things I say are true,” Hajime says. “I don’t say things for just the fun of the moment or to get a rise out of you.”

“I know that,” Wakatoshi says, sliding his fingers into Hajime’s hair.

“I just… I don’t want you to think that because I haven’t quite been able to match where you are yet, it doesn’t mean that I don’t…” Hajime stops short, his voice cracking.

“Shhh,” Wakatoshi says, bringing him even closer and kissing the top of his head. “I know, I promise.”

They lay quietly after that and their breathing becomes even and shallow. Hajime begins to sink slowly into sleep thinking of all the things he is starting to wish he could do, to wish he could say. As he slips gently into unconsciousness the words that died in his throat are the last to pass through his mind.

It doesn’t mean I don’t love you too.

Chapter Text

It happens on an ordinary Tuesday. 

The day itself is fairly unremarkable, a few weeks after Kurowashiki. Iwaizumi and Kageyama are both over at Ushijima’s apartment. He had been a bit hesitant the first time, still new to making exceptions by having anyone in his space, much less two people at once. However, since their fateful Miyagi road-trip, it has happened a few times now.

They are all in the kitchen with Ushijima doing most of the cooking, Iwaizumi assisting, and Kageyama sitting at the counter keeping them company and sneaking cut carrot pieces from the board in front of him. When Iwaizumi spills some sauce down his shirt, he sops it up as best he can, and Ushijima asks if he needs a clean shirt.

“No, it’s fine. I should have one in my drawer.”

He says it so offhandedly, casually even, but then he realizes what he has said and it echoes in his head with every step he takes toward Ushijima’s bedroom. They had not even seen fit to banish Iwaizumi’s clothes to the guest room. 

He thinks it is probably the first time he has said it aloud. My drawer, something Iwaizumi calls his own inside Wakatoshi’s apartment. He steps up to the object of his confusion and opens it. It is filled to the brim with shirts and shorts and other clothes of Iwaizumi’s, everything he would need to be able to stay here even at a moment’s notice.

This is dating. We are already dating. 

Iwaizumi feels like he might have a panic attack. He tries to keep breathing and picks out a full new outfit with fumbling fingers.

“It’s a bit worse than I thought,” he says as he comes back out into the living area of the apartment, “mind if I take a quick shower?”

“Of course,” Ushijima says, not turning from his task, “you know you are welcome to whatever you need.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes catch Kageyama’s just for a moment, and they are silent, focused, assessing. 

He scuttles away into the bathroom as quickly as he can and hides behind the closed door.

Iwaizumi strips quickly and douses his head under the shower stream. We are dating, he repeats to himself over and over. 

How did this happen? When did this happen? He is trying not to panic or to get overwhelmed. 

More importantly, what does it mean? His mind demands answers that he does not have. Are we… boyfriends, then? Should we become official?

Right as Iwaizumi’s internal spiral intensifies in the bathroom, back in the kitchen Kageyama sighs. 

“Wakatoshi, are you ever going to tell me what on earth is going on there?”

“Where?” he asks, turning to look at him.

“Between you and Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama clarifies.

“Oh. Well…” Ushijima is not really sure what to say these days. 

“We are… close, I suppose?” he says vaguely.

Kageyama looks at him with an entirely unimpressed expression. “It seems to be a bit more than that,” he adds.

“Yes, I think I would agree,” Ushijima concedes.

“So are you together, or what?” Tobio asks more bluntly. 

“No,” Ushijima says.

“Are you sure?” Kageyama is not letting it go so easily. “He has a drawer in your bedroom, Wakatoshi.”

“I have told him my feelings, and some… things have happened… such as, well, sort of intimate things,” Ushijima explains a bit bashfully, “but we are still just friends for right now I think.”

Instead of clarity, Ushijima sees concern overtake Kageyama’s face.

“And are you okay with that?” he asks in a low, serious tone. “Are you fine with being just friends?”

Wakatoshi pauses. “Well, of course I want more,” he says, “but there are some things that need to be resolved first. I am just trying to be patient.”

“Wakatoshi,” Kageyama begins, his voice shaking just a little, “take it from someone who knows what it is to wait — sometime or other, you’re going to have to decide where you draw the line.”

Wakatoshi looks at him with a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head.

“Maybe you can wait for him forever,” Kageyama continues, “maybe he does mean that much to you. But that’s a long time. And are you really prepared to still have feelings for him no matter what happens?”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Wakatoshi asks. He is referring to the first part, about Kageyama “knowing what it is to wait,” but Tobio latches onto the last instead.

“Like for instance,” Kageyama says while looking at him and then down at the table with a sigh, “what if your paths in life suddenly aren’t the same.” 

Kageyama looks at Ushijima pointedly, willing him to understand his implication.

“What happens if you think you’re finally about to be on the same page but now your goals are different so he decides he needs space, and time apart? What if he tells you you both have things you need to accomplish, separately?”

Ushijima blinks, the tilt of his head deepening. Kageyama slides his fingers into his hair and props his head up with his arms, elbows planted into the counter.

“What if you really are so madly in love with him that you’re willing to wait, and you think, no this is actually good, that he’s supposed to be going after his own dreams, and however long it takes is fine — but then what if not long after, he ends up fucking around with someone else?”

Kageyama’s eyes glaze over, and he has allowed himself to slip out of the present moment. Ushijima knows this look — the one Kageyama gets when his mind has thrown him backward into an unpleasant chapter of his own past. 

“What if, for instance, that someone happens to be a person you’ve known a long time, and now he’s sobbing to you on the phone afterward about how he feels used and stupid, and your heart’s breaking to hear him, and you just wanna scream that he should be with you instead.” 

Ushijima is beginning to pick up the breadcrumb trail Kageyama is leaving, and he starts to combine it with some of his vague suspicions about Kageyama’s romantic past that he has only recently begun to have any idea about. It has been one of the only completely veiled topics in their friendship up until now.

“What if when you finally get back to the same place in life, and you think he has met all the goals he talked about, and you still want him, it seems like he doesn’t actually want you anymore? And then before you know it, he’s left again, out there chasing something else when you wish he was chasing you instead,” Kageyama says, retreating even deeper into himself, gripping his own hair at the temples.

“Or what if years later, while you’re still pining for him, somehow from half a world of distance, he gets himself a boyfriend in your timezone, and it’s not you,” Kageyama continues, his face growing red and the rims of his eyes damp. He finally looks up at Wakatoshi, both upset for himself and concerned for his friend. 

“What are you going to do then?” he asks sharply. “Are you still going to love him after anything and everything he puts you through?!”

Kageyama’s breathing is uneven now, his brow twisting in pain. Ushijima looks at him, now completely certain he knows what his friend is referring to.

“Are you, Tobio?” Ushijima asks gently.

Tobio’s lip trembles.

“I don’t know anymore,” he says quietly, uncharacteristically meek for him. “If you’d asked me even a few months ago, I would have said I am always going to love him. That I would wait for that dumbass til the day I die, til the world turned to ash, til the end of fucking time if he made me.”

Tears streak down his face now, leaving trails over burning skin. 

“But how can I, Wakatoshi?” he says. “When do I admit defeat? When do we? When is enough enough? When am I supposed to give up chasing everything-and-perfect and settle for less-but-still-good?”

“I cannot tell you,” Ushijima says, “because I do not know either.” 

“I’m not really one for thinking deeply in like, metaphors or anything. That was always Takeda-sensei, my high school coach’s thing,” Tobio says. “But our sport has no clock, you know.”

“Maybe that lack of a time limit means we don’t actually know when to give up,” he continues. “As long as the ball hasn’t hit the floor, as long as there is still one scrap of hope, as long as we are still alive, as long as we are still fighting, we don’t actually know how to stop.”

Now Ushijima understands, probably better than anyone else. That fight, that refusal to quit until it is truly over or his own body gives out, is something he knows as well as he knows his own apartment. He lives there. 

In addition to that, both in no time at all and also after over a decade, Ushijima feels that fight rising up for the sake of keeping someone in his life. At this moment, Wakatoshi firmly believes that if Hajime asked it of him, he would be sitting and waiting for him at the heat death of the universe, ready to take his hand and tell him he is late. Though as much as he would wait for Hajime, he also does not want to have to unnecessarily.

“Have you ever told him, Tobio?” Ushijima asks. “Have you explained to Hinata-san how you feel?”

“Not in a very long time,” he answers sadly.

“I had already planned to speak with Hajime tomorrow, about a lot of things,” Ushijima says with a tip of his head indicating that he understands Kageyama’s underlying concern. “Maybe… Perhaps you should think about speaking with Hinata-san too.”

“Maybe so,” Kageyama says quietly, swiping the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

When Iwaizumi returns from the shower, they eat their food quickly and in relative quiet, all of them contemplative and turning inward. Kageyama leaves not long after, and Iwaizumi and Ushijima both prepare for bed.

In the quiet dark of the evening they both lie under the covers of Ushijima’s bed half tangled as usual. Their eyes are closed, but each of them still has plenty to think about as they try to settle down into sleep. When both Hajime and Wakatoshi finally begin to slip away into sleep, the thought that crosses their mind is the same. Yeah, it is time.

*******

“Hello Satori,” Ushijima says after he quickly answers his phone the next morning. He holds it to his ear with his shoulder as he continues working on breakfast.

“Good morning, Wakatoshi!” Tendou says through the phone. “I didn’t wake you, I hope?”

“Not at all, I was already awake,” Ushijima assures him.

“Good,” Tendou says, “I was just hoping to call to check on your travel plans.”

“Right,” Ushijima says, “my flight will arrive on Sunday the 1st, does that still work for you?”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Satori says. “Alain will be away until the 3rd, so we can do whatever you like those first couple of days.”

Wakatoshi hums his acknowledgment, focusing more on his work in the kitchen.

“Wakatoshi,” Tendou says, his tone suddenly shifting to very serious, “have you told him yet?”

“Not yet,” Ushijima says, and Tendou sighs, “but I plan to do so today.”

“Well, alright then,” Tendou says. He knows if Ushijima has made it a plan, he will follow through.

“So I’m just going to come out and say it, because I don’t know how else to tell you,” Tendou adds, “I am a bit concerned about the possibility of the conversation going poorly.”

“Why is that?” Ushijima asks.

“Just, I know you said he has already been pretty hesitant,” Tendou says cautiously. “Think about it from his perspective. This might be too much.”

“Right,” Ushijima says, and then he falls quiet, actually taking the time to think about it.

“I understand the concern,” Ushijima says, “but I think it will be alright. Things have been… different lately, good lately.”

“Alright, if you think so,” Tendou says, but across the many miles somewhere in his own Paris apartment he silently makes a note to restock ingredients in his kitchen — Wakatoshi cooks too much when upset.

“Satori,” Ushijima says seriously, “I am in love with him.” 

Satori squeezes his eyes shut and slowly lets out a breath. 

“I know that Wakatoshi,” he says, “I’ve known that since I visited in March.” He refrains from saying that he would also bet anything that the feelings are mutual, even if Iwaizumi cannot admit them.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Tendou says softly, “but keep me informed, okay? About all of it.”

“I will,” Ushijima promises.

After they say their goodbyes, Ushijima sets his phone down on the counter and continues quietly, listening to the sizzle from his pan and enjoying the soft morning light streaming in through his balcony door.

When the food is almost ready, he hears his bedroom door swing open, and Iwaizumi walks out in an oversized t-shirt and shorts.

Ushijima holds his arm open to him, and Iwaizumi slots in against him, letting Ushijima kiss the top of his head. Ushijima notices how fidgety he seems, almost like he is on guard or waiting for something.

“Could we maybe talk a bit this morning?” Iwaizumi says looking down at the pan still on the stove instead of up at Ushijima.

“Of course,” Ushijima says, “I want to as well, actually.” 

Iwaizumi nods and hides his face against Ushijima’s chest for a moment before detaching himself with great effort. He pats Ushijima lightly then goes and sits on the couch, wedging himself into a corner and tipping his head back against the arm.

Ushijima plates up their breakfast then carefully ferries it into the living room where they eat quietly with their feet meeting in the middle of the couch, keeping them connected.

“So,” Iwaizumi says after their plates are cleared and resting on the low table near the couch.

“So,” Ushijima echoes.

“I happened to notice something,” Iwaizumi says, moving to the other end of the couch to lay against Ushijima.

“Oh?” Ushijima says, shifting to let Iwaizumi lay against him comfortably.

“I noticed that, umm… well, there are a lot of things we do that aren’t exactly just friend things, you know?” Iwaizumi says carefully.

“Yeah,” Ushijima says quietly, his eyes widening a fraction. 

“Like, how much we stay over, how much time we spend together, and how we treat each other, and like, all the intimate stuff too,” Iwaizumi says, petting nervously at Ushijima’s forearm.

“And I… well, I know all that has been going on for a while, but just… yesterday, I mean…”

Iwaizumi looks up at Ushijima and holds his gaze. “It all just hit me at once I guess,” Iwaizumi says, “but, isn’t all this kind of like dating already?”

Ushijima feels his face get warm, and he continues to look at Hajime. 

“I mean, is that… what we’re doing here?” he continues. “It kind of feels like we might be, sort of.”

“I want us to be,” Wakatoshi says quickly, “I want even more than that too.”

Iwaizumi swallows thickly and nods.

“If we really are, then it is even more important to me that I tell you what I have to say,” Ushijima adds seriously, his words coming out fast and insistent. 

“I — I am not ever certain where to begin, but… I think I have to start by telling you some news first.”

“News?” Iwaizumi says, his brow scrunching.

“Yes,” Ushijima says, sitting them both upright and turning Hajime to face him.

“Hajime, I have an offer,” Ushijima says seriously, “an offer from a team in France.”

Everything seems to freeze, and Hajime thinks he might just black out. When Ushijima continues talking, he wishes he could. His mouth is moving, and words are coming out, but Hajime is processing too slowly.

“…and I will be going in a week or so at the beginning of next month to visit and see how things are,” Iwaizumi catches. “I am meeting Satori first and then a few days after that…”

Ah, so that’s it then. He’s leaving. He’s decided.

“You said…” Hajime starts in a low, crackling voice that brings Ushijima to a crashing halt, “didn’t you say back then, back all those months ago that if I was yours you wouldn’t let me go?”

“Hajime,” Ushijima says quietly, stroking nervously at his hand.

“Didn’t you?!” Hajime demands, snatching his hand away with his eyes full of fear. He stands and looks down at Ushijima, face swinging wildly between burning anger and crushing sadness. “I can’t believe I’m actually this stupid. I can’t believe… I was — I was about to —“

His head is throbbing. He stubbornly refuses to cry in front of him, so instead he turns to the genkan, crams his feet into his shoes, and snatches up his wallet from the place that has become its designated home while at Wakatoshi’s apartment. 

“Hajime,” Ushijima says, sounding scared and almost desperate. Iwaizumi pauses in the open doorway for only one aching half-second.

“Have a wonderful trip, Ushijima,” Hajime says without looking back, then he disappears out the front door. 

As soon as he gets outside he breaks into a full run — down the stairs then out to the neighborhood and down the street that leads to the station. His breaths are already ragged, his lungs screaming from the hyperventilation.

Stupid stupid stupid, replays at top volume inside his head. You stupid, stupid boy. He is not quite sure whether he means that more about himself or Ushijima.

Once he gets about a block down, he jostles against a trash can that is not yet taken in from the street. He has to catch himself so that he does not fall to the pavement.

“Haj’me-kun?” he hears from behind him, and he spins around wildly to come face-to-face with Honda-san.

“I can’t talk right now, Honda-san,” he says with a shaky voice and turns to continue running down the street, but a small, wrinkled hand catches his in a vice grip and refuses to let go. 

“That’s enough, Haj’me-kun,” she says decisively. “Come inside, now.”

Iwaizumi looks down into her kind, smiling face, and all the anger and fight drains out of him, giving way to hot, streaming tears. 

“It’s alright now, darling,” she says as she pats at the hand she has in her grasp and then turns to walk inside her shop, leading him along behind her.

“Akiko-chan,” she calls once they enter. A taller woman who appears to be about Honda-san’s age peeks around a corner. 

“Yes, Kotone-san?”

“Can you and the boy watch things for today please?” Honda-san asks as she continues leading Iwaizumi by the hand through the restaurant. He just looks down at the floor, not engaging. 

“Sure thing,” the woman says softly as her eyes assess Hajime carefully, “we should be able to manage.”

Honda-san nods firmly then leads Iwaizumi to the back of the shop and up a set of stairs. 

“Pardon the mess,” she says as she shucks her shoes at the door and moves further into the apartment.

“You can have a seat there,” she adds, pointing to a faded, low couch just before disappearing into another room.

Iwaizumi sits down and wipes his eyes before looking at the small collection of used tea cups and magazines and books scattered on the coffee table. His phone begins to buzz in his pocket, but he ignores it.

His eyes land on a photo album with an old photo of two young women on the front cover, and his fingers lightly trace over it. The photo is in a slightly sepia tone, and one of the women is clearly Honda-san when she was much younger. 

“That’s us,” she says peeking back around the corner to fling a wide-brimmed sun hat toward Iwaizumi, “me and ‘Kiko-chan, in the late seventies.”

“You’ve been together a long time,” Iwaizumi says with a little sniffle.

“We have,” she says, her voice disappearing back around the corner, “I’m guessing ‘Toshi-chan told you about us?”

“He did,” Iwaizumi says quietly. He can still feel his phone buzzing non-stop in his pocket. 

“Here, put some of this on,” Honda-san says, reappearing and tossing sunscreen toward Iwaizumi.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asks, his eyebrows perking upward. 

“Very perceptive, young man,” Honda-san teases. “What, afraid you’ll get kidnapped by a granny like me?”

“I feel like if any granny could do it, it would be you Honda-san,” he says.

Iwaizumi’s pocket begins to buzz again, and he yanks his phone out in frustration. Even though he knows it will be Wakatoshi’s name staring back at him, seeing it on the screen is too much. He chucks his phone across the room with a loud clatter.

Honda-san looks out of her bedroom door again, and Iwaizumi immediately looks apologetic, on the verge of tears again. She crosses the floor to where his phone lays, thankfully not smashed, and looks at the screen with a sigh.

“I’d thought as much,” she says. Before Iwaizumi can move to stop her she slides to answer the incoming call.

“Toshi-chan,” she answers, somehow soft and firm at the same time. “Yes he is safe, he is with me.”

“You need to calm down, ‘Toshi-chan,” she adds, “take some breaths.”

Iwaizumi feels a momentary pang of guilt. He had left him like that. He had marched out the door without even talking properly, again. He hangs his head in his hands.

“Well, I don’t know what happened, dear, but I think you both need a little time to cool off, so I am taking him with me for today, okay?” she says calmly through Iwaizumi’s phone. “But listen, I need you to stop calling for right now. It’s too much, understand?”

She pauses, listening. “Mhmm, right,” she says, “you both just need to take a moment, okay? So try to relax, and just call Akiko when you’re hungry. She’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, yes. I promise,” she says, “talk to you later, Toshi-chan.”

Honda-san ends the call and gently hands the phone back to Iwaizumi. 

“It’s up to you, but I think you should turn it off for a bit,” she says as she disappears back into her room. Iwaizumi does as she suggests and powers off his phone.

“You don’t have work today, do you?” she asks as an afterthought.

“No, I have the day off,” Iwaizumi says. He had meant to spend a quiet day with Wakatoshi, hopefully watching movies and staying close, and after his revelation last night, enjoying their new, slightly more official dating status.

“Good,” she says, emerging from the room wearing cargo pants, a light long sleeved shirt, and a sunhat. 

“Put on that sunscreen, Haj’me-kun! We’ve got places to be!” she adds. Iwaizumi does as she says then hands it back to her, and she shoves it into a small pack she is loading with water and snacks.

“You can carry this, young man,” she says a bit bossily while handing the pack to Iwaizumi. He shucks it over one shoulder without complaint.

“And don’t forget your hat,” she says, taking it from its place on the couch and standing on tiptoes to put it onto his head. Iwaizumi does not argue, and bends slightly so that she can reach.

They leave the shop with only a quick word to Akiko, and then they head toward the train station. 

Iwaizumi does not even pay attention to where they are going, he just follows Honda-san like a lost puppy. She guides them in a practiced way that suggests she has done this many times before, though most likely not with a mopey 30-year-old man in tow.

When they get to their destination, they walk slowly through a small town. Honda-san waves to some of the shop owners she knows, but they continue on to the outskirts of town until they hit true countryside, carved out into fields and streams and small copses of deciduous trees. 

Eventually their path leads them into more forested areas where small animals skitter through the underbrush and streams babble and meander. The way begins to slant upward, and Iwaizumi adjusts the pack onto both shoulders as they begin to climb. After about an hour of walking, they come to the summit of what Iwaizumi is not certain whether he should term a mountain or a very large hill. There is an old shrine set into the trees at the hilltop, and a small clearing looks down over the fields and the town below and the taller mountains beyond.

Honda-san sits directly on the ground looking out over the view, and Iwaizumi joins her, loosely looping his arms around his knees. 

“I grew up in this village,” Honda-san says quietly. They have been mostly silent since getting on the train back in Koganei, so her words feel that much more significant, like they are important enough to forsake the silence. 

“It was quite a different time then,” she adds, “everything has changed, but this mountain, this earth, it is the one thing that’s always here.”

The wind whips gently through their hair, a cool breeze that comes down from the mountains that surround them. 

“I don’t really have a point in bringing you here specifically, I just thought you could stand to get away for a while,” she says. Iwaizumi nods.

“Did you know Akiko-san then, back when you lived here?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“No actually,” Honda-san says, looking down at her little hometown. “And in fact I very nearly never met ‘Kiko-chan at all.”

Iwaizumi turns to look at her and she smiles. 

“When I was quite young, I was engaged to be married through an arranged marriage,” she says. “I didn’t really mind. Our families had been friends for a long time, and I knew he would be a good man.”

Honda-san pauses, letting her mind turn over the past as if to examine it closely.

“Still, in the end I wanted more,” she says. “I wanted to learn things. I wanted to see more than just this little town. So I ran.”

Iwaizumi nods slowly then looks at the ground near his feet.

“It was difficult, but I got into university, and that’s where I met Akiko,” Honda-san explains. “It’s also where I fell in love for the first and only time.”

They are both quiet for a time, listening to the wind gently whistling and whipping through the trees. 

“None of it was easy,” Honda-san finally says, “life wasn’t built for people like us back then. It still sort of isn’t.”

“I don’t know what you and ‘Toshi-chan are going through,” she adds, “so I can’t tell you what to do now, but I think you just have to do some thinking about what it is you want and what you think is worth compromising for.”

“How do I know that?” Iwaizumi says softly. “I’ve never known when to call it quits or when to stick it out. I either stay too long no matter what happens, or more recently I immediately run away at the first sign of trouble. So how do I…” 

Iwaizumi gestures in a swirling motion in front of him before letting his hands fall limp at his sides again. 

“You should be kinder to yourself, Haj’me-kun,” Honda-san says. “You’ve got a long life ahead of you full of even more mistakes to make.”

Honda-san smiles at him and lightly pats his shoulder. 

“Just let it rest a bit,” she says. “Don’t overthink it and don’t worry yourself to death. What you want to do will come to you; you just have to listen for it.”

Iwaizumi takes a deep steadying breath of the fresh air. What Honda-san says reminds him of his mother’s advice, to listen to his feelings. He thinks about Tendou too, about all he had said about work and trust and just a dash of blind faith. 

Iwaizumi is not certain if he is capable of that type of letting go anymore. He is not certain he will ever be able to leap believing someone will catch him, or if he would ever even want to again.

He slowly takes his phone out of his pocket and turns it back on. It immediately lights up with several missed texts and calls, all from Wakatoshi.

Most are colored with a tone of anxious desperation that makes Iwaizumi’s heart clench, but the latest seems slightly more calm.

———

My apologies for panicking. Please get in touch with me when you can and let me know if you are okay. 

———

Iwaizumi breathes deeply in and out several times, his fingers poised over the keys. He tries to think of what to say.

———

Hi Wakatoshi.

I am the one who is sorry for running out like that.

I don’t think I am mad, but this is really serious.

I just think I might need some space for a little while. I don’t think I would be capable of having a calm discussion right now.

Is that okay?

Yes, I understand.

I will wait for you to get in touch with me, if that is what you want.

Thank you. And I’m sorry.

———

*******

Iwaizumi keeps quiet for the next week. He spends time at home, sometimes with Takeru, who seems to know something is weighing heavily on him but does not try to bring it up. 

The nights are the loneliest and hardest. He misses Wakatoshi, that is certainly clear. But each time he misses him, it just drives him to further agitation. Even if he does decide they should be together, he knows this would be their new normal, that he would be back to a life of indefinite long distance, a life of zoom calls and teary “I miss you”s and time zone calculations. It is a life Iwaizumi had wanted to put behind him.

Around the first of June, Iwaizumi arrives back at his house and shuffles through his mail to find an unmarked envelope in the box. He slices it open with a pair of scissors and unfolds it.

Hajime,

I am sorry again for what happened the last time we were together. I think I must have brought it up really poorly to cause you to feel that overwhelmed. I meant to tell you exactly how much you mean to me and to talk about the future with you, but I just made things bad, and now I do not know what is happening between us. I regret it so much, because I felt like we were perhaps finally starting to move forward.

I cannot say much, and I want to honor your request for space, but I felt that I had to say one thing in particular.

I am sure most of the time it is painfully clear to you, but I need you to remember right now, if there ever was a time to remember it, that I am not Oikawa Tooru. I never will be. I said that if I had you I would never let you go, and I meant that. 

Once you told me you think you ask for too much, but my experience with you has been the opposite. You do not ask enough of me. I want you to want me more, to need me more. Selfishly, I prefer being indispensable to the people I love. When things are difficult, I would like you to lean into me rather than running away. 

I know that may seem presumptuous of me, since you have still not officially agreed to be romantically involved with me exactly, but I would still say it no matter what we are now, after all of this has happened. I find it impossible to feel any other way. 

I am going on this trip to give you the time and space you have said you want and to see what the merits and downfalls of this offer are. But I need you to know that I told you about this offer precisely because you are the only person I want to discuss my plans with, because I want to know what you want, because I want you to ask more of me. Please say you will. I still want to be with you, in any way you will let me. I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. And more than anything I want us to talk this through.

— Ushijima Wakatoshi

Hajime’s heart breaks a little as he reads the letter for a second and a third time, absorbing all the affection he has been missing that floods directly off the page. His eyes catch painfully on a short sentence near the end — Please say you will.

Iwaizumi leans against the wall and slowly slides down it until he is on the floor, holding the letter against his chest. 

“Damn, your penmanship really is terrible,” he finally says with a chuckle that tips dangerously close toward a sob. 

He misses him. He wants him. But whether he can actually be with him now still remains to be seen.

Chapter Text

After Wakatoshi’s letter he mostly holds true to his word, sending only a text when he arrives safely in France. Iwaizumi debates not sending anything in return, but he quickly caves with an “I’m glad you arrived safely.”

Iwaizumi is actually thankful for this one breach of his request, since he knows if Wakatoshi had not declared himself safe, he would have just worried about it the entire time. On the rocks or not, Iwaizumi does not want anything bad to happen to him. 

In fact, he finds it difficult to banish Wakatoshi from his mind at all, even in these circumstances. He wonders what he is thinking, what he is doing, if he is nervous, if he is thinking of Iwaizumi too. Iwaizumi’s heart begins to swell, to miss him, only to just as quickly be brought back down by anxiety and dread and a twinge of betrayal.

He knows for a fact Wakatoshi has wanted to play in a foreign league for ages. He had told Iwaizumi so himself the first time he had come to California to meet with Utsui-san. And if V League gossip could be believed (and Iwaizumi often found it could) Ushijima had had offers before. According to the word passed around at the time, he likely would have gone to play in Poland if the pandemic and other vague “personal matters” had not interfered.

So Iwaizumi remains deeply conflicted. Rationally he knows how much Wakatoshi must want to achieve this long-held goal, and the unselfish part of him would love to cheer him on. However, in the context of whatever romantic entanglement they have found themselves in, it could not be a worse situation. It triggers in Iwaizumi years worth of pain and suffering and anxiety. It makes him feel lightheaded and nauseous. He is not sure that he can ever go back to that life, to the one Tooru had him bound to for so long.

In the gulf of silence he himself has imposed between them, Hajime just continues to worry and fret, to get no sleep without him, to miss him and curse him and love him all at the same time.

“Uncle,” Takeru says softly one day as Iwaizumi checks on the deep bruise near one of his elbows he had gotten from an awkward diving receive the week prior, “is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s healing fine,” Iwaizumi says offhandedly.

“No,” Takeru sighs as Iwaizumi looks up at him from his stool, “I meant you. Are you alright?”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says blinking up at him, “yeah, why?” 

“Because you don’t look it,” Takeru says bluntly, holding his gaze.

“I —“ Iwaizumi starts hesitantly, already cracking under the pressure of those Oikawa eyes of his. 

Then Iwaizumi’s phone rings, and he lets out a breath. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, secretly grateful for having a moment to think.

“Ah, it’s your mom,” Iwaizumi says with a smirk. “Have you been calling her like you should?” 

“Yes~!” Takeru says defensively, “Of course I have!”

Iwaizumi chuckles and then answers his phone.

“Hello, Taeko-nee,” Iwaizumi says, “what’s up?”

“Hajime-kun, I’m so sorry, I hate to do this over the phone but…”

Iwaizumi listens, and his entire demeanor shifts. The color drains from his face as it falls, tumbling down into an empty, dumbstruck expression. 

“Oh,” he says shakily. Takeru shifts anxiously in his seat.

“What is it?” he whispers urgently, but Iwaizumi does not reply.

“And umm, not that I’m not grateful, nee-san, but why is Mom not the one calling me about this?” he says, and Takeru can sense the clear anxiety in his voice.

Iwaizumi pauses to listen again, and Takeru’s stomach is flip-flopping wildly as he strains to hear. 

“O-oh. I see,” Hajime says, trying and failing to keep his voice even. A thick, wet tear escapes from one of his eyes, and Takeru's spine goes ramrod straight.

“Uncle, what —?”

Iwaizumi cuts him off with an emphatic shake of his head and a hand raised toward him in a stop gesture. Takeru’s mouth pinches closed.

“Yes, I understand,” Iwaizumi manages. “Right, of course. Immediately. I will make arrangements.”

Takeru hesitantly reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, drawing his gaze. Iwaizumi’s face is pain-etched, traitorous burning tears still spilling from his bottom lids. 

“Umm, nee-san,” he says shakily, his eyes never leaving Takeru’s, “I’m sorry, but could you talk to Takeru for a moment? He’s here with me.”

Iwaizumi listens for her response and then holds his phone out to Takeru with a quaking hand. 

“Mom?” Takeru says as he holds the phone up to his ear.

“Hi darling,” Taeko says softly, sounding much sadder than usual. 

Iwaizumi moves to rest his head against the exam table next to where Takeru sits, but Takeru redirects Iwaizumi to lay his head on his knees.

“What’s going on?” he asks. Iwaizumi begins to shake and sob quietly.

“Hajime-kun’s grandmother has passed away,” Taeko says matter-of-factly. Takeru freezes.

“It happened early this morning, and his mother was hospitalized soon after. Her condition was likely exacerbated by the stress of the situation,” Taeko explains. 

“His family is very important to him, Take-chan,” Taeko adds, “probably more than you even realize, so I know this is going to be very hard for him.”

“Yes,” Takeru says, nearly breathless. 

“So I need you to be there for him, okay?” she adds. “Can I entrust you with taking care of Hajime-kun until he can get home to Sendai? 

“Of course,” he says, his strength of conviction returning. “You can count on me.” 

“That’s my boy,” she says sweetly. “I knew I could.”

Takeru can hear a slight commotion and the murmur of a voice that sounds like his granny in the background, then his mother quickly says, “I have to go now, darling, but call me anytime, day or night, okay?”

“Yes Mom,” Takeru says, then after a moment he quietly adds, “I love you.” It is slightly embarrassing for him, but in this particular moment it feels extra important to let her know.

“I love you too, darling,” she says, then she gives her goodbyes and disconnects the call.

Takeru puts Iwaizumi’s phone down on the table beside his legs and looks down at him. He hesitantly reaches down and begins to slowly smooth his hair. It reminds Takeru of a time when he was very young, hardly old enough to remember, the only other time he personally has seen Iwaizumi cry. Takeru can remember his granny letting Hajime sit just like this, crying into her lap as she gently stroked his hair. He also remembers a ghost of a song that she had hummed then, little snatches of a melody that he begins to hum softly now.

“That’s your granny’s song, isn’t it?” Iwaizumi asks after a while, tilting his head to the side to look up at Takeru.

“Yeah,” Takeru answers quietly. Iwaizumi closes his eyes again, scrunching them tight. 

“You’re all so good to me,” he says quietly, letting Takeru continue to soothe him with gentle fingers through his hair. “Every one of you. Your granny used to do this when I was little, and then Tooru for years and years, and now even you, kid. I’ve had three generations of Oikawas looking after me.”

“It’s because you’re one of us,” Takeru says quietly. Hajime’s eyes fly open again to look at him.

“You always have been, ever since I can remember,” he adds. “Even before you were with Uncle Tooru, and now after too. You’re always gonna be ours, if you still wanna be.”

Hajime turns his head to hide in Takeru’s knees again then winds his hands around to clasp behind Takeru’s lower back. His shoulders shake again as his silent sobs resume, and Takeru keeps smoothing his hair and gently rubbing his upper back.

When they finally get up, Iwaizumi is in somewhat of a daze, floating with eyes unfocused, tethered to reality by Takeru’s firm grip on his wrist. 

“Iwaizumi-san has had a death in his family, and his mother has been hospitalized,” he hears Takeru explain, probably to Suzuki. “If it’s alright, I will accompany my uncle back to Sendai then…”

Iwaizumi’s brain drifts away, lost in a thick fog. He vaguely remembers a string of hazy condolences sent his way, answered only with slight (hopefully grateful-appearing) inclines of his head.

Takeru keeps a hold on his wrist as much as possible wherever they go, first to Takeru’s room in the VCK dormitory, then down to Iwaizumi’s car where Takeru slides into the driver’s seat, then to Iwaizumi’s house. 

Takeru deposits him on the couch, and Iwaizumi curls up onto it facing the back for the rest of the evening. At some point, Takeru goads him into sitting up and having some food, something calorie-dense but easy to eat. Then Takeru clears everything away as best he can, takes Iwaizumi to his room, lays out his bedding, and pulls out some fresh clothes for him to sleep in before quietly closing the door and retreating to the guest room. 

Iwaizumi manages to peel off his VCK polo and his joggers, then he pulls the soft, oversized t-shirt Takeru had laid out over his head and realizes it is actually one of Ushijima’s. He cannot even bring himself to bother with the pants after that, and he just climbs into his futon and wraps his arms around his shoulders. He holds himself, holds Ushijima’s shirt to himself. He feels like fabric slowly unweaving, unmaking, but he has to find a way to hold himself together.

At around midnight, Takeru wakes and hears the sounds of muffled sobs through the thin walls between where he is in the guest bedroom and Iwaizumi’s room. He feels dead tired, but he rises anyway and softly pads on light feet to Iwaizumi’s door. 

He opens it then steps inside and shuts the door softly before slowly picking his way in the darkness toward Iwaizumi’s futon.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi apologizes pitifully as Takeru slides into the covers next to him, “I was trying to be quiet.”

“Don’t,” Takeru says as he envelops him in a hug. “You don’t have to be quiet, it’s just me.”

Iwaizumi lets himself be pulled into Takeru’s chest and continues weeping, soaking Takeru’s shirt. Iwaizumi’s arms loop around him, and Takeru can feel soft tears of sympathy swelling his own bottom lids. 

He and Hajime and Tooru had all grown up together, with large swaths of time when Hajime practically lived in the Oikawa house. All through middle and high school, Hajime had a key — not that he needed it really, since he was always with Tooru anyway. For all Takeru knows Hajime might still have that key. Although Tooru is his uncle, and then by extension Hajime always had been too, they had been raised more like brothers or close cousins might be. There were fewer years of age gap between Tooru and Takeru than there were between Tooru and his sister Taeko, after all.

So now Takeru watches as one of the men he has known and loved his entire life falls to pieces — his beloved uncle who has always been one of Takeru’s biggest supporters and strongest foundations, who hardly ever wavers, who always cares for everyone around him. Takeru is still quite a young man, only just now taking his first major steps into full adulthood. It would perhaps be easy for him to make excuses, or to continue being the one cared for and looked after always, but instead he fends off his own tears and tightens his grip. He holds Hajime together and gives him care and protection as the pain pours out of him freely now. He holds him steady and refuses to let him crumble into the abyss. 

“It’s just me,” he repeats quietly, “and I’ve got you.”

Hajime wakes to rays of early morning sunshine and the feeling of half-damp fabric against his cheek. He opens his eyes to chestnut brown wavy hair, and he startles, peeling his face away from Takeru’s shoulder.

Takeru stirs with a light groan and looks down at him. 

“G’morning,” he says groggily, then shortly after, “what’s the matter?” Hajime’s eyes are blown wide.

“I — I guess I maybe miss Tooru right now,” Iwaizumi says before he can stop himself, then his brow crashes together. He rolls onto his back with a defeated sigh.

“I miss having someone who knows me better than anyone else at a time like this,” he explains. “And when I woke up… you just look so much like him, kid. I’m sorry to tell you. But for a split second, right as I was waking up, it almost felt like these past couple of years weren’t real. That I’d woken up from a very strange dream.”

Takeru regards him carefully in complete silence. 

“Do you really miss him in particular right now, or do you just miss having a partner?” Takeru finally asks.

Iwaizumi feels immediately stricken, like a cold slap has landed against his face. Takeru’s unexpected clarity forces him to consider whether he does miss Tooru in particular or if he had just been reminded of him because of Takeru. Is it the man himself or simply the role he so long held in Iwaizumi’s life that he aches for?

“Uncle, where is Ushijima-san right now?” Takeru asks, his expression hesitant.

“Ushijima?” Iwaizumi says in surprise. “What about him?”

“I’m not blind,” Takeru says seriously with a little snort, “and he told me how he feels about you a long time ago.”

“What?” Iwaizumi says, feeling a little panicky.

“It’s fine~,” Takeru insists, patting him on the shoulder, “he only told me because I asked him. But also, the two of you are not freaking subtle.”

Iwaizumi covers his face with his hands and groans slightly. “We’re not even together,” he mumbles, though that sends an extra little pang of hurt through his body. They had come so close, and then it rapidly fell apart.

“And whose fault is that?” Takeru says, half teasingly and half exasperated. “He admitted that he confessed too.”

“Damn it,” Iwaizumi mutters into his hands.

“So where is he?” Takeru repeats, prodding Iwaizumi to respond.

“He’s in France,” he admits heavily with a heaving sigh before letting his arms fall to his sides again. “Things are… complicated right now.”

Takeru hums and studies Iwaizumi’s face.

“Well, guess you’re stuck with my services then,” he finally says then flings himself out of the covers. 

“You rest a little longer,” he adds, “you’re probably going to need it, and you were already looking rough even before all this happened.”

Iwaizumi would normally let out an undignified squawk of protest, but he knows Takeru is right, and he has no energy to argue. He just nods slowly and closes his eyes. 

Later into the morning, Takeru shakes him softly to wake him.

“Come on Uncle,” he says, “we have a plane to catch.”

“A plane?” Hajime asks as he gets up and rubs at his bleary eyes. 

“Yes,” Takeru confirms as he folds and tucks away the bedding. “Mom said to do that instead of driving or taking the train since it’s faster. She said she has your mom’s keys if you need to drive anywhere.”

Hajime pulls on his same joggers from the day before and leaves on Ushijima’s shirt that he slept in. Takeru then takes him through everything he has packed for him — his black suit with two different shirt and tie options, his dress shoes, a pair of jeans, a pair of khakis, another pair of joggers, two button-ups and three t-shirts, and all the necessary underclothes and socks. Takeru has unknowingly selected the t-shirts from Ushijima’s drawer again, but Hajime cannot find it in himself to care.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” he says instead. Iwaizumi adds in a couple of his comfort reads and his toiletry bag, and then they are pulling on their sneakers, locking up the house, and setting off for the airport. 

When they land in Sendai, Taeko meets them in the waiting area and immediately scoops Iwaizumi into a firm, lingering hug. 

“I’m so sorry, Hajime,” she whispers near his ear and squeezes him extra tight.

“Thank you, nee-san,” he whispers back, leaning into her shoulder.

She pats his back softly then cuts him loose, turning to embrace Takeru instead with a quiet “thank you darling.”

“I want to make sure you can see your mom as soon as possible,” Taeko says to Hajime as they make their way to her car, “but tonight both she and you need to rest.” 

She continues explaining in detail all of the tests and treatments that have already been performed and an account of what happened leading up to her hospitalization.

“And, has that man shown his face?” Iwaizumi asks quietly.

“No,” Taeko says, “he has not even been notified.” 

Iwaizumi nods and takes a shaky relieved breath.

“Apparently a long time ago when you were still in high school, your mother filed documents giving my mother the ability to make decisions for her in the event of an emergency,” Taeko explains, “it came in very handy this time and gave you some space to breathe I hope, but it really should be updated to include you as well.”

“But I suppose that is a concern for another time,” she adds, “we will all have enough to deal with right now as it is.”

Hajime nods solemnly. They finally make it to Taeko’s car and pile in. Then she whisks them all away so they can rest in the comfort and warmth of the Oikawa house, Hajime’s long-standing beacon in any storm.

*******

The next few days are a whirlwind that barely gives Hajime time to breathe. Grieving is a soul-draining experience, a mixture of both a seemingly endless string of tedious logistics covered over with a thick layer of crushing sadness. Hajime now has to face it all without the steadying effect of his mother beside him. 

Thankfully though, he does have a group of people who rally around him — the Oikawas, his great-aunt’s family, and some of his former teammates, including Kyoutani who visits him often and Mattsun who helps with every aspect of funeral planning since he comes from a family of morticians.

He is not certain how Tooru finds out, because it could be from any number of sources. However, Hajime knows that he knows when Tooru suddenly begins flooding his phone with calls and messages. Hajime ignores them all. Perhaps it is cowardly, but Hajime cannot stomach talking to him right now on top of everything else.

Hajime tries to muddle through it all, one endless parade of tears and suits and hospital visits and condolences and food prepared by other hands. He spends his nights either with the Oikawas or at his cousins’ home, avoiding his own family home for the time being. 

When he settles down at the end of the day wherever he happens to be crashing, when his aching muscles and tired bones finally find their rest, he is seized by a persistent longing, a bruise so much deeper than the skin. In the quiet, lingering dark it only grows stronger, carving out his chest by widening the gaping holes left there. He misses his grandmother, he wishes his mother could be well, and perhaps just as strongly, he also yearns. 

Every night when he pulls one of the too-big t-shirts over his head and settles against the sheets, he thinks incessantly of him — Wakatoshi, who refuses to leave his mind. He is haunted by the ghost of his touch and the sound of his low, deep whisper next to his ear. These shadows of Wakatoshi stay around all through the night and long into the morning, making their presence known even in the sobering light of day.

A few days after his arrival in Sendai, after the wake and the funeral the day after, after her cremation and standing next to his great aunt and his mother’s first cousin placing bones into a small urn — only then does Hajime finally come face to face with his childhood home.

He stands at the door for a moment, almost too afraid to enter. Then he sticks the key into the lock, turns it, and lets himself into the entryway. 

“Tadaima,” he says quietly, just because it feels wrong not to. No one is there to answer. The Iwaizumi house is silent and still.

Hajime steps out of his shoes and softly walks further into the house, barely breathing. It feels less like the home he knows and more like somewhere abandoned. He wonders if this is what it had felt like for his mother on certain nights since he and his grandmother left the house, and he very dearly hopes not.

He looks all around him, and decades worth of memories both horrible and pleasant rush at him all at one time. The living room suddenly feels suffocating, and he quickly flies up the stairs on light feet, still inexplicably afraid to make too much of a disturbance in the wide expanse of the empty house.

When he gets to his room he throws down his bags and immediately roots through them for one of Wakatoshi’s shirts. He strips off his clothes quickly, as if they are scalding him, then he pulls on the shirt and climbs into his old bed. 

The last time he had been in this room, Wakatoshi was with him, quietly sneaking over from the guest room each night and sliding into the covers next to him. He wraps his arms around himself, pressing the shirt he wears into his skin as if it might leave more of Wakatoshi’s essence there.

He feels guilty. He counts up the months since he was last in Sendai and ends on too high a number.  His stomach churns, because even with everything going on he still only thinks of having him here beside him, as if he might quietly step in at any moment from right down the hall.

Hajime is overwhelmed, and his phone is in his hand mere seconds after the tears begin to fall. He has finally cracked.

The phone rings three times before a bewildered Ushijima answers. 

“Hajime?!” he says, his voice pitching more than usual, “how are you? I did not think I would hear from you yet.”

Hajime’s lip trembles, and he tries hard to take in more air. 

“Wakatoshi,” he says. His voice cracks and his body quakes, and he feels like he is crumbling to pieces.

“What is wrong?” Wakatoshi says immediately, his voice low and anxious. Hajime just tries to breathe, but he cracks a little more and lets out pitiful little sounds into the phone.

“Hajime,” Wakatoshi says anxiously, “can you tell me what is happening?”

So Hajime tells him. He tells him about his grandmother, and about his mother, and about how lonely he has been despite being looked after by people who love him.

“I just miss you,” Hajime cries, “I just… I really need you, Wakatoshi. I’m sorry.”

“Give me two minutes, baby,” Wakatoshi says seriously. “Stay on the phone with me though, okay? Just stay on the line.”

Hajime continues to cry out sputtering tears. He can hear Wakatoshi moving and the mumbling of voices away from the receiver.

“Where are you, Hajime?” Ushijima says once he puts his phone back to his ear.

“I’m in Sendai,” he sniffles, “at my mother’s house.”

“Okay, I am on the way,” Ushijima says, as if there are just a few blocks between them rather than thousands of miles. It sounds like he is running.

“No, you don’t have to —“

“It is already decided,” Ushijima says gently, leaving no room for argument. “I am coming right now, but it will take me about a day. Can you wait for me?”

Hajime gives another sputtered cry and tries to wipe at his face with the back of his hand.

“Wait for me, alright?” Ushijima says again. “I will stay on the phone with you as long as I can.”

“Okay,” Hajime says, and a fresh wave of tears spills down his face. “Yes, okay.”

Perhaps Ushijima Wakatoshi is a man worth waiting for, and a man who will not keep Hajime waiting a second longer than necessary.

Hajime swipes wildly at his teary face again and tries to take a steadying breath. Ushijima asks him how his mother is doing, something others might awkwardly try to avoid, but that he faces head on. It calms Hajime by giving him details to recall and relay to someone else. 

“Have you been able to visit her?” Ushijima asks.

“Yes, I’ve been going every day. I’ll go again tomorrow too,” Hajime says. 

“That’s good,” Ushijima answers. “You’ll go and get to spend time with your mother, and before you know it, I will be there too.”

Hajime hums his acknowledgment. It seems almost surreal to him, to have an Olympic caliber athlete and one of the most career-driven men he knows drop everything because… Hajime is sad?

“I’m sorry for making you come home early,” Hajime says, “just because I can’t keep my emotions in check.”

“Hajime, do not be sorry,” Wakatoshi says, “I told you to ask more of me, did I not?” 

“I am very sad that you are going through this, of course,” he explains, “but also… I am a bit pleased that you called me, that it is me you wanted next to you. Is that bad?”

Hajime pauses, unable to answer. “You are always too kind to me,” he says.

“I just wanted to do this for you,” Wakatoshi says simply. “And it was no trouble at all, they were very understanding.”

“What did you even tell them?” Hajime asks. He is not sure how he would even begin to explain their convoluted, hyper-romantic situationship if he had been tasked with it.

“Ah, well,” Wakatoshi begins a bit hesitantly, “I told them that… my partner had a death in the family and needed me back home.”

“I am sorry,” he adds, “I was not sure how else to —“

“No, that’s alright,” Hajime says, “that’s probably the simplest way to explain I suppose, without getting into far too many details.”

True to his word, Wakatoshi stays on the phone with Hajime the entire time as he makes his way to his hotel, hastily packs, rushes to the airport, tries to change his tickets, gets put on a waitlist, then finally, blessedly, actually gets to board the plane. All during this time, Hajime stays lying in bed with the phone on speaker next to his head on the pillow and slowly gets pushed closer and closer to falling asleep by the gentle sounds of Ushijima’s low, even voice. 

“I have to go now Hajime,” he finally says as he prepares to board his flight. “Get some sleep please.” 

Half-asleep Hajime mumbles his general agreement, and Ushijima laughs softly. 

“Dream of me, okay?” he adds, then he bids him good night and hangs up the call, letting Iwaizumi drift off into sleep.

The next day Iwaizumi is a bit antsy. He does not hear from Wakatoshi at first since he is still en route. He goes to the hospital as soon as visiting hours allow, and he stays for most of the day. 

“So, Ushijima might be with me when I come by tomorrow,” he finally says sometime in the afternoon.

“Oh?” his mother says, perking up a bit. “It will be good to see him again.”

“How are things going with… all that?” she finally asks. 

“It’s still a bit complicated,” Hajime says. “We had sort of a… well, it wasn’t even really a fight, just… a problem. A new one. A big one.

“I see,” she says thoughtfully. “Well, what is this new, big problem? Can you tell me?”

“He got an offer from a different team,” Hajime says, “a team in France.”

His mother nods seriously. “I can see how that would be hard for you, darling.”

“I was finally ready, you know?” Hajime says as he hangs his head in his hands. “I took your advice and listened and I had finally decided to just let myself take a little leap, but then…”

“Then you got spooked,” she says. Her voice is soft and kind, like the hand she rests on Hajime’s arm.

“That’s fine darling, that’s normal,” she says, “but now I suppose you have to figure out if there is a way forward.”

“Yeah,” he says pitifully.

“I mean, you could just… go with him?” she says quietly.

Hajime’s head pops up. He remains silent but the look in his eyes is serious. He gestures vaguely around them as if to say, “do you even see where you are right now?”

“I already know what you’re going to say Hajime,” she sighs. “But didn’t I tell you to stop running your life according to me?”

“You know, most mothers complain about how their sons pay no attention to them, not about how they wish they’d stop giving them the least bit of consideration,” he says with a little frown.

“But this is your life we’re talking about darling,” she says just as seriously, “and didn’t I already put you through enough when you were young?”

Hajime stiffens and his frown deepens. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“That wasn’t you, that was —“

“I was at fault too, Hajime,” she says evenly, allowing no rebuttal. “While I was not the creator of the problem, I just enabled it to get worse. Oikawa-san was a better mother to you than I was back then, and I think you and I both know that.”

Their eyes meet in the momentary silence, locking them both in place.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Hajime says shakily. 

“I understand,” she says gently, “but I want you to acknowledge what I’m saying too.”

“I want you to be able to live your own life fully,” she adds. “Don’t make me the reason you have regrets, my love.”

“What if I regret not being here with you?!” he says stubbornly. “What if something happens to you and I’m not here?” 

“Then Oikawa-san and Taeko-chan will take care of me until you get here, just like this time,” she says.

“I can’t just —“

“You can just,” she insists. 

Hajime slips his head down into his hands again and sighs. 

When he gets home that night, he still feels overwhelmed. He slips quietly through the empty house again, not bothering to eat or shower before he slides out of his clothes and into just one of Ushijima’s shirts and his boxers. He wraps a blanket around himself and silently moves through every room of the house with his mind racing.

He cannot just go, right? He does not even know if Ushijima would want him to, not to mention what it would mean for his mom. No matter how he rationalizes it though, he cannot avoid the simple truth that he wants to. He had known it the moment it left his mother’s lips, speaking it into existence. He wants to. 

Then another thought creeps into the back of his mind, traitorous and icy — So why didn’t you go to Argentina, Hajime?

Why wasn’t Tooru enough of a reason?

I suppose you actually didn’t love him enough.

“Stop!” Hajime yells and smacks the heel of his hand against his forehead. It slices the eerie silence of the house and makes it feel even more sickly.

It makes him feel like vomiting from the sickening churning of his stomach. It is not nearly the first time he has unwillingly run the calculations to quantify love — his own, and Tooru’s, and his mother’s, and Wakatoshi’s, and everyone else’s. He measures it out gram by gram in sacrifices and gestures and words and hours, and somehow he always judges his own love lacking. He is never enough, never as much as his loved ones deserve. 

He pulls the blanket tighter around himself and flops unceremoniously onto the couch, curling himself into a tight ball and trying desperately not to think anymore. 

It is dark outside when Hajime is finally roused from sleep by a sharp knocking on the front door. He stretches out his aching limbs, gets up from the couch, and fixes the drape of his blanket so that he can walk properly to answer. When he opens it, he finds Wakatoshi there on his front step with his bags. He looks a bit tired with dark circles under his eyes, but more than that he looks like he wants to scoop Hajime into his arms and never allow him to leave them again.

“You really came,” Iwaizumi says breathlessly, immediately plummeting into complete overwhelm again on seeing Wakatoshi at his doorstep. 

“Of course I did,” Wakatoshi says. 

Wakatoshi reaches for Hajime to pull him in close, and Hajime lets himself be pulled, all the fight gone out of him. He melts, and his feelings bleed into Ushijima like an open wound into a clean, sterile bandage. Wakatoshi holds him steady. He absorbs it all.

“I know we’ll need to talk, but I don’t want to right now,” Hajime says quietly, “I don’t have the strength for it. So can we just keep all that put aside for now?”

He can feel Ushijima nod his agreement and kiss the top of his head.

“I just want you to hold me,” he continues with a little sputter, “just hold me and make me feel something… other than all this.”

“What would you like to feel, Hajime?” Wakatoshi asks as he leans back to look at him and gently swipes at the tears that have begun to stream down Hajime’s face. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything.”

“Just…” Hajime starts, rooting his face back into Wakatoshi’s shoulder, “take care of me, please. I want to feel…”

Loved, Hajime finishes in his mind. Why is it still so hard to say? His hand grips at Wakatoshi’s shirt, gathering it into his fist.

“I understand, Hajime,” Ushijima assures him then gently kisses his neck. “Let me take care of you.”

Ushijima kisses him gently. He locks the door behind them. He unwraps the blanket from around Hajime and puts him in the hoodie he has been wearing instead. It smells like Wakatoshi and surrounds Hajime in his presence.

“When did you last eat?” Ushijima asks softly. He intertwines their fingers and raises Hajime’s hand to his lips. Hajime has to try to think back, and Wakatoshi takes that as answer enough. 

“Okay then, food first,” Wakatoshi says. He turns Hajime so that they are facing the same way, then they walk together into the kitchen with Wakatoshi’s large, comforting hands splayed over Hajime’s sides at his waist.

It is easy to find something in the kitchen. Taeko had brought over several containers of food for Hajime a couple of days ago. Ushijima looks through their options and selects a decent balance of protein and vegetables that should be enough to keep Hajime going. He lets Hajime turn and bury his face in his chest as they wait for the food to finish reheating.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Hajime mumbles into the fabric of his shirt.

“You said you needed me,” Wakatoshi says softly, “so here I am.”

They take the food into the living room to eat. Wakatoshi pulls Hajime down onto the couch after him and sits so that he has Hajime completely wrapped up and resting against his chest. They eat quietly, and Wakatoshi sometimes offers the pieces that look particularly good to Hajime with his chopsticks. Hajime’s neck flushes red, but he accepts them anyway.

After they have eaten, Wakatoshi takes the dishes into the kitchen then returns and holds out his hand to Hajime.

“Come with me,” he says, and Hajime takes his hand. “I really need a shower.”

Hajime lets himself be led to the bathroom, and Wakatoshi carefully begins to peel off their clothes. His hand slides under his hoodie, and he pulls it over Hajime’s head.

“You are wearing my shirt as well,” Ushijima observes as he plays with its hem and dips just under it with gentle, calloused fingers.

“Yes,” Hajime admits. 

Wakatoshi’s face changes slightly into what seems to be a pleased expression, then he slides his hands up his torso, hooking the shirt with his thumbs until he has pulled it off of him. Wakatoshi discards his own clothing with a bit less care before finally slowly pulling Hajime’s boxers down and having him step out of them. 

It is slightly embarrassing for Hajime to have someone so carefully tending to his needs, including disrobing him like this, but his tired mind and heart and body also enjoy it too much to fuss about it. He has missed the feel of Wakatoshi’s hands on him and the comforting warmth of having him near, and he is not about to deny himself these pleasures.

He and Wakatoshi clean themselves with hardly a word exchanged, just a comfortable, peaceful quiet so unlike the eerie, sickly silence of the past few days. Wakatoshi works shampoo into Hajime’s hair with long, methodical fingers, and Hajime only craves more — more ways to be touched, more ways to be seen to. Something deep in his lower stomach swoops and surges, making him feel famished, almost avaricious, for Wakatoshi’s attention.

Hajime rinses his hair as Wakatoshi draws a bath. He settles into the hot water first, then Hajime follows after him and sits with his back against Wakatoshi’s chest. There is not much room with them both in the bath together, but there is also no question, no discussion needed. They both seem content to leave as little space between them as possible.

Wakatoshi bends and kisses the side of Hajime’s neck, and Hajime tilts his head to the side with a satisfied hum. 

“I missed you,” he whispers with his eyes still squeezed tightly shut, “I shouldn’t have run away like that.”

“I missed you too, Hajime,” Wakatoshi says, softly nuzzling at the side of his throat. “I do not like scaring you, even if it is inadvertently.”

Hajime goes still, then he quickly flips himself around so that he is facing Wakatoshi. 

“I think I am more scared of myself,” he says quietly as his hands slide to the top of Wakatoshi’s shoulders, “and of making decisions I might end up regretting somehow.”

Hajime’s fingers continue to move until they are at the back of Ushijima’s neck and flick through the short hairs at his nape.

“I’m not scared of you, Wakatoshi,” he says, “how could I be?”

Hajime presses his lips into Wakatoshi’s with affection and trust and hunger in his kiss. When Hajime swipes the tip of his tongue lightly over his lips, Wakatoshi parts them, allowing Hajime to delve eagerly.

Hajime slides their tongues against each other slowly in a way that makes his own head fuzzy, then he glides his fingers down to Wakatoshi’s hands and gently moves them so that they are resting on his hips.

“Wakatoshi,” Hajime says just before Wakatoshi greedily chases his lips back down. 

“Mmm. Baby,” Hajime says, parting from him again and offering his neck to Ushijima’s insistent mouth, “could I ask you to take care of me in another way?”

“Name it,” Ushijima says quietly as he kisses and nips all the way up Hajime’s throat then squeezes his hips.

Hajime reaches for one of Wakatoshi’s hands, his left, and silently slides it further along the curve of his ass. He splays his legs and continues guiding his hand until Wakatoshi’s fingers brush against his rim, causing a little hitch in Hajime’s breath. Wakatoshi’s eyes widen a fraction, and he remains perfectly still.

“I know it’s not what you most prefer,” Hajime explains, his face feeling warm, “but I…”

“Are you certain?” Wakatoshi asks, placing a soft kiss on Hajime’s forehead, “I did not come here expecting sex or anything like that. What you have been through in the past few days…”

“I’m certain,” Hajime says, cutting him off. “I want it. I want you. But you’re also partly right, I’ve been through a lot, and I need to be handled carefully.”

Hajime looks up at him and seems slightly embarrassed but no less determined. 

“So can you take care of me, Wakatoshi? Could you get me out of my head and make me feel good?”

Wakatoshi lightly strokes and presses with his fingers, teasing but not yet penetrating. 

“Yes, I can do that,” he says confidently.

Wakatoshi has Hajime moaning and gasping within moments of depositing him in his bed. They lie on their sides with Wakatoshi slotted behind Hajime, holding his leg up so that he can continue slowly pushing his thick fingers deeper into him. 

“Your sounds are so beautiful, Hajime,” Wakatoshi says low near his ear. Hajime hums and moans, rocking his hips back into Wakatoshi’s fingers.

“Wakatoshi, please,” Hajime says, “I want more.”

“Are you sure?” Wakatoshi asks, fanning out his fingers. “I do not want to push you too much.”

“Yes,” Hajime whines, “please. I’ve been preparing for a while, just in case.”

“Oh?” Wakatoshi asks as he slowly slides his fingers out of him and reaches for the lubricant.

“Yes,” Hajime says, his face and neck flushing hot. “I thought maybe eventually we might want to, so I kind of… got back in practice a bit.”

“Oh did you?” Wakatoshi says with a hint of a tease in his voice. “Maybe you should show me sometime.”

Wakatoshi quickly spreads lubricant over himself and aligns with Hajime, who tips his head back to look at him.

“Would you like that?” Hajime asks quietly. 

Wakatoshi nods and kisses the top of his head, then he begins to push forward into him. Both he and Hajime moan and whine low in their throats.

Wakatoshi takes it very slowly, partly because he wants to give Hajime time to adjust and stretch, and partly because he has not done this in over a year. The warmth and squeeze of Hajime around him is almost too much. He takes in long, smooth breaths to calm himself.  

“You feel so good,” he moans quietly near Hajime’s ear.

“So do you,” Hajime replies, quietly panting. “I really hope… that this will be good for you too. I know… you’ve said… you’re not as keen… on topping.

Wakatoshi finally pushes all the way to the base and lets out a sigh. He slides one hand from Hajime’s hip forward to rest just over his stomach, and he slots his other arm under Haijme’s head then winds it around to rest his other hand over Hajime’s throat. He splays his long fingers possessively, pulling Hajime even closer.

“It’s different,” he says quietly. “With you, it feels different.”

Wakatoshi slides back about halfway, then slowly pushes forward. Hajime moans and throws back his head against Ushijima’s chest. 

“I never did get much satisfaction from being fast and rough with this,” Wakatoshi whispers, “namely, I do not think I am very well suited to fucking.”

Hajime begins to quake a little with each slow, sensual drag and push of Wakatoshi’s cock in and out of him. 

“But making love to you is another matter entirely.” 

Hajime lets out a gasp as Wakatoshi slides forward again, slowly pushing even deeper into him. Wakatoshi places a tiny, loving kiss near the back of his ear and continues mercilessly drowning Hajime in his concentrated affection and attention. 

Hajime’s eyes slip closed and his beautiful little sounds of pleasure get progressively louder and more frequent from the cumulative effect of Wakatoshi’s deliberate, consistent ministrations.

“Baby,” he moans, with nothing else coherent to say. His breaths come ragged, and his mind gets hazy.

“Does it feel good, Hajime?” Wakatoshi asks. Hajime moans a sweet little mmm at the back of his throat and emphatically nods his head.

“Is it comforting,” he asks quietly, so close that Hajime shivers from the breath over his ear, “is it nice to be filled with me?”

“Yes,” Hajime affirms a little desperately, “so good, baby. You feel so good.”

Wakatoshi preens at Hajime’s praise and snaps his hips forward just slightly at the end of his next stroke, making Hajime gasp.

“It makes me feel a little bit crazy,” Hajime says softly, “needing you like this.” He tips his head, and his eyes meet Wakatoshi’s.

“You need me?” Wakatoshi asks, a bit stunned. His hands lightly press and then relax where they still rest across Hajime’s neck and stomach. Hajime raises his hand up and behind him to gently cup Wakatoshi’s cheek.

“I need you,” he admits. 

Wakatoshi is quiet for a moment, then he moves his hands so that Hajime is even further wrapped up, enfolded into his arms. 

“Can I move you?” Wakatoshi asks with a slight quiver in his voice. “I want to see your face.”

Hajime nods then lets himself be very carefully shifted. Wakatoshi manages to guide him so that his back is on the bed and Wakatoshi is between his sprawled legs without ever pulling out of him.

Wakatoshi slides his hands under Hajime, one near the center of his lower back and one near his shoulder blades. Then he tips them both upright so that Hajime settles into his lap. He holds him very similar to the way he did on the night of the New Year’s match all those months ago, with Hajime’s legs over his and holding him close to his chest.

A startled little ahh! issues from Hajime’s throat. “So deep!” he pants as he clings tightly to Wakatoshi’s shoulders.

“Hajime,” Wakatoshi says, “look at me, baby.”

He gently lifts Hajime’s chin to capture his gaze. Wakatoshi draws him into a deep, passionate kiss and continues pressing his hips up into him. Hajime kisses him back enthusiastically, messily, panting into his open mouth. 

“It’s so much,” Hajime moans against Wakatoshi’s lips. Wakatoshi squeezes his hold around his waist. 

“I — Wakatoshi!” Hajime cries as Wakatoshi thrusts upward harder and pulls him down onto him.

“Fuck,” Hajime sighs quietly and squeezes his eyes closed. 

“I like it when you say my name,” Wakatoshi mumbles into the skin of his shoulder as he returns to a regular rhythm.

Iwaizumi leans forward to be closer to him and whispers, “Wakatoshi.” 

All Wakatoshi’s hairs stand on end, and Hajime feels a telling twitch inside him. 

“My angel,” Hajime adds, nuzzling into the space where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You are going to make me cum if you continue,” Wakatoshi breathes out shakily, squeezing Hajime’s waist again.

“Let’s do it together then,” Hajime says, “let’s cum, angel.”

Wakatoshi completely enfolds Hajime in his arms and holds him close as he continues moving his hips. Hajime moves one hand to stroke himself and whispers quietly into Wakatoshi’s ear about how well he is doing. His face flushes red from Hajime’s endless stream of compliments and breathy utterances of Wakatoshi’s name.

“I am close,” Wakatoshi moans, trying to control the slight shake in his limbs by squeezing Hajime tighter.

“Me too,” Hajime pants heavily, “I think I’m gonna —“

Hajime climaxes first with a loud ahh! followed by a pleading call of Wakatoshi’s name that pushes him over the edge as well. They cling to each other through it, then Wakatoshi collapses them both back down to the bed where they lie still tangled  and grasping for each other.

Hajime takes deep breaths and runs his fingers over Wakatoshi’s feverish skin. Wakatoshi peppers his neck and shoulders with chaste kisses and slides gentle hands up and down his spine. The room is quiet and still again, with only the sound of the fan and their soft breathing. 

“Hajime,” Wakatoshi says quietly, “I know you do not want to talk about it now, but I wanted to say that I am sorry for that day.”

“No,” Hajime says quietly, “it was not your fault. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“I do not want to make you feel like you have to run anymore. I do not want to do anything that makes me have to be apart from you,” Wakatoshi says.

Hajime sighs. He had not wanted to get into it.

“But that is what you playing abroad would do,” he says quietly. “But I cannot just leave my responsibilities in Japan, and I also can’t ask you to give up a goal you’ve been working toward for this long. We are at an impasse.”

“I see,” Wakatoshi says. “And you think we could not make this work over that distance for a while?”

“It’s more like it’s hard for me to think about having to go back to that life again,” Hajime says sadly. “I realize painfully well lately that we have such finite time, and I don’t know if I can spend another decade being with a person who I never get to see.”

“That is exactly right, we have such finite time,” Wakatoshi says seriously, brushing a gentle hand across his face. 

“Hajime, I said I would wait, but I do not want to wait anymore,” he says. “I have to be with you. I have to find a way to make that happen, so tell me what that way is.”

Hajime looks at him with searching eyes and parted lips, but he cannot possibly explain what he does not know himself.

Wakatoshi bends in to kiss Hajime, and it is passionate, needy, and insistent. His warm hands slide across Hajime’s skin, skimming his hips and waist. His touch feels like as potent a claim as any mark, silently insisting, all of you should be mine.

As Wakatoshi kisses up and down his neck, a series of loud, rapid knocks sounds from the front door downstairs. Iwaizumi’s brow furrows. He leans out of bed to check his phone, but no one had texted to say to expect them.

“No, love,” Ushijima says when Hajime moves to get up. “I can get the door, take your time getting cleaned up.”

Ushijima pulls on a shirt and some shorts then quickly pads down the stairs in his bare feet. He runs a hand through his hair to try to smooth it back then opens the front door, with a soft, “yes?”

He meets a pair of brown, almond-shaped eyes blown wide under soft, chestnut waves, and his posture immediately straightens. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” is haphazardly thrown in his direction, and he tries to collect himself.

“Hello Oikawa-san. I was not aware you were in the country.”

Chapter Text

Oikawa’s eyes narrow in that same look of complete distaste he has always pointed at Ushijima since they were in middle school.

“I came to see Hajime,” Oikawa says firmly.

“Oh. Is he expecting you?” Ushijima asks calmly. “He did not mention it.”

“You are the unexpected one here,” Oikawa says through a tight jaw.

“I was asked to be here,” Ushijima says, his brow furrowing, “so I am not sure how that makes me unexpected.”

Oikawa looks as if he has just been scalded, and the hatred in his eyes only grows.

“Move,” he says coldly, his hands balling into tight fists.

Ushijima just stares at him. He doubts Hajime would be pleased to allow a free-range and probably pissed off Oikawa Tooru into his house, but he also does not live here and feels awkward being the one to tell him to go away.

“Get out of my way,” Oikawa says impatiently, elbowing through the doorway and into the entry.

Oikawa pushes past then toes off his shoes quickly and goes calling through the house.

“Hajime?!” he cries as he paces through the bottom floor. “Hajime, where are you?”

He steps toward the stairs, and just as Ushijima is about to intervene, Iwaizumi appears at the top of the landing with his arms crossed. 

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi says, his voice filled with apprehensive confusion. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?!” Oikawa asks, his voice tipping upward on the verge of cracking.

“I heard Auntie is in the hospital and that Granny died — not from you, by the way!” he adds angrily. Hajime sighs and begins to slowly descend the stairs.

“And then you just refused to respond to me at all! Why are you the one confused about why I’m here right now?” Oikawa asks.

“Tooru—“ Iwaizumi starts, all of the weariness of the past few days returning to his body.

“If anyone is confused right now, it’s me!” Oikawa continues. 

“And you!” he says, finally turning to Ushijima again, “what are you doing here answering Hajime’s door Ushiwaka-chan~?”

Iwaizumi’s blood boils, because Tooru has always had two distinct ways of saying someone’s name. On the surface they seem the same — some cutesy variation of their name, said on its own if one is fortunate, or followed by a nonsensical “-chan” if he has particularly strong feelings about a person or just finds it especially annoying or comical.

However, slight variations in his tone make it clear, at least to Iwaizumi, what he really thinks. Most of the time it is good-natured, his idea of fun, a way to cast himself as someone quirky and nonchalant with a natural charm, instead of as the introvert with anxiety and a raging inferiority complex that he is. This is the way he had called him Iwa-chan for so many years, the way he had referred to their teammates. 

Other times though, when Tooru is at his most nasty and petty and vile, his voice tips and wiggles in ways that are barbed and poisonous, full of an undercurrent of hatred and derision. It is the side of him that Iwaizumi has always known existed, but had never been pointed in his direction, or at anyone he cared about as much as he now cares about Wakatoshi. In fact, Iwaizumi knows of only three living people who consistently receive this treatment from Tooru. One of them Hajime could not care less about, because he knows he deserves it, but the other two, Kageyama and Wakatoshi, have recently become quite precious to him.

“Tooru, please stop with the nickname,” Iwaizumi says to deflect his focus from Wakatoshi, “we’re not in high school anymore.”

“As soon as he answers the question, Hajime,” Oikawa says seriously, “unless you want to instead.”

Everyone falls silent for a tense moment that makes stomachs turn and throats bob.

“Wakatoshi-kun is staying here and helping me get through everything,” Iwaizumi supplies with a sigh, saving Ushijima from having to try to answer.

Oikawa blinks, mouth opening and shutting like a fish freshly yanked from his lake.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he finally decides on saying.

“Don’t even start with—“

“Since when are you two so close?” Tooru flings out, almost venomously. “Because last I checked you weren’t. And now… what? All of a sudden you’re best buds out of nowhere? On a given name basis?”

Iwaizumi tips his chin down and holds one wary hand in front of him, then he subconsciously stretches his other hand toward the path between Tooru and Wakatoshi. He can feel the winds shifting, the beginnings of a troublesome change.

“And what the hell was up with that trip?!” Tooru slings at them next. 

Iwaizumi now knows that Tooru is all warmed up, ready to step out of the bullpen and send pitch after pitch searing in their direction if left unchecked. He has to find a way to stop this.

“You went to Minami-Rokuroshi of all places!” he says, and his voice is tinged with pain. “Really, Hajime?”

Ah, so he had seen it. Iwaizumi remembers the few photos he had posted to his private social media account from his trip with Ushijima. He had not been exactly hiding anything. Ushijima had been clearly visible in at least one photo. However, he had not exactly been trying to flaunt their closeness either. Ushijima shifts uncomfortably next to him and points his eyes to the floor.

“Like, are you kidding me?” Tooru’s voice is straining, cracking, hurt. “You went there? With Ushiwaka~?”

“Can you not with the stupid—“ Iwaizumi begins impatiently, but Oikawa cuts him off.

“And then when all this started happening, why didn’t you call me?!” he continues, giving them whiplash. He snaps from topic to topic as quickly as ever.

Iwaizumi feels both a bit of gratitude and a twinge of guilt that he is no longer used to this these days, to the way Tooru drops his careful mask when he is stressed or very close with a person or both. His mind and mouth can run a mile a minute and leave lesser mortals in the dust. Iwaizumi finds that after several months of being used to Ushijima’s careful patience, he no longer quite has the stomach for it.

“Why are you insisting on going through the hardest moment of your life with some guy we barely know instead of JUST TALKING TO ME?” Oikawa continues in a frustrated tone, his eyebrows crashing together. 

Iwaizumi’s temper flares at the insinuation that Wakatoshi is anywhere near a person he “barely knows.”

“I would have been here for you!” Oikawa continues desperately, “but instead I’m having to track you down and bust down your door… I don’t understand you!”

Iwaizumi’s body begins to shake, vibrating with anger and pain and guilt and overwhelm and exhaustion. 

“Hajime,” Ushijima says quietly, reaching toward him with a gentle hand. 

“Ushiwaka-chan~, what the fuck do you think —“

Tooru never finishes his sentence, because Iwaizumi finally snaps.

“CALL HIM BY HIS MOTHERFUCKING NAME OR DON’T REFER TO HIM AT ALL!” he bellows, his eyes blown wide with molten anger.

Tooru’s mouth snaps shut, and he stands ramrod straight. For all the times Iwaizumi has been hard on him or has given him tough love, sometimes in the form of a grabbed wrist or a headbutt to the face when he had been at his most self-destructive, he is actually unused to Iwaizumi being legitimately angry with him. This is finally Iwaizumi’s eruption, his breaking point, his Krakatoa.

“Maybe you don’t know him, but I do!” Iwaizumi continues to yell. He puts his entire body between Wakatoshi and Tooru, and his shoulders are squared, his heels dug into the ground. 

“He has been nothing but incredible and understanding with me since you decided to unceremoniously throw me away after fifteen years of giving you every godforsaken moment of my life!” Iwaizumi continues, leaning forward. 

Tooru withers, but Iwaizumi cannot stop now.

“I gave you everything, Tooru!” he throws out angrily with a hitch in his voice. “You had my heart, my body, my time, my attention — I made so many sacrifices for you, for us! Over and over and over!”

Tooru tries to shakily open his mouth.

“No!” Iwaizumi snaps before he can even make a sound. His voice crackles with rage. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

He breathes in great heaves that he consciously tries to slow, his approach rapidly changing.

“Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t call you because I don’t actually want you here right now?” Iwaizumi continues with a volatile swing of his voice to low and eerily calm.

“You’re exactly right,” he says coldly, “this is the hardest moment of my life, so why on earth would I ever want to make it harder?”

Tooru swallows and looks at him with wide eyes that verge on teary. 

“Hajime,” Ushijima says softly, hoping to catch his attention and make him stop. Ushijima steps closer, and Iwaizumi splays a soft, protective hand against his chest to keep him behind him.

“You have no right to look at me like that,” Iwaizumi continues, staring into Tooru’s eyes and pinning him in place. “You live in Argentina, Tooru! You ran away from me to live on the other side of the world, permanently, and now this is the consequence of that. This was entirely your decision.”

Iwaizumi leans forward but extends his arm to keep a hand in contact with Ushijima, drawing from his warmth. A finger of his other hand presses into Oikawa’s chest on the last two words for emphasis — your. decision.

Oikawa pales, but he obviously has a broken sense of self-preservation because he cannot help but open his mouth again.

“So why does he get to be here instead?” Tooru asks in a broken, frazzled voice. “Of all the people in the whole world, why did it have to be him, Hajime? I mean, Kunimi or Mattsun or Kyouken-chan —“

Iwaizumi is so finished with this entire thing. His anger is tipping quickly toward infuriating numbness, and he is now even more exhausted. He wants Oikawa out of his sight. He looks into his eyes again and lies with his whole chest.

“Because he’s my fucking boyfriend, Tooru,” Iwaizumi drops harshly. “He is allowed to be by my side. He is the one taking care of me. He is the one I asked to be here.”

Iwaizumi never thought he would see a look so shattering on Tooru’s face, and even more than that, he never would have expected in a million years that he would be the one to put it there. Oikawa looks like he wants to die, like he might already have, and Iwaizumi cannot look away. For a moment they are locked in this place all battered and bloody. All their wounds are laid open to the air, stinging and gaping and torn.

Oikawa is crying, sparkling tears spilling down his face, and they are at once beautiful and horrid and grotesque. Iwaizumi’s breath hitches, and his eyes are also brimming, over-full. His gaze softens, and the overwhelming ache rushes back in.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I know how much you love my mom and my granny, and I apologize for not being the one to tell you — that was wrong of me.” 

Iwaizumi’s lips wobble, and he looks down at the floor as he pointedly steps back into Ushijima’s broad chest. Wakatoshi places a comforting, gentle hand on each of his shoulders and looks down with concern.

“Still…” he continues, his voice shaking a little now, “I’m not saying you can’t be here to visit and to grieve, but for today I really just need you to leave my fucking house.” 

Oikawa just looks at him for a long moment, tears still streaming as they both barely breathe. Then without warning, he silently nods and quickly leaves out the front door, blowing through without fanfare like a dying summer storm.

Iwaizumi lets out a shaky breath and spins around to bury his face into Ushijima’s chest.

“Are you okay?” Ushijima asks quietly as he holds him close and runs a soothing hand up and down his back. 

“No,” Hajime says miserably, “but also, yeah. Mostly.”

Wakatoshi nods and kisses his temple softly. His own mind is a mess, still reeling from the unexpected confrontation. Over top of that though, it keeps playing one phrase on repeat, over and over unceasingly — “my boyfriend,” “my boyfriend,” Hajime’s boyfriend. He wants to hope, but he also cannot stand to.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says after a while, “I’m sorry I lied to him, but I knew he wouldn’t stop otherwise.” 

Wakatoshi’s heart breaks. Say it is not a lie, he pleads in his mind. Please just let it be real. Tell me you love me, Hajime, because I love you more than anything. Just let me be yours.

“It does not have to be a lie,” he says carefully instead. “You know how I feel.” 

“I… don’t know if I can think about that right now,” Iwaizumi says sadly. “I don’t… we have such a mess on our hands, and I’m in no fit state to…” 

The point dies in Hajime’s throat.

“I know, baby,” Wakatoshi says as evenly as he can manage. He has to continue to be strong, to hold Hajime up as he still grieves and aches and recovers, but his knees want nothing more than to buckle. He brushes back Hajime’s hair with shaking fingers. 

“I just want to assure you, it is all okay,” he says, trying to press down the hemorrhaging feeling in his chest. 

“What can I do?” Wakatoshi asks. “What do you need most?”

Please, give me something to do, he silently begs.

Hajime looks up at him, really looks. He holds a steady gaze, and his eyes are soft, apologetic, almost sad.

“You are too good to me,” Hajime whispers, his breath nearly stolen by the ache in the center of his chest.

“Never,” Wakatoshi whispers back. It cascades from his lips as a gentle promise. Nothing will ever be too good for his Hajime.

“I need you to take me upstairs,” Hajime says quietly, and Wakatoshi nods.

“I need you to lay me in my bed,” he whispers with a soft huff of breath dancing over Wakatoshi’s lips.

“And I need you,” Hajime says, the curve of his lips nearly touching Wakatoshi’s, “just you.”

*******

When they finally try to get some sleep, Iwaizumi tosses and turns, remembering the look on Tooru’s face that shattered his heart. As much as he needs Tooru to understand and to finally back off, he also misses his friend and does not want to see him hurt — and Hajime had clearly hurt him, had even done it on purpose. 

He rolls onto his stomach and unlocks his phone, squinting in the too bright glow of the screen.

———

Meet me here. 10 am. 

Just you. I’ll be coming alone too.

———

Iwaizumi presses send then adds a location pin and locks his phone again before turning over and nuzzling against Wakatoshi. He tries again to get some sleep. He feels like he will need it.

In the morning Ushijima makes them breakfast. They are quiet, and Iwaizumi thinks it is partly out of sheer exhaustion and partly out of Ushijima’s consideration for him. He is always so considerate, Iwaizumi thinks with a pang of guilt.

“Wakatoshi,” he says softly after he finishes eating, “I am going to meet with Tooru this morning.”

He looks up into his eyes and can see the worry, the silent plea not to go.

“I need to fix this,” Iwaizumi says simply, placing a gentle hand over Wakatoshi’s. 

“Obviously he’s not going to let me cut him out completely, and I don’t think I’d want to do that anyway. Not forever,” Iwaizumi says. “So we have to find a reasonable way forward, don’t you think?”

He looks to Wakatoshi again, silently seeking his approval, and finally he nods. 

“Yes, I agree,” Ushijima concedes, “but I still do not like it.”

Iwaizumi smiles lightly, running his thumb over Ushijima’s hand.

“Please do not let him kiss you,” Ushijima says quietly, remembering Oikawa’s request from the last time he and Iwaizumi had had a “heart-to-heart.”

Iwaizumi sputters and laughs and brings Wakatoshi’s hand up to his lips.

“I’d punch him if he even asked,” Iwaizumi says, “though I am certain he would not do that now.”

Ushijima nods but the pit in his stomach still feels too weighty. 

“Where are you meeting him?” Ushijima asks, his brow still furrowed.

“At the gravesite,” Iwaizumi says. “They let me know it should be ready. They got it done so fast! Hopefully we can count on him to be on best behavior there.”

Ushijima seems a bit more at ease about that, nodding his head decisively. 

“And you’re going alone I assume?” he asks.

“Yes, I think that would probably be best,” Iwaizumi says, and unfortunately Wakatoshi can only agree.

When Iwaizumi enters the cemetery at 9:57, Oikawa is already waiting for him, uncharacteristically on time with a black umbrella in hand. It is a drizzling, dismal day, perhaps the perfect kind of weather for this sort of thing.

“Shitty-kawa,” Iwaizumi says as he quietly sidles up next to him and looks forward in the same direction. He says it fondly, just like he always used to, and it causes Oikawa to shift his eyes toward him and then back to the dark stone slab in front of them.

“Iwa-chan,” he answers back softly. It makes Iwaizumi’s heart ache in a happy sort of way to hear it once again.

“So what are you going to do to me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks with a faux-casual lilt in his voice. “Beat me up? Kidnap me? Your text was very cryptic, you know.”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says softly, turning toward him. Oikawa cannot help but follow, turning his way with an anxious little swallow and inhale.

“I’m going to ask something of you that I never have before,” Iwaizumi says seriously. Oikawa’s eyes are wide and searching.

“Okay,” he says apprehensively.

“I need you to just be completely straightforward with me, please,” Iwaizumi says, his voice dipping low, nearly pleading. 

“I need no hiding, no posturing, no bullshit,” he elaborates, fixing Tooru with a soft gaze. “I know that makes you uncomfortable, but can you do that for me, please?”

Tooru’s face looks slightly panicked, but Iwaizumi keeps his breathing even and gives him space, silence, room to breathe.

“I will… try my best,” Oikawa says quietly, and Iwaizumi figures that is the best he can hope for. 

Oikawa turns back to look at the stone in front of them again and they sit in stillness and silence for a long moment.

“She was a wonderful lady,” Oikawa finally says quietly, “I loved her a lot.”

“She was,” Iwaizumi says sadly, “and she loved you too. That never changed.”

Oikawa nods, keeping his eyes forward.

“It really hurt me,” Oikawa says after a while, almost hesitantly. “It hurt to hear it from someone other than you.”

Iwaizumi nods but remains quiet.

“I tried to understand,” he adds, “but then you just… kept ignoring me.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows scrunch into a look of mingling sadness and frustration.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says softly. “I can see how that would be very upsetting, and I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“I felt like I had enough going on, and I could not deal with even one more thing on top of it all,” Iwaizumi explains.

“See,” Tooru says with a deep sigh, “that’s the thing.”

“What thing?” Iwaizumi asks. Oikawa presses his lips into a line and holds his breath, looking like he is about to implode from the effort of being too sincere.

“The thing that hurts more,” he finally admits, “that now you see me as just another something to deal with, rather than as someone to turn to. It drives me insane.”

“As if you needed much driving,” Iwaizumi says, pushing his shoulder against Oikawa’s. “You’ve always been insane.”

“Now who’s bullshitting, Iwa-chan?!” Tooru says indignantly as he shoves his shoulder back into Iwaizumi in retaliation.

“Sorry, sorry,” Iwaizumi says with a laugh.

“Meanie,” Tooru pouts quietly.

“I’m sorry too,” Tooru says. “I got too desperate. I pushed too hard.”

He runs his free hand up over his face and holds it there, covering it in embarrassment.

“Hit it til it breaks, right?” he adds bitterly, but it makes Hajime huff a small laugh.

“Ehh, I’m pretty used to your antics by now, aren’t I?” he says, trying to ease the sting.

They fall into silence again.

“This is all really hard, Hajime,” Oikawa finally says in the most sobering tone Iwaizumi has ever heard from him.

“I know,” Iwaizumi answers, “it is for me too.”

Oikawa shifts on his feet, adjusts his umbrella, and softly clears his throat before he can finally continue on.

“I never imagined that someday we would have to learn how to stop loving each other,” he says in a melancholy tone.

Hajime turns his face to look at Tooru, and for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to truly see. For closing in on almost two years now, Oikawa Tooru has been The Man Who Broke His Heart, The Former Love of His Life, The Shard Splintered Off of Hajime’s Soul, The Most Devastating Loss of His Lifetime. But when he looks at him now, he can finally begin to see him again, as if finally able to peer through a dissipating haze. He is once more allowed to be the childhood companion, the boy he once knew, the person who shaped him, the hopeless romantic with a larger dose of hopeless than romantic, the obstinate asshole, the insecure idiot, the favorite person, the best friend.

“I mean, do we really have to?” Iwaizumi asks softly, and it draws Oikawa’s gaze.

“Isn’t it just that we have to learn to love each other differently? Not as possessively maybe?” he says with a sad smile.

“I am who I am because of you, Tooru,” he continues, having to briefly glance away from Oikawa’s intense gaze. “If I tried to carve out all the bits of myself that were molded by you, there would be nothing left of me.”

“It’s — it’s the same for me, Iwa-chan,” Tooru promises, nearly gasping. “You are —… you always were, everything. You’re all of me. I don’t — there is no me without a you, and I’ve been so, so lost.”

Tooru looks to be on the verge of tears again, and Iwaizumi turns to look straight ahead and silently slides his hand into Tooru’s. It feels simultaneously familiar and foreign, but most of all it feels warm.

“I need you to hear me right now,” Iwaizumi says, “I need you to understand.”

Oikawa sniffles and nods softly, squeezing Iwaizumi’s hand.

“I would never want to be completely rid of you,” Iwaizumi says. “I will never want us to be estranged forever.”

“But that’s exactly why I need you to let go and let me lead for a while,” Iwaizumi explains. “We can’t keep going like this, Tooru. It’s just going to wedge us further apart.” 

Tooru’s head hangs and his fingers squeeze Hajime’s hand even tighter.

“And I can’t just not give a damn and watch that happen,” Iwaizumi continues. “I also can’t not love you, but I’m not going to be your partner anymore. It is going to have to be different.”

Oikawa nods, his tears spilling over for not the first time that day.

“Back in January you told me I’m still your best friend,” Iwaizumi says. “Is that still true?”

“Of course!” Oikawa gasps immediately. “That will always be true!”

“I’m glad,” he returns with a smile, “because it’s true for me too.”

Iwaizumi gives Oikawa’s hand a friendly squeeze back, and then they release each other’s hands, letting them fall back to their sides.

“And is he okay with that?” Oikawa asks.

“Yes,” Hajime says, knowing that for all of Ushijima’s worries, he wants things to be mended, for both their sakes. “He knows.”

“Just…” Oikawa sighs and stalls out for a moment. 

“I guess I don’t really understand,” he says, “because I’ve always actively disliked him.” 

“I thought we both did,” he adds, “but, I’ll be cordial at the very least, for your sake. Just… you really do like him, right? Like he’s someone you like having around? Just assure me of that, and I can figure out how to live with it.”

“Yes,” Hajime affirms, “I really really do.”

“Okay, good,” Oikawa says with only a slight pout. 

Iwaizumi feels like he can perhaps begin to breathe again. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath of the cool, moist air and the smell of the strengthening rain. 

As he exhales, he feels a small buzz from his phone. He runs his hand into his pocket, figuring Wakatoshi is checking in. He notices Oikawa checking his screen too for a notification that had come around the same time, and sees his face begin to scrunch up in confusion. 

Iwaizumi decides to check his own phone, but when he does, it is not a text he sees. Rather, it is something else that makes his eyes go wide and his pulse thunder in panic. His eyes slide to meet Oikawa’s, both their heads slowly turning, and he is wearing a similar expression of horror and apprehension.

“OH, SONUVABITCH.”

Chapter Text

Here he is again, unfortunately. Different room, same problem, except this time with a lot more to answer for. 

The JVA main conference room would feel expansive, except for the fact that far too many people are jammed into it, all of them looking at Iwaizumi with reactions varying from quiet pity to overt curiosity to open frustration. People are still settling into their seats, but Iwaizumi already feels overwarm, itchy, boxed in. 

He wishes he could reach out his hand to his left and take Wakatoshi’s, but that would raise instant alarm bells. A slightly-too-hard smack on his shoulder comes from his right where Kyoutani sits, but he says nothing. Iwaizumi knows it is his way of telling him, “I’m with you.”

Once most people have taken their seats, another hand, more gentle this time, settles on his shoulder briefly. Iwaizumi turns to the side and sees Kuroo Tetsurou standing behind him with a soft smile and a black portfolio tucked under his arm. The end of his red tie is tucked into his shirt pocket, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. On anyone else, his hair might further suggest the trenches he has likely been in at work today, but after his few run-ins with Kuroo, Iwaizumi suspects his hair is just Like That.

“Hey, breathe okay?” Kuroo says quietly with a covert wink as he hands bottled water to the three of them. “We’ll get through it.”

After that, his face sets into a more serious expression, and he slinks off to the other side of the table to take up his position. He is once again near the center, next to his much more unpleasant colleague who is currently wearing a sour expression.

“So, let me get this straight…” the sour-faced man begins. Iwaizumi has to stifle the reflex to laugh, just at the sheer ridiculousness of his own life. What he had been accused of was certainly not straight. He immediately shuts the man out, instead consumed with the events of the past several hours that flit through his mind wildly.

*******

Oikawa is livid, of course. He immediately gets on his phone and starts speaking with his agent heatedly in rapid Spanish, despite the late hour of the night back in Argentina and the fact that he and Iwaizumi are still at the gravesite. He has to be dragged away by the collar as Iwaizumi apologizes profusely to the few other mourners they pass and then shoves him into his mother’s car.

He continues his phone call as Iwaizumi drives him back to the Oikawa house. Tooru’s loud protestations are both grating and somehow oddly soothing. 

“Who can we sue?” he asks petulantly. “This is attempted defamation or something isn’t it? Or, well, at the very least hearsay? I don’t know what it is, it’s just bad!”

He pauses to let the other person speak while bouncing his knee up and down at an alarming cadence. 

“No!” he calls out loudly, startling Iwaizumi, “no, no, no! You don’t get it! I don’t give a fuck about me. I know my career will be fine after this, but Hajime’s…”

Oh.

Iwaizumi’s breath sticks, and his eyes begin to tear up immediately. He glances briefly at Oikawa in the passenger seat, at the anger and worry in his shoulders, at the deep ridges in his brow line.

Iwaizumi slowly pulls the car over and brings it to a stop, causing Oikawa to look at him in confusion. Iwaizumi is doubled over the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking.

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa says softly.

“Shitty-kawa,” Iwaizumi says, looking up with tear-stained eyes, “I think I need you to drive.”

Oikawa immediately hangs up his call and gets out of the car. Iwaizumi manages to unbuckle himself, and Oikawa meets him on the driver’s side. He is wracked with another sob and reaches for a surprised Tooru, pulling him into a crushing hug. 

“You really fucking suck,” Iwaizumi says, and he feels Oikawa tense. 

“I’m supposed to still be kinda mad at you, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be reasonable. But you’re such a fucking shithead, always being a stupid good guy and shit when it matters.”

Iwaizumi balls up a fist, grasping at the back of his shirt, and Oikawa laughs softly and squeezes him a bit harder. 

“How eloquent Iwa-chan,” he teases, “but it kinda goes with the whole best friend thing. I’m afraid you’re stuck with it.”

They show up at the Oikawa house, both wet from the rain and Hajime even more soaked from the tears. Takeru, back in Sendai again for a few days, sees them as soon as they step into the genkan.

”What did you do, Uncle Tooru?!” he calls when he sees Iwaizumi’s face.

”Nothing!” Tooru screeches indignantly as he helps Iwaizumi into the house and slides off his shoes, “I didn’t do anything this time!”

”Yeah, this time,” Takeru says sassily, and it makes Iwaizumi laugh through his tears.

Tooru explains the situation in the most basic terms, then Taeko and Oikawa-san bustle about getting them dry and making them tea. That is when the calls start.

The first is from Kyoutani, to Iwaizumi’s phone. Hajime hands it shakily to Tooru who answers.

”Long time no talk, Kyouken-chan,” Iwaizumi hears him say. 

“No, you called Iwa-chan’s phone. He’s with me.” Taeko comes in with fresh, fluffy towels for them both.

”It’s… a long story,” Oikawa says, glancing at Iwaizumi and drying his own hair with his free hand. “Look, if I send you my address, could you come?”

Oikawa drapes his towel around his shoulders, stopping to listen.

”Well then shake your stupid handler, Kyouken-chan!” Oikawa says, frustrated, “You’re telling me you can’t get around whatever poor intern they stuck with the job? Fuck, put him in the car and bring him if it comes down to it!”

”Look, I have to go,” Oikawa adds, “Hajime’s phone is going crazy, just get your ass here, okay?”

Oikawa hangs up and looks down at the phone in his hand.

”Lover boy is losing his mind, Haj,” he says with a sigh, “and you’ve got some others too. It was buzzing in my ear that whole time.”

Iwaizumi freezes, his shoulders tensing up.

”Ushijima,” he says quietly as Oikawa hands him his phone.

“He’s all alone right now in that empty house!” he says as he quickly pops to his feet, “I need to go!”

”What you need is to get out of those wet clothes,” Oikawa-san says as she comes in with hot cups of tea.

”Wait!” Takeru says excitedly, “Ushijima-san is here?! He’s not in France?”

”Yes, he’s at my house and he’s all alone, and —“ Hajime’s eyes are wide and panicked.

”Takeru,” Tooru says calmly, “go to Hajime’s house and get him.”

Takeru and Iwaizumi both fall silent and look at Tooru in disbelief.

Tooru lets out a frustrated tch! and crosses his arms.

”Look, it only makes sense, okay?“ he says as he looks away. “Kyouken-chan is coming over too, and Iwa-chan already gave me a scolding, so I’ll be on my best behavior.” 

Takeru and Iwaizumi exchange dumbfounded glances.

“I still hate his stupid voice and his stupid face and his stupid, dumb, overconfident ass, but he’s with Hajime, and that means he’s with us now too, right?” Tooru says.

”Right?” he emphasizes again when he gets no response.

”Go on and get him, Takeru,” Taeko says softly, “and ask him to bring dry clothes for Hajime-kun too.”

Takeru dashes out the door quickly with two umbrellas in hand, and Oikawa-san hands some tea to both Hajime and Tooru. She throws an arm around Tooru’s neck and murmurs something quietly to him that elicits a groaned, “c’mon mom, please” with an embarrassed roll of his eyes.

“I’m changing clothes,” he grumbles after taking a sip of the tea and placing the cup down on the low living room table. He walks off further into the house, disappearing toward the bedrooms. 

Oikawa-san wraps the towel in Hajime’s hands around his shoulders and bids him to drink his tea as she sits down across from him at the low table. 

“It’s been so good to have you back here, Hajime,” Oikawa-san says softly, “we’ve missed you quite a lot.”

Hajime nods over the rim of his teacup, then takes a long drink to try to hide his face. His eyes are starting to sting again with unshed tears. What he cannot quite manage to say without crying is that he is glad, so happy that the Oikawa house can perhaps be a place of refuge for him again, that he has finally gotten his home back in so many ways.

His phone continues to buzz insistently though, and it makes his stomach pinch with dread.

“You may want to silence it, dear,” Oikawa-san says with a pained look, a look that says she wishes she could somehow make this problem disappear for him, for them.

Hajime switches his phone into Do Not Disturb with exceptions only for Ushijima, his mother, and Taeko. He glances at the missed calls and unread text from Suzuki. 

I’m so sorry to bother you Iwaizumi-san. I know you’re in Sendai for…

The preview text cuts off, and he is too afraid to open it and see the rest just now.

Before he can put down his phone, a new missed call notification comes across his screen — a video call from Alex. Ah, fuck. He deflates a bit with a heaved out sigh, because he knows he has to answer him. He reluctantly places a video call in return.

“How dare you not pick up a call from your pining ex paramour?!” Alex warbles dramatically without preamble. “So cruel, Hajime! You rip out my heart, go back to Japan, leave me all alone over here by my lonesome, and this is the treatment I get?!”

“You’re lucky I don’t pulverize you, you jerk,” Hajime hisses. “I know you’re joking, but the people around me don’t, so maybe shut the hell up, idiot.”

Alex explodes into a quick fit of giggles and Oikawa-san huffs a small laugh behind her hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says in soft Japanese, “I mostly only caught the tone.”

“So where are you exactly?” Alex asks.

“Ahhh, well…”

“Who’s that on the phone?” Tooru asks, rejoining them at the table and plopping down next to Hajime.

“No. Freaking. Way.” Alex says as Oikawa comes into view of the screen.

“Alex, this is Tooru Oikawa,” Hajime says in a resigned monotone, “Tooru, this is Alex Bianchi.”

“Ah! The libero, yeah?” Tooru says.

“How the hell do you even know who I am? What the fuck?” Alex says, hiding his face for a moment. 

“Of course I know you! You stole my man, allegedly!” Tooru jokes with a full cackling laugh.

“It’s not my fault he eventually developed some taste,” Alex snarks back with a face-splitting grin. 

“Well I’m glad you two are having fun,” Hajime says with his head in his hands. He had always known if his two favorite natural disasters ever chanced to meet that it would be hell for him, and now here it is happening, under the most bizarre of circumstances. 

“We’re just teasing,” Tooru says, bumping his shoulder against Hajime’s.

“So wait,” Alex chimes in, “I know the stuff about me is all bogus, but is one of the other guys actually your ex? Like THE ex?”

The sigh Hajime lets out is enough of an answer on its own.

“WAIT WHICH ONE?!” Alex screeches. “Is it Oikawa or that Kyoutani guy?!”

Oikawa breaks out in a fit of uncontrolled giggles and Hajime pokes him so hard in the ribs that he lets out a strangled yelp before dissolving into giggles again.

“It’s this asshole,” Hajime grumbles, and Alex’s eyes go wide.

Oikawa-san rises and gathers their mostly drained cups of tea, then she softly chops Tooru on the head as she passes by with a stern but loving “behave.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Oikawa finally says, catching his breath a bit. “I just hadn’t really had time to process it — they actually think you and Kyouken-chan were a thing. That’s so hilarious.”

“Everything makes so much sense now,” Alex says with a grave nod, his fingers lightly curled over his chin for extra effect. “You lost one of the hottest dudes on the planet, now I get it.”

Oikawa huffs another laugh. “You’re a sweet one,” he says with a put on charm Iwaizumi knows actually means he is embarrassed. “Thank you for the compliment, but I can tell you for certain I lost someone a lot more special than he did when we split.”

That shuts both Alex and Hajime up for a moment, then Alex just looks back over to Hajime and gives a quiet, disbelieving, “dude.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hajime says. He is no longer used to this either, to the flip side of Tooru’s overgrown self deprecation being a nearly suffocating high valuation of the people he loves.

“Now I even more get it. Shit.”

The next moment, Takeru flies through the door and flings off his shoes with a hollered “we’re back!” Ushijima ducks in just behind him, eyes uncharacteristically timid and searching for Hajime.

Iwaizumi drops his phone, eliciting loud protestations and questions from Alex, then he gets up and runs to fling himself into Ushijima, holding onto him tightly with his arms clasped around the back of his neck. 

Ushijima holds him at his waist and dips his head onto Hajime’s shoulder then takes a steadying breath. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Stop,” Hajime says, squeezing him tighter. “It’s no one’s fault.”

“Oooh, so this is what we’re doing now?” Takeru comments with a smirk. “Cute.”

“What is happening!” Alex calls through the phone, and Tooru picks it up to point it back at his face. 

“We have more company,” Tooru says, trying not to sound too bitter. “Ushijima just arrived.”

“Ushijima’s there?” Alex asks excitedly.

“Unfortunately,” Tooru grumbles, then Takeru plops down next to him.

“You were the one who invited him, dummy,” Takeru says, thumping him on the head. 

Iwaizumi leaves the living room to change and leads Ushijima along by the hand to follow him.

“Woah,” Alex says as he looks at Takeru, “am I seeing double?” 

“Uh!” Takeru squawks in faux-indignation, “he wishes.” 

Alex laughs, and Tooru rolls his eyes. 

“And who might you be?” Takeru says, leaning a bit closer. “Ah, wait! I know you! You are Bianchi!”

Alex blanches and then hides his head in his hands again. “Seriously, how do you people keep knowing who I am?” 

Takeru converses quietly with Tooru for a brief moment in Japanese then turns back to the screen.

“I am also a libero too! Oikawa Takeru!” he says. “Sorry, my English is not always the best.”

“No way, it’s so good!” Alex says.

They converse a while, mostly about volleyball, with people coming in and out with more tea and snacks and taking wet towels to the wash. Eventually Kyoutani also shows up at the doorstep, thankfully without some poor intern in tow, and he is warmly welcomed in by Oikawa-san.

He sits at the low table by the two Oikawa boys, and Tooru points the phone at him so that he and Alex can see each other.

“Hey there!” Alex says, “Nice to meet you! Welcome to the Hajime-broke-our-hearts Club meeting.”

Kyoutani looks a touch embarrassed, then turns to Oikawa.

“I got ‘hey’ and ‘you’ and ‘Hajime’,” he says, his brow furrowing. 

“Well what the hell, Kyouken-chan?” Oikawa teases. “All that prime Seijoh education, gone to waste.”

“I can read it just fine, you dick!” Kyoutani defends, “I’m just bad at listening and speaking.”

“So, same as in Japanese, then?” 

“Fuck off,” Kyoutani says in English, making Alex laugh.

Oikawa cackles then finally gives him a general translation, which makes Kyoutani’s scowl deepen a fraction.

“Kyoutani,” Hajime says, clapping him on the shoulder as he comes back into the living room. His hair is mostly dry now and he has on fresh clothes. The rims of his eyes are still red, but he seems to be in slightly better spirits. He and Ushijima take up empty spots next to each other, finally completing their gathering.

“Is Alex still on the phone?” Iwaizumi asks, and Alex gives a bright “yep!”

The phone makes its way back to Iwaizumi, and Alex greets both him and Ushijima. 

“Okay,” Oikawa says, “sooo, what do we do now?”

Everyone is silent for a moment, the air turning back to tense apprehension.

“Well, I’m not certain about you guys,” Alex begins, “but I have probably the least skin in the game. 

“Like I’m not out out, but half of my social media posts are thirsting after Brendon Urie, so it’s like, whatever,” he adds with a shrug. “I’m not exactly hiding much.”

Takeru and Tooru quickly give Kyoutani the gist, then he pipes up in Japanese. 

“It’s still important to refute the relationship claims though,” Kyoutani says, “this is beyond just that now, they’re calling into question Iwaizumi-san’s professionalism!” 

Iwaizumi swallows around the lump in his throat. That had certainly been the worst part. Even more than all the photos that had been dredged up from over the years, all the private social media accounts that had somehow been raided, all the rabid conspiracy theory-style height calculations trying to prove the mystery man at the Emperor’s Cup was Ushijima, the worst of it all was that the story had eventually subtly hinted that all of these relationships may have involved some misuse of power on Iwaizumi’s part. It was not yet an overt accusation, but it was postured in such a way to suggest to readers that he may have used his position to lure Alex, Kyoutani, and Ushijima into relationships while working for their various teams. For the time being it is the kind of story mostly slung around by gossip publications and fans on social media, but it feels too close to tipping, too near to a true scandal for anyone’s comfort.

“Obviously!” Alex says apologetically after Ushijima fills him in on what Kyoutani had said, “we certainly can’t let that stand. Especially when he’s only actually dated one of us.”

“Two,” Oikawa corrects, “me too, remember?”

“I… yeah, you,” Alex says.

“So yeah,” Oikawa says, confused by his confusion, “me, and Ushijima.”

“What?” Alex and Takeru say at the same time. Iwaizumi puts his head in his hands and Ushijima looks like he wants to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says warily, “why are we confused? I figured this was like a known thing, that I’d be the last person to know.”

“It’s not,” Iwaizumi says, not knowing what else to do. Leave it to Oikawa to always make his life more complicated.

“I meeeeeeannn…” Alex says, drawing out the word.

“I’ve known something was going on,” Takeru says with a shrug.

“Yeah, what he said,” Alex adds.

Once someone catches Kyoutani up, he says “ah, yeah, same here.”

“You too?” Iwaizumi asks, and Kyoutani shrugs.

“I figured it out when I ran into you two at the Emperor’s Cup,” he explains, “I just didn’t say anything.”

“Well, whatever,” Iwaizumi says, “we’re all here together, so let's work out some sort of plan.”

They spend the next hour or so all working things through, talking and translating and helping each other field texts and calls. 

Ushijima holds Iwaizumi’s hand as he finally opens his text messages from Suzuki, which are all far kinder than he ever would have anticipated. They all help him compose a response.

Eventually Kyoutani’s coach calls him to set into him about shaking his handler.

“This was important!” Kyoutani says, frustrated. “We all had to gather up!”

“Who is we?” The Frogs’ head coach grumbles over the phone. 

“Me and Iwaizumi and Ushijima and Oikawa,” Kyoutani explains with an exasperated sigh. “Oh, and Bianchi too, on a video call though.”

“They’re all there?” his coach asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Kyoutani says, as if this should be obvious. 

“Can you put Iwaizumi-san on?” he asks with a sigh, clearly weary of Kyoutani.

“Well, you’re on speaker, so.”

“Well you could have told me that!” he says. “What the hell?!”

“Hello, Coach,” Iwaizumi says, hoping to make them focus again.

“Hey,” he says, “the JVA wants a meeting. They’ve called here asking for Kyoutani, and I’ve heard they’re looking for you and Ushijima as well.”

“I figured they would,” Iwaizumi says.

“And what about me?!” Tooru pipes up suddenly.

“Who’s that?” he asks, sounding confused.

“That’s Oikawa Tooru,” Iwaizumi explains. “He’s also in Sendai at the moment. We’re all here except Bianchi, who is in the States right now.”

“I see,” Coach says. “Well, no, I don’t think he was requested from what I know. Probably because they figure he’s abroad, and also because he’s not really their problem. They may ask to work with his team or something, but they’re not calling him in.”

Oikawa looks like he is about to argue until Takeru elbows him sharply.

“Gotcha, thanks for letting us know,” Iwaizumi says.

“Hey listen,” the coach continues, “since you’re all in Sendai currently, want us to give you a lift to Tokyo? They’ve asked for us to send Kyoutani and a few of our people in the jet, and it’s on the JVA’s dime, so I’m sure they would be happy about getting more bang for their buck on that, so to speak.”

“Yeah, that would be good,” Iwaizumi says, “thank you so much, Sir.” 

“Ehh, it’s no problem Iwaizumi-san,” he says, “you’re a good kid, and as much as Kyoutani gets on my last flippin’ nerve, he is too. I hope all this can get sorted out.” 

“Me too,” Iwaizumi adds quietly.

“You want me to tell them that’s the plan? They’ve been hounding our PR people so I’m sure they’d be happy for some good news,” he says.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi confirms, “and when and where should we meet for transport?”

“Sendai airport, 2 PM,” he says. “I trust you can get everyone wrangled and there on time?”

“Leave it to me,” Iwaizumi says. They have approximately two hours. 

“I should be going with you,” Tooru insists after the call ends. “I don’t care if they think I’m not their problem, I’m about to make myself their problem.”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t get to go,” Takeru says, cutting his eyes at him.

Tooru looks like he is about to argue, but then Iwaizumi cuts in.

“Tooru, I actually have something I need you to do,” Iwaizumi says, “something here in Sendai that’s more important.”

“Sure Iwa-chan,” Tooru says softly, looking surprised, “what is it?”

“Since I’m going to have to go do this today, I won’t be able to go see my mom,” he says, “and maybe not tomorrow either. Could you please go visit her? I know she’s going to be worried.”

“Of course Iwa-chan,” he says, “whatever you need.” Tooru really can be such a pushover during the rare times when Iwaizumi openly asks him for help with anything.

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi says, “I’ll be counting on you.”

Tooru pauses, blinking and stupid, letting the words ping around his head.

“Ack! Iwa-chan!” he says, collapsing face down onto the table dramatically. “You can’t do that to me!” 

Takeru begins to poke fun at Tooru, and in the chaos, Iwaizumi turns to Ushijima and squeezes his hand. 

“I’ll be counting on you too,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, I know I always do.”

“No apologies,” Ushijima says, “I want you to.”

After that, they are all on a time crunch, and things suddenly feel quite a bit more urgent and insistent.

“Listen, it's going to be fine,” Alex says. “You know we’ll all stand up for you. I don't know what you were like with your other teams, but I know both Utsui and I will vouch for your professionalism while you were here.”

“Oh, fuck!” Iwaizumi shouts, grasping at his hair. “Utsui-san! I didn’t even think about —!”

Iwaizumi turns to Ushijima, his eyes wide in panic.

“You two didn’t even tell Utsui?” Alex asks, his voice slightly judgmental. “Dude.”

“No! Just! …Ugh! Shut up!” Iwaizumi says.

“It will be alright,” Ushijima says, “I do not think he will be angry.”

“Does he know yet?” Iwaizumi asks Alex in a panicky tone anyway.

“I dunno man,” Alex says. “I mean, he hasn’t called me. Has he called either of you?”

Iwaizumi checks and has Ushijima do the same.

“No,” he says. 

“So probably not, then,” Alex says patiently. “He’s probably been asleep. Like, dude is chill, but not so chill that he just wouldn’t get in touch if he knew about it.”

That seems true enough to Iwaizumi.

“I figure you’ve probably got a few more hours,” Alex says, “enough time to hopefully sort some things out.”

Iwaizumi exhales a big breath, trying to gain his bearings back.

“So then, what’s the plan once you three get to Tokyo?” Takeru asks.

“I mean obviously denying what isn’t true, that’s easy,” he adds, “but what about the parts that are?”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s eyes meet across the table.

“You can tell them,” Oikawa says, “if you want to. If you think it’s best.”

“Denying everything might just raise further suspicions and cause people to come after you harder in the future,” he explains. “I don’t have to worry about what the JNT thinks anymore, and the Argentinians don’t care.”

Tooru shrugs as if this is just some small thing, but Iwaizumi can see through it and knows how hard it still is for him.

“What does everyone else think?” Iwaizumi asks, but the nods around the table seem to suggest agreement.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi sighs, “if you’re certain, that’s what we’ll do.”

Ushijima is frowning and his brow is scrunched. Iwaizumi thinks he echoes the sentiment. Everything feels so convoluted and wrong at the moment.

“So now we have a plan,” Tooru pipes up again, “deny what’s untrue, confirm our past, and give you and Ushijima some breathing room.”

Easier said than done, Iwaizumi thinks.

“Since we’re going to be split up,” Tooru says, “should we have a group chat of some sort, just to keep us all updated? At least, all of us alleged paramours?”

“Yes!” Alex says. “Let’s do it!”

After much discussion of optimal platform and objections from Takeru that he should also be included, Iwaizumi adds them to a group chat, which Alex promptly renames “Hajime’s Hoes.”

Kyoutani and Ushijima look displeased, but Oikawa snorts and gives an approving “nice.”

“Absolutely not,” Iwaizumi says. “What if this gets subpoenaed one day?”

“That’s ridiculous!” Alex says, but Oikawa changes the name to “Hajime’s Harem.”

“Any better?” he asks.

“Somehow worse, actually,” Ushijima grumbles.

“Oh please!” Kyoutani says gruffly, then he renames the chat “The Iwaizumi Hajime Protection Squad.”

“Well now you have to add me to it!” Takeru says, looking over Tooru’s shoulder.

“No chance,” Tooru teases, poking him in the side. 

“And who exactly is more qualified than me?” Takeru asks. “Or have we already forgotten my brilliant solution the last time the media started hounding him?”

“You held some hands, big deal,” Tooru grumps.

Iwaizumi quietly adds Takeru to the group.

“Yes!” Takeru says triumphantly as Tooru scoffs. 

“You spoil him too much,” Tooru says.

“As if you don’t,” Hajime fires back.

From there the day gets suddenly hectic. Iwaizumi and Ushijima scramble to throw what few things they will absolutely need into Iwaizumi’s backpack. Then everyone squeezes into Iwaizumi’s mother’s car to drive to the airport. 

Leaving the Oikawa house feels difficult. Despite all the shenanigans, or perhaps entirely because of them, Iwaizumi has been surrounded by a comforting bubble of support that had made him feel perhaps things were actually going to be okay. Stepping out into the wide world makes everything feel much more sharp and hostile once again, but he is at least able to carry the feeling of their collective protection with him now.

What follows is a dizzying parade of human transference from car to plane to car again and then being hastily ushered through the hallways of the JVA office suites until finally arriving to…

*******

“So what exactly do you have to say for yourselves?” the man sitting next to Kuroo says. 

Iwaizumi resurfaces from his thoughts and blinks stupidly for a moment. Ushijima looks down at his hands, and Kyoutani is in true form, looking like he might leap across the table and bite the man’s face off if he continues talking.

“Can you just tell us how much, if anything, of what has been alleged is true?” Kuroo says, attempting a less aggressive approach. 

“Iwa-san and I never dated,” Kyoutani pipes up, “we’ve just known each other since high school. Open and shut.”

Kyoutani crosses his arms and stares across menacingly, which Kuroo meets with one of his smirks.

“That is easy enough,” he says, “they did not seem to have much evidence to substantiate those claims.”

“And the others?” the sour man asks, his frown deepening by the second.

Iwaizumi sighs heavily.

“I was also never involved with Alex Bianchi,” Iwaizumi says. “We were very good friends when I was an intern for the Irvine Polar Bears several years ago, and we are still close friends.”

“I have spoken with him and he is happy to cooperate with the JVA to confirm this as well,” Iwaizumi adds.

“That is excellent,” Kuroo says as he scribbles on the notepad inside his black portfolio.

“Why exactly should we believe that?” his colleague asks, leaning on one hand. “The photos…”

“Are from some parties we went to when I was in graduate school and interning,” Iwaizumi says coolly, “and in fact I was most often the designated driver on those occasions. There is nothing in those photos that is unusual for everyone in our friend group at the time, and in fact, you can see Alex being equally physically affectionate with multiple other friends in those same photos.”

“In addition…” Iwaizumi says hesitantly, looking quickly at both Ushijima and Kyoutani, who meet his gaze in silent support, “I was in a relationship with someone else at the time.”

“Care to elaborate?” the sour man asks, his eyebrows scrunching. Iwaizumi takes another steadying breath.

“I did legitimately have a romantic relationship with Oikawa Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, attempting to keep his voice even, “from approximately August of 2008 to September of 2023.”

The room is now unnaturally quiet as everyone silently performs mental calculations. Even Kuroo looks slightly caught off guard.

“We were childhood friends and high school sweethearts, and I am generally considered a member of their family, even now, which is why Oikawa Takeru calls me his uncle. That part is also accurate. They are also both willing to attest to those facts themselves.”

Kuroo scribbles away on his notes again while nodding his head, and the man next to him somehow manages to continue to look even more displeased. 

“I see,” he says curtly. 

“Well that is all well and good,” he says, “but we still have yet to broach the topic of Ushijima-san.”

Iwaizumi suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. This was always going to be the most difficult part. It had been the bulk of what all the chatter was about, the subject of most of the photos and speculation.

Iwaizumi tries to keep his face schooled into a neutral expression, attempts to catch his breath again, goes over the plan in his mind. 

On the plane ride over they had already decided what to say — that they are not together. Which at this point is still technically true, despite what the rest of the Protection Squad now believe. However, now that the moment has arrived, Iwaizumi’s mouth feels like it is glued shut. His throat squeezes, forbidding him from saying it.

“We are just friends.”

It comes out of Ushijima’s mouth instead, in an even, low voice that somehow manages to sound as casual as if he were talking about the weather. 

“We are very close, which is why I see why people might believe that, but—” 

Hajime is still reeling, nearly panicking, his throat still painfully constricting. Suddenly he feels so damned bone-tired. Thank fuck for Ushijima, honestly, he thinks. What would I do without him?

…What would I do without him?

It is such a simple, stupid thing. It should be so obvious.

I don’t want to be without him.

Had that not been the crux of their tiff before Ushijima left for France in the first place? — Being so upset at the thought of being apart that Hajime had completely panicked.

“How exactly do you expect us to explain to the public given the…“ Iwaizumi half hears as the sour-faced man blusters on. 

He cannot seem to focus any longer, and Kuroo tilts his head in response to what Hajime is certain must be a look of wide-eyed panic on his face.

Iwaizumi turns his head to the left and looks at Ushijima in an absolute daze  — his face, which Hajime has learned to tell masks secret anxiety he is attempting to hide, his serious brow, his broad shoulders, his lips that can be both bruising and feather-light. Iwaizumi thinks again about all the things he knows about Wakatoshi.

He is 30 years old.

He is an opposite for the Schweiden Adlers and the captain of Japan’s National Volleyball team.

He loves to cook and is damn good at it.

His penmanship (confirmedly) sucks.

He notices things others do not (especially when you do not want him to).

He uses weighted blankets and likes old movies. 

His natural body heat is insane (and comforting). 

He packs a lethal punch of sincerity every time he talks about his feelings.

Sometimes he has meltdowns, which Iwaizumi is still learning more about.

He is also beautiful and strong. He is kind. He is considerate.

He flushes an exquisite shade of pink when Hajime compliments him.

He works hard, even when things are difficult.

He never gives up. 

He never quits.

He never runs.

“As I said, Iwaizumi and I are only close friends…” Wakatoshi says again, his voice breaking through Hajime’s haze.

The sour man and Kuroo look like they are about to interject over each other, when they are interrupted by a soft, growing laugh that silences the room. Hajime is now leaned over against the table, his arms squeezed around himself as his body is wracked with unsettling, gasping, snorting waves of laughter that grow in intensity, taking over all of his ability to sit up straight or continue the conversation.

Ushijima looks uneasy. Then when the tears start, he whispers a quiet “Hajime,” and silently places a hand on his back, vibrating with anxiety.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says, now both sobbing and laughing. “It’s just so absurd.”

“This entire thing,” he continues, sweeping an arm to gesture at the room in general, “is so fucking absurd.”

Ushijima looks down at him with a concerned expression and rubs soft little circles onto his back, the first physical contact either of them has allowed since they arrived in Tokyo.

Iwaizumi pushes himself back up to sit straighter, straining his shoulders against the tremors of his body. 

“Enough,” Iwaizumi finally says shakily, pushing a quaking hand through his hair.

All his affection and admiration for Ushijima is flooding into his chest now, filling him up, spilling over. It mixes in with everything his feelings have been trying to tell him that he has not been good at listening to. His hands brush over his face, momentarily hiding it from view, then he lowers them and looks at Ushijima. 

“What if we were, Wakatoshi?” he says simply.

Ushijima blinks, then his brow momentarily knits into confusion before finally rising in understanding and surprise.

“I — are you really saying this right now?” he asks, his throat clearly straining.

“I’m saying it right now,” Iwaizumi says. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t pick my moment better,” he continues, “you deserve something much more romantic after all I’ve put you through. But I’m not waiting another damn second. I’ve been the stupidest man in all of Japan for long enough.”

Wakatoshi could say no, he realizes. He would not entirely blame him for it. But Hajime’s gaze remains rock steady as he waits for Wakatoshi, the man he has just thrown caution to the wind for.

“Of course,” he finally says. “I — I’ve been waiting for you.”

Iwaizumi very openly takes Wakatoshi’s hand, finally doing what he has wanted to do the entire time they have been in this ridiculous meeting.

“Ushijima-san and I are together, as of… approximately twelve seconds ago,” Iwaizumi says, turning back to the rest of the table. “Yes, he is the person in the photo from the Emperor’s Cup. No, obviously we were not officially dating at the time. No, we are not giving any further comment about what happened that day. Any other questions?”

“What do the two of you want to happen now?” Kuroo asks quickly, physically sidelining his gruff colleague before he can lean forward to set into them. His lanky frame and long arms still come in handy every now and again.

“We can publicly confirm your relationship, or we can try to deflect this, it’s up to you,” he adds.

“Of course we deflect it!” the sour man says. “You can’t be —“ 

“My apologies,” Kuroo says with one of his best fuck-off-straight-to-hell smiles, “I actually do not recall asking you, Yamagata-san.”

“I will fully support your wishes,” Kuroo says quickly, turning back to the pair, “but if you want to be open and the public pushes back, I’m confident at least half the league will voice their support.” 

“What on earth would make you think that?!” his colleague asks. Kuroo just laughs and sets his face in one of his trademark smirks.

“Hell, half the national team is queer of one shade or another,” he throws out casually, “and I guarantee you they are not about to let the two people who have taken the most care of them as athletes, their captain and their trainer, be kicked around like that.”

“Ushijima-san and Iwaizumi-san are two of the most beloved people in this league. You’re crazy if you think people won’t support them.” Kuroo says with a shrug, as if this is obvious.

“You really think so, Kuroo-san?” Iwaizumi asks, his grip on Ushijima’s hand tightening slightly. 

“I am certain of it,” Kuroo affirms.

Iwaizumi knows he is perfectly capable of hiding. He has done it before, for half his life, even. But this is not then. And Wakatoshi is not Tooru. And he is maybe even a bit of a different him by now.

Iwaizumi looks to Ushijima, silently posing the question. Wakatoshi leans toward him and quietly speaks near his ear.

“If you think I would ever ask to hide you after wanting you this long, you are sorely mistaken.”

Iwaizumi nods, having all he needs now to build his resolve. 

“Yeah, we’re not hiding this,” he says, grinning wickedly now. “So if you want a nice, controlled narrative, you’d better be upfront. Because if not, we’ll just make out in public and do it for you.”

Kuroo wears a matching smirk now and leans forward putting weight on his hands against the table.

“Perfect,” he purrs. It is all he needs to hear to take full command of the meeting. 

“I am taking point on this now,” he begins as he stands up. “All JVA public communications about this must go through me, full stop. I must sign off before release.”

“Schweiden, Kanagawa, and Sendai reps, get the rest of your PR teams on a video call in fifteen minutes to coordinate statements, and I will join as soon as I can for final approval. You can use this room for that purpose.”

“Our PR team needs to start working up the first draft immediately,” he continues. “Inoue-san, please oversee that task.”

“The lovebirds and I will be personally contacting others in advance of the release to be ready with their own statements of support. Kyoutani-san, you are welcome to join us in that if you wish,” Kuroo adds.

“Okay, I think that’s a good start,” he says with a little clap of his hands, “so everyone else, clear out!” 

The room is quickly a flurry of activity with everyone grabbing their papers and laptops and scurrying around. Hajime leans and quickly kisses Wakatoshi before pulling out his phone to update the Squad. The kiss is certainly not enough to mark how monumental the moment feels, but it will have to do for now, since there is more work to be done.

———

Soooo… change of plan.

We may need your help in a bit.

Alex: ???

Tooru: What does that mean?

Kyouken: They are publicly confirming their relationship.

Takeru: RAHHHHH LETS GO 🦅

———

Iwaizumi looks to Kyoutani on his right, and he smirks.

“Not sure what that was all about,” he says, one eyebrow quirking upward, “but I’m assuming you don’t want me to tell Oikawa?”

“Yes please,” Iwaizumi sighs, then he leans his face into his hands. “This whole thing got so unnecessarily convoluted.”

“I’ll say,” Kuroo says. He has made his way to their side of the table and is wearing one of his truly-pleased grins.

“Alright, so, I’m assuming you’re in contact with the Oikawas and Bianchi?” he asks, and Iwaizumi nods.

“Great,” he says, “wouldn’t hurt to get their teams in the loop as well fairly soon, but it’s probably some ungodly hour of the night over there.” 

“Alex is still awake anyway,” Iwaizumi says, “and Tooru and Takeru are both currently in Sendai.”

“Excellent,” Kuroo says. “Now as for the others we should line up, off the top of my head I’m thinking Kageyama, Hinata, and Miya to start off with…”

“Why those three?” Kyoutani asks as Kuroo beckons them and leads them out of the conference room and down to his office where they will set up camp. 

Kuroo’s face darkens slightly, retreating in on himself as if remembering something deeply disturbing.

“Because I know far too much about their personal lives, and they fucking owe me, big time,” Kuroo says seriously.

Iwaizumi and Ushijima exchange glances. 

“What do you mean, Kuroo-san?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kuroo holds his office door open for them all to file in, then he sighs as he closes it behind them.

“Our world is incredibly small sometimes, Iwaizumi-san,” Kuroo says, gesturing for them to sit in a set of chairs across from his desk. “The volleyball world, I mean. Especially so for us who came up with the Monster Generation.”

Kuroo flops into his chair and leans back slightly. “For instance, I work for the JVA, and one of our best sponsors is my childhood best friend, who also happens to be best friends with Hinata. And Hinata is best friends with Kageyama. And they are also best frenemies with a certain museum curator-slash-middle blocker for the Lions, who also happens to be dating my other best friend’s best friend.”

“Speaking of,” he says as an aside to Iwaizumi and Kyoutani, “if you two are on any kind of decent terms with Tsukishima still, you should help me goad him into helping too.”

“Anyway,” he continues, returning to business, “All three of those guys went to high school with my spouse, who is still always taking care of them. And my spouse and another friend from high school and Tsukishima’s boyfriend always go to the same restaurant for lunch every. single. week. for their cute little weekend lunch dates THAT I AM NOT EVEN INVITED TO, and who else is their onigiri dealer other than Miya. Freaking. Osamu?! Whose twin brother, as we know, is dating Hinata and keeps shagging the living daylights out of him IN MY GUEST ROOM!”

Their eyes go wide at Kuroo’s built up outburst, and then he runs a hand through his hair.

“Ahem,” Kuroo clears his throat somewhat bashfully. “Apologies. Just… suffice it to say I am constantly doing them favors and know too damn much of their business.”

Iwaizumi leans closer to Ushijima and says in a stage whisper, “so, who do we think it is?”

Ushijima looks at him and his eyebrows scrunch. “Who?” he asks.

“He means Kuroo’s wife,” Kyoutani says.

“Could we maybe not openly speculate about my love life when we have work to do?” Kuroo says with a light laugh.

“Mmm, nope. Sorry. You’re the one who started this, Kuroo-san,” Iwaizumi says. “My bet’s on that one manager, the shy blonde one.”

“Wasn’t she a lesbian though?” Kyoutani asks, his face setting in a scowl. “That's what Yahaba told me.”

“How would he know?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Well, I don’t know, that’s just what he said!” Kyoutani answers.

“You think I married Yacchan?” Kuroo says with a smirk, further stirring their chaos.

“I bet it was that other manager they had in my second year, that one with dark hair and glasses,” Kyoutani says.

“I think it’s their Setter-san,” Ushijima finally says quietly, completely disrupting their light bickering, “the pretty one with silver hair.”

“You think it’s a guy?” Kyoutani asks.

“Kuroo-san did not say he has a wife, just that he has a spouse,” Ushijima says with a shrug.

“Exactly,” Kyoutani says, “so it would have to be a lady, right? If they’re married.”

“Not necessarily,” Ushijima says, “there are partnership systems now, and the option of adult adoption onto a family register, and people who do those things generally say they are married.”

“Hmm, I didn’t know that,” Kyoutani says.

Iwaizumi’s stomach gives a little flip when he considers why Ushijima might know that.

“How about this?” Kuroo says with a sigh, “If you all focus and we get this done, I will arrange for you to find out.”

They all seem to agree to those terms, so Kuroo knits his fingers and stretches them with a push outward to crack them.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

*******

A couple of hours later, a reasonable plan is in place, and statements are mostly prepared. The sheer number of people willing to help continues to expand as their original contacts suggest further contacts of their own.

Early on in the process, as Kyoutani and Ushijima are on the phone with Tsukishima and Kageyama, respectively, Kuroo had taken Iwaizumi aside.

“Look, I think we can handle clearing your name professionally. It’s obvious nothing untoward happened. But what I think we need is a different narrative, something that makes it feel more personal and real to people, more normal and not like some scandalous thing,” Kuroo had said.

“What did you have in mind?” Iwaizumi had asked, apprehensive.

“Iwaizumi-kun, I think we need to tell a love story.”

That is what Iwaizumi had largely been working on since then. It felt strange, like putting his life too much on display, but this was what they had signed up for in being open he supposed. It is such an odd thing, being publicly perceived. They are by no means famous famous, but even with their little taste of a publicly scrutinized life, Iwaizumi would love nothing more than to just quietly return to doing his job. He had never intended to be a boat rocker, but for Wakatoshi, he will. To avoid having this happen to them again, he will.

The four of them come down from the JVA offices and into the parking deck so they can leave a bit more discreetly. Kuroo checks his phone quickly then just as rapidly puts it away. His motions feel a bit tickish and nervous as he walks them out.

“We have two cars standing by on the second level. One will take Kyoutani to the airport to get back to Sendai, the other can take you two wherever you need,” he explains.

“Also, as promised, I’m gonna let you meet my spouse, so please be on your best behavior, okay?” he says, shoving both hands in his pockets.

Iwaizumi feels like the three of them are fairly well-behaved, at least when Kyoutani is in a decent mood. He figures Kuroo must not be very used to this for his façade to be slipping.

They exit out onto the second level where two black sedans with tinted windows are waiting at the far end. Soon after, they hear a car door open and shut a few spaces down from where they are standing. The man who exits is probably about Iwaizumi’s height with broad shoulders and an athletic frame. He has dark, cropped-short hair and wears a dark grey v-neck and jeans. He also carries a brown takeout bag, which he hands to Kuroo gently.

“Karasuno Captain-san,” Ushijima says quietly, as if this all makes perfect sense to him. 

“Good to see you again, Ushijima,” Daichi says with a laugh.

“Yes. So. Umm,” Kuroo says rather inelegantly, “this is my husband, Sawamura Daichi.”

“Wow,” Kyoutani says, “Ushijima got the closest then I guess.”

“Ahh, so I’m assuming these three are cool then?” Daichi asks with a laugh.

Kuroo’s neck and ears are tinging slightly red.

“Uh, yeah,” Kuroo says, “given the sort of thing they just went through, yeah, they’re fine to know. Ushijima you already remember, and probably Iwaizumi too…”

“Hey, man,” Daichi says, inclining his head in time with Iwaizumi’s returned nod.

“And then this is Kyoutani,” Kuroo concludes, and Daichi acknowledges him with a quick dip of his head as well.

Daichi then smiles at Kuroo, and his eyes are sickeningly fond. 

“He always gets like this when we tell new people,” Daichi says, one corner of his mouth quirking further upward. 

“It still feels a bit unusual sometimes,” Kuroo says, nervously laughing and picking at one of his nails. “It’s not something we’re very open about, like at our jobs for instance.”

“I’ve seen who you work with, so I get it,” Iwaizumi says quietly, remembering Kuroo’s colleague who has been so confrontational with him.

“And I’m a police officer,” Daichi adds. “I work with some nice enough guys, but it’s just easier to keep my personal life kind of quiet.”

Iwaizumi and Ushijima both nod knowingly.

“It’s part of why I jumped in so quickly when you said you wanted to go public,” Kuroo says to them. “It’s important, I think, for more people to see relationships like ours as normal relationships. It’s why I planned the responses the way I did, why I stuck my neck out, everything. It means everything, you two. Really.”

Daichi grasps Kuroo’s hand and places a soft kiss at the edge of his jaw near his ear. 

“You know what this means though, right?” Daichi says with conspiring eyes.

Kuroo sighs and deflates into his husband’s shoulder.

“Yes, go ahead. I know you want to.”

“I. Won!” Daichi exclaims just a bit too loudly, echoing slightly in the cavernous parking garage.

“Yes, yes,” Kuroo says, looking disgusted, “congratulations.”

“I told you!” Daichi gloats, his competitive smile getting ever bigger. “Did I not say?!”

“Yes, you did,” Kuroo says, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

“What did you win, Sawamura-san?” Ushijima asks, and Daichi turns around with glittering eyes.

“I bet him that you two would be the first JVA couple to go public,” Daichi explains, “and I was right.”

Daichi flicks Kuroo lightly on the nose for emphasis, a smug expression on his face. 

“To be fair, I had my bets on Hinata and Miya,” Kuroo says with a shrug. “Those two are not discreet.”

Iwaizumi’s face warms and he looks over at Wakatoshi, who seems to be in a good mood over this. It makes him want to squeeze his hand and hold him closer.

Kuroo gets a chime from his smart watch, which he checks and then looks up apologetically. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I should get going, I still have so much to do.”

“Our apologies, Kuroo-san,” Ushijima says, “we have caused you so much extra work.” 

“No no,” Kuroo says with a wave of his hand, “I’m actually really happy I get to do this.”

“Even so,” Ushijima says, “please let us know everyone who has given their time so that we can thank them properly. Hajime and I would love to do so once this is all over.”

We. Hajime and I. Iwaizumi’s chest swells with how seamlessly Wakatoshi begins to refer to them as a couple, as a unified entity. They are finally a couple, Iwaizumi has to remind himself. Although, if he is honest, they have been behaving like one for quite some time. 

Kuroo departs with a gentle kiss and a quiet thank you to Daichi, along with promises to see him at home soon. Daichi leaves as well with a friendly “good to see you all again!”

The three of them walk toward the waiting cars, and Kyoutani gets into one with a short little parting wave. Ushijima and Iwaizumi both get into the back seat of the other, scooting in from the same side.

“Where should I take you, gentlemen?” the driver asks.

“Your place?” Iwaizumi asks quietly, and Ushijima nods, then gives the driver the address.

Iwaizumi can feel the tension building between himself and Wakatoshi, a string connecting them winding tightly and growing taut. They will be alone again soon, and he is not certain about Wakatoshi, but he knows he will have a difficult time holding anything back. 

Their palpable amorous intention is successfully held at bay, until Iwaizumi’s frantic energy turns to curiosity and he presses a button that begins to raise a barrier between the back of the car and the driver.

“Oh!” Iwaizumi startles, taking his hand off the button. The driver chuckles softly.

“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It’s all good,” the driver says. “Sometimes our clients want a bit more privacy to take a phone call or something, or just to not interact with us. It’s no big deal.”

“Actually,” Iwaizumi says glancing at Ushijima, “it has been kind of a long day, and we wouldn’t mind a chance to speak a bit more privately, if that would be alright.”

The driver laughs again and slightly shakes his head. “It’s no problem at all,” he says. “Just hit that button and it will go up.”

Once they are shielded from sight, Iwaizumi turns toward Wakatoshi and quickly pulls him forward into him, crashing their mouths together wildly. Ushijima hums against his lips and allows himself to be pulled closer, with Iwaizumi’s hands grasping at him. 

It is almost overwhelming how readily Wakatoshi allows him whatever he wants. Iwaizumi pushes him back so his shoulders are pressed against one of the doors. He slips his tongue through Wakatoshi’s lips and into his mouth, then he pulls Wakatoshi’s legs to either side of him to slot his hips between them.

Wakatoshi whines quietly, pressing both his tongue and hips up into Iwaizumi insistently. He wants more. Wakatoshi always wants more. Iwaizumi’s heart flutters over Wakatoshi’s insatiable greed for needing all of him. 

“Be patient, baby,” Iwaizumi says quietly, “we have to get home first.”

It does not stop Iwaizumi from kissing every inch of Wakatoshi his lips can reach, from running his fingers up underneath his shirt, from roughly pressing his hips down to show him exactly how badly Iwaizumi wants too.

It makes their drive seem far shorter than it would otherwise, and when the driver stops the car and taps lightly against the glass barrier, Iwaizumi barely manages to grab his backpack and offer a polite word of thanks before pulling Wakatoshi by the hand over to his building and up the stairs then into his apartment.

They do not even make it through the door before they are on each other again, kissing and clinging and pressing, altogether far too needy. Iwaizumi feels suddenly feral, possessive, almost territorial. He sees Wakatoshi now and can only think, Mine. 

He tries to curb his thoughts, to make them turn to more tender things. They are finally a couple after all the many months of trouble, and god knows Wakatoshi deserves to be wooed. 

Hajime takes a steadying breath, and his hands turn softer, sliding gently along Wakatoshi’s torso and slipping his shirt over his head. His lips become less hurried and more plush, turning gentle and lingering in their presses against Wakatoshi’s mouth.

“Baby,” Wakatoshi moans against his mouth, and Hajime turns to goo inside. 

Nothing is settled. All their problems are still their problems. All the unresolved questions are still unresolved. But Hajime has difficulty finding it in him to care at the moment — not when this beautiful, kind, alluring man, his partner now, so insistently hungers for his attention.

Hajime carefully leads Wakatoshi to the bathroom, shedding layers of clothes as they go. His hands roam freely over Wakatoshi’s beautiful body as they step into a steaming shower. 

The combined heat of the shower and the warmth of the overwhelming need flushing their skin is almost suffocating. They both pant heavily as Hajime slowly works Wakatoshi open with firm fingers. Wakatoshi’s hands are propped against the wall of the shower and his hips are kicked back, beginning to rock back into Hajime’s hand more desperately.

“More,” Wakatoshi moans greedily. “Baby, I want more.”

“Fuck,” Hajime hisses, removing his fingers and lining himself up. 

Yes, have more. Have it all. Anything. Everything. He had not intended to go so far in the shower, but his body will happily do whatever Wakatoshi demands of him.

He pushes forward into Wakatoshi, dragging slowly against his walls. He feels tight and hot and altogether overwhelming, sucking him in and pulling him closer.

Then Hajime begins to move. He does so slowly at first, sighing and melting into a gentle roll of his hips. Then it rises in intensity as Hajime moves on intuition alone, following the guidance of Wakatoshi’s sounds of pleasure and need. He coaxes more and more out of him and hurdles dangerously close to the edge of release. 

“I think I might cum,” Hajime says shakily, somewhat apologetically. He thinks surely Wakatoshi will want him to last longer, to be able to draw it out for him.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi pants pleadingly instead, “do it, Hajime. It’s okay, I want it.”

Hajime’s pace increases as he unashamedly chases his own high on Wakatoshi’s permission and insistence. His own pitiful moans mix with Wakatoshi’s, and soon he is frantically calling out in desperate little cries as he reaches his peak.

They clean themselves up then stumble out of the shower together all breathy and pink from the heat. Wakatoshi pulls Hajime into him, sliding their wet skin together and refusing to let him retreat, even for a second. They do a poor job of drying themselves while still locked together, but they bumble their way half blind anyway with outstretched navigator hands to help them find their way into Wakatoshi’s bedroom.

Wakatoshi practically throws Hajime down on the bed and follows him down immediately after, all lips and caressing hands.

“This is real, right?” he asks Hajime quietly. “This has to be real, please.”

“It’s real,” Hajime insists. He throws his head back as Wakatoshi stakes his claim on Hajime’s throat with his lips.

His hips press down, and he begins to nip at the skin of Hajime’s collar. His teeth and fingers ache to mark, and the beginning of a frustrated yowl rumbles in the back of his throat as he wills himself to stay gentle, to continue to treat Hajime as precious.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” Wakatoshi says, pulling back from him. “I dreamed it so many —“

Wakatoshi stops suddenly, looking down at Hajime’s skin.

“I — I am so sorry,” he says, quietly.

Hajime tilts his head and brushes hair out of Wakatoshi’s face lightly with the back of his fingers. 

“I… left a mark,” Wakatoshi says apologetically. “I am sorry, I was trying not to.”

Hajime laughs lightly and swipes his thumb over Wakatoshi’s cheek.

“You should leave more,” he says with a brazen smile.

“You want me to… leave more?” Wakatoshi asks.

“Yes,” Hajime affirms, “mark me up, angel.”

Wakatoshi still looks a bit hesitant.

“I’m yours now, aren’t I?” Iwaizumi adds. “You’re allowed to.”

“You’re mine,” Wakatoshi says quietly, still almost disbelieving.

“Yes, I’m yours,” Hajime echoes back.

“So why don’t you leave your mark on what belongs to you?” he says, tipping his chin up and tilting to offer his bare neck. 

Over the last few months, Hajime has gotten far too adept at knowing exactly what to say to make Wakatoshi lose his self control. So it is no surprise to him when Wakatoshi immediately caves, sinking his incisors into the skin of his exposed neck.

Wakatoshi bites at him over and over, leaving light, dusty pink spots on the column of his neck and progressing all the way to aching bruises sucked deep into the flesh of his collar and shoulders and chest. 

Hajime is hissing and moaning low in his throat, drunk on the mingling pleasure and pain of the way Wakatoshi leaves his signature all over his body in shades of pink and red. 

Partway through, Iwaizumi reaches down with probing fingers, testing his own elasticity and readiness. He slowly inserts two fingers and fans them, and he finds himself adjusting quickly.

“Wakatoshi,” he says breathlessly, gasping at the feeling of him unlatching and sinking his teeth into a fresh spot. “Could I have you inside me? Just until I’m ready again?”

Wakatoshi looks up at him with lust-drunk eyes and a wet mouth.

“I should open up quickly because of yesterday,” he adds, and Wakatoshi begins to nod. 

He continues to bite down on Hajime, sucking more marks into his skin, but Wakatoshi’s thick fingers also carefully plunge inside him, finding him slightly more soft and yielding than he might normally expect. Hajime is correct, and it does not take much time to work him open.

“I’m good now, Wakatoshi,” Hajime eventually whines, trying to squirm down deeper onto his fingers. “Let me take you, please.”

Wakatoshi’s mouth retreats from his left pec with an especially lewd, wet noise, and he looks down at Hajime with hunger still in his gaze. Wakatoshi flips him over onto his front and presses his fingers into Hajime’s hips. Then Wakatoshi both pulls Hajime back onto him and pushes forward slowly, filling him and making him cry out and moan garbled nonsense. Hajime’s brain and body are both entirely preoccupied now with the feeling of Wakatoshi’s cock.

Wakatoshi sets an intense pace, plunging forward into Hajime and pushing him down into the mattress. After a while he drags him back up by the hips and revels in the little pink trails his fingers momentarily leave behind. He presses his fingers into the skin of Hajime’s hips and ass as he thrusts, enjoying the way his fingers flush his beautiful, smooth skin in their wake. He presses harder and the marks stay just a bit longer, until eventually all his attention is on how Hajime feels around him and his preoccupation with turning Hajime’s skin a lovely pink at his own hands. He gets so engrossed in it that eventually his left hand rises and quickly falls back onto Hajime’s ass with a loud smack!

Hajime and Wakatoshi both gasp in mutual surprise, and Wakatoshi lets out a startled “sorry!”

“Having fun?” Hajime asks, looking back at him with a smirk over his shoulder. Wakatoshi’s face tinges red.

“I’m okay with it,” Hajime says, trying to soothe the embarrassment. 

“I don’t like a lot of pain or punishment or anything, but I’m not gonna object to you just appreciating my ass a bit,” he explains with a light laugh.

Wakatoshi lowers his head onto Hajime’s back with a groan of slight shame, but he continues thrusting, grinding further into him. 

“It’s okay, angel,” Hajime pants, meeting him thrust for thrust, “you should do it again.”

Wakatoshi lightly presses his fingers into Hajime again, then circles them gently around the beautifully round slope of his ass. 

“You are sure?” he asks, just to be certain.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hajime confirms, “It’s completely fine.”

Wakatoshi swirls his fingers over him again, then he quickly brings down his hand with another sharp smack! that makes Hajime inhale sharply and tighten around him. 

“Very good,” Hajime says, looking back at him again and reaching to grasp at one of his hands. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”

Wakatoshi looks like he might combust, and he barely stifles the whine that forms in his throat. His movements become more erratic, but Hajime consciously tightens and rocks himself backward with each of his thrusts.

“Hajime,” Wakatoshi whines, “I need to stop. I am — I think I might —“

“You can, baby,” Hajime says, “that’s okay.”

“No,” he groans, “I don’t want to like this.” 

His hips are still rocking forward slightly, but they are hesitant, caught in indecision. Hajime moves forward so that Wakatoshi pulls out of him entirely and turns himself around to look up at him. 

“How do you want it then?” he asks, lightly running his fingernails up Wakatoshi’s chest and shoulders. “Tell me how you wanna cum, angel. You can have anything you want.”

“I want… wanna be fucked,” he admits, shivering from Hajime’s touch. “I want it deep, want you to make me cum.”

Hajime beckons Wakatoshi closer, guiding him forward so that he straddles Hajime’s hips.

“Whatever you wish,” Hajime says, “you can have it.” 

He holds himself steady so Wakatoshi can lower down onto him. Once they are properly aligned, Hajime softly rakes his nails over Wakatoshi’s thighs, waiting for him to settle completely, and he does so with a breathy little ah! that falls involuntarily from his lips. 

“So deep,” Wakatoshi moans.

“You did so good,” Hajime says, brushing back some of the hair sticking to Wakatoshi’s forehead. “So perfect, angel.”

Wakatoshi clenches, and his upper body flushes from his ears down to his chest. He begins to move, sliding up and down Hajime’s length. Hajime lets out a contented sigh and squeezes his fingertips into Wakatoshi’s thighs.

“You and that praise kink of yours are going to do me in,” Hajime says.

Wakatoshi tilts his head slightly. “Praise kink?”

“Oh, big time,” he says with a little laugh. “Anytime I say something praising you, you look like you’re about to come apart. And your body responds too.”

“Oh,” Wakatoshi says. “Is that… weird?”

“No, baby,” Hajime rushes to say, “nothing about it is weird. I like it a lot.”

“Okay,” Wakatoshi says, the corner of his mouth sloping upward in a small smile. “No one’s ever mentioned that about me before.”

Hajime’s chest swells, because he is allowed to know this part of Wakatoshi. He is the only one who gets to see it.

“Want me to show you what I mean?” Hajime asks, and Wakatoshi nods.

He pulls Wakatoshi down closer into a searing kiss then talks quietly near his ear. 

“You feel so good, baby,” Hajime purrs. “You take my cock so perfectly.”

“Do I?” Wakatoshi asks shakily.

“Mhm,” Hajime says. “And you worked so hard for it this time too, didn’t you? You did such a good job fucking me.”

Wakatoshi whines and squirms, his hips beginning to move faster.

“You can feel how hard you made me, can’t you?” Hajime continues without mercy. “You did that for me, baby. Thank you.”

“Hajime,” Wakatoshi whines pitifully, but Hajime has no intention of stopping. 

“You’re so good for me, aren’t you?” Hajime pushes. “My perfect good boy, always. My angel.”

“Can you answer me, Wakatoshi?” he asks. “You’re so good for me, right? Aren’t you my good boy?”

“Y-yes!” Wakatoshi answers, his voice and limbs shaking. 

“Then tell me,” Hajime says. “What are you, baby? Tell me.”

“I’m good. So good for you,” Wakatoshi says.

“Mhm,” Hajime says, taking over by thrusting upward since Wakatoshi is too shaky now. “And what else, baby?”

“I’m your angel,” Wakatoshi whines, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Damn right you are,” Hajime says with another thrust. “What else?”

“I’m… your boyfriend,” Wakatoshi says desperately, squeezing roughly into Hajime’s forearms and biceps to try to keep himself together.

“Yes, baby!” Hajime says. “Fucking finally, right? You’re my boyfriend now, but what else? Hmm?”

Wakatoshi whines and his bottom lip trembles slightly with the feeling of overwhelm that comes over him.

“You can do it, angel,” Hajime says sweetly. “You know what I want to hear. Can you say it for me?”

“I — I’m your good boy!” Wakatoshi moans out loudly, tumbling over the edge and spurting all over himself and Hajime in the process. His teeth find Hajime’s chest again and he unconsciously scratches down his arms leaving thin red trails on him. Hajime inhales sharply and gives a few more hard and fast thrusts that also have him cumming inside his newly-minted boyfriend. 

Wakatoshi collapses down onto Hajime’s chest, and Hajime’s arms wrap around him to softly stroke at his back. They both breath in great heaving breaths in and out, perfectly in time with each other.

“I think I see what you mean now,” Wakatoshi finally says, and it makes Hajime laugh.

He holds him close, not wanting to pull out of him, not wanting to be the least bit parted from him.

“Wakatoshi,” he says after a while, softly placing a hand on either side of his face. “I need to apologize to you. I didn’t do any of this in the way you deserve.”

“What do you mean?” Wakatoshi asks, and Hajime squishes his face slightly.

“I mean that you’re a man who deserves to be wooed, to be charmed, to be worked for. At the very least you deserve a half decent confession,” Hajime says with a sigh. “I messed it all up.”

“You didn’t,” Wakatoshi insists. 

“Well, I just wish I had done things a bit more romantically then, or even just properly maybe?” Hajime says.

“Nothing I can really do about changing that,” he finally concedes, “but I want you to know I’m really going to try my best at this. I’m not the sort of person to give up easily.”

“I know that,” Wakatoshi says fondly then places a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I, umm, I actually have something for you,” Hajime says a bit hesitantly. “Would you maybe… want it now?”

“Sure,” Wakatoshi says quietly, “if you think now is the time.”

Hajime reluctantly guides Wakatoshi off of him, rolling him gently to the side and onto his back. He gets up out of bed, walks out of the bedroom then returns a few moments later with a clean torso, a warm, moist cloth, and a folded bundle of papers held together with a small binder clip.

Hajime quietly hands the paper to Wakatoshi, who props himself up on his pillows and removes the clip. Hajime begins to wipe at Wakatoshi’s chest, trying to distract himself. 

Wakatoshi unfurls the first page and sees “Dear Wakatoshi” written in black ink at the top.

“Is this the letter from today?” Wakatoshi asks, “the one Kuroo-san asked for?”

“Ah, no,” Hajime says quietly, “umm, one of them was written today, but it’s not the same as the one you saw.”

“These are… from after I got your letter. From the days when we weren’t talking,” Hajime explains. “Even though I had asked for space, you were there with me the whole time. I couldn’t get you off my mind so…”

Wakatoshi runs his fingers over the page, then looks up at Hajime.

“…so I wrote to you,” Hajime explains. “Every time I was sad and alone and missed you, I wrote to you.”

Wakatoshi looks down at the papers in his hands and smoothes them out reverently. He flits through them, seeing some short letters with only a paragraph or two and some much longer taking up the front and back of a sheet of paper.

Dear Wakatoshi, I’m so unbelievably angry…

Dear Wakatoshi, I’m thinking about you again…

Dear Wakatoshi, Why am I always such a coward…

Dear Wakatoshi, What if my mom dies? What if you do? It scares me to think…

He quickly reads through Hajime’s words, feeling all their loneliness and longing. Then he comes to the last page that has a date at the top, today’s date.

Dear Wakatoshi,

I can’t help but think that I am not the sort of man you deserve. I have been so incredibly dense, and you have been so endlessly patient. Thankfully, to call us no more than friends at this point sounded so wrong that even I was forced to acknowledge us for what we are, what we have clearly been for some time now.

My heart so obviously belongs in your care that for me to deny it any longer would be absurd. It is yours now. I know you will treat it with respect and careful attention, just like you do everything else. I will try my hardest too. I want to do the same for you and to prove I’m worthy of calling myself your partner.

I don’t know what else to say, other than I’ll be in your care. I hope we can always work together and find a way forward side by side.

My letter is probably not quite as good or romantic or well-written as yours, so I’ll just end with the simple truth. 

I love you. 

I love you so much it aches.

— Hajime

Wakatoshi’s eyes look up from the page, and Hajime squirms under his concentrated attention. He knows there should be nothing to fear, but there is anxiety in his stomach anyway.

Wakatoshi sets the letters aside then reaches out and pulls Hajime down into his chest. He kisses Hajime’s lips and holds him in close, wrapping him up with his arms and legs. 

“I love you too,” Wakatoshi says quietly, then Hajime relaxes fully into his chest with a contented sigh.

Chapter Text

The world stops for nothing, not even love.

Their quiet sphere of happiness is interrupted first by a call on Wakatoshi’s phone. The sudden sound of the ringtone surprises them both. Wakatoshi looks at it then sighs before quickly silencing the sound of the ringing. He does not decline the call, but he does not answer it either. 

The call finally disappears from the screen, but Wakatoshi remains sitting stock-still staring at his now darkened phone. 

A minute later it lights up again, this time with a notification that he has a voicemail, and he stands up out of bed, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“Wakatoshi?” Hajime says, leaning toward him, still in bed.

“It is my mother,” he says, in a way that tells Hajime everything he needs to know. This is not a call for a pleasant chat.

Wakatoshi presses the screen to begin playing the voicemail message and takes a deep breath before placing the phone to his ear. Hajime is not certain what he had expected. Perhaps some yelling he could hear even from where he is still sprawled on the bed, but rather than that, the speaker talks in what sounds like a perfectly metered tone. However, Wakatoshi’s ramrod straight posture and the dismissive scoff he gives suggest to Hajime that the caller’s tone masks something truly foul.

Wakatoshi listens to the message with careful attention, then he quietly lowers the phone from his ear. Hajime reaches out for his hand with his brows knitted in concern, and Wakatoshi slumps back onto the bed and softly takes his hand. 

“That was… deeply unpleasant,” Wakatoshi explains. 

“What did she say?” Hajime asks. Wakatoshi just shakes his head.

Hajime reaches for him and pulls him back deeper into bed. He drags him down as if to the bottom of the ocean in their little bubble of comfort and wraps around him, sliding his arms over his skin and kissing his lips softly.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime whispers.

“I am used to it by now,” Wakatoshi says. His voice is lifeless and stiff, even by his standards, and a fire of vehement dislike flickers up in Hajime’s chest. 

“Well get unused to it!” he says with a frustrated huff, scrunching his eyebrows together. “I’m not going to just stand by if someone treats you poorly.”

Wakatoshi runs gentle fingers over Hajime’s hair. He breathes steadily and studies his face. 

“It is odd,” he says quietly, “you being so upset over it makes me feel much more calm about it. I wonder why that is.”

“Maybe because you’re not alone anymore?” Hajime says after a while. “Because you know now that you won’t have to just deal with it all by yourself?”

“I do not want you to have to — ” Wakatoshi starts, but Hajime cuts him off.

“But I will,” he says quickly, “and get used to it, because that is what being in a relationship with me is like. I’m not a standing by twiddling my thumbs kind of guy, angel.”

Wakatoshi nods slowly then buries his face into Hajime’s neck. Hearing Hajime’s pet name for him is somehow even more lethal outside of sexual contexts.

“So I’m guessing this has something to do with all the press stuff?” Hajime asks.

Wakatoshi nods and presses into his chest even more firmly. 

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says. “Is there anything I can do? Do you want to tell me about it?”

Wakatoshi is quiet for a long time before he finally speaks quietly, close to Hajime’s ear.

“Most of my family hates me,” he says, and it sounds more vulnerable than Hajime has ever heard him, like child Wakatoshi waking up to speak. 

“Some of them don’t even know they do, but they do,” he says. “Everything about me is something they either do or would consider an embarrassment to their family name.”

Hajime is stunned at first, unsure of how that could be. He squeezes Wakatoshi tighter.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

Wakatoshi’s phone rings again, and they both nearly jump out of their skin. Hajime reaches for it and squints to read the name on the screen. 

“It’s Utsui-san,” he says softly. “Do you want to answer, or let it go to voicemail too?”

“No,” Wakatoshi says more calmly, “I want to answer.”

Hajime hands Wakatoshi his phone, then he answers and places it on speaker.

“Hello otousan,” he says evenly.

“Good evening, Wakatoshi,” Utsui responds somewhat cheerfully. Hajime is nearly sweating buckets anyway.

“How are you?” Wakatoshi asks, to which Utsui gives a low hum in his throat.

“Well, I’m a bit confused if I’m honest,” he says with a laugh. “You wanna tell me why I checked my phone this morning and saw my son is allegedly dating my protégé?”

Utsui’s voice is lighthearted, but Iwaizumi still cannot quite seem to relax.

“Yes, that is accurate,” Wakatoshi says, seeming much more steady than Hajime is.

“And you didn’t think you should perhaps share that with me?” Utsui asks.

“Well, actually we were not officially a couple until about,” Wakatoshi checks his watch, “four hours ago.”

“…What?” Utsui says, floundering.

“It is a bit complicated to explain,” Wakatoshi says.

“I see,” Utsui responds quietly. 

“It wasn’t that you were afraid to mention it, right?” he asks carefully, and Wakatoshi pauses.

“Should I have been?”

“Not at all!” Utsui says resolutely. 

“I mean, I certainly have questions,” he adds, “but actually I can’t think of anything better. I already know what sort of man Hajime-kun is, and I know he will be good to you.”

“Then, you do not mind…” Wakatoshi asks, “that he is a man, I mean?”

“Look kid,” he says with a laugh, “I’ve been in California a long time. I’ve pretty much seen it all by now. One of my current interns is in a… throuple? I think that’s what he said…”

“Anyway, no it doesn’t bother me at all,” he concludes.

“That is… good to hear,” Wakatoshi says. “I thought you would likely be at least accepting of it, but… I did not know if perhaps it is different when it is your son and not just a person you know. I was not completely certain.”

“Well, are you certain now?” Utsui asks.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says, “thank you.”

“No need to thank me, son,” Utsui says, and in his mind’s eye Hajime can clearly see the smile on Utsui’s face that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“Has your mother called yet?” he asks, his tone turning more serious.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi confirms, “her message was… less kind.”

“I thought so,” Utsui says, “but I’m sorry anyway.”

“It will be alright,” Wakatoshi assures with a soft sigh.

“Is Hajime there with you?” Utsui asks, changing both the subject and his tone.

Wakatoshi hums his yes and brings the phone a bit closer to Hajime.

“Hello Utsui-san,” Hajime greets him.

“You little punk!” Utsui says in a faux serious tone that gets spoiled by his booming laugh instead. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Sorry Utsui-san,” Hajime says in a contrite voice, “but as Wakatoshi said, there was not much to say until very recently.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Hajime can hear the knowing smirk in his voice from thousands of miles away.

“Now what exactly are your intentions with my son, young man?” he adds very seriously before cracking up again immediately. Wakatoshi looks quite embarrassed, but Hajime laughs along. 

“Well, I intend to love him,” Hajime says, looking directly at Wakatoshi, “and I’m going to give that my best effort.” 

“Well, very good then,” Utsui says with a small huff. 

“You know I’m just messing with you Hajime-kun,” he adds in a fond tone. “I really want you both to know that I’m very happy about this, okay? And you are both always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Wakatoshi says quietly, squeezing Hajime’s hand.

“In fact, I expect it now,” he teases. “You’d better bring Hajime with you the next time you visit, Wakatoshi.”

”I think that could probably be arranged,” Hajime laughs.

”One other thing though,” Wakatoshi cuts in, “I wanted you to know that we are going to be confirming our relationship publicly.”

”I see,” Utsui says, sounding a bit surprised. “That is certainly a big move. I assume your league and teams are on board with that?” 

“We have a… an acquaintance, I suppose?” Hajime says, looking to Wakatoshi, “He works for the JVA and helped coordinate everything.”

”I’m glad you had someone to help you,” Utsui says, “that is certainly a valuable thing. Just know that I and the team will stand with you too, Hajime. Let me know if there is anything the JVA needs from us as well.”

”Thank you, Utsui-san.” Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Hajime is incredibly thankful to have Utsui in his life.

The plan sets into motion shortly after their call with Utsui ends. The first thing to drop, the vanguard of the entire operation, is a post to Iwaizumi’s social media accounts that begins “Dear Wakatoshi” — a letter written to Ushijima that confirms their relationship and speaks of his hopes for a happy future. It is certainly not to the level of the private letters Hajime gave to him in person, but it does feel very raw to have something so personal be public knowledge.

Following that come the official JVA and team statements, which do not do much other than confirm their support for Iwaizumi and Ushijima and praise their contributions to the sport. Then comes the wave of support from their friends and acquaintances, even more posts than they had expected from the last count before they left Kuroo’s office that afternoon, all with the tag #DearWakatoshi.

It is almost overwhelming seeing the wave of both expected and unexpected support pouring in, mostly drowning out any possible negative attention. Kuroo had been correct it turns out — the league does seem to care about them both very much.

The one significant bit of negative attention comes in the form of several text messages to Wakatoshi’s phone within about fifteen minutes of the release.

“My mother, again,” he says bitterly. “I am being summoned.”

He looks as if the last word leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and Hajime softly pets at his arm to try to be soothing and supportive. Wakatoshi’s brow has a serious set, and his lips have drawn into one thin line.

“Let me come with you,” Hajime quietly insists.

Wakatoshi turns in surprise, looking like he wants to protest, but Hajime just nods.

”I have to return to Miyagi anyway,” Hajime adds. “There’s still… so much for me to take care of.”

In the flurry of activity and worries about losing his job and reputation, he had been mostly able to not think about his grandmother’s passing and his mother’s hospitalization. Unfortunately, now that the additional issues seem to be clearing up a bit, he can feel all his grief and anxiety poking at him again just below the surface.

”You’ve been here for me through all of this, and through so much more before that,” Hajime says, “so please let me be there for you as well.”

Wakatoshi’s expression softens, and he rests a hand against the side of Hajime’s neck, threading the tips of his fingers into the short hair at the back of his head.

”Alright, very well then.”

*******

The gate opens, and Iwaizumi’s mind struggles to comprehend what he is seeing. The vast open fields run back and back and back far into the distance, the tree-lined drive is perfectly manicured and fenced, and the large traditional house sits at the end of it, casting an imposing figure against the backdrop of the land.

I wonder what it is about Tendou that seems to attract men with family estates, Hajime wonders. Although, perhaps Tendou had never been here, had never even known. Wakatoshi has mentioned it, only alluded to it mostly, but Hajime knows he is not on good terms with his family, and he wonders how long that has been so.

“This is…” Hajime starts, though he does not quite know what to say. Surprising? Overwhelming? Terrifying?

“This is where you grew up?” he says instead.

“Mm,” Wakatoshi grunts softly in confirmation. His jaw is set and his hands firmly grasp the steering wheel.

Hajime swallows around the lump rising in his throat. He has only ever known one other person with this type of family background — Alain. However, he can already tell that this is not quite like his situation at all. Every time Alain has mentioned his family’s property in Hajime’s presence, he has done so with a fondness that makes his love for it clear. Wakatoshi seems to harbor no such love for his family’s estate, and in fact he looks and feels quite out of place here. His brow creases, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat the closer they get to the house at the end of the long lane.

“How long has it been since you were last here?” Hajime asks.

Wakatoshi thinks, but he does not answer right away. 

“I… do not remember,” he says, “a long time. It is not a place I relish being.”

Hajime nods then looks out the window again as they pull up close to the house. It is even more intimidating up close, Perhaps because he can sense Wakatoshi’s growing apprehension. Wakatoshi shifts the car into park and looks at Hajime with an apologetic expression.

”I am sorry in advance for what you are likely about to witness,” he says quietly. “I hope… it does not make you have second thoughts.”

“It couldn’t!” Hajime says firmly, grasping for Wakatoshi’s hand and cradling it gently.

”It won’t,” he reiterates more calmly, and Wakatoshi threads their fingers together.

“Okay,” Wakatoshi says quietly. He squeezes Hajme’s hand and does not want to let it go. 

“Were they really bad to you?” Hajime asks nervously. He has not really gone poking into Wakatoshi’s family business before, always choosing to let him tell him as much as he wants but not asking for more. 

Wakatoshi exhales long and slow, his breath audible.

“In some ways, yes,” he says softly. “They just had… very specific expectations for me, none of which I have ever lived up to.”

Hajime runs a soothing thumb over the back of Wakatoshi’s hand. He struggles to see how that could possibly be. His Wakatoshi is talented, beautiful, disciplined, serious, kind… How could he possibly fail to live up to expectations?

Hajime lets out a shaky breath and unbuckles his seatbelt before reaching for the door.

”Wait,” Wakatoshi says, stopping him with a soft tug on the hand that is still held firmly in his.

”I just… If you need more context…” Wakatoshi says hesitantly. 

“It’s okay, angel,” Hajime says, watching his face twist in deep anxiety. “We can talk about it more later if that’s better.”

”No,” Wakatoshi says quickly, “what if… I do not want you to think that I am… a cold person. That I am overreacting if a disagreement breaks out. I just... I need you to understand, before we go in there.”

”Okay,” Hajime says calmly, “you don’t have to worry, but if it will put you at ease, then you can tell me.”

”I — I really hate this place. I hate the expectations that come with it. I never… No matter what I tried, I was never going to meet them. I was never…”

”Breathe, baby,” Hajime says. 

As they speak, a woman with a serious face appears in the doorway of the house and looks in their direction. Her posture is poised and upright — practiced. Her face pinches slightly, but it remains mostly passive and unfeeling.

”My mother,” Wakatoshi explains solemnly, and Hajime looks at her again, trying to find any trace of the man he loves in her. So far, he cannot.

“You have nothing to be afraid of when I’m with you, okay?” Hajime says, regaining Wakatoshi’s attention. “Just breathe and tell me.”

Wakatoshi takes in a breath and lets it back out quickly.

”I was supposed to be their perfect heir,” Wakatoshi says quietly, “but they found me defective from the start.”

Hajime’s brows squish and his heart pangs painfully. Defective. The word makes his blood boil.

“The plan they had for me was to go to college. To study agriculture, or business, or some other respectable discipline and to take over the management of all of this someday,” he explains with a frown.

Hajime nods, still firmly gripping his hand.

”But that… was never what I wanted,” he says. “Obviously, volleyball meant more to me, and I had some natural ability for it too.”

Hajime laughs a little. “Yeah, just a bit,” he says.

“People think I am just naturally gifted, a prodigy,” he continues bitterly, “I know that is what Oikawa thinks, probably even now. And truth be told I have been exceedingly fortunate in many ways.”

He glances at Hajime, his brows creating deep creases.

“But actually I also worked my ass off, just to achieve my own freedom,” he says, low and serious.

“The only way they would let me out of their grasp was if I was the best, Olympic quality,” Wakatoshi explains, “and even then they still only allowed it begrudgingly.”

”My mother in particular opposed me at every opportunity,” he says. “She still does. She disliked that my father also played professionally and always had.”

”I see,” Hajime says. 

“We are still on quite bad terms,” Wakatoshi says finally, casting a nervous glance back in her direction. Then they are both quiet for a moment.

”Wakatoshi,” Hajime finally says, “I think we should go before we keep them waiting any longer. But I do understand, okay? I understand you, and I will always be in your corner, so don’t worry.”

Wakatoshi nods and squeezes his hand. They both take one last peaceful breath before reaching for their doors and plunging headfirst into uncharted waters.

Once inside, they are all seated along a low table in a tatami room of significant size. On one side of the table, Wakatoshi and Hajime sit next to each other, both trying to breathe evenly and keep still. On the other side, Wakatoshi’s mother and grandmother sit with those same indiscernible, placid faces that seem to come from years of practice. It makes him wonder how much of Wakatoshi’s stoic demeanor when he first met him had been himself and how much had been a result of growing up in this household.

”I see you have brought a guest,” his grandmother says in an even tone that verges on cold, addressing Wakatoshi.

”Yes,” Wakatoshi answers, trying to keep his tone metered. “This is Iwaizumi Hajime, who I am sure you are aware by now is my partner.”

Both of their jaws tighten slightly, a tiny crack in their perfect poise that gives Hajime a sick kind of thrill. He chastises himself, willing the corners of his mouth back down to maintain his neutral expression. 

“Is this something you think is funny, Wakatoshi?” his mother says, “because I fail to understand the joke.”

Hajime can feel the ice daggers pointing in his direction underneath her metered tone.

“Ah, do not worry, it is not a failing of yours,” Wakatoshi says in a faux-nice tone that makes Hajime’s hair stand on end. “There is no joke to misunderstand, you see.”

Wakatoshi is not usually a man of subtlety. Everything he does is normally big and direct, and sometimes ill-timed. Hajime has seen him intimidate others unintentionally, just from his height and power and timbre of his voice, but somehow the soft, metered tones he speaks now concealing sharp, targeted barbs is making him the most terrifying he has ever seemed. He is wholly unlike himself in this moment, and Hajime begins to wonder what it must have been like for small, wonderful, sweet Wakatoshi to try to survive in this house, for Utsui to try to survive in this house. Hajime is trying to reserve his judgement still, but he finds no trace of either of the men he cares for in this home. It is immediately difficult for him to regard it as anything other than an affront.

“Then please tell me what it is exactly,” she says, “because certainly you are not so wholly naive that you would think something like this would be acceptable.”

“Whether you find it acceptable or not, this is the reality,” Wakatoshi pushes back. “My partner is a man. That is just how it is.”

His mother scoffs, and she squints at him slightly in disgust. “I wish I had gotten to you before you got these crazy ideas in your head. Where did you get them exactly? In California?”

She says it with a kind of derision that makes it clear she wishes the entire place would just drop off into the Pacific.

“There is nothing crazy about it,” Wakatoshi says coldly, bringing his hand down just a touch too forcefully onto the table, “and it would not matter what you did — I would do it again. Make me choose one hundred times over, in one hundred different lifetimes, and I would choose Hajime every time, in every circumstance!”

Hajime feels his heart twist, both from elation at Wakatoshi’s words and from apprehension at the way his mother’s face changes.

“Where is your family loyalty?” she throws at him, her eyes further narrowing. The crinkle in her brow feels somehow dangerous, like an uncharacteristic admission of deep frustration.

“Where is yours?” Wakatoshi asks quietly, looking up at her with a blank expression. 

“You divorced my father when he repeatedly tried to protect me. You are about to talk yourself into having a completely estranged son as well. I do not believe you are in any position to lecture me about familial bonds,” he says coolly.

Hajime clutches roughly at his own knees and cannot lift his eyes from the spot on the table he is burning a hole in with his gaze. Everywhere else in the room feels like a wrong place to look, crackling with tension.

“Rather than nurturing a family connection, you chose to spend your time attempting to eradicate anything you deemed ‘abnormal’ about me, whether that was my left handedness, my autism, wanting to play volleyball professionally, or now my sexuality. Frankly it is a bit nauseating how committed you seem to be to hating everything about me.”

The room falls silent, the hardly-sustained veneer of decorum now barely hanging on.

“If your concern is about me damaging your precious family name,” he adds, finally letting the venom begin to seep into his voice, “do not worry. I plan on giving it back at the earliest possible convenience.”

All heads in the room snap to attention, piercing into Wakatoshi now at his implication. Everyone is silently reeling, and they struggle to come up with anything to say.

“My son is not gay!” his mother ends up flinging at him, her composure finally cracking entirely.

“Your son is queer! And so is your future son-in-law!” Wakatoshi yells back, doubling down and leaving no room to doubt what he means. He is standing now, making everyone have to crane their necks up to look at him. 

“I am attracted to men. I love this man in particular. And if that is a problem, then I will gladly leave.”

The silence that follows is the loudest Hajime has ever experienced. He can hear the blood rushing in his own ears. 

“I see,” Wakatoshi eventually says, deflating just a little. 

Wakatoshi has been strong, defiant, and confident through the entire interaction, but now all Hajime sees is the lost and lonely boy whose family is choosing something else over him. It is something Hajime himself knows more than enough about. He takes Wakatoshi’s hand gently, and Wakatoshi looks down at him.

He loves him. It has never felt as achingly simple to Hajime before as it does now looking up into Wakatoshi’s eyes. He gazes up at him into the face of someone he loves, who loves him, and a current passes through him like an electrical impulse. 

Fuck this house, and fuck their judgment, and fuck anyone else’s too for that matter. Fuck all the overcomplication and the worrying and anything else in Hajime’s way.

Hajime just gives a firm, singular nod. It is all it takes for him to begin springing up to a stand and for Wakatoshi to help haul him up onto his feet with a tug of their connected hands. 

Wakatoshi turns and does not look back, quickly striding away. It is only Hajime who turns one last time, a conditioned gesture of apology he had grown too used to over the years of being a generally unwilling participant in Oikawa family (mostly Tooru) dramatic exits. He sees Wakatoshi’s mother, still looking quietly irate, but then he also glances at Wakatoshi’s grandmother, who just wears that placid expression. He cannot help but wonder what it covers over as they make their way quickly out of the house.

Wakatoshi’s grip on his hand remains firm. They just walk briskly at first, all the way to the entryway, where they jam their feet into their shoes. Then Wakatoshi is running, holding tight to Hajime’s hand. They sprint to his car, and still Wakatoshi does not look back. 

When Wakatoshi opens the driver’s side door, Hajime tries to pull back to go to the passenger’s side, but instead he is pulled in after him into the driver’s seat. He is handled by possessive hands all over him that help settle him over Wakatoshi’s lap, and suddenly there is a passionate crashing of lips, a need-filled slide of hands across his shoulders and back and hips that grasps at him to pull him closer. 

“Wakatoshi,” he mumbles around Ushijima’s avaricious lips, “baby, what’s…?”

Wakatoshi finally stops, panting, with their foreheads pressed together and both hands cupping Hajime’s ass.

“Scoot to the passenger seat,” Wakatoshi whispers. “Let me take you somewhere.”

Hajime awkwardly shuffles off of him and into the other seat, fastening his seatbelt as Wakatoshi puts his car in reverse. He cannot seem to get them out of there fast enough to satisfy himself, and though he refrains from completely peeling out on the gravel drive, his driving takes on an uncharacteristic hurried quality.

Hajime’s mind is too full, still not quite caught up to all that has happened in the span of only a few minutes. He tries not to let “future son-in-law” replay too many times inside his brain, lest he begin to panic.

Wakatoshi parks his car about five minutes later in a small dirt lot at the edge of a densely wooded area. He turns off the car, quickly strides to the passenger side and meets Hajime there. Wakatoshi takes his hand and pulls him along again, though a bit slower this time as they navigate the sloped dirt path up into the tree line. After a few minutes’ walk and a hop over a running stream that cuts through the path and down the hillside, they come to a clearing with an old torii that marks the entrance to a stone staircase with tightly packed, large asunaro trees lining either side. 

Wakatoshi leads Hajime more softly now, all of the hurried insistence melting out of his body. They slowly ascend the stairs up to the shrine entrance at the top.

“I used to come here sometimes as a child,” Wakatoshi whispers, “I would go off for hours sometimes, just to get away from everything.”

Hajime lightly squeezes his hand.

“I liked playing in the stream, so one day I followed it around to that path, then that led me up here,” Wakatoshi explains. 

His features are mostly in shadow, but golden sunlight filters through in small rays, touching his hair and face in small pinpoints of light that catch Hajime’s eye. The forest is quiet, and Wakatoshi’s hand is warm. It stills Hajime’s racing mind and calms him more and more the further up they climb.

They arrive at the top of the staircase to a small stone cobbled courtyard. At the far end, they can see the shrine, set at the base of an enormous camphor tree that rises high above it. The forest is a bit less dense here, but trees rise up to every side, cloaking part of the courtyard in shadow. It is still quiet, except for the soft twitter of birds and the running of another small stream that winds its way around the back of the shrine, just a few yards back into the trees.

They sit in the shady part of the courtyard under a smaller pine tree, sitting directly next to each other still hand in hand. After a quiet moment, Hajime leans his head against Wakatoshi, settling against him with a long steady breath. 

“Why did you want to bring me here, Wakatoshi?” Hajime asks quietly. “Any particular reason?”

“Partly because I wanted to share it with you,” Wakatoshi answers. “It’s probably a bit strange, but I have always thought that if I ever found someone really important to me, important enough to have them come meet my family, that I would want to show them this place, even more than anything else around here.”

Hajime looks at him and sees the peaceful expression on his face, the relaxation of his shoulders. He wonders how many times young Wakatoshi had come here seeking refuge, how many times he must have slipped out the door of that stifling house to go tromping through the woods and up to this old forest shrine.

“This always felt like my own secret place when I was young,” he continues, “and it is probably a bit stupid and silly, but back then I had this idea in my head that I would only ever share it with someone I wanted to spend my life with.”

Hajime bristles slightly, but Wakatoshi puts his other hand over his in reassurance.

“No!” he insists quickly, “I am not — this is not me proposing! I know it is not the time for that right now.”

“Are you sure?” Hajime asks with a hesitant smile. “Because back at the house —“

“I know,” Wakatoshi sighs. “I know, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted to convey to them, and maybe to you a bit too, exactly how serious I am about you.”

“I know you are,” Hajime says quietly. 

Neither of them speaks for a while, but Wakatoshi winds his arms around Hajime and pulls him in even closer.

“We still have a lot to talk about, I know,” Wakatoshi whispers. “I am not so naive as to think that us becoming official just magically resolves anything.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says softly, his stomach flip flopping, “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t still bother me, everything being up in the air like this.”

Wakatoshi nods, his cheek brushing against where it rests on top of Hajime’s head.

“Hajime,” Wakatoshi says quietly but seriously, “I will stay.”

Wakatoshi can feel Hajime tense, and then he is moving, turning to look him properly in the face.

“What did you say?” Hajime whispers, his eyes going wide.

“I will stay,” he repeats. “I will stay in Japan, with Schweiden, so I can stay close to you.”

Hajime is silent, dumbfounded.

“Or if you decide you need to come back to Sendai for your mom, we will!” Wakatoshi continues desperately. “I will figure something out! Whatever needs to happen, I will make it happen.”

“You’ll… stay?” Hajime finally says quietly, and Wakatoshi nods in reassurance.

“Like hell you will!” Hajime bellows, startling both the birds in the treetops overhead and Wakatoshi. 

His eyes are fiery and his brows have squished together at sharp angles. His head has unconsciously tipped back, as if ready to give in to his teenaged headbutting ways again after all these years. He has to physically smack his palm against his forehead to catch himself, and he can feel a vein there throbbing.

“Absolutely not!” he says in a way that is a bit more controlled but no less vehement. “I am not letting you throw away this opportunity Ushijima Wakatoshi!”

Hajime pokes a finger into Wakatoshi’s chest for emphasis. 

“But —!”

“You told me, didn’t you?!” Hajime interrupts, “When we were just 20, you told me you wanted to play abroad! 

“You’ve wanted this for god knows how long, and you’re trying to tell me that you’re just going to say no?!” Hajime continues. “I WON’T LET YOU.”

Ushijima looks at him with wide blinking eyes, not knowing quite what he should say.

“But what about you?” he asks softly. “I do not want to make you suffer by leaving you behind.”

Hajime sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. His eyes are squished tightly closed.

“Look,” Hajime says, taking both of Wakatoshi’s hands, “obviously I don’t love it. I don’t want to be apart from you. But I also can’t take this opportunity from you.”

“You’re going to get to play abroad like you’ve always wanted,” he continues. “You’ll get to play with and against Olympic gold medalists. You’ll be close to Tendou and Alain. All of these things are such amazing things for you, angel, and I can’t be the one to take that away.”

“Then… come with me,” Wakatoshi whispers, hesitant and pleading. 

Hajime smiles at Wakatoshi softly and squeezes his hands. 

“I can’t,” Hajime says. “At least, not right now.”

Wakatoshi’s face falls, and Hajime can see the worry written clearly across it.

“But if I have to go, and you have to stay…”

“Wakatoshi,” Hajime says soothingly, “you like having concrete plans, right?”

“Right,” he confirms.

“Okay, so then let’s make a plan, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Wakatoshi says with a little nod, “okay.”

Chapter Text

Fall of 2028, over three years later

“Wakatooooooshi!” 

Hajime rolls over and groans, resting his hand on Wakatoshi’s chest. He is still groggy and plants small, wet kisses across his neck and shoulder without even thinking. 

Tendou makes for an annoying but effective alarm clock as he knocks erratically on the bedroom door.

“Come on, you two!” he says, far too loud and pleasant. “We’re going to miss our flight if you sleep in much longer!”

Hajime raises his head to look toward the closed door and sighs. He attempts to raise himself up from the bed with his arms, but Wakatoshi moves lightning fast to wrap him up and flip him over top of him. 

“Where do you think you are going?” Wakatoshi asks, peppering Hajime’s face and neck with kisses.

“We’ve got to get up,” Hajime says with a laugh, swatting away Wakatoshi’s fervored attempts to kiss him as many times as he can as quickly as possible.

“Oh, I am up,” Wakatoshi says, spreading his thighs to let Hajime settle between them. He can feel just how alert Wakatoshi actually is.

“I’m so shocked,” Hajime says sarcastically with a gushy smile. “You sex fiend. How is it you have any energy after yesterday?”

“How is it you do?” Wakatoshi asks, sliding his hand down to the joining of Hajime’s legs, where he is clearly just as awake. Hajime sighs.

“He likes you I guess,” Hajime says, “you’re pretty sweet to him, so he does what you want.”

Wakatoshi looks a little pleased, almost smug. He widens his legs and rocks against Hajime, making him give out a low little hiss.

“We can’t, baby,” he whispers. 

“Why not?”

Wakatoshi’s version of pouting is far too cute to Hajime now. His voice gets low and quiet, with a barely discernible undercurrent of petulance. Little creases form between his eyebrows and his lips set in a just-so sort of way that makes Hajime want to kiss them.

“Because we have guests, and I don’t think you could keep quiet, angel.” 

Hajime had meant to lay it out for him in a more rational way, but his voice dips low into that tone Wakatoshi knows means “I wanna fuck you but I’m being stubborn about it.”

“I will if you tell me to,” Wakatoshi says, his pout shifting as he goes on the attack now. “Am I not always perfect and good for you?”

Wakatoshi rocks up against Hajime again, sliding them together.

“And who is to say you would not be the loud one?” he adds. “Perhaps I might be too good for sweet Hajime to handle.”

Hajime has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to calm down. At the start of their relationship, he had been the one good at riling Wakatoshi up, the one who knew just how to make him snap, but in their time together, Ushijima has become just as bad, able to say and do the exact things that make Hajime so hard and needy it hurts. He really is the epitome of practice makes perfect.

“You absolute tease,” he whispers, digging his fingers into Wakatoshi’s hips and grinding down against him.

Tendou knocks again, startling them out of their mood. 

“Let’s go, let’s go!” he sing-songs from the other side of their door before retreating again. 

Hajime sighs and lets his head fall onto Wakatoshi’s chest. 

“See, this is what I mean,” he says with a quiet laugh. He pushes up with his arms to look at Wakatoshi again. 

“You really think you can be quiet for me, baby?” he asks, one eyebrow and the side of his mouth both quirking upward.

“Mhm,” Wakatoshi says while nodding. “Yes, I will be absolutely quiet.”

“Good boy,” Hajime says, this time in his “I wanna fuck you, and I’m going to” voice.

Hajime shifts, leaving a trail of kisses down Wakatoshi’s body until he settles with his chest wedged between Wakatoshi’s thighs. 

Hajime kisses the side of his thigh, nipping at him as he traces the underside of Wakatoshi’s shaft with soft fingers, making him shiver. 

When Hajime takes him into his mouth and begins swirling his tongue along the sensitive edge of the head, Wakatoshi moans a little, not able to help himself.

“Mm-mmm” Hajime hums in quiet admonishment. He snakes his hand up to Wakatoshi’s face and caresses his cheek before tracing the line of his lips pointedly. Wakatoshi knows what he means and opens his mouth so that Hajime can push his fingers into it to stopper him up and glide over his tongue.

Hajime strokes down with his lips again, his mouth stretching to accommodate Wakatoshi. The sounds he makes as he glides up and down with a firm press of his tongue are sinful, and they make Wakatoshi have to roughly suck his fingers to keep himself quiet. 

When Hajime can feel Wakatoshi’s legs beginning to twitch, he feels a tap on his shoulder, and he looks up at him as he continues to work him with his mouth. 

“Can I please have you?” Wakatoshi says shakily around his fingers. “I want to cum with you inside me, please.”

Hajime chuckles a little in the back of his throat, sending vibrations through Wakatoshi that make him shudder. Hajime’s mouth pops off of him with a wet squelch, and he looks down at him.

“So needy, baby,” he says with a small smirk. He pushes Wakatoshi’s legs apart further then takes a finger wet from Wakatoshi’s mouth and teases it against his rim.

“Think you can keep quiet without me having to help you?” he asks, as the pad of his finger presses in, breaching him. 

“Yes I can do it,” Wakatoshi says, “I will be so good, I promise.”

Hajime looks up at him with a so-in-love expression. “I know you will, angel,” he says as he slides his finger in. 

Wakatoshi is still soft and pliant from the previous night’s half-drunken exploits, taking in Hajime’s fingers easily as he adds a second and then another.

“Is this enough for you baby?” Hajime asks as he pumps his fingers harder. “This is how you wanted to cum, right?”

Wakatoshi lets out a frustrated little sound from the back of his throat and a soft, whining “nooo!” that tugs at Hajime’s heart. He is such a lovesick fool these days.

“Oh, no?” Hajime says, feigning surprise. “But I thought you said you wanted to cum with me inside you, and aren’t I inside you now?”

“Not like that,” Wakatoshi says pitifully, trying to stay as quiet as he can manage. “You know what I need.”

“Do I?” Hajime asks “Seems to me like you’re enjoying my fingers just fine.”

Wakatoshi lets out another soft, frustrated noise from the back of his throat. “Please stop teasing me,” he says.

“But you like it so much when I do,” Hajime says, running a soft hand up Wakatoshi’s leaking erection. “It gets you all hot and bothered.”

“Please,” Wakatoshi whispers in an urgent tone, “please, I’m getting too close and I…”

“I know, baby,” Hajime says with a soft smile. “I’ll take care of you, just like always.”

He places a soft kiss on the top of his head and removes his fingers slowly. His own cock is already aching anyway, eager to please. As much as he enjoys teasing Wakatoshi at times, it is also quite a test of his own self control. 

He slides into Wakatoshi, taking himself all the way to the base before beginning to move in slow, rolling strokes. He is heavily lubricated, and the slide of it feels especially deliciously good. His muscles and head are screaming a bit from the slight hangover he is dealing with, but he cannot seem to care when Wakatoshi feels this good, when he craves him so much it is a need.

As expected, Wakatoshi is having trouble keeping quiet and is biting down on his bottom lip hard to stifle his noises.

Hajime does not know how he is going to make it through their flight with these lewd memories swimming in his head. When they make it to their Tokyo home, he silently vows to immediately wreck the place, jet lag be damned. Seeing Wakatoshi hold himself back is certainly cute, but it also makes Iwaizumi ache to make him loud for him instead.

“Is this better Wakatoshi?” he asks in a feverish whisper. “Is it what you wanted?”

Wakatoshi whimpers and nods, and Hajime snaps his hips, forcing a choked little sound out of Wakatoshi’s throat.

“Here, love,” Hajime says as he dips down, pressing flush with Wakatoshi. He tips his torso to the side, putting the inside of his left bicep near Wakatoshi’s face.

“Bite,” he insists, and Wakatoshi opens his mouth and lightly rests his teeth against Hajime’s skin. 

“Good boy,” Hajime says as he places another kiss atop Wakatoshi’s head.

Then the mood swiftly changes as Hajime presses Wakatoshi’s knees back and apart roughly before slamming into him. The pace he sets is much faster, more insistent. Wakatoshi begins to bite down harder as he tries to keep himself quiet. Hajime can feel his canines pressing sharply into his arm, and it only makes him want to go faster, harder. His good boy needs him, needs to know what a perfect job he is doing, needs to know how much Hajime desires him.

Hajime can feel the flinging spit and hot breath against his arm where Wakatoshi bites into him, open mouthed. His throat is constricting, pinching off any sound, and his brow sweats and scrunches more with each rapid thrust of Hajime’s hips. His breaths become ragged, and he is still having trouble tamping down every cry of pleasure he wants to allow to rip its way out of his throat. 

“Fuck,” Hajime whispers, never letting his hips slow. “You’re so cute when you’re trying so hard.”

“You — you’re cute too,” Ushijima mumbles with his teeth still sunk into Hajime’s arm. 

Hajime huffs a little laugh and angles his wrist to be able to pet the top of Wakatoshi’s head, sliding gentle fingers into his hair. It feels a little innocent, almost a little silly even, to be completely rocking a man’s world and get a sweet compliment like that. Although, that is just who Wakatoshi is — always saying the right thing at an inopportune time, just because he really thinks it and has to say so.

“Wakatoshi, are you close, baby?” Hajime asks.

“Mmm” he mumbles with a slight bob of his head.

“Okay,” Hajime says, kissing his sweat-damp forehead. “I‘ll hold onto you, so you can let go, okay?”

Wakatoshi whines with another quick nod and presses his teeth into Hajime’s arm a fraction harder. Hajime squeezes him tight with his right arm and wraps his left hand over the top of his head in a protective gesture.

“You can let go,” Hajime whispers again. “It’s going to feel so good when you do, right?”

Hajime moves faster with a final burst of energy that he knows will send Wakatoshi tumbling over the edge. He presses his torso down flat against him so that each thrust also rubs and applies pressure to Wakatoshi’s cock, pushing him further and further.

When Wakatoshi finally barrels over the edge, he lets out the beginnings of a cry that he has to stifle himself by releasing Hajime’s arm and pressing one of his large hands roughly against his own mouth. His cries become muffled little ah!s behind his hand that accompany heaving breaths and spit that escapes from the small cracks between his hand and mouth. His body shakes in time with each one, and his back arches both himself and Hajime up off the bed.

Hajime is certain he will never tire of witnessing the way Wakatoshi comes unglued. His body is beautiful, his muscles contracting and twisting with the pleasure Hajime gives him. It never fails to push him over the edge too, just as it does this morning.

So here they are yet again, breathing rapid but soft, slightly sullied and very in love. Also now just a bit more likely to be late for their flight. Hajime cleans them both as Wakatoshi lays starfished on the bed, his breaths evening out.

“Wakatoshi,” Hajime whispers as he slides back down into bed and perfectly slots into the space at his side under his arm. He drops a quick kiss near his shoulder and swirls his fingers in wide circles over his chest. 

“Fuck — I love you so much, you know?” Hajime finally says. He looks up at Wakatoshi with wide eyes full of all the feelings that are too big to put into words. 

Their small engagement celebration with their friends in France had been full of plenty of “I love you”s and toasts and well wishes and beautiful, bubbly feelings, and their larger engagement party back home in Japan in just a few days’ time promises to be all of that and more. However, it is here in their bed, feeling the warmth of Wakatoshi’s body and the slide of skin against skin, that he feels their love most acutely. It is a gentle, quiet thing at times, but also comfortable and genuine, strong and sturdy. To Hajime it feels like home, even in their French apartment so far away from their home country.

He had joined Wakatoshi here a couple of years ago, after Hajime had taken a job as an assistant coach for the JNT, which allows him to split his time more evenly between France and Japan. They also keep a house in Tokyo, in a part of town near Wakatoshi’s old apartment so that they can still walk to Honda-san’s shop on the weekends.

Only a few short years ago, Hajime would never have been able to imagine a life like this one — one where he gets to feel like this, to become mushier and happier and just all around more disgustingly enamored by the day. “Well-loved” he remembers Tendou calling it all that time ago.

“I love you too,” Wakatoshi answers back, matching the intensity of his gaze. It makes Hajime feel like he is bursting, like bottle rockets are popping somewhere inside his chest.

They are interrupted again by another round of Tendou banging on their room door and loudly telling them just how late they are going to be for their flight, followed by a chuckled “Chéri, please!” from further across the apartment.

They roll out of their bed and dress hastily in t-shirts and shorts before shuffling out of the room with their fingers connected in a lazy, loose hold. When they walk out into the kitchen, Alain is there working on breakfast and Tendou’s gangly form is leaned against the countertop sipping on a cup of coffee. They had all long ago become quite comfortable inhabiting each other’s homes, by virtue of the many visits back and forth between them.

“Nice to finally see our amorous little love birds this morning,” Tendou teases. Alain swats at him with a tea towel and tuts his tongue.

Hajime would normally be embarrassed, but he has become so close with Tendou and Alain during his time in France that it takes more than one stray remark to fluster him these days.

Unfortunately “more” manifests in the form of Tendou looking pointedly at Hajime’s left arm then raising his eyebrows at him. Hajime looks down and sees the very clear bite mark poking out below his shirt sleeve and feels himself beginning to turn red from his ears all the way down to his chest.

Tendou just laughs and smacks him on the back. He still enjoys his share of teasing Hajime from time to time.

“Ughhh,” Hajime grumbles, settling into a chair at the kitchen table next to Wakatoshi and holding his head in his hands. “Who's the moron who decided we should fly home the morning after a party?”

Wakatoshi looks at him with his brow all scrunched and a small frown. “It was you who planned that, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Hajime sighs. “It was indeed me. I am that moron.”

Now that he is no longer occupied by the single-minded pursuit of Wakatoshi’s pleasure, his head and body are taking the opportunity to voice their collective displeasure with the celebratory activities of the night before.

Tendou laughs at Hajime’s self-induced misfortunes, but Alain gives him a sympathetic look that suggests he is perhaps in a similar boat. 

“You should hydrate,” Wakatoshi says before standing and walking to their refrigerator. He returns with both a bottled water and a drink meant to replace electrolytes and places them in front of Hajime. 

He wants to grumble a bit, but Wakatoshi is always just so kind. “Thank you, angel,” he says instead, and Wakatoshi discreetly preens at the long-standing pet name Hajime had given him all those years ago.

“A decent breakfast should help as well,” Alain says, giving the spatula in his hand a little wiggle in the air. “I’m certainly not on Wakatoshi’s level, but it should do.”

They sit in the quiet of the morning after that, lazily bouncing legs and sipping drinks and catching up on the morning’s news in the warm sunlight streaming in from the balcony as Alain finishes breakfast. Soon they will have to hurry along to the airport and rush to the gate, all to board an intense, long international flight. For now though, it is just this — just bread and jam and coffee and comfortable companionship glowing in the stray kitchen sun rays.

*******

They do not spend much time in Tokyo — just enough to stop in at Hajime and Wakatoshi’s place for a couple of nights before heading on to Sendai. 

The night before the planned engagement party finds a gaggle of people all at the Oikawas’. It has more space than the Iwaizumi house, and the number of people just seems to keep growing somehow. 

All the Oikawas are there of course — Oikawa-san, Taeko, Tooru, and Takeru. Takeru also has Hinata Natsu flung across his lap arguing with Tooru on the other side of him over a card game they are playing. 

Mattsun has made an appearance and sits behind them on the sofa laughing at their expense and subtly helping everyone cheat when the mood strikes him. He had once told Hajime that if he plays all sides, that means he always wins in some way or other. He had not liked it quite so much when Makki had answered that it also meant he was always losing in some way or other too. 

Kyoutani is there as well, and though he is not playing the game himself, he still likes to argue with everyone about the correct interpretation of the rules. He also seems to be playing for all sides, or more accurately, is sideless in the endeavor. 

Tendou has made a new sport of trying to rile Kyoutani up by insisting that increasingly outlandish rules are a part of the game. He has also adopted Tooru’s habit of calling him “Kyouken-chan,” which Kyoutani is thrilled by, of course. Tendou and Tooru really make for an infuriating and entertaining duo when they happen to be in the same place.

Alain, Wakatoshi, and Hajime all sit apart from the chaos, along with Oikawa-san and Taeko, talking amongst themselves and laughing when another spat breaks out among the card-playing crowd. 

When the night draws long, and the card players are losing steam, Hajime leans back into Wakatoshi’s chest and tips his head onto his shoulder. The warmth of him is always a comfort now, one that Hajime has become accustomed to. These days, he needs only to reach for Wakatoshi, and he is always there. 

“Are you getting tired?” Wakatoshi asks near his ear, soft and low.

“Yes, a bit,” Hajime says, closing his eyes, “but I still need to…”

“Mmm,” Wakatoshi hums with a quick nod. “Yes, go ahead, we can keep everyone occupied.”

Hajime shifts forward and rises with a soft groan, then he offers to take empty cups to the kitchen. 

“Alain,” Wakatoshi says, “could you show everyone that card game you taught us?”

Alain’s eyes light up with a vibrant “of course!” and the groups converge, everyone huddling to watch his instruction. Hajime re-enters from the kitchen, then puts a soft hand on Tooru’s shoulder and leans to speak to him without being heard. Tooru nods, and Iwaizumi helps him to his feet. Wakatoshi can see him attempt to be stubborn and pull away, but Hajime holds on tight and loops Oikawa’s arm around his shoulder with a look that clearly communicates, “try it, I dare you.” 

They walk away together silently, and as much unpleasant history as he and Oikawa may have between them, Wakatoshi’s brows furrow when he sees Tooru’s stiff gait and the little wince he makes before disappearing further into the house with Hajime.

The new game goes on for a few rounds, and Tendou and Wakatoshi are dealt in, being somewhat experienced. Eventually Tooru and Hajime return, and they both take their previous seats. 

“All good?” Wakatoshi whispers as Hajime sits in front of him again and takes over his cards.

“All good,” he assures quietly before leaning back against Wakatoshi and reordering the cards as he grumbles under his breath about the state of the hand.

Wakatoshi looks back over to Oikawa, who is leaning over to view Tendou’s hand as he gives a quick explanation of the game. He winds his arms around Hajime’s waist, pulling him in tighter and thanks his lucky stars once again that things have turned out the way they have — that everything in their close circle is peaceful now.

Not long after, Wakatoshi, Hajime, Tendou, and Alain all leave the Oikawa house together to a chorus of happy farewells and promises to see them tomorrow. The street is quiet, and the moon is waxing and bright, illuminating their walk. Their spirits are high and they speak in happy, chattering tones as they walk hand in hand toward the Iwaizumis’ just down the street.

As they approach though, a solitary figure comes into view standing on the sidewalk near the Iwaizumi house. It appears to be a woman, a few inches shorter than Iwaizumi, with a straight and upright stance.

“Grandmother,” Ushijima says in an alarmed tone as they draw closer. In front of them stands an older woman Hajime has met only once, over three years ago at the Ushijima estate. 

“Hello, Wakatoshi,” she says evenly. 

How she is here, in this exact moment and at this exact location is, frankly, a bit baffling. Wakatoshi has had almost no contact with his maternal family since that day he had grasped tight to Hajime’s hand and stormed out of the house. 

Alain tilts his head in curiosity, his eyes wide and welcoming, but Tendou whispers to him in hushed tones and begins to usher him toward the door. Iwaizumi covertly passes Tendou the house key as they go.

“I am sorry,” Wakatoshi says, his voice going monotone and clipped in a stark contrast from the way he normally sounds these days, “but we have an important prior engagement to keep tomorrow and need to get our rest.”

He takes Hajime’s hand and plans to make for the front door.

“Yes, I am aware of that,” she says, which stops him in his tracks.

“How?” he asks curtly, not yet turning back to face her.

“I have my ways,” she says. It is not an answer, but at least her cryptic words do not seem to be said with malice.

“So what can I possibly do for you then?” Wakatoshi asks, trying to keep his thin patience stretched taut over all the words he fights back down into his throat.

“Not you,” she says evenly. “I wish to speak with Iwaizumi-kun.”

Hajime looks at her in surprise, leaning and making eye contact with her past Wakatoshi’s shoulder. Wakatoshi also turns back to her and bristles in confusion and alarm, looking down at her with blown eyes.

“Why?” he asks in an apprehensive tone.

“Because I have some business with him,” she says, cryptic once again.

“What sort of business could you possibly —“

Hajime cuts him off with a soft, warm hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Wakatoshi,” he says quietly. “I will spare her a few moments, and then we can turn in.”

Wakatoshi is reluctant to let go of Hajime’s hand, but he allows him to slide out of his grasp.

“I’ll meet you back inside, okay?” Hajime says with a smile that he hopes looks far more assured and confident than he actually is.

Wakatoshi silently agrees, then sends one last glance back at his grandmother before he turns and walks toward the house alone.

“Thank you,” she says once he is out of earshot, “my apologies, but I am not certain if he would react well to what I have to say.”

Hajime’s back straightens and his stomach flips. He is not certain what he is about to encounter here, but all he can think of is the overwrought dramas Tooru sometimes used to watch where a relative would try to pay off one of the lovers to break them up. 

Yeah, not happening Grandma, Hajime thinks grumpily.

“I have something for you,” she whispers, then reaches into her hand bag.

Yup this is it, Hajime thinks, this Granny is trying to bribe me.

Her hand grasps for something in her bag, then she lays it out flat in her outstretched hand — a small but ornate pouch with gold embroidery. 

She opens it without a word then slides the contents out into her palm — a single gold ring with a simple band that glints in the bright moonlight. Hajime looks from the ring up to her eyes feeling quite confused.

“This was his grandfather’s — my late husband’s,” she says. “I want… I had always planned for him to have it when he decided to get married.”

“I see,” Iwaizumi says softly, trying to give her a reassuring smile.

“I am not sure if he will accept it now,” she adds, “but I still… I think he should have it, if he does want it. He loved his grandfather very much when he was young, so I really hope that has not changed.”

“I will ask him about it, if you want me to,” Hajime says.

“Yes, could you please give it to him?” she asks. “And if he prefers not to have it, if you would be so kind as to arrange a way of returning it to me.”

“Of course,” Hajime answers seriously, “but… are you sure you don’t want to give it to him yourself?

“No, no,” she says quietly with a polite wave of her hand. “That would be too much I think. I do not think he would respond as favorably to me as he might to you. You are the one he loves, after all.”

She smiles politely at Hajime, but he can sense an undercurrent of something else — something that feels like hurt or regret.

“I don’t wish to make things unnecessarily uncomfortable for everyone by inserting myself even further than I already have,” she adds. ”Wakatoshi rather dislikes me, quite strongly.”

Hajime looks at her carefully, at her perfectly coiffed silver hair and older but well manicured hands clasped politely in front of her, encasing the ring.

”It’s interesting,” he says quietly, slowly, “because that is what he assumes about you too. That you deeply dislike him. Maybe even hate him.”

”I see,” she says softly, looking toward the ground. 

“Though I am perhaps beginning to question that assumption of his,” Hajime says, causing her to look back up.

”He does remember a time when things were better, you know,” Hajime says, “when the two of you were on better terms.”

”Perhaps you should ask him about it sometime,” he adds when she says nothing.

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Perhaps I will sometime,” she concedes. “Though let us start with this, then see how things proceed from there.”

Hajime nods decisively, figuring it is the most he can hope to achieve for the time being. He holds out his hand, and she gently drops the gold ring into his waiting palm. It is cool to the touch, and he curls his fingers around it, wrapping it gently in the warmth of his hand. 

“You are a kind and upstanding young man,” she says quietly. “I am glad about that.”

She does not offer her well wishes openly, but Hajime can sense what she means. She is by no means doing the best job, but she is trying, which he figures counts for something.

Hajime reopens his palm and looks closely at the ring. The outside is smooth and simple, but the inside is engraved — September 23rd, 1968.

Hajime’s eyes snap back up to her.

“Yes,” she says with a smile full of both nostalgia and loss, “it would have been 60 years tomorrow.”

“Thank you for this ma’am,” Hajime says with a little bow. “I will take excellent care of it.”

Wakatoshi’s grandmother inclines her head slightly, then quietly slips away, leaving Hajime standing on the sidewalk.

*******

Their engagement party is off to a good start. The sun has set, and the music swells as the large crowd mills and parts and laughs and tucks itself into private corners. The guest list is somewhat extensive, consisting of all of their friends in Japan and a few others from abroad. Hajime looks out over the crowd as he and Wakatoshi begin to make their way up to the front.

Alex is out doing his rounds around the room, somehow making plenty of friends despite his quite rudimentary Japanese. Utsui is here as well, and he is chatting happily with Hajime’s mother, Honda-san, and her partner Akiko.

The rest is a mix of who’s who of the Japanese volleyball world, friends from various walks of life, and a small smattering of family. Everyone seems to be in good spirits and a couple of cocktails in when the atmospheric music stops and Wakatoshi takes up a microphone. 

“Welcome everyone,” he begins. “Hajime and I wanted to take the time to thank you all for coming to celebrate this incredible occasion with us. We feel so fortunate to have all of you exceptional people in our lives who support and care for us.”

“In fact,” Hajime continues, gently receiving the mic and sending a smile in Wakatoshi’s direction. “We are especially happy to have you all here, because we have an announcement.”

Hajime pauses briefly, allowing a murmur to roll through the crowd like a wave. He looks out over them all, feeling an overwhelming swell in his chest from all the incredible support both he and Wakatoshi have been blessed with over the years. 

Then his eyes find Tooru — of course they do. He is standing right next to Takeru and Natsu down in the crowd and seems to be the only person among them not buzzing or chittering, not distracted, not looking away. He is just doing the very difficult job of putting aside everything else in the world other than standing here in support of Hajime and his happiness. Tooru’s smile tugs just a little wider, and then he nods his encouragement. You’ve got this.

“Wakatoshi and I are getting married,” Hajime finally says with a mischievous smirk. “Today. Right now.”

The room erupts into sound, and Hajime cannot help but laugh. Wakatoshi smiles down at him then kisses him, pulling him in close. Down in the crowd everyone is talking all at once, full of smiling faces and happy chatter.

“Oh my god!” Takeru screeches, jumping and grasping at Tooru and wrinkling his button-up shirt.

“Oh… sorry,” he says more quietly, his mirth deflating when he realizes again who he is next to. “I’m sorry, this might be… uhh…”

“Oh, stop,” Tooru says, closing his eyes and smiling. “I’m fine, Takeru, honestly.”

Takeru eyes him with suspicion, his eyes narrowing and brows scrunching.

“You knew!” he accuses indignantly with a few sharp thwack!s to Tooru’s chest. “I can’t believe you, you sneaky —!”

“Stop! Damn!” Tooru says, bringing up his hands to shield himself. “Yes, okay! Hajime gave me a heads up last night. He said he didn’t want me to feel blindsided, and that if I needed to step away for a bit that was fine…”

Oikawa looks back at Hajime, at the way he looks really, truly happy in this moment, at the way it reaches his eyes and pours out of every part of him, infectious and warm and beautiful.

“But I wouldn’t miss this,” Tooru whispers.

Hajime’s eyes meet his again, and Tooru wishes he could freeze him just like that, to have a moment to capture that crooked smile just after laughing, the way his eyes shine, the relaxed angle of his shoulders — everything that makes up the glow of Hajime being loved, in many ways and from all directions. 

Instead, Tooru raises the glass in his hand to him with a smile then breaks his gaze away.

Getting the room to quiet down is no small feat, but it gives time for Tendou, Alain, and Honda-san to join them up front. Honda-san had been rather insistent about being their officiant.

“I was instrumental to the two of you getting together, after all!” she had reasoned. And, well, neither of them could really argue much with that. Honda-san has always been good to them, almost like another grandparent. It had seemed quite fitting.

Honda-san leads them confidently, as if she has done this a million times before. She has that way about her of handling any situation with complete poise, and it is one of the qualities Hajime and Wakatoshi both appreciate most about her. If she had not been there for them all those years ago, Hajime is not certain that they would be standing here right now. 

The same could be said of many other people in the crowd, he knows. In the lead up to his vows, Hajime thinks most about all the many people who in both small and major ways have helped them get to this point, about how fortunate and loved they have been, and especially about the kind of man Wakatoshi is, to have weathered every challenge they have faced with kindness and compassion.

“Wakatoshi,” he finally begins when the time comes, “a little over three years ago, you took me somewhere special, and you told me that you had always wanted to show it to the person you would spend your life with.”

“We sat under a tree there, and you told me everything you would give up for me, about all the things you were willing to sacrifice to be with me… and at the time it made me so unbelievably angry to think that you would ever have to do without something you wanted because of me.” 

Hajime gives a short laugh to combat the tears forming in his bottom lids that he does not want to let fall. 

“I never wanted you to settle,” Hajime continues, “and so, instead, we made a plan — together.”

“That plan has seen us through navigating being apart for a year and half, through job changes, through hardships, through dozens of international flights, and all the way to today, when I finally, legally get to marry you in our home country, just as we planned.”

“Neither of us really believe in fate or destiny, only in hard work and choices. We weren’t meant to be here; we chose to be here. We fought to be here, and I personally think that’s a far more romantic notion.”

“So what I promise to you is that I will never stop fighting. I will never stop trying. I will never stop choosing to be by your side. And I hope we make many more plans together, Wakatoshi.” 

When they exchange rings, the one Wakatoshi places on Hajime’s finger is silver with delicate leaf-pattern scrollwork. It had belonged to Utsui’s father, who was an arborist. Utsui had described his father as a quiet and kind man, much like Wakatoshi. Then Hajime places a smooth, gold ring on Wakatoshi, and before he slides it on, he catches sight of the 1968 engraved on the inside of the band. 

Hajime had left the choice up to Wakatoshi, of course, but in the end, he does still have some affection for his maternal grandfather and does not mind wearing it in his memory. Due to the nature of their jobs, they had intended to wear flexible silicone rings most of the time anyway, but they both cherish having a meaningful set for special occasions, something that ties them to the loved ones who had come before.

After the ceremony, Utsui and Iwaizumi-san are the first to greet them. Iwaizumi-san hugs them with slightly watery eyes, first Hajime then Wakatoshi, and offers her cheery congratulations. Then Utsui flings his arms wide to bring them both into a crushing embrace. 

“My sons,” Utsui says quietly with firm pats on their shoulders.

Hajime’s chest tightens. No man has called him his son in quite some time, but if any man alive deserves that privilege now, he believes it is Utsui.

Utsui squeezes a fraction harder before releasing them and looking back at Hajime with an overwhelming fondness. Hajime knows he owes so much to him, but it has never been more clear than in this moment, when he is wearing an Utsui heirloom on his left hand and sliding his arm back around Wakatoshi’s waist.

The hour or so that follows after that is full of one long string of well-wishers and congratulators. They try to make their rounds around the room, but more often than not, people come to find them, barely letting them branch out from their corner. It begins to taper off though, and eventually they are able to form a core little group of their close friends with a few people coming and going as they please.

”Wakatoshi, Iwaizumi,” Kageyama greets as he enters their group. 

“Hello Tobio,” Hajime greets back in a cheerful tone. He had eventually picked up the habit of using his given name from Wakatoshi.

Though Kageyama still finds it difficult to call him “Hajime,” he had at least mostly dropped the honorifics somewhere along the way.

”Oh, or… is your last name already different now?” Kageyama asks, a bit flustered. 

“It’ll be changed soon,” Hajime confirms with a smile in Wakatoshi’s direction. “We will both be Utsuis before long.” 

It had been one of the biggest sticking points during their engagement — which painful family name should be chucked in favor of the other. Of course Wakatoshi had declared years prior that he would be shedding the Ushijima family name as soon as possible, and Hajime could understand why he would want to. However Iwaizumi, having only contempt for the man who gave him his name, also had no wish to mar his partner with it. When he had been with Tooru all those years ago, he had always assumed he would become an Oikawa if they ever married, no debate or questioning needed. So it had been quite a surprise to even Hajime to learn the depths of just how strongly he did not want to keep his family name. 

The solution had actually come from Kageyama one day, when they were rehashing their arguments yet again while out at dinner following a JNT training session. It had been so easy to accept that they both wondered how they could have missed such a painfully obvious solution — If you hate both, why do you have to choose one of them at all? Why not pick another that means more to you?

“You can still call me Iwaizumi though,” he adds with a laugh, “I imagine it will take some time for everyone to get used to it.”

”Good,” a voice pipes up just behind him, “because I think I’ll probably still call you Iwa-chan forever.”

Hajime turns and finds Tooru smiling at him, walking toward their group. He greets the others with a soft “Tobio-chan, Wakkun,” and somehow it does not sound so bitter and venomous these days.

“I think I’m heading out,” Tooru says to Hajime in a soft voice that matches the hand he places on his shoulder.

”Are you sure?!” Hajime asks, sounding concerned, “You should stay and eat something at least.”

”No no, I’m okay,” Tooru says with one of his too bright, overly jovial smiles and a wave of his hand.

”Tooru…” Hajime grumbles in warning.

”Stop fussing over me, Mom” he retorts, then he changes tactics in a hurry at the dangerous flare of Hajime’s nostrils. 

“To be honest, my pain’s spiking a bit,” Tooru explains, squeezing his eyes shut and running his fingertips over the nape of his neck with a nervous laugh. Hajime’s brows knit tighter.

”I’m fine!” Tooru adds in a hasty tone, “Just, I should definitely rest.”

Hajime eyes him a bit suspiciously, but eventually he just throws out his arms and pulls Tooru into a parting hug. 

“Please take care of yourself,” Hajime whispers. “For me? Or for your mom maybe?”

Tooru tightens his grip then slides out of Hajime’s hold, turning away into the crowd with short goodbyes to the rest of their group. Hajime, Kageyama, and Wakatoshi all watch him go, their faces painted over with pain and concern.

”I don’t know much about Oikawa-san, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t like you three looking at him like that.”

Miya Atsumu slides up to them and plants his hands on Wakatoshi and Kageyama’s backs with gentle little smacks.

”You’re right,” Hajime confirms with a sigh, “he’d hate it.” 

“Nice to see you, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu adds to Kageyama with a broad smile. Iwaizumi can feel Tobio tensing up, and he suspects Miya can too from the way he gives two light pats on his shoulder blade then lets his hand retreat. 

“Shou wanted me to give you his congratulations,” he says to Wakatoshi and Hajime, “he’s real sorry he couldn’t make it.”

“Thank you, Miya-san,” Wakatoshi answers, then they both fall into conversation with Goshiki and Tora, who had been chatting nearby.

Hajime senses that something feels strange about Miya, but rather than think on it too long, his eyes shift to Kageyama as he nudges him with his elbow to get his attention. When Tobio looks over, Hajime just inclines his head in the direction of the bar, and Tobio nods, following Hajime’s lead.

They pass by Kuroo and Daichi, who wave to them from the dance floor. Hajime returns the gesture and smirks a little at Kuroo’s gangly limbs and Daichi’s dad moves. Hajime knows his own dancing is not much better, but at least Alex had taught him a few things over the years. He scans for any sign of his American friend to try to see how he is faring amongst a sea of Japanese speakers, but he does not spot him right away.

After they arrive at the bar and receive their drinks, Hajime leans with his back to a wall and looks out over the dance floor.

”Doing okay?” he asks Kageyama then takes a sip from his glass.

”Yeah,” Kageyama replies. His eyebrows are a bit squished, but he sounds sincere. “Things have been… good, lately.”

Hajime nods and takes another sip of his drink.

”He’s here with you tonight, right?” Hajime asks, his eyes cutting over just in time to see Kageyama bristle.

”Wakatoshi told me,” Hajime elaborates, and Kageyama just nods and clutches at his glass.

”I think it’s a good thing, Tobio,” Iwaizumi adds. “Not that you need my approval or anything, but we both really support this. I can tell it’s good for you.”

Kageyama hums low in his throat and takes a long, slow sip. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” he finally agrees.

Hajime looks up then nudges Kageyama again.

”Speaking of,” he says, indicating a direction with his eyes. Kageyama looks up and Hajime sees his expression melt into a look of calm, the edges of his mouth pulling upward into a rare subconscious smile.

“Go on then,” Hajime adds with a laugh, “go dance with the man, Tobio.”

Kageyama looks back at Hajime then does as he says, leaving his side to walk out to the dance floor. Hajime is not alone for very long though, because Kuroo and Daichi exit the floor and stand next to him to cool down and nurse their freshly ordered drinks.

”That’s eventually going to be my problem, isn’t it?” Kuroo says with a sigh, indicating the direction Kageyama just left. Daichi just laughs at him, and Hajime smirks.

”What, I thought you wanted to be the one to deal with all our gay volleyball crises, Kuroo-san?” Hajime teases. Kuroo just heaves a sigh.

”Well thankfully it hasn’t been crisis-level quite so much since that time with you and Ushiwaka-kun a few years back. Thank you both for that, really. The two of you made a path for other people to feel like they could be more open too.”

Hajime waves off his praise with a wafting hand and shake of his head.

“Although this week, Shouyou and Miya have been —”

”Hush!” Daichi hisses, chopping him sharply in the ribs and making him sputter. Kuroo takes on an offended expression and rubs at his side.

”Darling,” Kuroo coos around his wince, “it will be out soon enough anyway.”

Daichi just gives him a look, and Kuroo sighs.

”I was only going to say they’ve been giving me trouble,” Kuroo defends. Hajime raises one eyebrow in interest, but he knows better than to push his luck with Daichi around.

”Speaking of trouble,” Hajime says, changing the subject, “either of you seen an American running around here anywhere? Probably obnoxious, loud, and almost no knowledge of Japanese?”

“Yeah, a while back,” Daichi confirms, “but not for a bit.”

“Well, if you see him… umm well, I guess you might not be able to tell him much, actually. Uh. Just flag down either me or Wakatoshi,” Hajime says with a laugh. “I just wanna make sure he’s doing alright.”

When a new song comes on, Kuroo and Daichi return to the floor, and Iwaizumi looks out over the room. His eyes find Wakatoshi, and he immediately begins to feel warm and happy looking at his husband — His Husband! He really has not even had much time to let it sink in. Wakatoshi is his husband now!

Hajime smiles at him then beckons with a wink and a few rolling flicks of a finger. Wakatoshi crosses the room, his eyes never leaving him. It reminds Hajime of an Adlers Halloween party back before they were even dating, of an exhibition match that same year when they had won and Wakatoshi’s eyes immediately found his, of so many times in so many places and so many circumstances since. 

Hajime meets him at the edge of the dance floor, and they enfold themselves into each other to sway to the slow song that is now playing. Hajime wilts against Wakatoshi’s chest, lost in the rhythm of the song, the warmth of his husband, the safety of the embrace. Wakatoshi bends and kisses him just behind his ear, sending shivers through his body, then traces gentle fingers up his side and back.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Hajime whispers, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Nothing too crazy,” he adds, “just… for a bit.”

Wakatoshi nods and leads him away from the floor by the hand. They slip out into the hallway, walking at a brisk pace, stopping only for Hajime to either pull Wakatoshi in or push him up against a wall to kiss him. It makes for slow progress, but eventually they make their way to a more out-of-the-way bathroom in a quiet corner of the venue. 

They are already a bit too ravenous with their lips, too hungry with their hands. Hajime glides his fingers under the lapels of Wakatoshi’s suit jacket and slides it down off of him, caressing the beautiful planes of muscle in his shoulders and back that move beneath his palms. The feel of his shirt is still cool and crisp at the shoulders, but it becomes softer the further Hajime’s hands push down his back, radiating with Wakatoshi’s body heat.

Wakatoshi backs him up against the bathroom door while loosening his own tie and undoing his top button, then he reaches down to twist the door handle and lets them stagger backward into the room. 

Unfortunately, what should have been the continuation of their hallway make out is interrupted by an abrupt, confusing litany of sounds, including some scrambling, clinking of belt buckles, and twin involutary “fuck!”s in both English and Japanese. Hajime and Wakatoshi’s heads slowly turn toward the sinks, and they find partially undressed and very embarrassed Alex and Kyoutani staring back at them, looking pink-faced and sheepish.

“What —?! You —?!” Hajime sputters unhelpfully. 

He cannot decide which of them to corner first, so he begins by muttering an incoherent collection of started and interrupted sentences in either English or Japanese. He is very glad that Wakatoshi is still holding onto him so that he does not stumble over his feet as well. 

”Well I guess you were doing just fine, then!” he settles on saying to Alex first.

“Oh, I’m doing great,” Alex confirms with a dazed voice and a dopey expression. “He’s been kissing the living daylights out of me.”

“And more than that, it seems,” Wakatoshi adds, though it sounds less like judgement and more like he might be just a touch put out that he is not currently doing the same to Hajime, as he had planned before the interruption.

Hajime begins to assess the two of them in a bit more detail, and he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath in.

“Your bare ass is on the counter, Bianchi,” he says, and unlike Wakatoshi it is just a touch judgemental.

“Wishing it was yours instead?” Alex teases and sticks out his tongue. Hajime just scoffs.

“Fix yourself, please,” he groans with a gesture at the both of them in general.

“Get your damn clothes back on,” he adds in Japanese for Kyoutani.

“Aww, don’t be angry,” Alex teases again as he hops down from the sinks and buttons himself back up, “just because we beat you to it.”

“That is not —! We weren’t going to —!”

“Oh really now?” Alex asks with one eyebrow cocked.

“And even if we were, we’re husbands now,” Hajime argues, “so we’re allowed. This is just…” 

Hajime rolls his hand in their direction, the words he wants escaping him.

“Hoeing about?” Wakatoshi offers in a serious, soft tone, which makes Alex cackle.

“Yes! Exactly!” Hajime says. “Hoeing about!”

“Well I’ll have you know, KenKen and I have been texting buddies for ages now, you dope,” Alex finally says when he gets his laughter under control.

Hajime and Wakatoshi both look to Kyoutani, whose face is set in an embarrassed scowl and is tinging pink. His arms cross over his chest and he refuses to meet their gaze.

“How did you even… you don’t speak the same language though?” Hajime says to Kyoutani.

“I‘ve told you, I can read it just fine!” Kyoutani interrupts.

“Plus, who needs to talk when you’re sucking face anyway?” Kyoutani grumbles with a little huff.

“I — okay… but weren’t you into women? I thought —“

“I’m into whoever’s pretty and not a complete dumbass,” Kyoutani says with a shrug.

“Did he just —? I just caught ‘boke.’ Did he call me dumb just now?” Alex interrupts.

“You would know that word,” Hajime sighs. “He said you’re not a dumbass, but I think I might beg to differ.”

“Okay, well, you two are a disaster waiting to happen, but whatever,” Hajime says to Kyoutani, sounding defeated. Then he switches back to addressing Alex. 

“Just… go elsewhere with your crazy make out or whatever,” he insists. “Isn’t that what hotel rooms are for?”

“You’re one to talk,” Alex says with a smirk. “Didn’t you two bust in here already all over each other? Couldn’t even keep it together long enough to get here.”

“So what?” Hajime grumps back. “The two of you can leave whenever you want to, but we have to stay. So excuse me for being in love with my husband, I guess!”

Hajime is not mad really, but this little dance he often does with Alex is just too easy to fall into.

“Hajime, Hajime, Hajime,” Alex says, shaking his head and moving toward him to fling an arm around his shoulders, “have you perhaps considered that you can do whatever you want precisely because this is your party?”

Hajime blinks at Alex then slides his gaze over to Wakatoshi, whose eyes meet his at the exact right moment. A silent conversation passes between them within that look. Should we —? Are we allowed to —? Then suddenly they both know they are of one accord — Let’s go.

“Okay, bye then!” Alex throws at them with a little scoff. They are already halfway out the door, hand in hand, and Hajime throws his free hand up over his shoulder in silent farewell. Once they are gone, Alex casts his eyes back in Kyoutani’s direction and slinks toward him.

“Well how ’bout it?” he asks, throwing his arms over Kyoutani’s shoulders. “Are we taking this elsewhere?”

Kyoutani does not catch every word, but Alex’s intent is unmistakable. He nods anyway.

Wakatoshi and Hajime jog down the corridor and through the lobby, past the hallway that leads to the main ballroom where they can still hear the sound of the music and people celebrating. Wakatoshi leads them out into the night air, and it hits them full force, right in the face. The wind is still not quite cool enough to cause a chill, but the impending promise of autumn is whispered in it. 

They turn to the side to make their way to the car and almost run headlong into Takeru, who is standing outside on the sidewalk. He gives a small screech of surprise, but Hajime puts a finger up to his own lips and winks as they juke around him, silently imploring him to keep their hasty getaway a secret. Hajime does not even look back to see if Takeru agrees to this, but the small, quiet laugh he hears tells Hajime he probably does.

They rush to the car, a hurried kiss at the front near the hood before parting for their separate sides. They both fling themselves in and their lips meet again over the center console, tugging at seatbelts and situating themselves before Wakatoshi breaks their kiss to start the car. 

”Should we go straight to the room?” Wakatoshi asks as he shifts the car into reverse. 

Despite being in Sendai with plenty of places to stay, Tendou and Alain had gifted them with a stay at a nice hotel for the night of their engagement-party-turned-wedding. 

Because no one wants to hear what you’re going to get up to, Tendou had teased at the time. 

Because it will be good for you to have a nice place to relax together afterward, just the two of you, Alain had kindly amended with a thump to Satori’s forehead that had elicited a wild giggle from Tendou.

“Actually, would it be okay if we maybe drive around a bit?” Hajime asks.

Wakatoshi hums, and they pull out of the parking lot and onto the streets of Sendai. Hajime rolls down his window, and that undercurrent of the impending fall chill is much more noticeable with the force of the air blowing in through the car window. Night has settled in, but all but the brightest stars are invisible due to the light pollution.

Wakatoshi does not ask Hajime where they are headed. He has become used to this by now — the ritual they perform to let Hajime more productively process his emotions. 

Things have not always been perfect over the last few years. They never are, really, Hajime had come to understand. Sometimes he had still been hit by the urge to run. Sometimes he had felt lonely or sad or anxious, uncertain, left behind. There were times early on during the days of their long distance arrangement when Hajime’s chest would ache so much he felt like he might die, and he had called Wakatoshi, absolutely beside himself. 

The thing about Wakatoshi, though, was that he had been incapable of letting that stand. On his next set of free days, he would be on the next flight home, showing up at Hajime’s door yet again. After the second occurrence of this, Hajime’s pride would no longer allow it, and he had set out to find anything he could use to self-soothe his wild emotions. 

Driving had scratched that itch somewhat, especially driving at night. It could not fix all his problems, but it did usually take the edge off. Then when Hajime had finally changed jobs and joined Wakatoshi in France, they found that it seemed to work even better with Wakatoshi at the wheel. Since then they had gone on drives together for all manner of reasons, any time either one of them felt overcome with emotion, whether they were sad or happy ones.

“What is on your mind tonight, love?” Wakatoshi finally asks after they have been driving around for half an hour chatting and laughing about every mundane memory and story they manage to dredge up from the street corners of their hometown.

”A lot of things I think,” Hajime says. Wakatoshi slides a hand into his and waits for him in perfect, patient quiet. He still always gives Hajime time to sort things out.

”Do you realize,” Hajime says, his voice pitching just a little, “that I’m yours now? Has it sunk in?”

Hajime looks up at him, and Wakatoshi glances over quickly before pulling them off to the side of the road near a park. 

“Weren’t you before?” Wakatoshi asks gently, swiping his thumb over the back of Hajime’s hand.

He is right, Hajime realizes. But when had that happened? Was it when they started officially dating in that ridiculous, dramatic way that they still sometimes laugh about? Or on their onsen trip when they had made love for the first time? Or in a locker room in Yokohama with a broken heart? Or after the Adlers party when they had gone home together? Perhaps it was even before then, when he’d moved to VCK. Or was it back in California when he had let Wakatoshi kiss him for the first time in Utsui’s pool? Was it when he comforted Hajime in the bathroom of the bar, or told him he was queer, or even the moment Hajime stepped off the fucking plane? When had Wakatoshi’s name been permanently carved on his heart, never to be removed?

Hajime sighs and leans over to rest his head against Wakatoshi’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hajime admits. “I’m yours. I have been for a long time.”

Yours — he thinks as Wakatoshi tips up his chin to kiss him again.

Yours — as Wakatoshi drives them to where they are staying.

Yours — as Wakatoshi takes him to bed and kisses every inch of his skin.

Yours — as they fall asleep in each other’s arms, tonight, tomorrow, and for the rest of their lives.