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Iwaizumi took a deep breath as he stood in front of the door to his home for at least the next year. It was definitely his – Hajime Iwaizumi and Dylan Gray were written on it in careful Roman letters. Even that was something to get used to, seeing and hearing his first name come before his last.
Despite its drab design, the hallway was bustling with life, new students lugging huge bags while their parents trailed behind them. That was good, he supposed; it meant that he couldn’t stay there, holding everything he had in this country in both hands and wondering whether this had been the right choice.
He'd never been a particularly anxious person, but it seemed it was almost impossible to avoid a little anxiety after flying over five thousand miles away from everything you’ve ever known. Still, this way he was closer to Oikawa, who had already been in Argentina for a year and a half. And, at least he didn’t have to keep working in the same restaurant he used to eat in with Oikawa every day, knowing that his partner (fiancé) was sleeping away all of Iwaizumi’s waking hours. He’d had to save enough money for flights, accommodation and tuition somehow. Besides, he was fairly competent with his English by then, and it would have been a shame to waste the opportunity to use his newfound skills.
After nudging the door handle down with his elbow and pushing his way into the room, he took in the space. Like the corridor, it was sparsely decorated, but the large window across from the door at least made it bright. Sitting on the bed on the right side of the room and looking up at him was a boy with brown eyes and darker hair, longer on top than on the sides. Dylan. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, and Iwaizumi suddenly remembered the form he filled out a few weeks prior to receiving his room assignment, how he'd listed volleyball as one of his interests. Could this man also be a volleyball player?
Dylan pulled himself to his feet quickly, then immediately fell forward, catching himself on the nearby desk. “Woah,” he said, waving off Iwaizumi as he moved forward to help. “Sorry, dude. I stood up too quick, and my heart said, ‘woah, no can do,’ and stopped sending blood to my brain for a second there. No worries though, we’re back on track.” He straightened up, reaching his hand out as he added, “Hajime, right? I’m Dylan.”
All the nerves that had been building since he’d stepped off the plain into the dry California heat evaporated immediately, and he couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped his mouth. He took Dylan’s hand, before replying, “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that you…” He thought about the way this man – easily six-foot-four, with wide shoulders and a firm grip – had momentarily stumbled around like a baby faun on his own legs, something that Oikawa was prone to doing constantly, and chuckled again. “You just reminded me of someone. Never mind. Nice to meet you.”
Thankfully, Dylan didn’t seem to mind Iwaizumi’s amusement at his expense, scratching at the back of his head and laughing along easily. Suddenly, everything felt much lighter, like maybe this hadn’t been a mistake after all.
They talked as they unpacked, getting to know each other as they made the space into one more recognisable as their own. Dylan was from Wisconsin, which was in America but would have taken him over a day to drive to if he hadn’t flown in, he was studying Sports Science with Iwaizumi, and he apparently did not know how to feed himself past bowls of cereal and toast. Unluckily for him, they were not in the type of dorms where they served food for every meal of the day. Iwaizumi’s mother taught him everything she could before he left home, and Iwaizumi agreed to help him learn.
It wasn’t until he placed the framed photo on his desk next to his laptop and notebook that Iwaizumi realised how much of a volleyball nerd his new roommate was.
“Oh. My God.” Iwaizumi looked up from his suitcase to see Dylan, mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide, staring at the photo on Iwaizumi’s desk. “That’s not…is that Oikawa? You’ve met the Club Athletico San Juan setter Tooru Oikawa!? I know you’re both Japanese, but what the hell? You’re so lucky. Did you know that he’s...”
Iwaizumi’s focus drifted away from Dylan’s fixation with his partner – there was nothing he could tell Iwaizumi about Oikawa that he didn’t already know – in favour of looking at the picture that had caused it. They didn’t look particularly couple-like, he supposed. They’d been lost on a random street in Kyoto, where they’d gone for a trip just before Oikawa had left Japan. Oikawa was taking the selfie, one eye winking shut and fingers held up in a peace sign, with Iwaizumi next to him, looking exasperated, but still smiling fondly.
He didn’t think Oikawa had meant for this image to be kept. In fact, he was pretty sure Oikawa had taken it to send to Hanamaki and Matsukawa to warn them where to look if they disappeared, never to be seen again. Still, he liked to see the memory of it on his desk, and it had the added bonus of being hated by Oikawa, as the lighting was, according to him, terrible.
“Met him?” he said absentmindedly, turning his attention back to Dylan. There was a starstruck look in his eyes, one that he hadn’t been anticipating. In any other circumstances, he would just tell the guy, but he was starting to think the reaction to the news that he had been engaged to Oikawa for a year and a half, dating him for the last five years, and known him for a decade more than that, would be larger than he was ready to deal with, jet-lagged and hungry.
Not only that, but as at ease as Dylan may have made him feel, he didn’t actually know the guy. He could be homophobic, or a crazed fan, or any number of other things. Some information was best kept safe until it was definitely safe to reveal it.
Or maybe he just wanted to keep Oikawa to himself for just a little while longer.
“Yeah, something like that.” Pushing himself up from his desk chair, he stretched out his arms, letting his joints pop and crack. “Wanna go find some food? I’m starving.”
Once Dylan had agreed and gone to pull his shoes on, Iwaizumi pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to his parents to let them know he’d arrived. Then, he opened his chat with Oikawa, where there were a few unread messages waiting for him.
From: Shittykawa
(13:47) Iwa-chan!!!
(13:47) You feel so close
(13:48) I mean. I know LA isn’t actually that much closer than Japan. But still. Only four hours!!!
(13:50) I hope you like your roommate. But not as much as you like me ( •◡-)-♡
(13:51) Call me when you’re free. Doesn’t matter what time, I’ll be awake
It didn’t matter how many times Oikawa sent his stream of consciousness over text. Every time, it made him feel warm all the way to the finger tips. The distance felt most bearable in times like these.
To: Shittykawa
(15:32) Just unpacked my stuff and met my roommate. Going to find somewhere to eat now. Don’t be an idiot and stay up if it gets too late and I haven’t called.
He sent the text, but it didn’t feel like enough.
To: Shittykawa
(15:33) Love you.
He’d blame the sappiness on the jet lag.
---
They were only out for a few hours, but it was long enough that Iwaizumi’s eyelids were drooping dangerously by the time they were back in their room. On top of the sixteen hour time difference between California and Japan, it had been taking all of his brain power to form sentences in English, to read the signs and menus in the language that surrounded him. It took all of his willpower not to collapse onto his bed with his shoes still tied to his feet, and force himself to shower, change and brush his teeth.
Some life had been returned to him under the hot water, and he was coherent enough to explain to Dylan. “Hey, I think I’m gonna go to bed. You don’t have to turn off the lights or anything, but I’ve been up for more hours than I can remember, and I feel like I’m going to pass out at any moment.”
Dylan looked up from where he was lying on his bed, scrolling on his phone, and smiled. “Yeah, of course man. I’ll be quiet.”
“Thanks. Do you mind if I call my partner real quick?” he asked, not really knowing the etiquette for when you shared a room like this.
“No problem! Do you want some space? I can go and find some people in the common room to hang with for a while.”
Iwaizumi shook his head. He’d put his earphones in, and he doubted Dylan understood Japanese anyway.
Sitting with his back against the wall, he crossed his legs and opened the video call app.
After less than two rings, he was greeted with his favourite face in the world, covered with some kind of face mask, a pink headband holding his fringe away from his features. He was leaning too close to the screen, as if he wanted to look as closely at Iwaizumi as possible.
“Shittykawa.” He was surprised by the relief coursing through his veins at switching back to Japanese, even in that single word, and by the contentment he felt in knowing he and Oikawa would finally be sharing most of their waking hours once more. “You look terrible.”
He couldn’t help but laugh tiredly at the pout forming immediately on Oikawa’s face. His mask cracked around his lips and eyebrows. “Says Iwa-chan, who looks like a waking zombie. Honestly, did you sleep on the plan at all?”
He rolled his eyes, but addressed the real concern under his words. “It was too cramped on there, but I’m having an early night tonight. I just wanted to talk to you first. Did you have a good day?”
For a second, Oikawa watched him with narrowed eyes, like he was trying to find a lie. He could look all he wanted; Iwaizumi really was okay. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, Oikawa immediately jumped into the latest antics of his teammates, featuring a publicity stunt with a children’s volleyball club that resulted in Antonio taking a volleyball to the face live on Argentine TV.
While he did listen to Oikawa’s words, he found just as much enjoyment in listening to the cadence of his voice, watching his changing expressions as he spoke, a piece of home in this still-unfamiliar place. However, as much as he would have been happy listening to it all night, Oikawa noticed immediately when he started to yawn once more. “Okay. Iwa-chan needs to go to sleep now and get a good night’s rest, so he can tell me all about California tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t particularly want to hang up, but he knew Oikawa’s own schedule meant he’d be up early the next morning, and Iwaizumi’s desire to look after him hadn’t lessened with the time, nor the distance. “I’ll talk to you in the morning. Love you,” he said for the second time that day. He really was losing his edge.
The softness in Oikawa’s eyes made it worth it, though. “You too, Hajime. Sweet dreams!”
---
He woke up to a dark, silent room.
Fumbling around for his phone, he grasped it off the bedside table and squinted at the too-bright screen. Apparently it was already gone ten in the morning, so the blackout curtains must've been better than he could have hoped. The bed next to his was empty – he had slept long enough for Dylan to go to bed and then wake up again. Head still fuzzy with sleep, he dragged himself out of bed in search of food.
With every step he took towards the kitchen, his concern grew. Burning. That was definitely the smell of burning.
Dylan was the only person in the room. He was flailing around at the toaster, pulling out the plug and pulling the piece of toast out, then dropping it down on the surface and waving his burnt fingers in the air. Iwaizumi approached cautiously. Without looking up from his failed toast, he sighed. “I just wanted to make breakfast,” he said, forlorn.
Iwaizumi squinted at it, inspecting its surface. “Did you put the butter on…before you put it in the toaster?”
Dylan looked at him, confused. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? My mom always makes it for me.”
Resisting the urge to facepalm, Iwaizumi picked up the failure and threw it in the bin. “Your worse than my partner.” He opened the windows and checked the toaster. After making sure it was no longer a fire hazard, he put two new slices in ready to go. “Have any eggs? I’ll exchange my cooking skills for scrambled eggs on toast.” He preferred to have rice rather than bread in the mornings, but he doubted Dylan had any of that if he couldn’t even be trusted to put bread in a toaster.
Instantly appeased, Dylan said, “Deal!” and watched curiously as Iwaizumi worked with the limited resources at hand.
They sat and ate in companionable silence, then made a plan for the day. Food was a definite priority, so they would go food shopping as soon as they were ready. Iwaizumi also wanted to get a feel for the campus before their classes started in a week, work out where he could run and all the places he could eat if he didn’t feel like cooking.
When he told Dylan he wanted to explore alone, he was understanding about it, but insisted that Iwaizumi joined the rest of the hallway that evening for a ‘get to know each other’ party. Being twenty already, he’d drunk enough in Japan to know how to handle a bit of alcohol, but considering the legal drinking age in America was twenty-one, he doubted these American eighteen-year-olds would be quite as controlled.
Nothing made Iwaizumi feel more at home than filling the kitchen with all the familiar foods and spices. Breakfast was fine, but he wasn’t sure Dylan had even heard of seasonings other than salt. Even if he had, he definitely didn’t own them. That, along with the rice cooker he’d brought in his suitcase, filled him with hope that the next meal wouldn’t be so bland.
After lunch, he took the chance to wander around the University. The campus was huge, with its own park in the middle and several large buildings, including a library dedicated to science that had six whole floors. Iwaizumi thought it might actually be possible to get lost inside.
Not only that, but there was a gym that gave discounts to students, which Iwaizumi immediately signed up for, and the beach was just over an hour away on foot, not that anywhere outside of the campus seemed to be particularly easy to walk to. Luckily, he knew that Dylan had already bought a car – he’d explained it was nearly impossible to live in the US without one – so he could have a lift when he needed one.
He walked through the park on his way home after a few hours and decided it was late enough to call Oikawa. They’d exchanged texts throughout the day, but not talked properly since the evening before. He sat on a bench overlooking the grass and pulled out his phone.
Sure enough, Oikawa was home when Iwaizumi called, cooking his dinner. He propped his phone up behind the chopping board. “Hola, mi amor! I was just thinking about calling you, but I thought I’d be a gracious fiancé and not interrupt your first full day as a Californian.”
“Gracious,” he repeated drily. “Well, so far I’ve found out that the stereotype of everything being big is actually true, and that my roommate is worse at cooking than you are. Also, he might be obsessed with you.”
“Who isn’t?” Oikawa said, though Iwaizumi could tell he’d caught his interest. He put his knife down next to his uncut vegetables. “And hey! I’m much better than I was. You need to visit some time soon so I can show you.”
Iwaizumi felt a pang in his gut. It had been eight months since Oikawa had come home to celebrate New Years. Eight months since he’d been able to hold Oikawa. Before that, he hadn’t seen him since he’d left Japan in March. He tried not to think about it as much as he could, but it was nearly impossible to forget.
Most didn’t give Oikawa much credit when it came to reading the room, but he sensed the shift in Iwaizumi’s mood immediately. He moved back to the more light-hearted topic. “So your roommate is obsessed with me? Sounds like you’re the perfect pair! What did he say when you told him about us?”
He hesitated. Scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t.”
“What?” Oikawa picked up his phone, his face taking up most of the space. Iwaizumi could practically feel his insecurity growing through the screen, despite the ample evidence to suggest he wasn’t going anywhere. “Why not?”
“Well…he saw that picture of us that you hate on my desk, and just thought I’d met you before. Then he started spewing facts about you and I thought, oh my god, this man thinks he knows my partner better than I do. And, I don’t know. I didn’t know how to tell him.”
“Hm,” was all Oikawa said immediately in reply. He set Iwaizumi back down and started cooking his food again. Iwaizumi began his walk home, and they just existed in a while in comfortable silence, though he could tell Oikawa was turning his words over in his mind. “I have an idea.”
Iwaizumi held back a sigh. Nothing good ever came from those words out of Oikawa’s mouth. “I don’t even want to know.”
“Iwa-chan,” he whined, knowing it always got him what he wanted. “At least hear me out. I think we could have a little fun with Dylan-chan. See how long it takes for him to realise we’re together.”
“No. I barely know the guy, I don’t wanna be involved in something that’s going to mess him around. He’s been good to me so far.” Even as he said the words, he felt his resolve slipping against the assault.
Oikawa offered a falsely innocent smile, and Iwaizumi knew he’d lost. Having said that, he lost the minute he laid eyes on the idiot, and he’d been continuing to do so ever since. What was one more? “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do a single thing. I will be the one doing all the hard work.” His eyes grew impossibly wider. “Please?”
He looked away, but the damage had been done. There was no way Oikawa could miss the blush settling on his cheeks, even through the grainy quality of his phone camera. “Whatever. Do what you want, Selfishkawa. I’ve gotta go. I’ll be back at the room soon and I’m supposed to be going to a party tonight.”
“A party?” Oikawa asked as he loaded his food into a bowl and carried it and his phone to the table. “Iwa-ojiisan is going to be up past nine? Isn’t he going to fall asleep in his beer?”
Iwaizumi did what any mature person would do when being teased by their partner. He hung up.
Almost immediately after stowing his phone back into his pocket, it began to buzz incessantly. When he checked it a couple of minutes later, a stream of messages appeared on his screen.
From: Shittykawa
(15:27) !!!!!!!!!!!
(15:27) I cannot BELIEVE you
(15:28) I am heartbroken (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥)
(15:28) I may never recover
(15:29) Cause of death: cruelty and neglect
He considered leaving Oikawa’s messages on read, but he didn’t actually want to start a fight or upset him. Especially with the next one that came through.
From: Shittykawa
(15:30) Didn’t even say he loved me ( • ᴖ • ｡)
To: Shittykawa
(15:31) Sorry. I’ll owe you something the next time I see you for real.
From: Shittykawa
(15:32) ( •᷄ᴗ•́) How about a kiss?
Iwaizumi scoffed. As if he wouldn’t have given that to him anyway.
To: Shittykawa
(15:32) If you’re good.
From: Shittykawa
(15:33) ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜
(15:33) ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
Stupid, adorable, stupid man. He had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other for a few steps. There were other things for him to be thinking about than how good it would feel the next time Oikawa’s lips were on his.
---
The party was more fun than Iwaizumi had expected. Including himself and Dylan, there were eight people living in their little section of hall and sharing a kitchen-living room – four women and four men. As Iwaizumi had suspected, he was the oldest, but he was fairly impressed by the amount of alcohol they had managed to procure. They’d chatted for a while as they got to know each other, then the games began.
It started off with a game of beer pong. Unfortunately, his volleyball career had often been more about power than precision, and that translated to a lot of throws with very few hits, and a lot of beer to down. He’d definitely underestimated these American kids. It seemed like they’d been playing this all their lives.
He was definitely feeling more than a buzz by the time that game was over, and his tongue was feeling looser than before. This was around the time when he would normally switch to water. That’s what he should have done.
Then Louis, a nineteen-year-old from London who somehow seemed to be just as sober as when they started, pulled out a large cup and a pack of cards.
‘Ring of Fire’ was not a game he’d heard of before, but most of the Americans seemed to be aware of it. After more rules than he could keep track of and a few refills, Iwaizumi was sitting with the final King card in one hand, and a deadly concoction of tequila and lemonade, beer, and red wine from the centre cup in the other.
He stared down at the liquid with a growing sense of horror. It was worse than anything Hanamaki had made and dared him to drink, but he’d agreed to play this game knowing full well what the consequences might be. He was vaguely aware of a camera pointing towards his face as he raised the cup to his lips and chugged it down as fast as he could.
It was the worst thing he had ever tasted. As he coughed and spluttered, the others laughed, some patting his back sympathetically while others raced to catch up. “You really went for that one,” Louis said, appearing with a pint of water. Iwaizumi took it gratefully, though he was beginning to think he wouldn’t need it – he was having a good time, and a little more alcohol probably wouldn’t do him any harm, right? When he reached for his beer, Louis pulled it away. “Woah there. You’re already smashed. Take it easy.”
Though he was ready to argue that he was actually fine, and that more beer was in fact an amazing idea, one of the others announced the final game of the night: truth or dares. “Except, I think we’ve done enough stupid shit tonight. Let’s go straight for truths.”
Was the room spinning? It felt like it was spinning. Iwaizumi stared at the ceiling.
They slowly moved round the group, starting off with little things to get to know each other, but gradually digging deeper as they became more confident. A constant theme seemed to be their sex lives, and Iwaizumi hoped they could move away from that by the time they reached him. It didn’t matter how drunk he got. He was not sharing his sex life with a room full of people who were practically strangers under any circumstances.
After what could have been minutes or hours, the attention turned to him. “I’ve got one for Hajime,” Claire, one of the girls from down the hall, said. All eyes turned to her. “You keep checking your phone, but not actually unlocking it. What are you waiting for?”
Iwaizumi looked down to his hand, where sure enough, his phone was held in his clutch. Had he really been doing that? He supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised – he was always thinking about one person, even if that person was fast asleep thousands of miles away.
He looked up again to see the rest of the party watching him expectantly. Right. He was supposed to be answering a question. Shrugging as casually as he could, he gave them a little bit of truth. “Just thinking about my partner, I guess.”
That caught Dylan’s attention out of the corner of his eye. “Your partner? You’ve mentioned her a few times. Is she back in Japan?”
There was a reason why he wasn’t revealing Oikawa’s identity. He couldn’t remember exactly what it was in that moment, but he knew in his bones he should keep it to himself. Still, hearing them refer to Oikawa as she…that was wrong. He made a split second decision, and before he could rethink it, he said, “He. Not she. He’s not in Japan, but he’s not here either.”
Dylan blinked under the intensity of his stare as Iwaizumi tried to gauge his reaction to this news, but he merely said, “That’s too bad, man. I’m sure you can see him soon,” and the rest of the party carried on.
While he could look after himself and wasn’t worried about what other people thought, there was an unmistakable relief in his body at the non-reaction from the rest of the party. He could have survived it, but living with a group of people who couldn’t accept that he loved a man would have made the experience considerably less enjoyable.
Just like the nausea that was suddenly rolling through his stomach. He excused himself quickly, stumbling towards the door and waving off Dylan’s offers to help him get back to their room.
He didn’t remember much of anything after that.
---
What he did remember was the way his head pounded when he woke up the next morning, waterless and feeling like he’d been hit by a truck.
He’d never had a hangover before, because he’d never been irresponsible enough to get drunk to the level of being hungover. He had, however, nursed Hanamaki through a couple. (Matsukawa somehow was never effected, no matter how much he drank, and Oikawa was across the ocean by the time it was legal for him to go to a bar in Japan.) After dozing for what had to have been at least a few hours, stuck in the space between sleep and consciousness, he dragged himself out of bed, careful not to disturb Dylan’s sleeping form.
After he’d downed two whole glasses of water, made small talk with some of his equally hungover neighbours, and stood in the shower for around 20 minutes, he went back to his room and picked up his phone for the first time.
From: Shittykawa
(07:45) Call me when you’re awake
Fearing what he would see if he opened the conversation, he took a breath and took himself outside into the fresh air to make the call. Whatever he’d done, he was sure he’d hear about it soon enough.
“Yoohoo, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s voice came through the speakers in his phone, melodic and bright. That wasn’t usually the way he sounded when he was mad, but it was still too soon to tell. “How are you feeling?”
Iwaizumi sat down in a grassy patch against the wall and scowled up at the sky. “Like someone has whacked me in the face with a sledgehammer.” He’s rewarded with a laugh that made the pain the slightest bit more bearable. “Did I…?”
In that second of hesitation, Oikawa saw his moment and took it. “Did you call me at one in the morning, which, can I remind you, is five in the morning for me? Did you call me mean names one moment, then declare your undying love for me and tell me how much you missed me in the next? Did you start texting me the minute we hung up after you’d finally calmed down enough to promise to go to bed and sleep on your side?” He paused, dramatic as ever. “Yes. You indeed did all of those things.”
Considering the effort Iwaizumi had put into making sure Oikawa got enough sleep over the years, it was almost funny to be the cause of his fatigue. Closing his eyes, he tried and failed to see the humorous side, instead feeling shame creeping into his stomach to accompany the waves of nausea. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what? For having a little fun with the people you have to live with for at least the next year? For wanting to remind me that you’re still obsessed with me? Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. I already knew that, but it’s still nice to hear once in a while.”
He rolled his eyes, though he knew Oikawa couldn’t see. “Mostly for waking you up on a Saturday morning, honestly.”
“You’re right,” Oikawa replied more seriously. “Nobody could maintain looks this unbelievable without uninterrupted beauty sleep. Fortunately for me, I can just have an extra long siesta in an hour or so, and all will be right again. I wish I could say the same about your brutish face.”
“Alright. I guess I’ll just call you whenever I feel like it, then. No matter what the time is. I’ll talk your ear off all night.”
Oikawa’s voice turned soft, low. “You already know you can, Hajime.”
Heat flooded his cheeks. He loved Oikawa like this, sincere and warm and happy. He wanted to kiss him.
A few students were appearing in and out of the dorms, coming back from a run or going to the store. Some looked over at him as they walked in, but he ignored their curious gazes. “The people on my floor assumed my partner was a girl last night.”
“They thought my Iwa-chan was with some girl? I’m just as pretty as any girl.” Iwaizumi could practically hear the pout on his face.
“You’re not seriously jealous over a woman that doesn’t exist–”
“But they don’t know that, Iwa-chan. I should just fly over and show them–”
“They do know, you idiot. I told them you were a man. No need to turn up and cause a scene when I’ve not even been here a week.” While he knew Oikawa was trying to play it cool, he could feel the ridiculous relief radiating through the phone. “Listen, I’m going to go to the gym and try to work off this shit. I’ll talk to you later?”
“Okay, mi amor. Talk later.”
---
When he returned from his gym session a few hours later feeling slightly more alive, Dylan was finally awake and seemed completely fine after the night’s events. He’d unpacked a small TV and balanced it on the chest of drawers at the foot of his bed, so Iwaizumi sat on his desk chair next to him and they watched a random volleyball match Dylan found on the TV’s limited channels.
Iwaizumi felt he’d barely scraped the surface on Dylan’s volleyball knowledge. Considering the match they were watching wasn’t even professional, he seemed to know a huge amount about each of the players. His eyes were glued to the screen, though occasionally looked to Iwaizumi to say, “Did you see the height on that serve?” or, “I wouldn’t have gone for that attack.”
“Did you play in high school?” he asked. Maybe they could go and play together some time.
“I wanted to, but I wasn’t good enough to be on the team. I was a bench warmer. I liked to play setter though, when I could.” He didn’t seem too upset about it, but Iwaizumi knew how it felt to be benched, and it was never particularly pleasant. Dylan’s eyes left the screen in between points to look at Iwaizumi. “What about you?”
“Yeah. For years. I was the ace in high school, and my partner was my setter.” He missed the feeling of the ball beneath his palm sometimes, and the thrill of Oikawa’s trust in him to win the point as he set the ball just how he liked it. Still, it wasn’t the life he’d chosen, and he didn’t regret that.
“So, why’d you stop?” There was a slight frown on Dylan’s usually sunny expression. Iwaizumi understood; he could see how it might seem strange to someone who couldn’t play in spite of his deep passion for the sport for another person to actively make the choice to give it up.
Despite his initial wariness, he found he was beginning to trust Dylan. Watching the screen carefully, he gave him another piece of the truth. “My partner hasn’t always been a very careful person when it comes to his health. He overworked himself a few years ago, and it lead to a pretty serious injury. He was lucky that he made a full recovery, but if he’d listened to me, he probably wouldn’t have had to recover at all. It was hard.”
'Hard’ was a slight understatement, but he would spare his roommate the details of Oikawa’s panic attacks and anger, and the way he in bed for days on end like it would never be okay again.
He looked back at Dylan then, whose eyes were beginning to brighten with understanding. “I want to stop people from having to go through that over stupid reasons like too many jump serves or not stretching their muscles properly. I love playing, but I want that more.”
“Dude,” Dylan breathed. “That’s so cool. You’re so sure of what you want to do. I’m just taking sports science because I like it.”
Slightly embarrassed, Iwaizumi shrugged. He looked back at the TV in time to watch the spiker of one team smack the ball down towards the floor, only for the libero of the other to make a perfect save, keeping it in play and sending it straight to their setter. “As good a reason as any.”
It was strange how quickly you could grow close to a person when you lived with them, but Iwaizumi felt like he’d known Dylan for much longer than the few days it had been in reality. He may have been a strangely large fan of Iwaizumi’s fiancé, but he would be a hypocrite if he judged him on that, and he was looking forward to his time in California more with every passing moment.
Dylan knew he was a huge volleyball fan, and an even bigger fan of pro volleyball player, Tooru Oikawa. What he had not banked on in any way was his roommate practically being the head of the Tooru Oikawa fan club.
When he’d first seen the picture Iwaizumi kept of himself and Oikawa on his desk, he’d been excited and slightly jealous of Iwaizumi’s luck, but he hadn’t thought much of it initially. Iwaizumi was obviously just as much a fan of pro volleyball as he was
However, it started to get a little weird when Dylan noticed something a few weeks into the term.
He and Iwaizumi were sitting in a class together when Iwaizumi got up to go to the bathroom. By that point, he trusted Dylan enough that he didn’t bother to take anything with him, leaving his bag by Dylan’s feet and his phone on the desk. After a few minutes passed, he noticed it vibrate with a new message, and instinctively looked over. The hint of guilt he felt for giving in – Iwaizumi was a private person and definitely wouldn’t want him looking at his phone – was erased when he saw the photo on his lock screen.
Immediately, he scooped it up to get a closer look. It seemed Iwaizumi had received a text, though it was in Japanese so he couldn’t understand it. That wasn’t what he was interested in anyway. What had really caught his attention was a photo of Oikawa he’d never seen before. This was a rare occurrence, as Dylan had spent many an hour on Twitter scrolling through posts about Oikawa. There was no way he wouldn’t remember this one, with Oikawa standing on the beach, face turned slightly towards the camera as the last of the sunlight caught in his hair. He was smiling softly at the person behind the lens, in a way that Dylan knew he would die if the Tooru Oikawa looked at him like that. (He was a straight man, but he wasn’t that straight.) (…He was straight, right?)
“What are you doing with my phone?”
When Dylan looked up, Iwaizumi had returned and was frowning. If he hadn’t been living with him for weeks, he might have mistaken this for anger, but it had become obvious fairly early on that this just seemed to be Iwaizumi’s resting face. He looked down at the phone again, sheepish. “Sorry, dude. Your phone just pinged and I glanced over and where did you get this picture of Tooru Oikawa!? You have to share your sources.”
“Uh.” Iwaizumi’s frown deepened in thought as he sat back down, taking his phone back. “I don’t remember.” Then, squinted at the screen and his face softened. He looked up at Dylan and changed the subject, distracting Dylan from his momentary disappointment. “Oikawa’s first match of the season is on in a couple hours. Do you wanna watch it?”
All thoughts of unseen photos were erased in favour of strategies and starting line ups.
They didn’t watch the match through Dylan’s usual method. Iwaizumi seemed to know a different site where the stream started well before the match, and they watched the teams come out, stretching and discussing tactics. Dylan was delighted to find out Iwaizumi also knew Spanish (“My partner speaks it,” Iwaizumi answered vaguely when he asked why. Was there nothing this man would not do for his partner?). This meant he could translate the pre-match interviews with the players much better than Dylan could with his high school level skills.
Right at the end of Tooru Oikawa’s interview, he thanked the interviewer, waved to the crowds, then turned directly to the camera. Were his eyes tricking him? Because he could swear that the man just mouthed Hajime, blew a kiss to the camera, winked, and walked away.
“Did…did he…” Dylan looked from the screen to Iwaizumi, whose cheeks were turning pink, and back again. “Did he just mouth your name?”
Iwaizumi coughed, then rubbed the back of his head. He typed out a message, scowling at his phone. “Lots of people are called Hajime back home. He could mean anyone.” And honestly, if Tooru Oikawa had just mouthed Dylan’s name and then blown a kiss towards him, he would probably be a blushing mess too, even if it wasn’t actually aimed at him.
There was only one thing that really confused the situation in his brain, and he considered it as the match started. Despite the crush he seemed to have on the pro volleyball player, Iwaizumi was absolutely obsessed with his partner. They talked on the phone or on video call at least once a day, though Dylan had never heard his voice before; Iwaizumi was always very careful to have his earphones when there was a chance he could overhear. He wasn’t entirely sure why, as they always spoke in Japanese anyway, but Dylan respected their privacy all the same.
What Iwaizumi was not at all secretive about however was the time they’d spent together as children. It seemed like everything reminded him of his partner. One day, Iwaizumi had seen that Dylan was watching an episode of an anime on his TV, and Iwaizumi had chuckled and said, “I remember watching that with my partner a few years ago. He cried so hard at the ending you would have thought somebody he loved was dying.”
Then, one night, he’d caught him staring out the window at the clear sky above. Iwaizumi was less gruff like that, sat in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms with tiny Godzillas on them. Something about him seemed almost sad, wistful. “My partner loves space. We used to go out star gazing at least a couple of times a month, and he would teach me all the constellations and the stories that go with them. He lives in the south now though. He’s looking at a completely different sky to us.”
Once when they’d been drinking, Iwaizumi had watched Dylan drinking his Sex on the Beach in disgust, griping that, “That’s my partner’s favourite. I swear, he would live off sugar if it weren’t for his diet plan. Fucking idiot.” It sounded harsh to him, but there’d been such fondness in Iwaizumi’s face and he immediately pulled his phone out and started typing that Dylan couldn’t have doubted the love he felt for that man if he tried.
They both cheered when Tooru Oikawa scored a service ace to win the game, then watched some of the postgame commentary before switching off the TV. A few minutes later, Iwaizumi’s phone rang, and he excused himself from the room to pick up the call from his partner. “Omedetou, Kusokawa,” he heard just before the door swung shut. Dylan stared at the closed door and resolved he would solve the mystery of Hajime Iwaizumi.
---
“I’m just saying you have a great body, man. You could gain such a following on Instagram if you actually posted a photo once in a while. People would love you!” Dylan said as they moved through their cool down stretches at the gym. They’d been paired together to create an exercise regime that could work for their body types, and were trying it out before their submission deadline.
Iwaizumi grunted, stretching out his arms. “I don’t care about people.”
Running his towel over his damp hair, Dylan considered that. “I bet your partner would be into it, though.”
If Dylan had learned anything in the time he spent living with Iwaizumi, it was that he could be convinced to do anything, as long as his partner was involved. Apparently, when they’d been six and practicing their passing skills, their ball had gone into the river near Iwaizumi’s house. His partner had begun to cry, so Iwaizumi had gone straight into the (luckily shallow) water in his clothes and shoes to fish it out.
Of course, Iwaizumi begrudgingly changed his mind, and Dylan pulled out his phone to snap a post-workout mirror photo of the two of them before he changed it back. He sent it to Iwaizumi, but he should have made him give him his phone and made the post himself. As it was, the caption was a simple ‘at the gym’, and Dylan had to get him to edit the post to tag himself in it.
Still, after a few hours, Iwaizumi’s first ever Instagram post had accrued a good amount of likes and a few comments, just like Dylan had expected he would. However, there was one name that had him rubbing his eyes in disbelief. “Hajime.”
“What?” Iwaizumi grunted from across the kitchen, where he was making them a stir fry for dinner. Despite Dylan’s best efforts, his cooking was still mediocre at best, so Iwaizumi continued to make the bulk of the meals. Dylan was forever grateful to eat his delicious, home cooked food.
“Did Tooru Fucking Oikawa just like your Instagram post?”
“Did he?” he answered absently, picking up his phone where it had begun to vibrate. Iwaizumi seemed to be completely unaware of the inner turmoil Dylan was experiencing, accepting the call and saying a low, “Hey.”
Dylan vibrated in his chair, too polite to interrupt someone when they were on the phone, but desperately wanting to do it anyway. The conversation sounded more tense than it normally did. Iwaizumi turned round to lean back against the work surface, crossing one arm over his chest. His frown was pronounced.
Though he felt like he was watching something he definitely wasn’t supposed to witness, he couldn’t look away. Iwaizumi seemed to struggle to get a word in, his mouth pressing into a thin line. When he finally looked in Dylan’s direction, he took a deep breath, mouthed sorry, then began to speak directly to him. His phone was still pressed tightly to his ear.
“My partner wants you to know that I am not available, and will not ever be. He says you’re lucky to be living with me, but to remember that he is the love of my life, and that he can’t be replaced as my workout partner.” He listened for another moment, blushed, then added, “He also says thank you for blessing him with such a beautiful image.”
Dylan blinked, unsure how to react to such tonal whiplash. If he’d discovered one thing in this odd interaction, it was that Iwaizumi’s partner was one scary man. But more importantly, “He’s worried about me?” He couldn’t help but laugh at the notion. “I’m not into guys. Honestly, if he should be worried about anyone, tell him to worry about actual Tooru Fucking Oikawa, who is liking your Instagram posts. I’m not over it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be over it.”
With that, the tension in the atmosphere cracked, and Iwaizumi laughed harder than anything Dylan had said warranted, considering he was completely serious. Iwaizumi talked into his phone some more, probably relaying Dylan’s reassurances, his eyes still filled with mirth. He turned back to their dinner and continued to cook as he spoke.
When he hung up, he ended the conversation with a simple, fond, “Bye.” Then, he served up their food into two bowls and placed one in front of Dylan. “Sorry about that. He’s a jealous asshole sometimes, but he’s just feeling the distance. He doesn’t think you’ll do anything, its just that he wants to be the person who gets to see me every day. That’s what he’s jealous of.”
Dylan took a bite of food before he replied. As always, it was delicious. “That’s totally okay, dude. No worries. I know it’s hard on you, so it makes sense that its hard on him too. But I meant it when I said he should be more worried about Tooru Oikawa.” Iwaizumi snorted, still strangely unphased by this turn of events. “Maybe I should talk to him? It might make him feel a little better to get to know me.”
Humming, Iwaizumi began to eat too, contemplating his words. “Maybe. Some time.”
It was as close as he thought he was going to get for now, so Dylan dropped it. After all, he had bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that Tooru Oikawa had definitely seen not just Iwaizumi in that photo, but himself. And whether he was a straight man in every circumstance except for when it came to a certain twenty-year-old professional volleyball player.
---
After a few weeks more, Dylan was coming to the decision that Hajime Iwaizumi was not just the Head of the Tooru Oikawa fan club; he was an outright stalker. And Tooru Oikawa himself was enabling it!
He’d become more and more suspicious that there was something not quite right. Iwaizumi just seemed to know too much. It began with something small. Before one of CA San Juan’s matches, they were sitting and talking about the players, and their favourite in particular. He’d made a comment about Oikawa winning the Best Setter award one year in high school, and Iwaizumi had frowned and said, “That was in middle school.”
The level of conviction he’d shown had Dylan doubting himself. Sure enough, when he’d searched for the interview later, Iwaizumi had remembered it perfectly. This continued for a few days, with Dylan coming up with increasingly obscure trivia facts about the player at random points, and Iwaizumi looking at him confused, before agreeing with or correcting him.
So, he decided to up his game. He started asking questions about Oikawa that he was almost certain had not been answered online. “Hey, I was just thinking about that interview where Tooru Oikawa was talking about his competitor in High School. Ah man, what was his name again?”
“Ushijima?” Iwaizumi said without looking up from his notes.
Wakatoshi Ushijima was Oikawa’s childhood nemesis? No wonder the guy is as good as he is with that guy as competition.
Then, later, “I saw a picture of Tooru Oikawa on Twitter yesterday, look! I think that’s his kid nephew. He looks about seven?”
“He’s nine,” Iwaizumi said without batting an eyelid. And honestly, who except a stalker would know that?
By far the strangest thing came in the form of a large, international package that arrived for Iwaizumi. Considering the perplexed look on his face, he had as much idea as to what it could be as Dylan did, and he opened it immediately. Inside was a plethora of CA San Juan merchandise: a water bottle, a jersey, a notepad, even a custom volleyball with their patch on it. Not only that, but the jersey had been signed by Oikawa in both Japanese and Roman lettering, complete with a little heart and a terribly drawn winking face.
Dylan couldn’t believe it. Why were his stalker behaviours being rewarded in this way? Iwaizumi seemed like a great guy in every other respect, but surely he didn’t deserve this. The only explanation he could think of was that Iwaizumi’s partner was somehow involved in this.
Almost as if to confirm his suspicions, Iwaizumi said to himself, “What is he–? That idiot,” then pulled out his phone and began to type furiously. Dylan suspected he’d been completely forgotten about.
Soon, Dylan was left staring at all the stuff alone, because Iwaizumi had left to call his partner. That must be it. He must live in Argentina, maybe work with or live near Tooru Oikawa, and has sweet-talked him into giving Iwaizumi a load of free merchandise. It would explain the strange amount of personal knowledge and the liking and following on Instagram. Wow. Maybe he’d get lucky, and Iwaizumi would actually become friends with Oikawa and would introduced them to each other one day. A guy could dream.
---
There was a knock on their door.
That wasn’t a regular occurrence in the dorms. Either their door was unlocked, and their friends basically came in and out as they pleased, or it was locked because they were out or asleep. When you shared a room with another person, privacy was practically non-existent, so what difference did it make? If someone was knocking at their door, it was likely someone they didn’t know.
Iwaizumi had left to go in the shower around fifteen minutes before, so it fell to him to answer it. Thankfully, he’d never been an anxious person, and his curiosity had been piqued the moment he’d heard the knock.
Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way over to the door and pulled it open, ready to greet the stranger with a warm smile–
“Hola! Hi. Is Iwa-chan here?”
-which promptly fell off his face entirely.
With any more warning, he would have managed this better. As it was, he stood in his doorway, gaping like a fish, while Tooru Oikawa looked around his shoulder at the room. “Um. Uh. Iwa-chan?”
Dylan’s primitive attempt at speech brought Oikawa’s focus back to him. He smiled bashfully, the one he gave the cameras when he got caught doing something he wasn’t strictly meant to. “Oh – I mean Hajime. I’m looking for Hajime. I’m Tooru. Could you please let him know I’m here? I’d really love to see him.”
Dylan just continued to stand there, staring for too long. The look in his eyes was more than hopeful, and he said Iwaizumi’s name like he wanted to keep saying it forever.
His brain was working at top speed, reminding him of everything he already knew about Iwaizumi’s partner in his head. He was a man, and lived in the Southern hemisphere in a presumably Spanish speaking country. He liked sweet foods and sugar, but couldn’t eat them often because of his diet plan. He was the childhood best friend of Iwaizumi, who had self admittedly spent his entire childhood playing volleyball.
And the only picture on Iwaizumi’s desk was of the man stood in the doorway, looking at him with an expectant expression on his face.
Oh, he thought. Maybe he’s not a stalker after all.
Iwaizumi’s partner didn’t know Tooru Oikawa. He was Tooru Oikawa.
Dylan thought he might pass out on the spot.
“Tooru?”
Iwaizumi’s voice came from down the hallway, saving him from the embarrassment. Disbelief was clear in his voice, like he thought he was seeing a ghost. Oikawa turned and took a step back from the door. For a long moment, they stood frozen in the corridor. Then, Iwaizumi ran across the rest of the space, jumping full force into Oikawa’s open arms, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
Oikawa took the weight in the way only an athlete could, hugging the fully grown man wrapped around him as tight as he could. As Iwaizumi pressed his face into his shoulder, Oikawa turned his into Iwaizumi’s hair, and suddenly Dylan felt like he was trespassing in his own home. He skirted around them while they were preoccupied, and went into the kitchen to process.
Waving off the greetings from some of his floormates, he threw himself down onto on the of the sofas. His first reaction was annoyance. How did he not work this out before? More than that, why hadn’t Iwaizumi told him?
Except. Since he had known him, Iwaizumi had always been extremely protective of his partner, and the very first thing Dylan had done was practically tell him he was obsessed with the guy. Then, he had doubled down and continued further down the rabbit hole, every time he came up in conversation. If he was being honest, he probably wouldn’t have told him, either.
Pulling a pillow over his face, he let out a groan. He couldn’t even go back to his room; God knew what they were doing in there, and he hadn’t even had the foresight to pick up his phone or his laptop. Resigning himself to stay put for the foreseeable future, he grabbed the television remote and settled in to watch reruns of a comedy show he’d watched a dozen times before.
A few hours later, the happy couple emerged hand in hand. Iwaizumi looked slightly sheepish, like he felt a little guilty for hiding the truth, but Oikawa did not have that issue. He looked like a man who hadn’t seen the sun in months, but it had finally appeared. Dylan was sure that they were both wearing different clothes than they were before. The shirt Oikawa was wearing had definitely been on Iwaizumi earlier that day.
“Dylan-chan!” he said brightly, and Dylan reminded himself that he was a) straight, and b) not interested in being a homewrecker. “Don’t look so scared. I already like you. Remember when I warned you off Hajime, and you said I should be more worried about myself? And you were right! No one could possibly be better than me–Iwa-chan!”
His final cry was muffled as Iwaizumi pulled at his cheek, distorting his face. “Don’t be an asshole, Kusokawa,” he said, though nothing said with that tone would ever be taken as an insult. When he turned back to Dylan, his expression darkened slightly. “Sorry. About not telling you. I was going to at some point, but this idiot decided to turn up unannounced and decided that for me.”
Oikawa lifted a hand to his heart as if he’d been wounded. “You love me, Hajime.”
Though he wanted to accept the apology, his mind was still caught on something more pressing. He slid further down into the sofa, covering his face with his hands. “Oh God, I can’t believe I told you to be worried about yourself. Because you liked his Instagram post! You’re the lock screen on his fucking phone! The only picture in his room! Obviously, you’re his boyfriend. I’m so stupid.”
“Uh…” Iwaizumi said, making Dylan look up once more. “He’s actually…my fiancé? Not my boyfriend. We’ve been engaged for a year and a half.”
Dylan just groaned.
BONUS – The Reunion
“Tooru?”
If there were a list of things he would have expected to see when he got out of the shower, damp towel still wrapped loosely around his shoulders, Oikawa Tooru standing in his doorway would have been right at the bottom. The rest of the world fell away, leaving him rubbing his eyes in disbelief, feeling them welling up against his will.
Oikawa were there. Right in front of him. Just a few metres away.
Why was he a few metres away?
Before he could think about anything else, his feet were carrying him across the short distance, and his arms were throwing themselves around Oikawa’s familiar shoulders, his legs locking around his waist.
Immediately, Iwaizumi was surrounded by Oikawa; held in his tight grip, drinking in the smell of his cologne and his shampoo, feeling his skin against Iwaizumi’s own. Just like that, months of separation dissolved into nothing. He pressed his face into Oikawa’s shoulder, letting his tears escape to dampen the fabric there. “You’re here,” he whispered, still not quite believing it was true.
“Did I surprise you?” Iwaizumi could hear the smile in his voice, practically see the skin crinkling around his eyes.
“Maybe a little,” he said, as if the world hadn’t just turned upside down. “I wondered why you hadn’t replied since last night. Thought you might be mad.”
“How could I be mad at my Hajime?” As always, the sound of his name from that voice sent shivers through his body.
If it was up to him, they would have stayed like that for the rest of their lives. Unfortunately, Iwaizumi wasn’t a small man, and he’d only grown broader in their time apart. Professional athlete or not, Oikawa’s arms were beginning to shake with the exertion. He unlocked his legs and lowered his feet back down to the floor, raising his face but keeping his arms tightly in place.
He didn’t give Oikawa more than a second to recover before he pulled his face down to meet his own.
Their lips crashed together messily, all teeth and desperation. Iwaizumi put everything into it, trying to communicate his overwhelming relief at the end to months of separation, the way there was so much love in his body that he felt he’d never find the end of it. The way he missed him like he would have missed an arm.
His hands unhooked from Oikawa’s neck to explore his shoulders, then moving up to cup his face. Oikawa’s own grip loosened momentarily, if only to push his hands under his shirt and rub his fingers into the bare skin. At that point, Iwaizumi had no choice but to pull away or risk making a noise far too embarrassing to be coming from him in the middle of a hallway.
“I think I scared Dylan-chan a little,” Oikawa said, nuzzling closer to Iwaizumi’s hand as he pushed his fringe out of his face.
Oh. He looked over Oikawa to see that he was no longer in their room. Dylan. Dylan, who he had been lying to since they met, who just found out in the bluntest way possible that his favourite volleyball player was actually the partner of his roommate. “We’re going to have to apologise to him.”
“We? You were the one who chose not to tell him, Iwa-chan.” He lowered his head to Iwaizumi’s neck, lips moving along his skin and leaving a trail of fire behind. “You can go and talk to him later. I think there’s something more important we could be doing right now.”
Oikawa was enjoying this too much. Trying to keep a grip on himself, Iwaizumi resisted the temptation. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to share.”
He shrugged without looking up, unbothered. “You can choose to think whatever you want. I missed you.”
“What if he comes back?”
“Hajime,” Oikawa said in a low voice. He pulled himself up to his full height and looked down at Iwaizumi with half-lidded eyes. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll let us find him first.”
That was all it took to beak Iwaizumi’s self-control. He tugged Oikawa into his room, making sure to lock the door behind him.
They had some catching up to do.