The whistle blows, and Oikawa feels the last strand of his willpower snap. The ball rolls to a halt, and a loud roar erupts in Oikawa's ears as the breath rushes out of his lungs. It's over. It was their last chance, and he lost it.
It feels as though every one of his muscles has been loosened to jelly, every bone liquefied, but somehow Oikawa musters enough sinew to pull him through the expected actions. The bows, the handshakes, the dragging of feet away from the court to make room for the next match.
The locker room is quiet, heads are down. The head coach looks over at Oikawa, who blinks the sweat—it's just sweat, nothing more—out of his eyes before opening his mouth to speak. Are those words that come out of his mouth? Oikawa can't tell for sure, the roaring still hasn't left his ears. The words, assuming that's what they are, feel heavy and dull on his tongue. Practiced.
The coaches speak, adding an incomprehensible bass line to the garbled noise crowding his mind. There is stillness in Oikawa's peripheral vision for the longest time, and then sluggish movement as jerseys are discarded and sweat is dabbed away. Oikawa remains unbudged on the bench, head in hands. Nobody tries to move him. He feels light pats on his back, squeezes on his shoulder. Well-meant ministrations that only grate on his nerves.
And then the locker room is empty, save for Oikawa, who still hasn't moved from his brooding position.
"Let him be," Coach Mizoguchi mutters. "Hajime, you'll check on him in a few minutes, right?"
"Oh, uh, yes!" Iwaizumi answers. "Of course."
When Iwaizumi returns, he finds Oikawa crying, completely undisguised. Not that he hadn't expected it, though he's still not fully prepared for the sight. Oikawa is first and foremost, an ugly crier. The skin around Oikawa's eyes are swollen—pink, puffy, and tender as heartache. He's dripping as profusely from his nose as he is from his eyes. It's nothing like those crocodile tears that well up on occasion when Oikawa tries to pillage Iwaizumi for sympathy. That kind of crying Iwaizumi can deal with, but not this.
One after another, hot, fat, tears splash onto Oikawa's thighs, and his chest shudders every time he takes a breath. He had felt numb after the match, but now he's feeling so many things, all at once. His eyes are still bent on the ground when a familiar pair of shoes falls into his line of vision.
"Hey." Iwaizumi's voice is rougher than usual. He's been crying, too.
"I-Iwa-chan?" Oikawa hiccups.
"I just wanted to, um, make sure that you're okay."
"I'm just fine." He smiles through his tears as though he has something to prove.
Iwaizumi casts around in his mind for something to say, but the words won't come. So he sits on the bench next to Oikawa, far enough to give him space, but close enough to let Oikawa know that Iwaizumi is there for him. As always.
"Hajime, can I...?" Oikawa begins hesitantly, sliding closer until their knees bump.
The sound of his name on Oikawa's lips catches Iwaizumi off guard. It's rare for Oikawa to call him by anything other than his pet name, affectionate and playfully condescending in equal parts. But Oikawa's voice is desperate, pleading, so much more vulnerable than what Iwaizumi has ever heard.
"Y-yeah, go ahead," Iwaizumi stutters. His heart swoops when he feels a hand curl around his waist and Oikawa's head settle onto his shoulder.
"Thanks," Oikawa whispers against his neck. "I needed this."
Just when Iwaizumi thought that he was beginning to understand his best friend, Oikawa throws him for a loop. Oikawa isn't like this. He has his clingy moments, but it's mostly just for show. He throws himself at Iwaizumi just to prove that he can. It's not like him to be so...intimate.
Oikawa's thumb rubs against Iwaizumi's knuckles, and it's so fucking tender that Iwaizumi almost wants to shake him by the shoulders and demand to know what's gotten into him. Oikawa squeezes his hand, and for a heart-stopping second, it's almost as if he knows.
They sit in heavy silence, but the static hum of the locker room's fluorescent lighting is drowned out completely by raging, racing thoughts.
"Iwa-chan, I'm..."
"Don't apologize," Iwaizumi says, but it comes out more harshly than he intended. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"But if I hadn't–"
"Stop." Then more softly, "Just stop. Please. You tried your best, we all did."
"I wanted to win so badly. I wanted to win with everyone. I should have run faster, I should have jumped higher, reached a little farther, and maybe we could be the ones getting ready for our next match instead of crying and it's...it's just not fair, Iwa-chan." The words spill forth before he can stop them, and once they run out, he's gasping for breath, avoiding Iwaizumi's stare.
Iwaizumi lifts a hand, and Oikawa flinches on instinct, expecting to be smacked upside the head. For a second, Iwaizumi expects it too. That's what he usually does, isn't it? He's always taken it upon himself to slap the ego out of—or into—Oikawa. But his hand chooses its own trajectory, reaching around Oikawa's head to curl into chestnut tendrils.
He gathers Oikawa closer to his own body, so close that Oikawa's cheek is pressed to his heart, like a mother cradling a child. The fabric of Iwaizumi's shirt flutters with every one of Oikawa's exhales.
"You need a stronger deodorant," Oikawa sniffles into Iwaizumi's chest, sobs still shaking his body.
"Shut up, Trashykawa," Iwaizumi retorts automatically. It feels good, like things are falling back into a natural rhythm.
The way that Oikawa speaks is usually careful, measured—calculated to press just the right buttons without revealing too much. To his firm overtones, there are always subtle undertones. But there's nothing but pure honesty in the way that Oikawa clutches at Iwaizumi's shirt, no subtext to decode. It's both refreshing and heart-wrenching to see Oikawa in a state where he has nothing to hide.
"I just wanted to win," Oikawa breathes, and his voice is fragile and shaky.
"I know."
"I wanted us to win, together."
"Yeah."
There's nothing Iwaizumi can think of to say, because he feels the loss just as hard as Oikawa does. Maybe there's nothing that he needs to say, and all Oikawa wants is to be held onto. Maybe all that Iwaizumi needs is someone to hold.
Still, Iwaizumi hates seeing his best friend brewing in self-doubt. At his worst, Oikawa is a pendulum swinging between arrogance and insecurity. Though the arrogance can be pretty damn annoying, seeing him in his periods of intense self-doubt is the worst of all.
Once the front of Iwaizumi's t-shirt is soaked and Oikawa's breathing has calmed, Iwaizumi tries to guide the conversation to a gentler topic, just to lift Oikawa from his heavy thoughts.
"I guess you'll have a little more free time after this, right?" Iwaizumi asks. "You can start dating again and stuff. Who was that girl you told me was cute and totally your type? The half-Korean one—Junhee, was it?"
"She wasn't really my type. At least, not anymore," Oikawa mutters. "What about Iwa-chan? Now that he doesn't have to spend every evening with me in the gymnasium, what's he going to do with all his free time? Does Iwa-chan have his eyes on anyone?"
"M-me?" Iwaizumi honestly hadn't thought of any alternative to the hours he has spent with Oikawa practicing volleyball and hanging out afterwards. He doesn't have girls queued up for him the way that Oikawa does, but it's not like he would be interested anyways. He only has eyes for Oikawa.
"Yeah, I bet girls are tripping over each other trying to get closer to those big, buff arms of yours, Iwa-chan." He squeezes Iwaizumi's bicep, and his voice floats to a high falsetto. "Wah, look at those guns! No wonder you're the ace!"
"What are you talking about," Iwaizumi grumbles in embarrassment. And just because the simpering expression on Oikawa's face is irritating as hell, Iwaizumi adds, "Are you jealous or something?"
"Of a brute like Iwa-chan? Of course not," he scoffs. But then his voice is sober, quiet. "I'm not jealous. Not of you, at least."
"But...what are you jealous of, then?" Iwaizumi asks, genuinely bewildered.
"I'm jealous of the girls who get to be protected by Iwa-chan's big, meaty arms," he mumbles, barely above a whisper.
"W-what are you saying, Oikawa?" Suddenly, Iwaizumi's heart is pounding faster, the way it does when he's leaping above the net for a spike. He's in a hit or miss situation, and he hopes to god that he doesn't miss.
"I'm saying that...you're my brute, Iwa-chan."
"Wait...are you saying that you like me?"
"Like? What are we, in middle school?" Oikawa sniffs. "But yes, even though Iwa-chan may never feel the same..." He's so emotionally drained at this point that his voice breaks into a sob, and he has to take a deep breath before continuing. "I love you, Hajime. I don't know for how long, but I think, maybe, that I always was in love with you. And even if you don't love me back, I hope that we can still be friends..." He trails off and then asks desperately, "Iwa-chan? Say something, please..."
Oikawa watches him nervously, chewing on the lining of his cheek as he tries to gauge his best friend's reaction. Iwaizumi is dumbstruck. Somehow, Oikawa had just verbalized the very thoughts that had been running through Iwaizumi's own mind, though he had been too cowardly to voice them.
"Dumbass," he grunts. Oikawa's lips start pulling into a pout, but he yelps when Iwaizumi crashes their mouths together in a long-overdue kiss.
"That was the worst first kiss ever," Oikawa whines, but he's blushing to the tips of his ears. "I demand a redo."
"You're the worst," Iwaizumi grumbles, but there's no bite to it.
This time, Oikawa gently presses his lips against Iwaizumi's, taking the lead instead. The kisses start soft, slow, until Oikawa drags the tip of his tongue along the pink swell of Iwaizumi's bottom lip. He bites gently, asking for permission, and Iwaizumi gives it to him with a responsive moan. They kiss like they're making up for lost time, which, in a way, they are.
Oikawa's fingers fumble with the hem of Iwaizumi's shirt, and then he slips his hand beneath the fabric and rests his palm against Iwaizumi's muscled abdomen. His hand is starting to travel higher, when they hear a loud creak as the locker room door swings open. It startles them into pulling apart, hearts pounding with adrenaline. They furtively avoid eye contact with each other, though their bitten red lips and flushed skin are more than enough evidence.
"I, uh, forgot my towel," Kindaichi stammers, before grabbing it off the floor and turning tail.
The door swings shut again, and they dissolve into nervous giggles. Oikawa smiles at Iwaizumi, a real smile this time, and takes his hand.
"Maybe it's about time we join the rest of the team," he suggests.
Iwaizumi reluctantly extricates his fingers from Oikawa's grasp as soon as they exit the locker room. Always one to aggressively seek out Iwaizumi's attention, Oikawa makes sure to bump into him as frequently as possible as they wander the hallways, looking for their teammates. Iwaizumi pretends to scowl at him, but when they reach an empty hallway, he grabs Oikawa by the collar for a quick kiss. He can't even find it in himself to get pissed off at the smug grin glued to Oikawa's face afterwards.
The team is quiet on the bus ride home, and their eyes are dim.
"I have no regrets," Oikawa announces suddenly. Everyone, Iwaizumi included, looks at the captain in surprise.
"To leave the court feeling like you played your absolute best, with a team you have absolute faith in—there's really nothing more you can ask for, is there? And for that, I'm so thankful. Thank you. All of you." Oikawa smiles at his team, the individuals who followed him and trusted him to the very end. It's a genuine smile, and they all know it. But his breaths turn shuddery again, and when he touches his fingertips to his eyelashes, they come back wet.
"Thanks, captain." He's not sure who said it, but there are soon echoes of gratitude from the rest of the team, followed by soft sniffling sounds.
"I'm proud of you, Tooru," Iwaizumi whispers gruffly. He slots their fingers together, out of everyone's sight. He glances around to make sure no one's watching and tries to wipe away Oikawa's tears with his thumb. "Please don't cry. You were good. You were so good."
"It's okay, Iwa-chan. I'm happy. I'm proud of us, too."
The tears continue to roll down Oikawa's cheeks not because they came so close, but because they had come so far.