Archive of Our Own

Since as long as he could remember, Iwaizumi had been working his entire life around Oikawa. They had been friends since they were born, inseparable through childhood and into high school. But, despite being so close, their lives had taken different turns when they hit their teens. Oikawa had embraced the role of a playboy, constantly surrounded by admirers and lovers, while Iwaizumi had no patience for the theatrics. When Iwaizumi had finally called him out, telling Oikawa he didn’t agree with his behavior, Oikawa had only made things worse, doubling down. He had laughed it off, throwing insults back—calling him boring, an asshole, and other things Iwaizumi couldn’t even remember.

Years had passed since then. They had eventually made up, as they always did, because no matter how bad the fight, they couldn’t stay mad at each other for long. But neither had apologized, and neither had forgotten.

And you wanted to make that even more complicated? Because it was clear as day that Iwaizumi and Oikawa had been into each other for… well, forever. But for Iwaizumi, that only added insult to injury. Why would Oikawa become such a whore if he was into him? Was he trying to make Iwaizumi jealous? If so, he had succeeded. But it had come back to bite him—because now, Iwaizumi didn’t want anything to do with Oikawa romantically. Oikawa had played his games, and while they might have worked on others, Iwaizumi wasn’t about to settle for his bullshit.

The yakiniku restaurant he was in tonight was loud, as most places like this tended to be. The air was thick with the smoky scent of grilled meat, sizzling on the hot plates scattered across the tables. Iwaizumi, Mattsun, and Hanamaki sat at a table in the far corner, plates stacked high with empty skewers and half-eaten dishes. Around them, groups of friends and families chattered, laughed, and drank, creating a low buzz of noise that made it easy to tune out—perfect for not having to engage in unwanted conversation.

Iwaizumi ordered another beer, raising his empty glass to one of the waiters. The waiter noticed, nodding at him, and quickly returned with a new glass. He could feel Mattsun and Hanamaki exchanging glances beside him, clearly gearing up for the conversation he knew they were dying to start. He was quick to cut them off.

“I’m not talking about Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, his voice low and firm as he leaned back in his seat.

Hanamaki raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say anything about him.”

“You didn’t have to,” Iwaizumi muttered.

Mattsun leaned forward, nudging the plate of grilled meat toward him. “C’mon, man. You’ve been in a mood all night. We can’t not talk about him.”

“I’m not in a mood,” Iwaizumi shot back, though the tension in his voice gave him away. He took a long sip of his beer, his grip tightening around the glass.

Hanamaki scoffed. “You’re always in a mood when it comes to Oikawa. I don’t get it. Why can’t you just give him a chance? You’re into him, he’s into you—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Iwaizumi interrupted, the words harsher than he intended.

“Why not?” Hanamaki pressed. “Most people would be thrilled to have someone as… experienced as him as a lover.”

“Rumors say he’s great in bed,” Mattsun added, casually popping a piece of yakiniku into his mouth.

“Well, I think it’s disgusting,” Iwaizumi shot back before he could stop himself. His words hung in the air, sharp and unfiltered. Hanamaki and Mattsun exchanged surprised looks.

“Wait, are you serious?” Hanamaki started, but Mattsun cut in.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to care about something like body count.” Mattsun’s tone was calm, but there was a subtle edge of disappointment.

“It’s not that,” Iwaizumi tried to explain, his voice faltering.

Mattsun wasn’t buying it. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it sounded like.”

“Fine, whatever.” Iwaizumi said, setting the glass down with more force than he intended. The sharp clink against the wooden counter made Hanamaki flinch. “He can keep going after people who don’t care, who are probably better than me anyway.”

Mattsun shook his head, exasperated. “You know that’s not true. Oikawa’s been trying to get your attention for years. Everyone else? They don’t mean a damn thing.”

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw, staring into the amber liquid in his glass. “Well, he succeeded, alright? He got my attention. But I’m not playing games with him.”

Hanamaki shook his head, smiling a little. “You’re the only one who thinks it’s a game, Iwaizumi. Oikawa… he’s been hung up on you since we were kids. You know that.”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond, the weight of his friends’ words settling on his shoulders. He knew they were right. But that didn’t make the sting of Oikawa’s behavior any less painful, or the resentment any less real.

“You need to let it go. If not for your sanity, then for ours,” Hanamaki added, his voice lighter but tinged with frustration, clearly tired of watching his friends clash.

“I did let it go!” Iwaizumi snapped, his tone harsher than intended.

“He means,” Mattsun cut in, “you need to forgive him for his screw-ups and give yourselves a real chance.”

Before Iwaizumi could respond, Mattsun lifted his brows and gave a pointed glance toward the door. “He’s here.”

The door to the restaurant slid open with a low creak, and there he was. Oikawa Tooru, arriving fashionably late, as usual. His smile was as dazzling as ever, his brown hair slightly tousled in that effortlessly perfect way. He was dressed smartly—black jeans and a white shirt that hugged his frame just right—and the familiar scent of his cologne reached them before he even got to the table. It was subtle, yet distinct, a fragrance that lingered long after he’d gone, and Iwaizumi hated that it still made his heart skip.

“Sorry I’m late!” Oikawa announced cheerfully, glancing around at the group with that disarming smile of his, as if he hadn’t kept them waiting for over an hour.

Mattsun and Hanamaki exchanged glances. But before either could ask, Oikawa shrugged, casual as ever, and said, “I was on a date. Completely lost track of time.” He chuckled lightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know how it is.”

Iwaizumi’s expression hardened instantly. His gaze flicked from Oikawa, who had already slid into the seat next to him, to Mattsun and Hanamaki, who no longer had anything to say in his defense. For a moment, silence settled over the table, thick and uncomfortable.

Oikawa smiled, oblivious or maybe pretending to be. But Iwaizumi could only clench his fists under the table, biting back the urge to say what was really on his mind.

“So, uh, we were actually… wondering when you were going to stop playing around,” Hanamaki ventured, his tone light but with an edge of genuine concern.

“Yes,” Mattsun chimed in, more direct as always, “like, settle down. Get a lover—girlfriend, boyfriend—whatever. But something… serious.”

Oikawa blinked, caught off guard by their sudden shift in conversation. He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “Is this some kind of intervention?” he asked, his voice teasing, but a hint of unease flickered behind his usual confident front.

Hanamaki and Mattsun exchanged a quick glance, the memory of trying something similar back in high school flashing between them. That hadn’t worked then, and it was unlikely to work now.

“No, not an intervention,” Hanamaki said with a chuckle, waving off Oikawa’s question. “It’s more like… we’re adults, man. College is almost over, and you’re still—” He gestured vaguely, like Oikawa’s entire lifestyle was too much to pin down with just one word.

Mattsun leaned in, more serious. “We’re not kids anymore, Oikawa. We’re about to start real jobs, move on with our lives. You’ve been doing this same thing for years. Don’t you think it’s time for something more... stable?”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but also a little taken aback by their comments. “What, you think I’m just going to suddenly settle down? Get married? Have kids?” His tone was light, but the forced laugh that followed didn’t quite hide his discomfort.

“We’re not saying you need to rush into any of that,” Mattsun replied, his calm, level-headed tone cutting through Oikawa’s deflection. “But you don’t have to keep… bouncing around. Especially when we all know there’s one person who’s always been there for you.” His eyes flickered briefly toward Iwaizumi.

The moment the words left Mattsun’s mouth, Iwaizumi stiffened. His fist slammed against the table, rattling the dishes as his voice cut through the low hum of the restaurant. “Oi!!” His tone was sharp, angry, and heads turned in their direction.

The tension around the table became palpable. Silence stretched for an uncomfortable second, and in that moment, Oikawa’s confident mask cracked. His smile faltered, and his eyes darted between his friends, looking for an escape. But there wasn’t one. Not from this.

“Well,” Oikawa said, forcing a laugh as he tried to regain his usual swagger, “I’ll keep that in mind when I find the right person.” The grin he flashed was as bright as ever, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Iwaizumi stood abruptly, jaw clenched, eyes dark. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulder, and turned toward the door.

“You fucking assholes,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Mattsun and Hanamaki to hear before storming out of the restaurant.

Oikawa watched him go, the usual confidence in his posture slipping the second Iwaizumi disappeared out the door. The silence that followed felt suffocating, and for once, Oikawa didn’t have a quick comeback.

Hanamaki sighed, pushing his glass aside. “It’s so obvious, you know?” He looked at Oikawa, who blinked back at him, confused. “That you’re into him. You can’t keep acting like a high school kid. It’s not working, it never worked, and it sure as hell is not going to work with Iwaizumi.”

Mattsun nodded, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been trying this same shit for years, Oikawa. It’s time to grow up. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all him.”

Oikawa’s lips twitched into a sad smile, but it wasn’t his usual playful grin. There was a tiredness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You think I don’t know that?” he muttered, barely loud enough for them to hear. His fingers drummed on the edge of the table, and he let out a bitter laugh. “Iwa-chan’s… I don’t have a chance with him. I never did. So why the hell not keep filling the empty space, huh?”

Hanamaki and Mattsun exchanged glances, the weight of Oikawa’s words hanging between them. Neither knew what to say.

For the first time in years, Oikawa’s smile completely faded.

The door slammed shut behind Iwaizumi as he stepped into his apartment, a sigh escaping his lips. He kicked off his shoes at the entrance, not caring where they landed. The tension that had been building all night followed him inside, pressing down on his shoulders like a heavy weight. With a frustrated grunt, he tossed his jacket onto the couch, letting it slide to the floor, and then let himself fall onto the cushions, head back, eyes closed.

He hated this. Hated how everything between him and Oikawa had become so tangled. How the one person he’d grown up with, the one he’d always imagined sharing those first intimate moments with, and it had somehow become… tainted in his eyes. Iwaizumi grit his teeth, anger simmering beneath the surface. For some people, Oikawa’s experience might seem impressive—confidence, charm, and all that. But to Iwaizumi, it felt like something precious had been ruined.

When they were younger, he had assumed they would be each other’s first. It wasn’t something he ever said aloud, but he’d thought it, quietly, and over the years, that belief had grown into an unspoken expectation. But then in highschool Oikawa started acting like a playboy and that chance had been ripped away from him.

He didn’t keep track of Oikawa’s “conquests,” not really. He didn’t care about numbers. But for Iwaizumi, their first time had always meant something. It was supposed to be something shared, special, something that would bond them in a way that nothing could ever compare to. Now, every time he thought about it, it felt tainted. Stained by Oikawa’s casual flings and flirty attitude.

He hated himself for thinking like this. For caring so much about something that felt stupid, like he was some kind of hopeless romantic stuck in a bad drama. He didn’t know what was worse: feeling like he was being unfair to Oikawa for judging him this way, or feeling like he was betraying himself by pretending it didn’t matter.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not with Oikawa.

And just as he was about to let out another tired sigh, there was a knock on the door. Iwaizumi froze, tension creeping back into his muscles. He glanced at the door, heart pounding as he wondered who it could be.

Iwaizumi walked to the door and stood in front of it, his hand hovered over the handle, but he didn’t move. Instead, he glanced through the peephole and there, standing in the dim hallway light, was Oikawa.

Of course it was him.

Iwaizumi didn’t know what to do. His mind raced, a mess of conflicting emotions. Why was Oikawa here? What could he possibly have to say? Just as he debated walking away and pretending he wasn’t home, Oikawa’s voice cut through the door, muffled but clear enough.

“Iwa-chan, I know you’re home! I saw your shoes through the mail slot.”

Damn it.

“You don’t have to open the door, I just… I just need you to hear me out. Please.” Oikawa’s voice wavered, and something about that fragile tone made Iwaizumi’s chest tighten. He pressed his back against the door, torn between wanting to open it and stay hidden behind it forever.

There was a pause, then Oikawa’s voice softened. “Iwa-chan, I’ve loved you since… since forever. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I swear, I never stopped. I was just… scared. Insecure. And I—” Oikawa’s breath hitched, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if he was afraid he’d lose the courage if he stopped. “When you called me out back then, I was too proud to admit you were right. And things just got out of control. I fucked it up, I know I did, and—”

The sound of his voice breaking stopped Iwaizumi cold. His chest ached, and before Oikawa could say more, Iwaizumi swung the door open, the cool air from the hallway hitting his face.

Oikawa blinked, tears already forming in his eyes, his usual confidence nowhere to be seen. “You’re bothering the neighbors,” Iwaizumi muttered, more gruffly than he intended.

For a moment, Oikawa looked like he might leave, shoulders slumped as he wiped at his eyes. He took a step back, turning away slightly. “Right… sorry. I’ll go.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and that’s when Iwaizumi noticed—Oikawa was silently crying.

Before he could stop himself, Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Oikawa, pressing him close against his body. Oikawa was taller, but right now, he seemed small, fragile, like the confident mask he always wore had completely shattered.

For a second, Oikawa froze, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Then, slowly, he melted into the embrace, his hands clutching at the back of Iwaizumi’s shirt, his face buried against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. The familiar scent of Oikawa’s cologne lingered between them, but it wasn’t the usual confident mask he wore—it was raw, vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry…” Oikawa’s voice was muffled against Iwaizumi’s shoulder, and his body shook with quiet sobs. “I ruined it… I ruined us…” His words broke through the silence, each one carrying years of regret and self-blame.

Iwaizumi stood there, holding him tighter, the weight of those words pressing down on his chest. He hated how true they felt. They had been so close, once, and now everything felt so distant, so broken. 

A part of him wanted to shove Oikawa away and shout you should’ve thought of that before. But another part—the quieter one that still dreamed about the boy Oikawa used to be—was already reaching for him.

But hearing Oikawa cry, hearing the sincerity in his voice, it cut through all the anger, all the resentment that had built up over the years.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to get a look at Oikawa’s face. His heart clenched seeing Oikawa like this—tears running down his cheeks, eyes red—but even like this, the guy looked... pretty. Annoyingly so. 

I can’t believe this asshole even cries pretty. Of course he does. Of course everything about him is just... aggravatingly perfect, even when he’s falling apart. He furrowed his brows, frustrated by how perfect Oikawa could be, even while crying. Without thinking, he reached up and roughly wiped away the tears from Oikawa’s face, his touch more tender than his expression.

“Don’t cry, dammit,” Iwaizumi muttered, his voice blunt, though his hand lingered on Oikawa’s cheek for a second longer.

Oikawa blinked, his lip trembling slightly. “You should be nicer, Iwa-chan…”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t have your fucking experience, do I?” The words were out before he could stop them, and as soon as they were, he wished he could take them back. Oikawa flinched like he’d been hit.

Oikawa sighed, his voice soft. “Right,” he muttered. “My… body count.” The words stung, and Iwaizumi had to fight the urge to punch Matsukawa and Hanamaki for ever telling Oikawa what he had said.

“It’s not like that,” Iwaizumi tried, once again struggling to explain himself. But it was hard to admit, hard to be vulnerable.

“Then what is it?” Oikawa asked, his voice small, almost pleading, as he looked up through his lashes. His hands clung to Iwaizumi’s shirt, his fingers trembling.

Iwaizumi swallowed hard, realizing he couldn’t dodge this anymore.

“It bothers me, alright?” he said, voice low, rough. “You went around fucking everyone, acting like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. At least to me. It mattered to me. I kept thinking… we were supposed to be each other's first. That it would mean something, because it was us. ”

He looked away. “Stupid, right?”

Oikawa’s eyes widened, then he laughed—soft and breathless, like it surprised even him. Not mocking. Just… overwhelmed. Iwaizumi’s face darkened, embarrassment flashing across his features. “What the hell’s so funny?!”

“Nothing, nothing…” Oikawa’s laugh was soft, and he wiped at his own eyes. “It’s just... you’re so sweet, Iwa-chan, and you don’t even know it.”

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbled, but his cheeks were burning hot now. Still, he didn’t let go, his arms remaining firm around Oikawa.

Oikawa took a deep breath, still holding onto Iwaizumi like he was a lifeline. “Forgive me, Iwa-chan,” he said softly, his voice trembling with sincerity.

Iwaizumi paused, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I get it. Just… don’t expect me to forget everything overnight.” His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of understanding in his eyes.

Oikawa managed a small, hopeful smile, though his gaze turned serious again. “I know I messed up, and I fucked around a lot. But it never meant anything… not like this.” He hesitated, searching Iwaizumi’s face for a sign, for anything that would give him courage. “I’ve never made love to anyone. Not really. It was always just… casual.”

Iwaizumi’s heart raced at the words, feeling the weight of them settle heavily in the air. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure, but the vulnerability in Oikawa’s eyes was enough to make him waver.

“Would you… make love to me?” Oikawa asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging between them like a fragile thread.

Iwaizumi stared at him.

Just stared.

Like Oikawa had just said something from another planet.

“I—shit.” He ran a hand down his face. “You can’t just ask that.”

“Why not?” Oikawa said, trying to laugh again, but it cracked on the way out. “I mean—what’s the worst that can happen? You say no, and I cry more?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I know,” Oikawa said quickly, stepping back like he’d overstepped. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want to lie anymore. Or pretend like I don’t care. I do . I care about you so much it makes me sick.”

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. He just reached out—shaky, uncertain—and cupped Oikawa’s jaw.

Oikawa leaned into it immediately, like he’d been waiting years for that exact touch.

“You really want me?” Iwaizumi asked, voice rough, nearly a whisper.

“I always have.”

And that was it. That was all it took.

Their kiss wasn’t soft. It was too desperate for that. Teeth bumped. Their noses got in the way. Oikawa’s hand caught in the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt and yanked , hard enough to pop a seam.

Iwaizumi groaned against his mouth, half from the kiss and half from frustration. “Slow down.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Oikawa murmured, already breathless. “I just—fuck, Iwa-chan, I don’t know how to do this slow.”

Iwaizumi exhaled through his nose and kissed him again, slower this time. His hand found Oikawa’s waist, thumb tracing bare skin beneath his shirt.

For a moment, the world shrank down to just this: the warmth of Oikawa’s body, the quiet hum of their breathing, the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

Then their lips met—tentative, but urgent. A collision of years of unspoken feelings, frustrations, and longing, a melding of two hearts that had danced around each other for far too long.

It wasn’t perfect. Their noses bumped, and Oikawa tilted his head too far the first time, but they adjusted. The kiss deepened, slow and aching, like they were learning each other from scratch.

Iwaizumi pulled him in, arms wrapped tight around Oikawa’s back like he was trying to put them back together with sheer force. He wasn’t thinking. He was just feeling.

Oikawa responded without hesitation, his hands sliding up to Iwaizumi’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair like he’d done it a hundred times in dreams. He pressed in, not trying to impress—just… trying to be t here.

He knew if he slipped into performance mode, if he tried to seduce Iwaizumi like he was known for, it would ruin everything.

Iwaizumi didn’t want his charm or the rumors about his “magical” prowess—that would only screw this up. He didn’t want the perfect version of him; he didn’t need Oikawa’s years of experience or to be dazzled by some fabricated image.

He just wanted this Oikawa—the scared, stupid, hopeful one who still cried pretty and didn’t know how to ask for love without begging for it sideways.

Iwaizumi held Oikawa tighter, as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory, fearing that if he loosened his grip even a little, Oikawa might vanish like smoke. 

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” Oikawa reassured him, his breath warm against Iwaizumi’s skin. 

They stumbled to the bedroom, their lips brushing together with every step, an unspoken promise lingering in the air. Neither wanted to let go of the other, each kiss igniting the spark that had long been smoldering between them.

Once they reached the bed, Iwaizumi’s hand found its way to Oikawa’s hips, slipping under his clothes, his fingertips grazing the hot, soft skin of his stomach. He couldn’t help but wonder—did Oikawa tremble like this for everyone, or was it just because it was him ?

“ Hajime… ” Oikawa whined, lips parting in a soft, sultry ‘o’, his arms resting on either side of his head, completely vulnerable.

Iwaizumi’s hand drifted upwards, brushing lightly over Oikawa’s nipple, and he watched with a mix of awe and hunger as Oikawa shook under his touch.

“Fuck… I’ve dreamed of this so many times…” Oikawa admitted, his voice shaky with both excitement and nerves.

“Are you always this talkative?” Iwaizumi muttered, but his eyes never left Oikawa’s face. He was drinking him in––every tremor, every twitch of his lips, every flicker of doubt behind his eyes.

“Mean Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted. “You know I talk a lot when I get nervous,” he reminded him, his lips curling into a weak smile.

Iwaizumi flushed a little. It was true. Oikawa never shut up before matches, before exams, before any moment that mattered.

“I also…” Oikawa hesitated, eyes flicking away. “Back in high school, I got so anxious. I kept thinking—what if I was bad at sex? What if I wasn’t good enough? And then I just… became someone you wouldn’t even touch.” He laughed, hollow and quiet, like he already regretted saying it.

“I’m touching you now, aren’t I?” Iwaizumi countered, his voice gruff but tender.

Oikawa’s voice cracked. “Yeah…” He lifted a hand to his face, covering his eyes as tears spilled over. “I’m so happy,” he choked out, almost disbelieving.

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything at first. Just reached for Oikawa’s wrist, gently pulling his hand away so he could see him.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Don’t hide that from me. Not anymore.” 

Iwaizumi’s heart twisting at the sight, and he leaned down to press a kiss to Oikawa’s lips, wishing—hoping—that even if Oikawa had been everything else to the others, this vulnerable, raw part of him belonged to him alone.

“Tooru,” he murmured, the sound of his given name making Oikawa flinch in surprise. “I don’t care anymore.” Iwaizumi’s voice was rough, like he’d been holding these words in for far too long. “I don’t give a fuck if you fucked half the world. I don’t care.” His thumb brushed away the tears that wouldn’t stop. “Just… stop crying. Please.”

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa said, his arms wrapping around Iwaizumi’s neck as he pulled him closer, kissing him with a clumsy, desperate need. The kiss wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t his practiced usual kiss—it was a raw attempt to turn back time, to erase all his mistakes, and to just be the person he wished he’d been for Hajime all along.

“I love you,” Oikawa whispered against his lips, the words heavy with regret, vulnerability, and the simple truth he’d been holding onto for so long.

"I love you too," Iwaizumi replied, kissing Oikawa once more, his voice cracking halfway through.

With a swift motion, he pulled off his shirt—except the hem caught awkwardly on his elbow, and he had to wrestle with it for a second before tossing it to the floor. Oikawa laughed, breathless and teary-eyed, and Hajime felt his face heat.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“I’m not saying anything,” Oikawa grinned, clearly saying everything.

Iwaizumi leaned down and kissed him again, a little harder this time. His hands moved with purpose but not precision—roaming Oikawa’s chest, his waist, like he was relearning someone he used to know by heart.

His rough fingers traced down the length of Oikawa’s spine, but midway, he hesitated. “Too much?” he asked quietly.

Oikawa just shook his head, breath hitching. “Don’t stop.”

So he didn’t. Even when his hands trembled. Even when he wasn’t sure where they were going next.

Oikawa couldn’t compare Iwaizumi to past lovers— not that he ever wanted to. It didn’t matter if Hajime was the most experienced, the most skilled, or if he even knew what he was doing. What mattered was this:

The kiss was warm but slightly off. Their noses bumped mid-way, and Oikawa giggled against his mouth.

“I always imagined our first time in a fancy hotel, surrounded by warm soft lights, the bed covered in rose petals,” he whispered.

“I have emergency candles in the kitchen drawer,” Iwaizumi muttered. It was the best he could offer.

“Fuck it,” Oikawa said with a grin, brushing his nose against Iwaizumi’s again.

And somehow, it didn’t matter. Because Iwaizumi’s love made him feel chosen. Real. Special. And that was all he’d ever wanted.

They finished undressing each other with a kind of clumsy urgency. Iwaizumi had to wrestle Oikawa out of his jeans— practically painted on —and tugged so hard he lost his balance and tumbled backward off the bed.

There was a loud thud, a sharp "shit!"—and then Oikawa bursted into laughter, breathless and pink-faced, curled up in just his boxers across the disheveled sheets.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me when it’s your fault I’m on the floor,” Iwaizumi muttered, rubbing the back of his head as he sat up.

“You look good down there…” Oikawa said through giggles, leaning over the edge of the bed. “Maybe I should make you suck me off.”

“I’ll bite your fucking dick off,” Iwaizumi shot back.

“Another time, then,” Oikawa replied, but his voice lost some of its bravado as he looked away, suddenly too aware of himself. His fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket, pulling it up slightly, trying not to seem like he was hiding even though he clearly was.

Iwaizumi climbed back onto the mattress, the frame creaking under his weight. He sat there for a second, then glanced up. “Lights on or off?”

“I… don’t know,” Oikawa said, blinking up at the harsh glow of the ceiling fixture. “Okay, that’s definitely too bright—I feel like I’m in a dentist's chair.”

“Got it.” Iwaizumi stood and crossed the room. The moment he flicked the switch, the world softened into barely there shadows. Iwaizumi’s eyes slowly getting used to the darkness.

When he turned back to return to the bed, Oikawa was completely naked. His boxers had vanished—tossed somewhere—and he was lying there with his hands resting awkwardly over his stomach.

Iwaizumi stopped, heart catching in his throat. He’d seen Oikawa like this in glimpses—shirtless in gym clothes, flushed after practice—but never like this. Never so vulnerable .

“Sorry,” Oikawa said suddenly, noticing the way Iwaizumi stared. “I just thought…” He grabbed at the edge of the sheet, trying to cover himself. “I thought I should be ready. But now it feels stupid.”

Iwaizumi stepped closer, slow and quiet, like Oikawa might disappear if he moved too fast. He knelt onto the bed and reached out, brushing his fingers gently against Oikawa’s knee—nothing practiced, just searching the connection.

“You never think much before doing something,” he said, voice low. His hand lingered, tracing a line up Oikawa’s thigh.

Oikawa’s breath hitched, and he covered his eyes with the back of his arm. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m… good.”

Iwaizumi leaned down, pressing a kiss to Oikawa’s forehead, and whispered, “You are.”

Oikawa didn’t answer right away—just exhaled shakily and wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, drawing him closer, chasing his lips like he couldn’t stand even a second of distance. The kiss they shared now was soft and unhurried, full of everything unspoken. When Iwaizumi shifted, helping him onto his back, Oikawa went willingly, letting the pillow catch his head, legs falling open slightly as Iwaizumi settled between them.

“How do you want to do this?” Iwaizumi asked, voice low but serious, his hands resting on either side of Oikawa’s chest.

Oikawa arched an eyebrow, breath catching a little. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Yes?” Iwaizumi blinked, like that should’ve been obvious.

There was a pause—just long enough for Oikawa to realize that Iwaizumi meant it. That he wasn’t being coy or withholding—he just really wanted to know.

Oikawa smiled faintly, brushing his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair. “God, you’re a dork.”

“Not helping,” Iwaizumi grunted.

“Okay, okay…” Oikawa mumbled, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. He exhaled slowly, like trying to push the nerves out of his lungs. “Uh… I don’t know, like—” He rolled over onto his stomach, folding his arms under the pillow. “This is fine, right?”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi said, reaching for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. The plastic cap snapped open with a quiet click that somehow felt too loud in the dim room.

He squeezed some onto his fingers and shifted lower on the bed, gently coaxing Oikawa’s legs apart. When he slid his fingers between Oikawa’s cheeks, the cool gel made him flinch hard, his hips jumping instinctively.

“Shit—cold, sorry,” Iwaizumi murmured, his other hand resting lightly on the back of Oikawa’s thigh in an attempt to ground him. He paused for a moment, warming the slick with slow, patient fingers before pressing one gently in.

But before he got far, Oikawa squirmed, stiffening under him. His legs flexed like he wanted to curl in on himself.

“Wait,” Oikawa blurted out suddenly, voice tight. “Actually—ugh, I can’t—I’m too self-conscious like this.”

Iwaizumi immediately pulled back, sitting upright without protest. “Okay,” he said simply, not irritated, just listening.

Oikawa flipped back over, face flushed—not with arousal, but with frustration at himself. He pulled the sheet halfway over his torso, groaning.

“This is off to a hot start,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand to wipe his hand.

“Shut up,” Oikawa groaned, voice muffled by the pillow. “I’m—god, I know I’m being annoying.”

“You’re something ,” Iwaizumi replied, tossing the tissue into the trash. He scooted closer again, his touch gentle as his palm found Oikawa’s thigh. “Want me to turn the light lower?”

“No,” Oikawa said quickly, then quieter. “No. I just… need to see you. That’s all. If I can see you, I won’t… spiral.”

Iwaizumi furrowed his brow, leaning in slightly. “Spiral? What are you talking about, Oikawa?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa muttered, eyes flicking away. “Just… keep going.”

There was something fragile in his voice—tight and threadbare—and it pulled a low, frustrated sound from Iwaizumi’s throat.

“I’m trying,” Iwaizumi said, shifting closer, adjusting his grip. “Can you just relax a little?”

“I can’t help it, it feels so good…” Oikawa moaned, hips moving involuntarily, caught between tension and desire.

Iwaizumi repositioned himself, hovering above him again, bracing one arm on the mattress while his slick fingers returned, this time sliding in two at once with a careful rhythm. He wasn’t elegant about it—his movements had weight, were slightly uneven—but he was trying.

“Relax,” he said again, lips brushing along Oikawa’s neck. He kissed his shoulder, then nipped at the curve where shoulder met neck—rougher than he meant to, leaving a fresh mark blooming purple against pale skin.

“I can’t,” Oikawa whispered, voice cracking as his body tensed again. “Not now that you’re finally making love to me.”

The words hung between them, raw and almost too intimate. Iwaizumi’s chest tightened, but he didn’t pause. He didn’t need to answer; the way he moved, the way he stayed, was the answer. Then…

“Fuck!” Oikawa gasped, arching up from the bed as Iwaizumi’s fingers brushed something deep and electric inside him. His breath caught in his throat, hands fisting the sheets as he tried to muffle his cry covering his mouth.

"Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck ?" Iwaizumi asked, his voice low as he stilled his fingers.

"A good fuck… " Oikawa managed to utter, his body trembling with a mixture of pleasure and surprise.

“Good,” Iwaizumi muttered, moving his fingers again, less graceful than he'd imagined, pressing them against the same spot he had just brushed before. Guided by Oikawa’s reactions, his quiet whimpers, every tremor and broken sound.

It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, uneven, human.

But Oikawa didn’t need perfect.

When Iwaizumi finally entered him, it wasn’t smooth. There was a sharp breath, a stuttered movement, and a pause where Oikawa hissed through his teeth.

“Shit—wait, wait,” Oikawa muttered, gripping at Iwaizumi’s arms, his legs tensing beneath him.

“I know, I know—sorry,” Iwaizumi said quickly, easing back a little. He hovered, unsure, one hand on Oikawa’s thigh, the other steadying himself on the mattress. “Too fast?”

“Yeah, just—ow,” Oikawa exhaled, wincing. “I didn’t stretch enough. Probably. I got distracted by your stupid face.”

Iwaizumi huffed, lowering his forehead against Oikawa’s shoulder with a muttered, “Your fault for being distracting in the first place.”

They fumbled through a few more awkward adjustments—knees bumping, breath catching, the headboard knocking softly against the wall—until finally, Iwaizumimanaged to push in slowly, carefully.

Oikawa gasped. His fingers tightened in the sheets, his body trembling beneath Iwaizumi’s. And then—suddenly—he shuddered hard and came.

Just like that.

“Oh, fuck —” Oikawa choked, his back arching as the orgasm hit him with no warning. His whole body shook with it, legs trembling, the release overwhelming.

Iwaizumi froze, stunned. “Wait. Did you…?”

Oikawa buried his face in the pillow and groaned. “ Don’t look at me, ” he mumbled, voice muffled, ears visibly red.

A disbelieving laugh escaped Iwaizumi’s throat. “You came from that?”

“You’re laughing at me, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa whined, breathless, his body arching beneath him.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi said, grinning as he kissed Oikawa’s damp forehead. “You’re a fucking mess, Tooru .”

“Shut up,” Oikawa whined, tugging the pillow half over his face. “I didn’t mean to, okay? It’s not—ugh.”

His arms reached up to pull Iwaizumi down into a messy, lingering kiss. His hands were still shaking where they clung to the back of Iwaizumi’s neck.

“It’s still… the best I’ve ever had,” he whispered against Iwaizumi’s skin, voice hoarse and honest. “Even if it was so embarrassing.”

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. He just kissed him again—slower this time, with less heat and more heart—and held him like he meant it.

It wasn’t smooth or perfect. Iwaizumi was rough—his hands gripped too tight, his mouth greedy and uncoordinated, more teeth than finesse. He bit at Oikawa’s shoulder, his neck, even the curve of his ribs, like he needed to leave proof he’d been there. His pace was inconsistent, too fast, too much, not always where it should’ve been—but Oikawa didn’t care. Every misstep sent another jolt through him. Every missed rhythm, every messy thrust, every sharp inhale made it more real.

Oikawa came undone with all of it—with the awkward grind of skin on skin, the slap of their bodies knocking into the sheets, the way Iwaizumi’s hand slipped on his hip from sweat. It was overwhelming, imperfect, and unfiltered.

Raw, messy, full of urgent need and genuine feeling. Iwaizumi wasn’t trying to be perfect—he was simply being himself: wanting, needing, loving.

And that was everything.

It was the best sex Oikawa had ever had—not for its flawlessness, but for its honesty. Messy, flawed, and finally, together.

Afterward, they collapsed onto Iwaizumi’s twin bed, which was definitely too small for two. Oikawa immediately flopped down with a dramatic groan.

“This bed’s a joke,” he complained, shifting to make more room.

“If you’re going to complain, you can go back to your place,” Iwaizumi grunted, already feeling the cramped space as Oikawa’s leg nudged his.

Oikawa panicked, scooting closer. “You wouldn’t send me home, would you?”

Iwaizumi snorted, but let his arm drape over Oikawa’s waist anyway, pulling him close despite the lack of space.

“Fine, shut up and you can stay.” he muttered, rolling his eyes. His fingers found Oikawa’s back, tracing slow, soothing circles. The tight space forced them even closer, bodies pressed together in a way that somehow felt just right.

“Next time, we are doing it at my place,” Oikawa mumbled sleepily.

“Sure, next time,” Iwaizumi grumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile as sleep claimed them both.

Oikawa’s phone buzzed with a familiar, annoyingly catchy ringtone. He reached over lazily, picking it up with a smile that practically beamed through his voice.

“Mattsun~!” Oikawa sing-songed his name, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Oikawa? You okay, man?” Matsukawa’s voice was cautious, tinged with concern. “Did he… you know, did he say no again?”

Before Oikawa could respond, Hanamaki’s voice chimed in from the background, “Yeah, we were worried. After what we told you he said, it was all or nothing. If he said no, we’re all screwed.”

Oikawa couldn’t help but laugh, his face flushed with happiness. “He said yes!” His voice practically sang the words.

“He did?” Matsukawa and Hanamaki said in unison, equally shocked.

“What? Why are you so surprised?” Oikawa pouted. “You guys really thought I had no chance? Then why did you make me come and beg him?”

“I mean, we were hoping for the best,” Hanamaki replied.

“It’s just… Iwaizumi can be pretty damn stubborn,” Matsukawa added.

“True,” Oikawa admitted.

“So, what happened?” Matsukawa asked.

“Yes! We want details!” Hanamaki chimed in, excited.

“You just want to hear about how I humiliated myself.” Oikawa grumbled, but he was too happy to really get mad. “I showed up, opened my heart, and it worked out.”

“Wait, are you still at Iwaizumi’s place?” Matsukawa asked.

“Yeah?” Oikawa said.

“Shit.” Hanamaki’s voice dropped. “Dude… did you guys fuck? FINALLY?!”

“Uh… yeah, we did.” Oikawa replied, a little confused.

“Put the camera on,” Hanamaki demanded, sounding way too amused.

“Makki!” Matsukawa tried to scold him, and Oikawa could hear them wrestling over the phone. He laughed and complied, switching on the camera.

The image that popped up showed Oikawa in complete disarray—his hair a tangled mess, his neck and chest covered in love bites and teeth marks, various shades of red and purple scattered across his skin like some kind of roadmap of what went down.

“Holy shit,” Hanamaki was the first to react, eyes wide. “You look like you got mauled.”

“Is that all from Iwaizumi?” Matsukawa leaned in, his brow furrowed. “He went that hard?”

“What?” Oikawa asked.

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” Matsukawa asked.

“No, Iwa-chan went to the bathroom first,” Oikawa said innocently.

Hanamaki was practically choking on his laughter. “Bro, you look thoroughly wrecked.”

Oikawa just grinned, clearly not embarrassed at all. “It was so good, you guys,” he said, his voice dreamy.

“Good?” Matsukawa raised an eyebrow. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

Hanamaki snorted. “Yeah, seriously. What happened to ‘gentle, romantic lovemaking’ and all that?”

Oikawa’s brows furrowed slightly. “Well… we’ve been pinning after each other for years. It was bound to get… intense.”

“So, how was it?” Hanamaki asked.

“Iwa-chan was kind of rough… like, more than I thought he’d be,” Oikawa replied, his smile widening. “Not that I’m complaining or anything! It was just… yeah, kind of rough, but in a nice way? Or maybe not nice, but, you know, good? I dunno. It was definitely something.”

“That sounds… bad,” Hanamaki said, tilting his head in disbelief. “You sure you're okay? Like, that doesn’t sound ‘good.’”

Matsukawa nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, man. You don’t sound like you’re describing a fun time.”

Oikawa pouted. “Why do I even tell you guys anything? Honestly, I loved it. Like, it was… I don’t know, just Hajime , you get me?”

Matsukawa rolled his eyes. “You’re so gone, man.”

“Completely whipped,” Hanamaki added with a smirk.

“What’s this about me being rough?” Iwaizumi’s voice cut through the conversation as he stepped into the room, a wet towel in hand, ready to help Oikawa clean up.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa jumped slightly, dropping the phone in the process.

“Who were you talking to?”

“O-our friends,” Oikawa stammered.

“Iwa-chan~!” Hanamaki and Matsukawa sang in unison, their voices dripping with playful annoyance over the phone.

“I heard you say I was too rough,” Iwaizumi said, his tone edged with irritation.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Oikawa protested, his voice rising in defense. “I loved it, Iwa-chan. Every bit.”

“Huh,” came a voice from the phone.

“We can see everything,” Hanamaki snickered.

“Yeah, uh… we’ll take that as our cue to hang up,” Matsukawa added quickly. “But seriously, we’re happy for you guys.”

“Nice cock Iwaizumi! Bye~!” Hanamaki chimed before the call abruptly ended.

Iwaizumi sank down on the edge of the bed with a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair, fingers tugging slightly at the strands like he was trying to wrestle the thoughts out of his head. He stared at the floor for a moment, jaw tight, tension radiating off him in quiet waves.

Oikawa watched him carefully from the other side of the bed, his smile faltering as he sat up and crawled closer. The air between them had shifted—just slightly—but enough for Oikawa to feel the need to fix it.

“I’m really sorry, Iwa-chan,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or weird or… anything like that.”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond right away. He exhaled through his nose and finally turned his head to look at him, eyes searching Oikawa’s face like he wasn’t sure he could trust the words. “Was I really that rough?” he asked quietly. There was no edge in his tone now—just something hesitant, almost self-conscious.

Oikawa blinked, then immediately scooted closer. “You weren’t too rough,” he said. “You were just… you. Honest. Intense. And yeah, maybe you don’t know your own strength, but I wasn’t scared or uncomfortable. Not even for a moment.”

Hajime’s frown softened, but only slightly.

“I liked it, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa continued, his voice gaining confidence, eyes shining with a mixture of mischief and tenderness. “Actually, I more than liked it. It was kind of amazing. Not because it was flawless or slow or choreographed or whatever—but because it was you. ”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Hajime’s cheek before adding, “You were biting and clumsy and completely relentless and… honestly? That might’ve been the hottest thing ever.”

Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed. “Clumsy?”

Oikawa grinned. “In the best possible way. You made me feel like you wanted me. And that was all I’ve ever really wanted.”

There was a long pause before Iwaizumi muttered, “Still feel like I should’ve been gentler.”

“And next time, maybe you will be,” Oikawa replied with a shrug. “Or not. I’ll take it either way.”

Finally, a smile tugged at the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth, and he shook his head. “You’re so weird.”

“You like it,” Oikawa said, smug.

“Shut up.”

A hint of relief crossed Hajime’s face. “If you’re feeling that smug, maybe you should come shower with me,” he said, voice low and dry, clearly inviting.

“Absolutely!” Oikawa chirped, then added with a playful grin, “And maybe this time, I can fuck you.”

Iwaizumi chuckled, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier frustration. “We’ll see about that,” he replied, not quite dismissing the idea.