#just remembered i never posted this. adlksfj

[marchivists]

not the place to fall in love: chapter one

read on ao3! [i didn’t format anything below the “keep reading”, so it’ll probably be easier to read on ao3]

Iwaizumi was stuck, perhaps perpetually, on level fifteen of Candy Crush.

Once, as a child, he’d dedicated an entire afternoon to climbing an unclimbable tree in his backyard. He’d grown quite a bit since then and a lot had changed, but the addicting taste of chasing a difficult victory bubbled in his stomach now just as it had under that tall tree so many years ago. The stakes were higher than they probably seemed from the outside; Iwaizumi’s honor waited at the finish line and his pride danced around the colorful screen, following his finger as it swiped left and right, up and down.

He’d had an audience that afternoon by the tree and he had the same one now. Oikawa leaned against Iwaizumi’s side, head resting on his shoulder. He seemed to understand how much rode on Iwaizumi’s performance; he oohed and aahed over each move, offering words of encouragement and advice which Iwaizumi would rather have done without.

Though Iwaizumi didn’t realize it in any way that he could express with words, a bubble of sorts had formed around the pair, as it often did when they were together. Passerbys skirted around it without consciously deciding to do so, as if they too understood on some unspeakable level that Oikawa and Iwaizumi, or more accurately, OikawaandIwaizumi, lived slightly apart from everyone else. Outside the borders of the bubble, the airport waiting area produced airport noises. Hidden speakers made booming announcements, feet clicked and clacked towards unknown destinations, babies voiced their dislike for the whole business of airports, and adults coughed and sniffed as they waited for time to pass and flights to arrive. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had claimed a corner of the airport waiting area, opting to relax picnic-style on the floor instead of in two of the many empty chairs nearby.

Iwaizumi made one final swipe before slumping against the wall in despair. You failed! flashed across his phone in bright colors.

“Ah well,” Oikawa sighed, giving Iwaizumi two pats on the shoulder. He slunk down too, crossing his legs and resting folded hands on his lap. “I’m pretty sure only old people are good at that game anyway.”

Iwaizumi glared. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, no. Just an observation. I can try again though if consolation is what you’re looking for.”

“Go for it.”

“Gimme a minute,” Oikawa looked up at the ceiling as though his thoughts were stuck to the plaster. “Alright. I’m pretty sure old people are terrible at Candy Crush.”

“I think you’re missing the point.”

“On the contrary, I’ve found the point. See, I’ve always suspected my Iwa-chan was secretly a grumpy old man in disguise,” he sighed dismissively, as though the thought was almost too disheartening to address. “I just wish you would have told me beforehand. Your tickets would have been so much cheaper.”

“I think sitting here has made you stupider than usual.” Iwaizumi elbowed his setter, and, ignoring Oikawa’s protests at being treated so unfairly, moved to put his phone in his pocket. He hoped the turn of his shoulder was enough to hide his blush at being called “my Iwa-chan,” or that, at the very least, Oikawa had lost at least fifty percent of his perceptive abilities after being trapped in an airport with no stimulation for so long.

Iwaizumi had always loved airports. They were big, loud, and full of hope and potential: the kind of place that, as a kid, you’d long to sprint through at full speed without consequences.

Oikawa had always hated them. Iwaizumi could see that hatred now that neither of them were distracted. It bled from the way Oikawa scanned the crowd of unfamiliar faces around them, the way his rigid shoulders and stone-statue-posture screamed I am untouchable. It was obviously convincing, as anyone searching for spaces to camp out on the floor scurried elsewhere when their eyes reached Oikawa’s proud, rigid form. The fear and hatred made Iwaizumi want to grab Oikawa’s hand, but for the moment he wasn’t sure if the untouchable part applied to best friends or not.

He checked his watch. They had an hour or so before their flight would be ready to board. Despite his aversion to the place, Oikawa had insisted on arriving unnaturally early, and Iwaizumi had complied with minimal complaint.

Oikawa mirrored Iwaizumi and glanced at his own watch. “Do you think we’ll be late?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Only if it takes us an hour to walk ten meters.”

Oikawa huffed. Iwaizumi took out his phone again.

For the next fifteen minutes, their bubble was uncharacteristically quiet. Iwaizumi resisted the urge to perform a victory dance after reaching level sixteen. An incoming text momentarily stopped him from lining up five purple gummies.

From: you know who it is

         iwa-chan~~

Iwaizumi swiped the notification away and watched with satisfaction as the five gummies disappeared. Level seventeen.

From: you know who it is

    i can see ur phone from here :3 congrats on leveling up, old man iwa-chan

Iwaizumi flipped Oikawa off without taking his eyes from his screen, missing the strained smile he received in return. There was more silence. Level eighteen, then one more. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. He reached level thirty before receiving another text.

From: you know who it is

            you know, there’s an 86% chance we’ll both die if the plane crashes

That got his attention. He turned to look at Oikawa, who sat scrolling through his phone, expression casual and bored, as though he’d run out of things to like on Instagram and was most definitely not worrying about dying in a plane crash.

Iwaizumi had prepared for this moment. Oikawa’s anxiety was a vigilant companion; it never took a day off and spent most of its time searching for something new to latch onto which it could then suck the rationality and safety out of. In the past, it had made the setter afraid of coughing fits, books with an odd number of pages, eating out in public places, opened drawers, and rooms with too many people in them. Comparatively, flying was an easy thing to demonize. To ward off any excess fear, Iwaizumi had scoured over research and data on plane safety, committing them to memory in case they were needed. He’d tried to put himself in Oikawa’s shoes, tried to image how anxiety would twist the safety of air travel into something horrible. He had imagined dramatic explosions, smoke pouring out of engines and catching flame. He had armed himself with information contradicting these imaginings, just in case Oikawa needed it. He opened his mouth to say something about how their chances of dying were one in seven million when his phone, practically forgotten in his hands, dinged again.

From: you know who it is

      maybe we should go home. lol

Iwaizumi put his phone away. He scooted away from the wall until they sat close together, knees touching. He poked the setter’s leg. “Oikawa.”

Oikawa continued staring down at his phone.

Iwaizumi sighed. “Tell me the stats for getting into your school. For getting into the volleyball program there.”

Oikawa shrugged dismissively, like someone who hates bragging but can’t tell the truth without unwittingly doing so. The movement made Iwaizumi want to headbutt him.

“Only three percent of the applicants get in, remember? Three percent.”

“I know that.”

“Then tell me, why should we go home when our chances of dying are dozens of decimal points below that percentage?”

Oikawa looked up and his eyes were wide with questions he probably didn’t want answered.

Aren’t you scared, too? Yes, Iwaizumi wanted to respond, but not of the same things you are.

What if they just send me back? What’s the point?

Iwaizumi’s own eyes were impenetrable and knowing. He stared back, hoping he managed to get his own silent message across. You are amazing. You deserve this chance.

A few long seconds passed before Oikawa broke their staring contest, eyes jumping over stranger’s faces, presumably to see if anyone had noticed his sudden break in character. “I suppose I can endure the devastatingly long flight. Even though it will be practically unbearable sitting next to a brute like yourself.”

“Good.” Iwaizumi cleared his throat and moved back to his original spot. He looked Oikawa over, relaxing at the way his posture was no longer screaming as much as it was talking. The setter waved to a baby sitting with its mother a few feet away and earned tiny smiles from both parties in return, mother and child hopelessly charmed by his easy smile and fluid movements.

Iwaizumi was charmed, too, and had always been. He was amazed by Oikawa’s ability to quickly recover from anything, to go from scrambling to find purchase in reality to storming forward with quick, confident steps. For the second time that day Iwaizumi felt the urge to take his hand.

He stopped himself, running his hand through his hair to chase the feeling away. He’d sworn to himself, and to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, that he would not come back to Japan without confessing someway, somehow. A crowded airport didn’t seem like the proper place and right before a fifteen-hour flight didn’t seem like the right time.

He didn’t expect the feelings to be reciprocated. They’d been best friends for so long that it almost felt impossible to make the trek from platonic intimacy to the romantic kinds without falling off the edge somewhere in-between. Besides, Oikawa had received so many confessions from so many people, each much better than Iwaizumi in every respect. And he had rejected each one with a sad, polite smile and a few empathetic words of kindness. It’s the moments after that Iwaizumi feared the most, the switch from being someone Oikawa didn’t have to handle with intentional delicacy to someone on the receiving end of pity and a false smile. The gap the truth might create between them, the spacing out of OikawaandIwaizumi, made him want to run home and crawl between the sheets of his bed and never come out again. But, Iwaizumi Hajime hated cowards and liars more than most anything and he had felt like both for far too long. In a way, he imagined spilling his feelings would work like a sort of redemption. He could reclaim his dignity, live without fear, and push Oikawa Tooru away forever. He hoped to minimize the force and longevity of the last part with distance and time; perhaps, with thousands of miles between them, Iwaizumi could move on or Oikawa could learn to live and forget and things would return to normal. Maybe. Hopefully. Whatever the outcome, Iwaizumi would not let Oikawa go without telling him everything. As long as he didn’t have to sit next to his rejector for fifteen miserable hours, everything would be fine. Probably.

Minutes ticked by in comfortable silence and Iwaizumi reached level thirty-one. Oikawa stood, stretched, and announced his decision to mark the momentous occasion with a trip to the bathroom.

Iwaizumi slid a red jellybean to the right. “I’ll watch our stuff.”

“No, no,” Oikawa hummed, pulling Iwaizumi’s phone from his hands and putting it in the pocket of his jeans. “You have to come with me, Iwa-chan. It’s boring doing it alone.”

“Do you think you could sound more perverted if you tried?”

Oikawa stuck out his tongue. “So immature,” he held out a hand to pull Iwaizumi up and dragged him over to the woman with the baby. “Excuse me, do you mind watching our stuff for a moment?”

The woman assured them she could and the baby babbled pleasantly in agreement.

For reasons only his heart could explain, Iwaizumi allowed himself to be pulled across the airport into the bathroom. He only half listened to Oikawa’s chatter as they went, hearing bits and pieces about the memes Hanamaki kept sending him, and doesn’t that lady right there look ridiculous in those clown shoes? Iwaizumi focused most of his attention on the firm warmth of Oikawa’s hand in his own, the way stranger’s eyes glanced over them and flashed with assumptions Iwaizumi could only wish were true. And then, too suddenly for Iwaizumi to keep up with, Oikawa stopped moving.

Iwaizumi collided into him with a grunt. He moved to get a good look at Oikawa’s face, scold and insult primed on the tip of his tongue, just to balk at the painful grimace he found there. He followed Oikawa’s shell-shocked gaze to see Ushijima Wakatoshi standing in front of one of the urinals, doing what one does in a bathroom. His gaze was firmly settled downwards and their entranced hadn’t seemed to break his concentration. Iwaizumi blinked a few times to prove his eyes were really seeing what they said they were before turning to try to share a silent conversation with Oikawa, to ask what the hell? and set up a game plan.

Should they confront him, tease the shit out of him (no pun intended)? Should they walk out and go about their day, knowing that, at any moment, they could run into the second most repulsive person on the planet? Should they pull down his pants and leave him stranded, alone in the bright white airport bathroom? But Oikawa was staring at Ushijima and seemed too busy having a silent conversation with himself to worry about Iwaizumi.

The next few seconds moved like solidified grease making its way into the trash: very slowly, with moments of gag inducing repulsion and general disgust. Finally, Ushijima zipped up his pants. Oikawa tensed, squeezing Iwaizumi’s wrist. He was trying to communicate something, surely, but Iwaizumi wasn’t given enough time to decipher the message before Oikawa flew into action, turning around sharply. Iwaizumi stumbled over his feet, shoes squeaking as Oikawa practically pulled him out of the door. Oikawa flipped the light switch just as they hit the exit and the bathroom flooded with black.

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi hissed as the door closed behind him, leaving Ushijima trapped in the dark.

Oikawa continued to pull him forward, heading in the direction of their belongings. His voice was hoarse with nerves and conspiracy. “What the fuck, Iwa-chan?”

There had existed an unspoken truth between them that the airport represented a doorway to another universe. When they’d bought their plane tickets and printed boarding passes, they’d solidified the plan to leave their old world behind in favor of something new and unknown. When they’d stepped foot in the airport, they’d left the past waiting at the doorway. And when they finally boarded the plane, the world they’d shared together for so long would disappear like leaves scattering in the wind. Despite the existence of this truth, a piece of their past seemed to have crossed the threshold with them. And it was not a piece either of them would have chosen to pack in their carry-ons.

They arrived back at their luggage in record time. Oikawa sat up their suitcases, forming a barrier between them and the rest of the airport. He squatted behind it, only the top of his head visible as he scanned the waiting area. Iwaizumi joined him just as Ushijima walked out of the bathroom.

“He’s hideous,” Oikawa whispered. Iwaizumi nodded in agreement. They watched with horror as Ushijima made his way towards them, closer and closer to the bubble they’d created.

“Holy shit,” Oikawa wheezed. The shocking boyish-ness of the sound pulled all the dramatic tension from the air. Oikawa’s eyes shone with delight and repulsion. “Iwa-chan, oh my god. Look, look! He’s wearing crocs.”

Iwaizumi looked and saw that it was so. The shoes, bright purple, looked out of place in the stainless-steel backdrop of the airport.

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi breathed. Oikawa couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stop wheezing, and Iwaizumi felt compelled to cover the setter’s mouth with his hands as Ushijima sat in a seat only feet away from their hiding spot. Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa and Oikawa, trapped in place behind Iwaizumi’s hands, was forced to stare back.

“What do we do?” Iwaizumi whispered. Oikawa shrugged. “He’s right there.”

Oikawa made some muffled attempts at forming words behind Iwaizumi’s hand before Iwaizumi set him free. “We could go get some plastic knives from the cafeteria. There are plenty of places to hide a body in an airport. Probably.”

“You’re a really shitty guy, you know that right?,” Iwaizumi chastised, voice slipping from a whisper back to it’s normal volume. Oikawa, returning the favor from earlier, used both hands to cover Iwaizumi’s mouth with a loud shush! Iwaizumi licked them in retaliation. Oikawa screeched as he pulled his hands back to furiously wipe them on his pants.

The arrival of a third party popped the bubble. Ushijima’s form towered over them. “Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa shared a look. Yikes.

“Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa replied, voice cool and detached. Teenage, boyish, silly Oikawa had waved sayonara and disappeared in half a second, leaving confident, collected, not-a-genius Oikawa in his place. He did not dignify Ushijima’s arrival by getting up, but instead fell back on his hands and looked up, like a beachgoer relaxing in the sand and staring with distaste at the hot sky above. He waited in silence, inviting Ushijima to continue.

Ushijima looked between the pair for a moment before clearing his throat. “I would refrain from using the restroom. The lights do not work.”

“Or maybe you just really suck at going to the bathroom,” Oikawa sneered, voice laced with so much poison it almost seemed as though he was wielding a dagger instead of a flimsy, pitiful excuse of an insult.

Ushijima stared. “I don’t think that is the case.”

For another long, uncomfortable eternity, the three shared the same air in dumb silence. To Iwaizumi, it seemed like Oikawa was drawing Ushijima into a silent dueling match and was waiting for his opponent to make the next move. It also seemed like Ushijima had no clue he was a participant in any kind of match, nor that there was a need to host one in the first place. When enough time had passed for Iwaizumi’s legs to start cramping, Ushijima nodded a sudden goodbye and left.

The pair sat in stunned quiet for a moment before Iwaizumi looked Oikawa over and rolled his eyes. “Real smooth, captain.”

Oikawa sucked in a breath of fast, disapproving air. “I pity the person,” he started, standing up and offering Iwaizumi his hand. His posture screamed I am a weapon. Do not touch. “who has to sit next to that on a plane.”

Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa’s hand without question. “And you thought you had it rough sitting next to me.”

#just remembered i never posted this. adlksfj #iwaoi #ushiiwaoi #haikyuu!! #oikawa #iwaizumi #ushijima #hq!! #mine #mads fics