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It was rarely quiet around Oikawa Tooru.
He was often humming – a different tune for each mood, each task. His humming came with the tap of a finger or foot, and often turned thoughtful when a problem was placed in front of him. If he wasn’t humming, he was surrounded by people – classmates, family, friends, teammates, fan club members. Each one of them came with their own distinct Oikawa with his own distinctive noises. Volleyballer Oikawa Tooru was always the quietest, but he created a symphony with his plays and knew exactly when and where to talk to his teammates. Oikawa was the grand conductor in the symphony of his life, and the orchestra always seemed to fall into place.
Iwaizumi knew this better than anyone.
After all, he was more often than not with Oikawa. Whether it be the forced proximity of their youth, or lifelong volleyball partnership, Iwaizumi was right there beside Oikawa. If Oikawa was the grandstanding conductor, Iwaizumi was his baton.
Iwaizumi was also privy to the moments of silence. The deep breath before the music roared to life. These moments were always small, intimate, and took Iwaizumi’s breath from him. It was when Oikawa underperformed on an exam, or landed on his knee funny and wobbled under his own wait, or when Oikawa was driven into such pits of insecurity that he shut himself off from everything, everyone – even Iwaizumi. Sometimes when that happens, Iwaizumi is beating the baton over Oikawa’s head – and the noise comes back to life in protests and whimpers.
Iwaizumi claimed the noise irritated him, but it was how he knew Oikawa was okay.
There were rare moments, though, like this, where the quiet was comfortable. It was normal, and he knew Oikawa was going to be okay.
The sun peeked over the horizon into Iwaizumi’s bedroom, seeping through his curtains. Iwaizumi’s alarm was set for six o’clock, but he always ended up waking up ten minutes before it anyway. The light pulled Iwaizumi’s eyes open, and his deep breath greeted the morning. While this was normally a solitary moment, filled with reflection and calm, the weight around Iwaizumi’s waist and legs told him that wasn’t likely today.
Iwaizumi shifted his head slightly, feeling the brush of Oikawa’s soft hair against his chin. He smelled clean – not particularly of anything, but of soap and freshly dried linen against Iwaizumi’s skin. Oikawa’s nose pressed into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, with the tiny breaths of air rhythmically caressing Iwaizumi’s skin. An arm draped over Iwaizumi’s stomach, lazy and long and delicate against the light, leaving a loose hand hanging over him. Right below it, Oikawa’s knee curled against Iwaizumi’s legs, craving the warmth of the other boy. His linen pant legs hiked up his thigh, leaving the silky skin out just in Iwaizumi’s grasp.
Oikawa’s face was nestled against Iwaizumi’s arm. The soft lids remained still, his lashes creating curtains on his under eyes. Iwaizumi’s mouth curved into a soft smile as Oikawa’s nose twitched, bunching like a rabbit. He still does that, huh? After all these years, the change in temperature still left him sensitive – even when he was sleeping. Iwaizumi tilted his head towards Oikawa, resting it against Oikawa’s curls. Even when sleeping, they still managed to stay vaguely in shape, even if they were spread out against the pillow.
Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa’s chest moving up and down with each of his breaths. He kept in rhythm with it, the slow in and out grounding Iwaizumi to this very moment in time. This was his best friend. This is the one person he has spent his whole life with, and wouldn’t mind spending forever with. This is the person that Iwaizumi knows better than himself. The person who Iwaizumi would stick his neck out for without even thinking, jump to defend without a thought, to protect over all others. This is the person who he has trusted with everything, every single thing.
This is the person that Iwaizumi wants to spend the rest of his life with.
Without thinking, Iwaizumi began tracing lines against Oikawa’s arm, swirling constellations into Oikawa’s freckles. Each connection was a breath, each freckle a beat of Iwaizumi’s heart. He loves him. He loves Oikawa. Even after seeing Oikawa as a snotty child, covered in scrapes and bruises and squealing at spiders, even after seeing Oikawa sobbing as he clutched his swollen knee, even after seeing Oikawa kiss the pretty girls who confess to him. Even after all this, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but love Oikawa. His best friend.
Oikawa hummed, and Iwaizumi stiffened. “Iwa-chan?” he mumbled, voice gravelly and full of sleep. Brown curls nudged closer to Iwaizumi, craving his warmth. Iwaizumi lifted his hand away from Oikawa’s arm, knowing that the boy would be waking up shortly. There was only a minute until his alarm, anyway.
“Hm?” Iwaizumi asked, noncommittal. He didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t trust it not to ruin the serenity, the quiet moment between the two of them that could never be taken from them.
“You’re my favourite,” Oikawa whispered, his lips against Iwaizumi’s arm. Each syllable created a flutter in Iwaizumi’s chest. Then his stomach. Iwaizumi closed his eyes, willing it to stay there, but Oikawa said, “Am I your favourite too?”
Iwaizumi turned his head again, opening his eyes to see Oikawa’s brown staring directly at him. He was delirious with sleep, but something in Oikawa’s eyes made him falter.
“Dumbass—”
“Iwa-chan—”
“—Of course, you are. I couldn’t let someone else suffer through that,” Iwaizumi said, then bit his lip. Oikawa was still staring. “You’ll always be my favourite.”
Oikawa nuzzled closer.
Iwaizumi was so fucked.