Archive of Our Own

-

Sawamura stands tall and resolute, keeps his gaze trained on the Minato skyline, face angled to the skies like a mountain’s peak taking in the faint morning glow. The early light hits him, just enough to dust his cheekbones with smudges of charcoal shadows. His mouth is painted upwards, a quick upturn flick of ink, unsteady brush not quite sure about the smile they wanted to give him.

“You’re an early riser.”

“I could say the same about you.” Sawamura fires back without so much as a glance, eyelids shutting slowly, lips curling up and up like long swipes of calligraphy.

Sawamura’s smile in the morning is a word of perfectly written characters, contentment spelled out on the tan parchment of his skin. When he tilts his head back with a sigh, the sea of clouds above them gives way--sunlight spilling through to speckle Sawamura in patches of gold.

The contentment swirls wider, dimpling one of his cheeks as his eyes open, bistre melting into honeyed chocolate under the hot touch of a sunbeam.

Iwaizumi steps out on to the small balcony, cold stone tingling against his bare feet. Sawamura watches him from the corner of his eyes, that same honeyed chocolate flickering away with the return of the blanket of clouds from above. One by one the spots of sunlight fade from Sawamura’s skin, and Iwaizumi is left to meet two dark orbs of foreign bistre once the other boy turns to face him, gaze as alien as it is reassuring.

“Good morning, Iwaizumi.” Sawamura greets with a nod of his head, smile dimming softly in a rare moment of unsureness.

Iwaizumi feels his brows rise, mouth wrangling into a lopsided quirk of the lips. Slightly disbelieving, and unfoundedly charmed.

His fingers are in his hair, carding through tangles before he scratches lightly to fill the silence, “So formal, Sawamura.”

He lets his hand slide down, folding his arms and returning a nod of his own. “Morning.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze drops from Sawamura’s eyes to the short, ink black mat planted underneath the other boy’s feet. He raises a foot to prod it gently with his toes, digging them into the squishy texture of it.

Sawamura reacts by wiggling all his toes on his space of the mat, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as Iwaizumi catches one of his hands move up to the back of his neck.

“I like to do yoga in the mornings.” There’s a shift in his smile once Iwaizumi drags his eyes back up to it, contentment painted over with sheepishness at the confession.

Iwaizumi prods the mat one more time before moving back to lean against the high balcony railing behind him. He offers another lopsided smile, secretly proud at how it washes away Sawamura’s expression and returning it into something more relaxed.

“Personally I prefer a round of dancer’s stretches over yoga stretches,” He looks out over the railing, the Shibaura canal reflecting the slow roll of clouds in the sky, “My ba-chan taught me until I was fourteen.”

A volley for a volley, a stretch for a stretch, Iwaizumi figures. Sawamura seems pleasantly surprised at the piece of information Iwaizumi offers him in return. The cloud cover thins again, spotlights of warmth splashing across their balcony. Iwaizumi stretches his hand across the railing, unfurling his fingers to catch a sunbeam in his palm.

There’s a feathering warmth along his skin there, but it’s infinitely hollow compared to the burning kiss of a volleyball spiked against his hand.

“Why’d you stop?” Sawamura asks, sliding his foot under a beam of sunlight streaming down onto his yoga mat, wiggling his toes at the heat of it.

Iwaizumi tries to shrug, but it feels odd with him still leaning against the railing, so he stops and dips his head back to stare at the fluffy clouds above them. “She couldn’t teach me anymore.”

Sawamura sucks in a sharp intake of breath, “I’m so sorry. I--”

“Oh my god, Sawamura,” Iwaizumi’s head snaps back up to meet his regretful gaze, choking back a laugh, “She didn’t die. She moved to Hawaii.”

Iwaizumi feels a grin splintering his face, cracking over his cheeks and glittering under a stray sunbeam perching over his mouth. “Ba-chan danced professionally, but her first love was always surfing.”

He has to puff up at that, feeling so bloated with pride he has to push himself off the balcony railing to balance it all, hands on his hips the way he practiced since he was seven.

“Oh, god,” Sawamura slaps a hand over his mouth and lets out a string of laughter, dragging it up over his eyes as a flush chases close behind, “Ok, now I really am sorry.”

Iwaizumi chuckles lightly, making sure Sawamura’s eyes peek between his fingers before he waves him off. “Forget about it. That old lady’s too stubborn to die.”

Sawamura slides his fingers up into his hair, ruffling it before giving a smile. It’s steady and warm, much like the boy himself. Nothing like--

It makes Iwaizumi miss perfectly styled hair and chestnut brown eyes, grin underneath a puzzle he’s learned to piece together again and again, no matter the shape.

“Wanna join me?” Sawamura says with more sunlight spilling over his earnest expression. He taps the mat with his foot for emphasis, tilting his head in a way that reminds Iwaizumi of a dog.

Iwaizumi smirks at him challengingly, the energy in it smoothing Sawamura’s features into wariness.

“How about my stretches against your stretches?” Iwaizumi steps on to the mat, eyeing the railing to their left calculatingly, shaking his muscles loose.

“Oh?” Sawamura hums, curiosity and confidence bubbling like a warm brew of coffee in his eyes.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, teeth flashing his canines with a dangerous grin, “We’ll each give each other a move to do, first one to mess up loses.”

Sawamura seems to loom, shoulders set and face serious, but the quirk of his eyebrow drags something playful over him, “And the prize?”

“Winner gets to use the hot water.” Iwaizumi declares ruthlessly.

For a moment, faced with Sawamura’s silence and stillness, Iwaizumi thinks his opponent is going to back out, a possibility he finds highly disappointing. But Sawamura knocks that option away with a smirk of his own, jaw clenching and eyes squinting with a spark of surety.

“Hope you like your showers cold.”

Iwaizumi throws his head back, laughing delightedly. Sawamura just raises his eyebrows in challenge.

“I think that’s my line.” He murmurs, turning left to face the railing and the canal past it.

Sawamura looks ready for anything, which makes Iwaizumi bark out another laugh before he moves on the mat, whipping his leg up in front of him and placing his foot over the railing, leaning forward effortlessly and stretching the muscles taut with another smirk that catches the morning sun.

Iwaizumi rests a folded arm on his outstretched leg, raising his hand up and leaning a cheek over his knuckles. He regards Sawamura calmly, eyebrows raising in amusement at his widened eyes and slightly agape mouth, “Do your best.”

-

They exist before their third year’s Inter High and Spring Tournament, that fact is only natural.

Iwaizumi, rooted and sprawling in strength and wisdom, fresh talent and endless possibilities twining at the forefront of his vision.

Sawamura, relentless and enduring at the precipice of his passions, molting countless days of waiting, of hoping, of surviving.

There is no connection between them.

Aoba Johsai is lush and vibrant with victory, crowns blooming overhead, swords and shields sprouting left and right. They are thriving.

Karasuno is feathered in shadows, flecks of rusting gold barely glinting, salvaged from an old giant’s spoils. They are falling.

There is no connection between them.

Third year comes, quick and without warning.

They stand on the same court twice, net a flimsy barrier between their hunger to conquer.

There, slow and without mercy--

Iwaizumi finds a question: What kind of ace am I?

His team finds him an answer.

Hands warm and loyal on his back, familiar strength thrumming along their fingertips, empty of victory, flicking away regret. They trade their tears for ramen, wilting but tangled together.

Sawamura finds a promise: The Orange Court.

A long forgotten road, Tokyo’s sky tree gleaming like the sun, the purr of a feline. The flutter of wings taking flight and the sky spreading wide.

Their match over, the court abandoned, life goes on.

Once again, there is no connection between them.

But then, later, just before the sakura petals fall, before new seeds are planted and new eggs are hatched, there is a letter.

Formal, urgent, etched with the insignia of one of Tokyo’s finest.

Dull and recycled congratulations weaving together the same clear message, different surnames riding off of the coattails of the greeting.

Iwaizumi Hajime, accepted student with full scholarship to the Medical Engineering program of Keio University, Tokyo.

Sawamura Daichi, accepted student with partial scholarship to the Architectural program of Keio University, Tokyo.

Finally, there, letters printed in crisp ink on expensive paper--

A connection.

-

Living in Tokyo is expensive. Studying there, even more so.

Daichi isn’t made of money, not even a little. He’s made up of sweat, volleyball, relentless optimism, and a bit of his grandfather’s shoyu ramen. His mother runs an auto repair next to their home, his father is in line to take over their small ramen shop downstairs. They are two people, no, three if Daichi counts his grandfather and his crooked smile. They are three people worth a million championships and high school diplomas. But they earn just enough for a modest living.

They all save money. Coins and bills, bonuses and heavy tips. Prize money from middle school and elementary essay contests. Leftover allowance that escapes the clutches of after practice pork bun orders. They save, and save, and save, but it’s not enough to pay for Daichi’s supposed future.

Which is why he feels relief flicker up in his lungs, breath leaving his lips like the soothing steam from an onsen, when a letter arrives in the mail for him.

He gets into Keio University, partial scholarship tied to the missive like a first place ribbon.

Daichi flies down the small set of stairs leading to their ramen shop’s kitchen, barefoot and pajama-clad, whooping and yelling in fevered glee to the employees, shaking and slapping at them before stumbling up to his grandfather.

He’s hovering next to a pot of broth, regal in the shop’s uniform and apron, watching Daichi jump up and down like a bolt of lightning wearing his late wife’s smile.

“Half!” Daichi blurts out at him, clutching the old, corded muscle of his arms, “Half, jii-chan!”

His grandfather laughs and builds that crooked smile of his, cradling Daichi’s face and squeezing his cheeks out of fondness, “What are you shouting about now, Dai-chan?”

Daichi stills, giddiness stewing in his chest and flurrying up to his mouth, grin almost painful as he calms himself to explain.

He slides the letter in his hand from his grandfather’s shoulder to his chest, pressing it against him firmly, “We only have to pay for half.”

Daichi feels his smile wobble, voice cracking, “I got in. I got the scholarship.”

Suddenly it’s contagious, his grandfather’s voice cracks as well, his wise serene eyes widen to show the hue of hazelnut in them, and he clutches the letter still in Daichi’s hand, settled over his heart.

“You got in?” He demands, voice rising as he tugs the boy against him, jumping up and down with him this time, the scent of broth and buckwheat dough spiking sharp in his nose as he inhales and exhales, pride sighing out of him.

“I got in!” Daichi sobs into his shoulder, relieved beyond belief.

His grandfather rests his chin in his hair, eyeing the employees beaming and laughing at them.

He levels the three of them with a quiet stare, squeezing Daichi to him even tighter.

“Are you all asleep? Didn’t you hear?” He barks at them with a gruff chuckle, “ Dai-chan got into Keio! Where are your damn hands?”

They laugh, one of the chefs hoots, and then suddenly there’s a round of clapping filling the small kitchen loud enough that it kindly masks Daichi hiccuping against his grandfather’s ramen-scented apron.

He’s going to Tokyo.

-

Living in Tokyo is difficult. Studying there, even more so.

Hajime is familiar with difficult, has practically held its hand since the day the world decided that easy was boring. He doesn’t particularly like difficult, shaking the sticky fingers from his grasp to wipe against his shorts as often as he can. But he respects the existence of it, understands that what lies ahead of it, or what trudges along beside it holding its other hand, is something valuable.

Oikawa, beneath layers of deceptive stardust and genuine sunflares, is also familiar with difficult.

But, unlike Hajime, Oikawa is more often kind to difficult. Gripping its hand and lacing fingers with it tightly. Fear overriding his ability to pull away.

Difficulty is attracted to brilliance, and Oikawa is, without a speck of doubt in Hajime’s soul, brilliant as a white giant.

Tokyo is blinding in brilliance, lights twinkling from every corner like the country’s private galaxy.

Hajime considers himself strong rather than brilliant. Dauntless in the face of adversity, a religiously steady orbit of asteroids shadowed by the twinkling star systems dancing across the universe. In Tokyo, he imagines that there is a high likelihood of someone like him fading into a black hole, far removed from the brilliant and the bright.

But he has dreams that stand brilliant and bright all on their own, invisible constellations he can trace with his fingers like a promise of friendship carved into an old volleyball.

Hajime is strong, his dreams and determination stronger. But when he flicks past the morning paper and a cookingware catalogue addressed to his father, his legs feel weak as his eyes catch the undeniable print of characters that spell his name, drilled onto a thin, white envelope that suddenly feels too heavy to hold.

He stands there, shirtless and in a pair of sweatpants that hang worn around his hips, breath caught in his throat, oxygen replaced by dread.

His hands, able to break Dateko’s Iron Walls and crush Oikawa’s ‘Not Enoughs’, tremble and drop the rest of the mail.

Hajime leans back against the front door, jaw clenching as he tears the letter open.

His eyes trace over the words slowly at first, air hissing out past his teeth as his speed increases, breathing hastening as he passes another sentence. And another. And another. And then--

The words run out. The letter ends.

Hajime lets his head fall back to knock against the wood of the door. He scrunches his eyes closed, heel of his hand digging into one, palm crumpling the letter in still trembling fingers, curling into a tight fist that he raises up, and up, and up--

--and pumps it down in one fluid motion.

He charges up the tall steps of their staircase, barrelling through the hallway and slamming the door to his bedroom open.

Oikawa startles from his futon, sits up in a mess of blankets and Hajime’s stolen pillows. “Iwa-cha--”

Hajime’s face wakes Oikawa further, eyes wide and ecstatic, mouth slightly open and face flushed.

They stare at each other, silence blanketing them like old collapsed forts made of glow in the dark sheets.

Hajime doesn’t say anything, can’t. Raises his clenched fist where the crumpled wings of a letter wheeze in his grasp.

Oikawa zeroes in on the sliver of white, scrambling to his feet and face lighting up, bright and brilliant like a star.

He looks like he’s about to hyperventilate, mouth ready to open and screech, but he doesn’t get a chance, Hajime whipping the blanket of silence off of them faster, yelling at the top of his lungs and running straight at his friend with a wild, open mouthed grin.

“TOKYOOOOOOOO!” He roars to the heavens, waking his parents, and probably the neighbors.

Oikawa parrots him, screaming and howling, catching Hajime as his legs wrap around the taller boy’s torso. He clutches Hajime’s back, shakes him and screams some more, hopping around the room blindly as Hajime raises his crumpled acceptance letter up in the air, fist pumping up with a victorious battle cry.

Hajime presses his arm over his eyes, corners damp as his screaming tapers off, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Oikawa has his face pressed into Hajime’s stomach, tears of relief hot against his skin.

“Thank god, Iwa-chan, thank god,” Oikawa breathes, crying against him, movements halting on top of Hajime’s made bed.

Hajime chokes out a sob, face flushed, flapping his letter in the air dismissively, “Who the fuck told you you could stop jumping, Shittykawa?”

Oikawa laughs, wet and pathetic. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Hajime removes his arm from his face and tugs at Oikawa’s messy hair, “And stop crying on me, it’s gross.”

Oikawa doesn’t listen, pressing closer and rubbing his snot all over Hajime’s stomach. “We’re going to Tokyo.” He sobs.

He’s going to Tokyo.

-

“Are you sure you can’t, Suga?” Daichi pleads, resting his cheek against the table and looking up at him desperately.

Suga sighs and cuts off Daichi’s attempted puppy dog eyes by whipping open his menu, nudging him gently as a form of apology, “You know I can’t.”

“Do I?” Daichi laments as he sits up to look down at his own menu.

Suga hits him on the head with his open menu, “Don’t be a brat. You’re not the only one with relatives who have places to rent. I already said yes to my cousin and it’s closer to Hattori. You know how long it takes me to get up.”

Daichi groans into his hands, “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

Suga replaces the menu with his hand and pets Daichi on the head soothingly. “There, There, Daichi. You’ll figure something out.”

Across from them, Asahi laughs and moves to pour tea for Shimizu next to him, hand poised and graceful as the liquid trickles down into the pale ceramic cup.

“How about you, Shimizu? Do you have a place to live?” Asahi tries, switching to Suga’s cup and concentrating on pouring as he continues, “Maybe you could be roommates with Daichi.”

At the mention of Shimizu rooming with anyone male, Tanaka and Nishinoya peer over their own menus a few seats further down the benches of their long table.

“Did you hear that, Noya-san?” Tanaka drawls out with exaggerated shock.

Nishinoya matches his pitch, eyes flashing, “I certainly did, Ryu.”

They both begin to stare in an odd mixture of menace and politeness, expression flickering in between them, unsure how to approach their captain being a threat to their manager.

They don’t struggle for long, Daichi and Shimizu slowly lending cold, chilling gazes at the two of them, eyes unflinching and mouths precise in a firm line.

Asahi spills some of the tea, hand shaking as he draws back, amending himself quickly. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

Suga glances between them warily, subtly edging himself closer to Ennoshita on his other side, “Putting you two together is probably a dangerous idea.”

Shimizu’s lips quirk up into a small smile, nodding once curtly, “Probably.” She eyes Daichi in a rare moment of playfulness, raising her hand up over the table.

Daichi blinks before comprehension dawns on him, smiling brightly and pressing their hands together. “Yay team icy glare.” He jokes with a laugh.

Shimizu lets out a huff, humoring him, “Yay.”

They pull away after, Tanaka and Nishinoya staring at the space where their high five occurred enviously, pressing their own hands against each other’s.

“Daichi-san is too cool, Noya-san.” Tanaka murmurs faintly.

“I’m ready to drown my sorrows in five helpings of chahan!” Nishinoya sobs out into his menu, hand shooting up to call a waitress over.

Ennoshita slaps his hand down and pinches his ear, “Hey, you can’t just call the waitress over when everyone else is still deciding their orders, idiot.”

Narita shakes his head at Nishinoya from beside Tanaka, chastising him with a click of his tongue, “Don’t be a selfish senpai. The first year’s are still overwhelmed by the menu.”

Their entire side of the table turns to look at the other end, eyes glazing over with resignation at Kinoshita exasperatedly comforting Yachi over not being able to decide between four side dishes. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi seem to be having a quiet discussion over the drinks menu, the taller of the two disinterestedly gazing at the restaurant wall but murmuring out replies, the shorter sighing at the menu in indecision. Hinata and Kageyama are at the end of the table, across from each other and kicking each other under the table, spitting increasing spiciness levels back and forth like declarations of war.

“I sort of feel like we abandoned Kinoshita over there.” Asahi confesses before he goes back to pouring tea, leaning forward to fill Daichi’s cup while sighing.

Ennoshita leans a cheek against his hand, waving away Asahi’s concern before slapping Tanaka’s hand away from the jar of pickled daikon in front of him, “He’s a strong guy. He can endure.”

“May he rest in peace.” Narita nods solemnly, thwacking the back of Tanaka’s head when his hand wanders in the direction of the other jar of pickled daikon further down the table.

Suga glances between them wearily, “You two sure are supportive friends, aren’t you?”

Ennoshita and Narita share a knowing look before shrugging graciously at him, Ennoshita wrapping Nishinoya in a headlock to pull him back as Narita confiscates the smuggled jar of pickled daikon he’d been trying to sneak towards Tanaka’s defeated figure.

“Ryu,” He wheezes dramatically, clutching for him across the table, or for air, possibly, “I’ve failed you!”

Tanaka slumps over and shakes his head, wiping away fake tears before sliding his cup nearer to Asahi for tea, “No, no. You’d never, Noya-san.”

Asahi raises his eyebrows disbelievingly, huffing out a laugh as he slides the filled cup back to Tanaka, “You guys don’t even like pickled daikon.”

Nishinoya grins, resting a cheek on Ennoshita’’s bicep, “Nope. But they’re great for catapulting into--”

Tanaka and Nishinoya’s eyes slide to Daichi’s haunting figure, head tilted to regard them grimly, hum rumbling out of him, urging Nishinoya to continue.

“They’re delicious.” Nishinoya and Tanaka both chirp out weakly, settling back in their seats.

Nishinoya elbows Ennoshita in the gut gently, getting him to release his arm so he can sulk properly, nestling his head behind his folded arms and peering at Asahi for some sort of solace.

Asahi blinks as he places the teapot back on the small candlelit burner, waving shyly at the second year before looking down at his menu.

Daichi and Suga stare at their friend blankly.

“Are you kidding me?” Suga mumbles between sips of tea.

Daichi sighs tiredly, pressing his fingers against his cheeks and leaning his elbows on the table. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to move in with me and split rent, Asahi?”

Asahi winces, apology radiating from his wide, clear eyes, “Sorry, Daichi..”

Daichi huffs out a defeated laugh, sliding his fingers over his eyes as he urges him on, “But?”

“Well, training for my job is going to be a few months, in Sendai,” Asahi explains with his hands gesticulating in gentle movements, “I’ll only get the approval to transfer to Tokyo after that. And by then…”

“I’d be too late for me since the school term would’ve started already.” Daichi finishes mildly, dropping his hands from his face and eyeing the ramen section of the menu for comfort.

Shimizu frowns at him, “Aren’t there any other available spaces? Maybe for one person instead of two?”

Daichi looks up at her and grimaces, “My aunt is willing to give me a discount on rent if it’s for that apartment. I don’t think I’m going to find one as close as this one with a decent price.”

Suga tugs his phone out of his pocket and opens his photo gallery, piping in, “You sent me shots before, it looks great. For a two bedroom apartment that’s a good deal.”

He slides the phone to the center of the table, the third and second years (save for poor Kinoshita who’s currently assisting Yachi in blindly picking a side dish by holding up the menu as she taps each order while humming a song) peering close to watch the slideshow of rooms and floor plans.

Nishinoya whistles, impressed, “That balcony has one awesome view.”

Daichi smiles a bit, “Doesn’t it? It’s perfect. And it’s cheap for its size but, ugh...”

Suga pats his shoulder consolingly, finishing for him with a sympathetic frown, “But if you don’t get someone to split the rent with you it’s still not something you can afford.”

“Um, Daichi-san,” Tanaka raises his hand with an earnest look, “Maybe you can ask someone who’s going to the same university as you. That way, they’re more likely to want to live there.”

Everyone stares at Tanaka for a minute, marvelling at him quietly before Nishinoya reaches over to slap his palms against the other boy’s cheeks, grinning proudly, “What a nice idea, Ryu!”

Ennoshita beams at him, reaching over to drag fingers over his short hair. “Look at you, growing up so fast, and the third years haven’t even left.”

Tanaka flushes and ducks away from him, lip jutting out in a pout. “Shut up, Captain.”

“That really is a great idea but,” Daichi covers his mouth with his hand, forefinger tapping against his lips in contemplation, “I don’t know anyone going to the same university as me.”

Dishes clatter loudly from the other end of the table, making everyone turn their heads to see Kageyama with a fist down on the wooden surface, face alight with excitement, teeth biting his lip to keep from smiling.

Hinata and Yachi yelp out at the same time, clutching at their hearts. “What the hell, Kageyama?”

Yamaguchi tilts his head curiously at the setter, Tsukishima looking annoyed beside him.

“Oh no, I lost my place!” Yachi squeaks, staring at the menu Kinoshita’s still holding up for her. They see his shoulders droop a bit.

Narita whispers out to him with pity in his voice, “Don’t mind, Kinoshita.”

Kageyama seems to vibrate with energy, ignoring everyone’s comments and clutching his phone tightly. The phone is new, a recent smartphone model wrapped in a cool blue silicone case. Apparently a gift from his parents for his birthday. Kageyama had mentioned that it also came with a plan offering him mobile data, a fact which he and Hinata had started abusing to watch a countless amount of volleyball videos online.

Kageyama realizes everyone’s attention is on him, blinking up from his phone, excitement wavering for a moment before it surges forward again, the smile he’d been holding back breaking out and disturbing Tsukishima from close proximity.

“What is wrong with you--”

Kageyama beams at them, bouncing in his seat and flashing the screen of his phone at them, the bright glow of a Facebook status staring at everyone, “Iwaizumi-san got into Keio!”

There’s a photo of Iwaizumi sitting on Seijou’s numbers two and three’s shoulders, Oikawa standing in front of them with one of Iwaizumi’s hands planted on his head, shoving him further down the photo as he grins confidently at the screen. In his other hand, high above their heads, is a crumpled letter. One bearing the same colored seal Daichi has sitting on his desk at home.

Daichi ‘s hand slides off his face and smacks onto his menu, leaving his gaping mouth exposed to the world.

“Daichi.” Asahi breathes out softly, awed. Suga’s hand finds it’s way to Daichi’s arm, clutching hard and tugging.

They hear Tanaka make a remark, “Was he that excited when Daichi-san got into Keio--geh!”

Someone, possibly Narita, punches him in the gut. Daichi can’t be sure, he’s still staring at the screen dumbly, mind calmly trying to confirm if this is really happening.

“Why is this relevant to any of us?” Tsukishima hums dismissively, yawning and going back to the drinks menu in Yamaguchi’s hands. He looks affronted when Yamaguchi elbows him gently, frown on the other boy’s face.

Kageyama’s smile instantly flattens into a scowl. He shifts in his seat and retracts his phone, glaring down at his menu with a dampened scoff.

“He’s been waiting for that letter for weeks.” They hear him mumble petulantly. It makes Daichi stall from his disbelief, instincts kicking in as he feels his body move to stand up, wanting to put a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder and to smile at him until his back eases and the embarrassed scowl flutters away.

It’s a testament to a year’s worth of tosses and spikes, something hatched from a volleyball that none of the third years can carry with them as they leave, when Hinata speaks up before any of them can, voice pleasant and attentive.

“Seijou’s ace at Keio, huh?” Hinata wonders out loud, ducking his head to catch Kageyama’s eye, “What’s he gonna study?”

Kageyama blinks at him, scowl dimming as he hands his phone over to Hinata, “Medical Engineering.”

Hinata makes an impressed noise as he studies the photo of their opponents, smiling down at it excitedly, “That sounds really cool!”

His face turns frustrated as he taps at the screen to make a comment on the photo under Kageyama’s account, “Though it does sound really hard too.”

Kageyama, Daichi proudly notices, doesn’t bark or yell at Hinata for blatantly impersonating him. He just frowns harder, eyebrow raising and hand creeping closer to swipe his phone back.

“What are you doing, dumbass?” He asks with no real heat, struggling to slide his fingers under Hinata’s to pry the phone loose.

“Relax, Kageyama,” Hinata soothes, words matching the pace of his typing as he reads his message out loud, “I’m just telling him congratulations from all of us at Karasuno.”

Kageyama’s fingers draw back at that, sufficiently placated.

Hinata lets out a mischievous chuckle, flashing the whole table a wide grin before quickly adding on an extra message which, in one of his less intelligent moments, he also reads out loud, “P.S. This is Hinata. Kageyama was so happy he cried and can’t use his phone right now. L-O-L.”

His thumb hits enter, hand shoving the phone into Kageyama’s chest before he’s darting off between tables, startling the other customers. Kageyama growls, chasing after him with a flushed face, fingers typing out what is likely a retraction comment as he barrels after the middle blocker.

“Hinata, you dumbass!”

“It’s okay to cry when you’re happy, Kageyama-san.” Hinata sings fearlessly, sliding under a table and running down the path behind Daichi’s side of the table.

Kageyama follows after quickly, jerking to a halt when Suga twists in his seat and loops an arm around his waist to stop him.

“Hey, Kageyama!” Suga smiles at him brilliantly, allowing Hinata to settle in between Narita and Tanaka for protection. He waves at the two setters, leaning closer to Tanaka when Kageyama growls.

Suga bats him on the nose, making him scrunch up his face as the third year guides him to sit between Daichi and himself. Ennoshita and Nishinoya scoot over obediently, making room and dragging utensils along to adjust with them.

Shimizu somehow manages to summon Kageyama’s flatware from the other side of the table, nudging them towards him with a small smile.

Kageyama nods shyly, face crumpling in confusion as he pockets his phone, “Um, is there a reason I’m sitting here now?”

Suga laughs fondly, poking him in the shoulder with his menu, “You mean other than keeping you from crushing Hinata’s head into dust?”

“There wouldn’t be much to crush.” Kageyama fires instantly, making Nishinoya choke on his tea, fist banging on the table.

Hinata nearly launches himself across the table, “Like you’re any smarter than--mmphgh!”

Tanaka shoves his junior into his chest, muffling his words and petting his head violently, “Shh. there, there, dear Hinata. The danger is over. Shhhh. Your beloved senpai’s got you.”

Asahi, stressed and generally put upon, pours Kageyama some tea and moves things along, “Well, anyway, you were saying Suga?”

Suga turns up his smile, gently nudging Kageyama into Daichi’s side, sandwiching him snugly between them.

“As I was saying,” Suga coos, leaning his head against Kageyama’s, making him furrow his brow further, “Daichi has a favor to ask of you, Kageyama.”

Daichi takes his cue, nodding with a pleasant smile, draping a solid arm over Kageyama’s shoulders, “I do.”

“Favor?” Kageyama repeats with a tilt of his head, out of habit he looks over at Hinata.

Hinata watches cluelessly from Tanaka’s chest, cheek smashed against his shirt. “Don’t look at me.”

Daichi clears his throat and nudges Kageyama’s cup of tea closer to him, “I was wondering if you could give me Iwaizumi’s number. I need someone to room with me so we can split rent and--”

Kageyama, sipping from his cup, chokes and yells right into Daichi’s ear, “You want to live with Iwaizumi-san?!”

Suga turns to Ennoshita, laughing into his shoulder and placing a hand to pat Kageyama’s back, “Well, when you put it like that…”

Daichi presses a napkin over Kageyama’s mouth, letting the dampness stick it to his face before the younger boy reaches up to wipe with it properly.

He soldiers on, “Yes, I want to live with Iwaizumi. If, uh…”

Asahi coughs into his hand, failing spectacularly to hide his amused smile.

Daichi eyes Shimizu, head bowed slightly and the last vestige of maturity out of all of them, and ducks his head a bit to catch her biting her lip, mouth twitching.

Daichi sighs and takes the next hit like a man, speaking the words deliberately, “If he’ll have me.”

Suga laughs even louder, and as polite as Shimizu and Asahi try to be their laughter increases in volume as well.

Everyone else respectfully looks away, holding back their own amusement. Except Hinata, who’s watching the exchange and looking as if he wishes they’d ordered already so he could have something to munch on.

Kageyama places his napkin on the table, hand pulling his phone out and swiping a few times before handing it to Daichi, eyes full of envy. “You can just call him there, if you want.”

Daichi smiles gratefully, about to voice his thanks when the younger boy continues.

“If you live with him,” Kageyama intones with awed reverence in his voice, “You’ll get to see his training regimen.”

Hinata perks up, shoving himself away from Tanaka’s chest and planting his hands on the table, leaning forward and vibrating, “You’d be able to make spikes that go bah-bam! Just like Seijou’s Ace!”

Kageyama meets Hinata’s gaze and starts vibrating in his seat as well, “You’re so lucky, Sawamura-san. Man, I want to go to university now too!”

Hinata nods, making excited noises of agreement, “All the spikes at university must be one hundred times as POW and WAM!”

Nishinoya shoots his hand up, waving at a waitress on the other side of the restaurant, “Nee-san, we’re ready to order over here!”

Ennoshita frowns but lets it slide, leaning close to Nishinoya to mumble, “Good thinking.”

Nishinoya puffs up at the praise, “Internal combustion of kouhai averted. You’re welcome.”

Tanaka meets him for a high five, “Nice, Noya-san.”

Kageyama and Hinata deflate slightly, energies refocusing on finalizing their orders before the waitress reaches them.

Daichi lets out a weary sigh, pulling his hand off of Kageyama’s shoulders and refilling the first year’s cup of tea, other hand still holding the phone.

“I definitely want the chicken curry…” He hears Kageyama mumble.

Suga pokes his cheek, eyeing him sternly from behind Kageyama’s bowed head. “Do it now.”

Asahi joins in, waving two flaglets he’d hastily made out of toothpicks and table napkins, “You can do it, Daichi!”

Shimizu smiles at him, supportive and slightly exasperated.

“Fine, fine.” He sighs and turns away from them.

Daichi stares at the green button glaring up at him from the phone’s touchscreen, takes a deep breath, and presses call.

-

Hajime hums to himself faintly, the jingle from a commercial he’d heard earlier stuck in his head. He’s reading the latest Volleyball Monthly, magazine spread out in front of him on his bed, cheek resting against the left page as he lazily skims the articles on the right.

Oikawa’s voice joins him, humming along from where his head is pillowed along the curve of Hajime’s back, lying perpendicular to him with his legs pressed up against the wall next to his bed. He’s playing one of his favorite games on his phone, matching a trio of milk bread in a row before making a small fist pump of victory.

Hajime doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to confirm any of it, he knows Oikawa too well to be wrong about his movements. He stops humming, raising his hips up and causing his backside to nudge Oikawa’s head, making it loll towards him as he finally does look over at the other boy.

“What?” Oikawa asks sleepily, meeting his gaze as his thumb skillfully exits his game and returns him to his phone’s home screen.

Hajime settles his weight on his elbows, looking over at him before arching his back up, deliberately bouncing Oikawa’s head once, “Your head is heavy.”

Oikawa responds by sliding himself up over Hajime’s back, feet pushing off of the wall and hands tucking themselves behind his head, weight of his torso pressing harder onto the body underneath him.

“Sorry about that, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sings out playfully, lacing his voice with false sincerity, “Is this better?”

Hajime growls, ready to flip them and pin his friend in a headlock when the distinct roar of Godzilla cuts off anything he has to say.

His phone vibrates next to him, roaring in a loop as the screen lights up to indicate the caller ID. Oikawa rolls up his back like an annoying, living log, pinning his head to the mattress with the weight of his stomach, snatching up the roaring Godzilla themed phone triumphantly. “Aha!”

Hajime blindly flails his arms, groping for Oikawa’s arms randomly, grumbling out against the bedsheets, “Shittykawa, get off of me.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hums while rubbing his chin, Hajime’s phone high above his head to make sure no flailing hands have a chance at reaching it, “How is it possible someone’s calling you on a Sunday? You’re not popular.”

Hajime lets out a frustrated roar of his own, syncing with his phone as it loops the audio again, clawing at Oikawa’s shirt with blunt fingernails to tug him off.

Oikawa shakes his head, clicking his tongue, “You’re going to have to do better than that!”

He pulls the vibrating phone closer, ready to press the answer button and greet the caller when he catches sight of the name, face crumpling in disgust and thrusting the phone at arm’s length again, glaring hard at the screen.

“Tobio-chan?” Oikawa spits out the name like a curse, offended as he stares at the dated photo of Kageyama from his Kitagawa Daiichi days, onigiri shoved into his mouth and a clueless, innocent look in his eyes.

Hajime takes the moment of hesitation to pinch Oikawa’s side with one hand and his backside with the other, startling the taller boy enough that Hajime can wriggle free and shove him off the bed, landing face first on to his unmade futon.

Hajime pants, regaining his composure, unfolding Oikawa’s fingers from his phone and sitting at the edge of his bed primly, left foot pressing at the back of Oikawa’s head to keep him pinned to the futon in swift revenge.

He stares at the still vibrating phone, mouth frowning thoughtfully. Despite half the garbage that comes out of Oikawa’s mouth, he is right about Kageyama calling him on a Sunday as odd.

Oikawa manages to twist his head to the side, piping up at him to address a concern, “Why do you still have his number?”

Hajime stares at him levelly, dragging his other foot to tug a pillow over Oikawa’s face with his toes.

Oikawa uses a hand to fling the pillow away across the room, both arms free but oddly choosing to just lay there with Hajime’s foot at the back of his head.

“And why,” He seethes out, tone lost between amused and betrayed, “is his name in your phone Kageyama Totoro?”

Hajime blinks and glances at his screen, characters of the boy’s name true in spelling out Totoro instead of Tobio. He snorts out a laugh before pressing the phone to his ear, the vibrations giving slight relief to his temple.

“He said that on his first day, remember?” Hajime moves his toe to poke at Oikawa’s cheek, watching the other boy’s scowl deepen, “His favorite movie was Totoro. So that’s what I put in when I had to get his number for member contact details.”

Hajime doesn’t let Oikawa respond to that, holding up a finger to silence him as he wriggles a thumb between his cheek and the phone, pressing over the answer button and clearing his throat.

“Kageyama?”

‘Shh, he’s finally answering!’ A deep voice shushes after a crackle of static.

Hajime stares into space for a bit, mind slow in linking the voice to a face.

“You are not Kageyama.” He declares carefully.

‘Ah, yes, sorry, I’m not.’ A cough from the other end, followed by clinking noises and someone snickering, ‘Hello. Good afternoon, Iwaizumi.’

Hajime squints, dropping his raised hand and letting Oikawa up, fingers moving to scratch at his head.

Oikawa sits up on his futon, folding his legs gracefully before sticking his tongue out at him.

“Sawamura?” Hajime tries, pulling his hand away from his head to flip Oikawa off casually.

The name gets Oikawa’s attention though, his face shifting from dramatically wounded over his friend’s crude hand gesture to the familiarly hungry look he gets when he finds something interesting.

‘Yes, it’s Sawamura!’ The voice confirms brightly, sighing soft and apologetic, ‘Sorry to bother you like this on a Sunday.’

Hajime waves off the apology despite Sawamura being unable to see it. “Don’t worry about it. What’s up?”

‘Kageyama tells me you’ve been accepted to Keio University. Congratulations!’ Sawamura says with genuine enthusiasm for him. It seems touching for a moment, but then there’s a rushed voice that sounds oddly like Kageyama echoing the congratulations, faint round of applause in the background swelling before being sharply interrupted by Sawamura shushing someone again.

“Thanks. I was worried since my letter got delayed, but everything turned out alright.” He raises an eyebrow, and against his better judgement, he shifts his phone to his other hand, glancing at Oikawa before patting the space next to him, nodding his head towards it meaningfully.

Oikawa beams and scrambles up to plop down next to him, lying back on the bed with a loud poof, eyes regarding him quietly.

Hajime doesn’t even flinch, used to the piercing stare, mimicking his friend in lying back down. He feels Oikawa roll onto his side, watching his face and tossing a leg over his lap.

Sawamura huffs out a breath, seemingly steeling himself before speaking, ‘Okay, I’m going to make this as painless as possible for both of us.’ He hears someone boo, followed by the sound of skin hitting skin.

“I appreciate that.” Hajime jokes with a soft chuckle.

Oikawa reaches for his nose and pinches it, turning Hajime’s head so he can see him pout and mouth out: ‘Put it on speaker.’

Hajime swats his hand away and eyes him flatly, rolling over and away from him, knocking Oikawa’s leg off in the process.

He feels a foot kick his backside, grunting softly at the contact.

‘So, as it so happens, I also got into Keio.’ Sawamura informs him, ‘And I found a good place near the university to live in. My ba-san owns it. Overlooking the Shibaura canal, even.’

Hajime gets kicked again, stifling another grunt, “I see. Congratulations.”

‘Thank you very much.’ He imagines Sawamura smiling and bowing at that, because it just seems like something he would do, based on what Hajime’s seen.

Oikawa kicks him a third time.

Hajime’s eye twitches. He takes a deep breath as Sawamura continues.

‘The only problem being, about the place, it’ll be a little difficult to pay the rent by myself. There’s already a discount since I’m family, but you know how real estate gets nowadays.’

Oikawa nudges him softly, testing the plumpness before kicking him a fourth time, and Hajime loses it. He kicks back viciously three times, hitting the meat of Oikawa’s thigh with each swing. “Uh huh.”

Oikawa yelps and pushes him on to his stomach, crumpling the magazine underneath them as he sits on Hajime’s back and accuses him. “You are the meanest, most brutish best friend ever, Iwa-chan.”

‘Uh,’ Sawamura seems worried, voice curious as he asks, ‘Iwaizumi, are you exercising or something?’

Hajime sighs tiredly, about to reply when he hears a flurry of voices.

‘Do your best, Iwaizumi-san!’ That’s definitely Kageyama cheering him on from somewhere near Sawamura.

Another voice leans in, soothing and gentle, ‘Hey, Kageyama, don’t talk with your mouth full.’

‘Kageyama, it’s rude to eavesdrop, you know?’ Someone else snickers faintly.

‘Shut up, Hinata, you dumbass!’ Kageyama barks back, making Hajime slightly regret cursing so much in front of him when they were in school together.

Sawamura groans, ‘Can you all just eat your food, please? And Kageyama use a napkin. Here--’

‘Sorry did I interrupt your...training regimen?'  Sawamura tries again.

Hajime pins the phone between his shoulder and cheek, expertly sliding out of Oikawa’s hold and hooking his arm around the taller boy’s neck in a tight headlock, pinning him on to the mattress ruthlessly.

“Nah,” Hajime says calmly, tightening his hold and making Oikawa whine, “Just taking care of something annoying.”

Oikawa makes a distressed noise, grabbing at Hajime’s hair and tugging hard, “I am not a thing, Iwa-chan. Why are you so mean?”

“Ack, dammit, Oikawa!”

‘Oh!’ Sawamura gasps out, slightly amused, ‘Tell Oikawa I say hi.’ He requests pleasantly.

Hajime gapes and scoffs, head still being tugged back. He slowly eyes Oikawa who’s looking up at him with a petulant face, breathing out through gritted teeth, “Sawamura says hi, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa perks up, smile blossoming at the acknowledgement, soaking up the morsel of attention and cheerily replying, “Ya-ho, Sawamura-kun!”

Hajime rolls his eyes and slides his arm over Oikawa’s mouth, hunching over his captive as he asks, “He says hi back. So, going back to what you were saying, based on where this conversation is leading up to…”

Sawamura hums, ‘I’m wondering if you’d be willing to room with me for university. It would really help me out. And I can send you details on the apartment. It’s a good deal for everyone, I promise.’

“Okay,” Hajime says, finding himself willing to recap the discussion for Oikawa’s benefit, “So, just to be clear, you want me to be your roommate in an apartment near campus, where the rent is discounted thanks to your aunt owning the place.”

‘Yes.’

“And you’re saying I’m helping you out?” He hears a humbled laugh from the receiver, shaking his head with a smile, “Are you for real, Sawamura?”

‘I’d like to think so.’ There’s a quick pause, then the sound of sipping.

Oikawa chooses this small moment of peace to roll his eyes and lick over the skin of Hajime’s arm. Hajime makes a disgusted noise, repulsed enough for his hold to falter around the boy’s neck. His phone slips from his fingers, falling right into Oikawa’s waiting hand.

The taller boy bounces off the bed, kicking past the futon on the floor and climbing up on Hajime’s desk, throwing up a peace sign at Hajime from the other side of the room.

Hajime groans out in frustration, wiping his arm on the bed sheets, shoving his hand under his bed to procure the light saber toy Oikawa had graciously gifted him last Christmas.

Oikawa, for his part, smiles winningly at him and gingerly places the phone to his ear, finger petting the matte case’s tiny Godzilla snout.

‘--zumi?’ Sawamura calls through the line hesitantly, likely not for the first time.

“Well, well, isn’t Iwa-chan lucky to experience this turn of events.” Oikawa begins, obviously monologuing like one of his favorite villains from an old space fantasy show they used to watch. He even raises his free hand, inspecting the nails as he paces across the short distance of Hajime’s desk. “He was just crying to me earlier how he was worried he’d become a bonafide hobo in Tokyo.”

“I was not, you asshole!” Oikawa narrowly avoids a pillow throttling towards his head, watching it smash against the window blinds before falling to his feet on top of the desk.

Sawamura stifles a laugh and coughs on some sort of drink, ‘Oikawa?’

‘Oikawa-san!?’ Someone irritatingly familiar chokes out, tailed shortly by a shrill voice screaming out, ‘Ohh, Kageyama, looks like the Grand King is doing his ace’s training regimen too!’

“The one and only, Sawamura-kun.” Oikawa beams again, valiantly ignoring his old kouhai’s voice and kicking up the pillow like a football, proceeding to knock it back in Hajime’s direction. “Good afternoon! Sorry, Iwa-chan is just insecure about his hobo-like appearance. So he doesn't want any supporting props, like a box for a house.”

‘Oh, okay.’ Sawamura accepts easily, ‘So would Iwaizumi be interested in rooming with me, then?’

Oikawa opens his mouth, ready to reply when a plastic light saber slams down centimeters away from his toes. He drags his eyes from the tip of it up to toned arms and an extremely pissed off face glaring murderously up at him. “Give me my phone, Trashykawa.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa supplies numbly, hearing Sawamura whispering with someone on the other end, “It seems like you’re always looking up to me, huh?”

Hajime’s eyes widen before narrowing sharply, swinging the saber at Oikawa but missing as he ducks down and flees from the room. “Too slow, Iwa-chan the turtle!”

Oikawa hears him roar from his bedroom, sliding down the Iwaizumi household’s stair railing with practiced ease. “Shittykawa, be careful on the stairs, you could hurt your stupid face, idiot!”

“Iwa-chan, are you my mom?” He yells back sweetly, Hajime’s swift steps angry and malevolent behind him as he turns into the living room, leaping over the kotatsu set out. “Hi there, Ji-san!” He chirps out at Iwaizumi’s father lying down under the kotatsu table, reading a cooking catalogue peacefully.

“Don’t run so much in the house, Tooru-chan.” He shouts after him without glancing up. Speaking up again when his son storms through, leaping over him as well. “You too, Hajime.”

Oikawa laughs, exhilarated as he finally responds to Sawamura who seems to be waiting patiently over the phone, “Yes, of course, Sawamura-kun!”

Hajime cuts him off, appearing at the end of the hallway and making him shriek in surprise. He turns on his heel and flounces quickly back through the living room. “How did you even get in front of me?!”

“Secret passage!” Hajime answers smugly, right before his father cuts in to scold him as he passes through again, “I told you not to use that bookcase shortcut anymore. We’re still dealing with rats in there.”

Oikawa darts back up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time as he continues into the phone, slightly winded, “Iwa-chan would love to impose on you for the many foreseeable months!”

‘Really?’ Sawamura can’t seem to hide the relief, elated and beaming into the receiver, ‘That’s great to hear! I’m--’

The hard shell of the light saber whacks him on the back of his leg, “Give me my phone, Shittykawa! And I said be careful on the stairs!”

“Argh, Sawamura-kun, I’ve been hit!” Oikawa whines dramatically, pulling the phone away from his cheek and stopping abruptly, causing Hajime to stagger backwards before falling on to the floor.

Oikawa smiles triumphantly, making a run for the boy’s bedroom when a hand grabs his ankle, knocking him forward on to the tatami of the hallway. He claps his palms, and Hajime’s phone, flat on the floor, saving his face from a nosebleed before he shakes his ankle loose and crawls towards the open doorway, slamming the door in Hajime’s annoyed face.

He locks the door and leans against it, sighing in relief as he clears his throat, pressing the phone to his ear again. “However, Sawamura-kun!”

“Oikawa!” Hajime yells, fist banging on the door and repeatedly turning the handle.

Sawamura humors him, laughing lightly and echoing him, ‘However?’

“There are conditions to be met,” He murmurs out silkily, “Benefits to be requested.”

Silence follows, static petering in and out against their ears.

‘Uh, Oikawa,’ Sawamura begins with a note of exasperation, ‘Not to sound arrogant but I'm offering a discounted monthly rent in an apartment close to his university, and I'm not exactly someone he has to worry about stealing his toiletries or something.’

Oikawa picks out the voice of Karasuno’s number two humming near the phone, ‘Daichi is very specific about his toiletries, after all.’

‘Suga, you’re going to make him angry!’

Oikawa feels his eyebrows raise in amusement, Hajime’s banging subsiding behind him. He scoffs at Sawamura, sighing at his cluelessness.

“Yes, it’s a very good deal for Iwa-chan, we've covered that.” He huffs out impatiently, “I'm talking about me!”

He raises a hand, unfolding a finger for each of his demands, “One, I get a copy of the apartment key, two, the phone number to your auntie landlady, and three, unrestricted visiting rights!”

Sawamura doesn’t seem to see a problem with any of this, voice steady and patient as if he deals with these kinds of antics all the time, and says, ‘Sure thing. We can work out the key once we’re all settled in. Oh, sorry, I’m being rude. Congratulations on your scholarship as well!’

Oikawa startles at the ease of agreement and genuine happiness in Sawamura’s congratulations, stunned enough that he doesn’t hear the telltale click of the door’s lock, or the knob turning.

He suddenly falls flat on his back, door pulled open with Hajime looking down at him, face scrunched up into something that Oikawa reads clearly as the desire to step on him.

“Ya-ho, Iwa-chan.” He greets faintly, eyes noting that the other boy’s traded his light saber for a ring of keys that jingle slightly in his grip.

Hajime has one hand held out to him. Oikawa makes a move to take it, but then Hajime shakes his head. “Not you, the phone.”

Oikawa pretends to look heartbroken, but relents and finally slaps the phone into his hand. “Mean.”

Hajime curls his hand around the phone, leaving one finger pointed at him, “Don’t you fucking start with me.”

He steps over Oikawa, groaning in exhaustion as he flops backwards onto his bed, bouncing slightly as he puts the phone to his ear. “Whatever he asks for, don’t say yes, Sawamura.”

Sawamura blanches, ‘Oh, uh. Are you sure? It wasn’t any trouble at all.’

Hajime raises an eyebrow in confusion, letting out a grunt as Oikawa lands on him, perpendicular once again, stomach pressing over his own as he kicks his feet up in the air, grinning victoriously down at Hajime with another frustrating peace sign.

“Too late, Iwa-chan.” He sings and pats the boy’s cheek, pulling his hand back as Hajime snaps at his fingers, “Don’t forget to pack my extra toothbrush and favorite pillow, okay?”

He raises his voice, adjusting it so that both he and Sawamura can hear, “I’ll be visiting you both as much as I can.”

Hajime groans again, pinching the bridge of his nose and slapping at Oikawa’s face softly.

“Ow,” Oikawa squawks, ducking away, “Iwa-chan, I know you’re happy but please calm down.”

“When you come visit, I’m going to kill you in your sleep and toss you into the canal.”

-

“You look...refreshed.” Iwaizumi murmurs at him, curve of his lips hidden behind his coffee cup. The rim is a sunshine yellow, smooth and even underneath the outer shell of a large, cracked egg.

Daichi glowers at him, fluffy towel draped over his shoulders, ice cold droplets of water beading at his forehead and sliding down the side of his face.

There’s one that snakes down to his chin, precarious and daring before Daichi dabs the towel to wipe it away.

Iwaizumi chuckles softly, a calm set of invisible fireworks exploding in the air between them, colorless but startling in the crisp pop and crackle it leaves tingling in Daichi’s ears. “It can’t have been that cold.”

Between Iwaizumi and his best friend Oikawa, elegance has always been synonymous to the setter, according to public discourse at least. But living under the same roof as the ace, Daichi can’t deny the unmistakable poise in his movements.

Oikawa is vibrant in his glory, a bright parade of colors and possibilities unimaginable, flying high like the tail of a shooting star. He is, admittedly, breathtaking in his brilliance.

But Iwaizumi is subtlety melted into quiet strength, graceful in the way he simply exists. Seafoam kissing white sand and coal chipping away into diamonds. He is, in contrast, the feeling of breath returning--necessary and understated in his significance.

Daichi sees it now, with the way Iwaizumi sips at his hot mug of instant coffee. Ridiculously gallant for a moment before his nose scrunches up, mouth grimacing at the watered down, dirt-like consistency.

Iwaizumi slides another egg shaped mug towards his side of the low table, raising his own mug invitingly with a curt nod of his head. “Suffer with me.”

Daichi sighs out a laugh, lowering himself and curling his fingers around the matte finish of the artificial egg shell, inspecting it curiously with a budding smile dimpling his cheek.

“Where’d you even get these?”

“Oikawa won some stuff at a Gudetama event. He thought it was a Godzilla thing.” He grumbles, shrugging, “Idiot needs to wear his glasses.”

Iwaizumi leans forward to clink their mugs together, swirling the liquid around before tipping it back for another gulp. He makes the same face from earlier, sticking his tongue out, mouth open and reviled, “Blech! This is shit.”

Daichi, ever the optimist, wraps his lips over the smooth rim of his cup and lets the warm liquid trickle into his mouth.

He stares at Iwaizumi innocently, cheeks full and expression thoughtful.

Iwaizumi lowers his mug and cocks his head to the side.

Daichi maintains eye contact, lowering his own mug before leaning over it, lips parting to pour the coffee back into the mug.

Iwaizumi snorts, dropping his head forward and laughing into his mug, raspy chuckles like fireworks exploding around them again, “How attractive, Sawamura.”

Daichi spits in his cup with a punctuating finality, staring at Iwaizumi with a betrayed glaze in his eyes.

“This is shit.” He agrees resolutely.

Iwaizumi raises both hands up, face turning apathetic as he confesses, “I prefer tea over coffee so I honestly didn’t know what I was doing.”

Daichi holds his mug tighter, smiling at him helplessly, “Iwaizumi, this is instant coffee.”

“Exactly,” Iwaizumi says with a nod of his head, knocking back his head as he downs the rest of it, swallowing mechanically, “I didn’t know what I was doing picking a brand at the store.”

“We can have tea instead then.” Daichi offers kindly, smile encouraging as Iwaizumi looks up at him, fern green eyes glimmering in the soft butter light of their living room.

“You don’t have to abandon your coffee fix just because I don’t drink it.” He scolds him gently, leaning his cheek against the curve of his palm, frowning at him.

Daichi feels his brows bunch up, familiar in their patience and exasperation. He’s noticed this too. For all his subtlety, Iwaizumi blooms adamant, unstoppable, and arresting at the slightest brush of unfairness fluttering at the edges of his space. “I like tea too. I just wrote coffee on the grocery list because I assumed you liked it.”

Iwaizumi blinks, mouth quirking up in satisfaction at the reply, dipping his head forward with raised eyebrows of his own, staring at him through his lashes, “You know what happens when you assume, Sawamura.”

“I get shit coffee in the morning?” He asks with a hum of convincing innocence stemming from years being Suga’s friend.

Daichi gets an empty packet of instant coffee thrown in his face, but he thinks it’s worth it for the embarrassed flush dusting over Iwaizumi’s indignant expression. The boy across from him falls back against the floor, disappearing from Daichi’s view above the low table.

“Hey,” Daichi calls out, lying down on the tatami and rolling on to his side. He grabs the cushion underneath him and hugs it to his chest, fingers playing with the tassels fraying at a corner.

Iwaizumi lifts his head up, tucking his chin to look at him from underneath the table. There’s another empty packet of instant coffee stranded between them, nesting in the shadows of the table.

Daichi’s been thinking about this for a while, the itch to blurt it out sloshing inside him like restless ocean waves. He thinks of Suga and his encouraging smile, constantly urging him on and supporting him, hitting him painfully to move him along.

He looks at Iwaizumi, eyes mirroring a patience Daichi has been intimately familiar with for a long time, and feels his lips move. He speaks, earnest and just the slightest bit shy.

“Can we get a dog?” Daichi pleads into the shadows underneath their table, living room light illuminating his dark eyes into copper as he stares seriously at his roommate.

Iwaizumi holds his stare for a full minute, lowers his head back to lie on the floor afterwards, gazing up at the ceiling.

Daichi wonders if that counts as a no. Body suddenly feeling like lead, disappointment cementing into his limbs when Iwaizumi starts to shake on the floor. His chest shakes, hand crawling up to cover his face.

And then the fireworks come to life again.

Iwaizumi laughs, unabashedly and fully at Daichi like he’s said the funniest thing in the world.

Daichi confirms that this, in fact, is not a no. So he tries again, piping in between Iwaizumi’s wheezing chuckles, struggling to keep his own voice from breaking into huffs of laughter “I really want a dog, Iwaizumi.”

“Sawamura,” Iwaizumi breathes out, choking before laughing again, “you’re so fucking ridiculous, I can’t believe it.”

Daichi struggles to keep him focused, hope fluttering in his chest like butterflies. “Come on, dogs are good at guarding homes.”

Iwaizumi makes a noise in his throat, sound ripe with an epiphany, lifting his head up again with an amused, disbelieving smile, “Is this the real reason you wanted this apartment? The lease said it was pet friendly.” He accuses.

Daichi calls upon all his willpower to keep his face neutral. “That is just a coincidence.”

“Liar.” Iwaizumi says simply, launching himself back into a sitting position.

Daichi raises himself past the table and meets Iwaizumi seated properly, fingers steepled in front of him, chin perched on top as he regards him carefully.

“What?” Daichi asks, settling with his arms pillowing his chin.

“As your roommate, I appreciate you talking to me about this.” Iwaizumi informs him promptly, tilting his head to the side with a barely there smile, “And I’m fine with it.”

Daichi straightens, face lighting up, “Really? Because I know this pet shop with--”

“However,” Iwaizumi barks authoritatively, sending a thrum of deja vu tingling up Daichi’s spine.

He returns his chin to the cradle of his arms on the table, warily urging him on, “However?”

Iwaizumi flashes him a grin, eyes sharp and determined. “Come to volleyball tryouts with me.”

Daichi freezes, staring at the empty mug just in front of Iwaizumi’s elbow, gaze easing into a sort of longing he hasn’t been able to shake off since graduation.

He thinks of the orange and black uniform surreptitiously folded in the back of his closet, the kneepads lurking under his perfectly folded socks, the volleyball pump shoved in between his bed and his side table.

Iwaizumi, all sharp edges built invincibly, infallibly human, holds his hand out over the table, ready and waiting.

“It doesn’t have to be over until you want it to be.” He says, soft, softer than he’s ever heard from the boy.

And, there, gently, Daichi’s palm slapping against Iwaizumi’s, hands clasped in a promise--

“Do your best.”

Another connection.

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