Chapter Text
A breathy sigh.
That's what Oikawa Tooru first hears as he passes by one of the practice rooms in the music hall, papers gripped in both hands as he makes his way towards the professor's office. He stops, head cocked towards the melody as it wraps itself around his lithe body and curls itself into his mind, warming his chest. Forgetting his purpose, he steps closer to the source of the music and peeks in through the slightly open door.
The first thing he sees is a head of prickly dark hair. The next is his hands.
They float across the black and white keys as his body waves slightly with the music, his head occasionally coming up for a breath and falling with a sigh when the music asks for the slight decrescendo. The delicacy of his fingers don't escape Oikawa's notice—the way they press lightly onto the keys and the way they suddenly change, becoming more dynamic when the melody sings. Oikawa's frozen, enraptured by the way the musician weaves delicacy into his music, as if his hands are gently cradling the music, coaxing the song to life as a lullaby.
And suddenly, the music ends.
Just like that, Oikawa's thrown back into reality, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Shaking his head in awe, he turns back toward the hall. Trying not to make his footsteps noticeable, he attempts to stay quiet, lifting a foot—
And trips sideways.
Hands desperately grabbing at anything, his body slams into the door and the pile of paper fly out of his hands. He groans, both hands covering his face as the papers flutter around him like freshly fallen snow. Sitting up, he peeks through his fingers to find the culprit: one of his shoelaces had come untied.
"What the fuck?"
--
Iwaizumi's eyes narrow as they make contact with the stranger now sitting in the room, papers falling in a heap around him. The stranger snaps his head towards him and grins sheepishly.
"I tripped," he laughs as his hand rubs the back of his neck. "But I'm ok!"
He kneels and starts to pick up the fallen papers, and Iwaizumi gets off the bench to help. Shuffling the papers into a pile, he straightens them and hands them to the stranger.
"What song was that?" he suddenly blurts. Iwaizumi furrows his brows.
"You were listening?"
The stranger looks at the papers in his hands, and his cheeks flush lightly. Chuckling, Iwaizumi hands over some more papers, surprised he's not annoyed at the stranger like he would be with other intruders. Perhaps it's because the stranger looks adorably flustered. He wonders in the back of his head when he's become so shallow.
"It's Un Sospiro by Liszt," he answers with ease, and the stranger looks up with excitement in his chocolate colored eyes. They both stand, Iwaizumi noticing that the stranger is a little taller than him, and the stranger gives him a broad smile. Holding all the papers to his chest with one arm, the stranger throws out a hand and exclaims, "I'm Oikawa Tooru."
The name is all too familiar, and Iwaizumi becomes a little more guarded. Oikawa Tooru—a name known throughout the school. Known as the captain of the university's volleyball team, Oikawa is also known to have a large fan base with some aggressive fans.
Taking the hand, he gives it a firm shake and introduces himself, "Iwaizumi Hajime."
"Ah! Nice to meet you Iwaizumi-san!" Oikawa exclaims, staring at him curiously, and Iwaizumi nods.
Actually, I think we have literature together—or was it Intro to Musicality, he thinks. He looks down at their still joined hands and releases his grip. Oikawa starts a bit and exclaims, "I forgot! I was supposed to deliver these!"
Giving Iwaizumi a broad smile with a wink and a peace sign, Oikawa turns on his heels and heads out of the door.
"See you some time, Iwaizumi-san!"
--
"Oi, are you gonna eat that?" a voice breaks Oikawa's train of thought, and he looks up to see Hanamaki pointing at the milk bread sitting on his lap. Snatching up the bag, he holds it protectively to his chest and childishly scoots away from the potential thief.
"Hmpf, buy your own milk bread," he says while reaching in to tear out a piece and popping it into his mouth. Hanamaki shrugs and reaches down to shovel more rice into his mouth. Oikawa chews slowly and ignores the sight, instead pointedly staring anywhere else in the lounge. Soon, his thoughts drift off and he finds himself wishing he could listen to the pianist play again.
His thoughts are interrupted again when the door to the room slams open, revealing a tired Matsukawa. Making his way over, he gently places his violin case on the ground before hazardously plopping himself in front of his two friends.
"Sensei kept me late again," he complains as he unwraps his bento. Not unlike Hanamaki, he starts shoving rice into his mouth rapidly.
"Can you please eat with your mouth closed?" Oikawa asks, nose scrunching with disgust.
"Refet tht ps," Matsukawa garbles, choking slightly when a grain of rice flies down the wrong pipe. Hanamaki snorts and pounds Matsukawa's back.
"How am I friends with you two?" Oikawa sighs and slumps over. Hanamaki smirks.
"You know you love us," he coos while leaning in close, and the brown haired young man leans back, nose scrunching in disgust.
"Rejected."
Matsukawa snickers, slinging an arm over Hanamaki, and whispers loudly, "It's ok, babe. At least you have me." They both smirk at each other before turning back to Oikawa, who's staring at his milk bread with intense interest.
"What's gotten into you today?" Hanamaki asks, his tone lighthearted, hiding the concern underneath. "You're not your normal 'Oikawa Tooru' self."
Oikawa squawks indignantly, "What's that supposed to mean?" Hanamaki and Matsukawa lean in simultaneously.
"You know—
"Loud—
"Talkative—
"Annoying—
"Irritating—
"Obnoxious—
"Rude!" Oikawa pouts, and Hanamaki grins, "See, there he is again."
There's a moment of silence before—
"Hey, Mattsun," Oikawa starts. Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa look up at the hesitation in his tone. "You're in the music department—do you know any pianists?"
"Yup," he says, and Oikawa sees his two friends glance at each other. "Why?"
"Then do you know Iwaizumi Hajime?"
Matsukawa snorts. "Yeah, I do."
Oikawa raises an eyebrow when he doesn't elaborate. Suddenly, the door opens again, and the three turn. Normally, it's just the three of them in there at this time, so who could it be?
The question is answered when a head of prickly dark hair makes his way through into the area.
--
"Hey, Matsukawa, do you have my score for Romance?" Iwaizumi stares at him for a moment before noticing the other two sitting on the couches.
"Are you making a move on my man?" Hanamaki gasps dramatically, and Matsukawa snorts. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "The one by Dvorak."
Matsukawa yawns before digging through his folder. He looks up, "Which one?"
"Opus 11," Iwaizumi answers him, fingers tapping on his legs. He glances at a tuff of brown hair and realizes it's Oikawa, who's currently staring at him. Iwaizumi lifts his hand in greeting, and Oikawa's face breaks into a large smile, too blinding, too bright.
"Oh," Matsukawa pipes up at seeing the interaction, "Iwaizumi, Oikawa was just asking about you." Iwaizumi raises a brow while Oikawa squawks and attempts to shove a large chunk of milk bread down Matsukawa's throat.
"Why wouldn't you share with me?" Hanamaki complains loudly as Matsukawa chokes.
"Look at the time! We better get to class!" Oikawa exclaims as he stares down at the nonexistent watch on his wrist, and Iwaizumi mentally declares that the volleyball captain is an idiot. He rolls his eyes a little at the display and moves closer to the trio. He notices Matsukawa glance briefly between him and Oikawa before handing him the small pile of paper.
"Thanks," he says, turning on his heel, and frowns at the crumpled edges of the score. He makes a small noise of disapproval and smooths the paper out, futilely trying to save it before giving up and sighing. He opens the door and steps out, keeping a hand on the surface to keep it from slamming shut. Though muffled he hears Hanamaki ask, "What was that all about?"
Oikawa gives a muted reply and suddenly Hanamaki yelps, their banter unheard as the door finally clicks shut.
Iwaizumi shakes his head when he realizes that he's smiling fondly, and thoughts of idiocy are evaporated when his mind is filled again with miles upon miles of little black dots hanging on their staff, waiting to be sung and presented to the world.
He sighs again.
There's work to be done.