Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all begins with a class that Iwaizumi never ever, ever, ever would’ve taken if he didn’t have to.

The class is CHEM 325, because of course it is. Iwaizumi has never been an enemy of the sciences, but he’s heard horror stories about this class for years.  

According to one rumor, one student slept so little while studying that he fell asleep in a park and woke up covered in bird shit. Another student failed so terribly that they dropped out of the major entirely. Another student got so nervous about taking the final that he threw up on his exam. Others who managed to survive the class warned prospective students on forums, academic advisory boards, college chats, and anywhere else they could find: do not take that class unless you absolutely have to.

But Iwaizumi needed an advanced chemistry class to graduate as a sports science major, and one unlucky lottery system later saw him begrudgingly signing up for it in a study hall while cursing under his breath. So yeah, he has to, but he’s sure as hell not going to follow suit. If Iwaizumi needs to take this class, he’ll do what it takes to do well. He’s not the type to take a challenge lying down.

Unfortunately, because Iwaizumi is the most unlucky guy in the whole wide world, it’s not enough that he has to take CHEM 325. Of course it isn’t. Iwaizumi has lived a life of relative peace up until now, but he’s never known to cherish it.

He just didn’t think CHEM 325 would come for his ass within the first ten minutes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On the first day of class, Iwaizumi decides he’ll get there especially early. He shovels down his breakfast in the dining hall a good thirty minutes beforehand and then hurries over— only to find the room nice and empty, with early morning light streaming through the windows. 

After surveying the room for a moment, he picks the two-seater in the second row. He settles in, taking out his new spiral notebook and a pen borrowed from his roommate Daichi. He doesn’t typically stress about class like this and shows up on time like any other responsible student. This time around, he figures it’d help him start the year on the right foot.

A few minutes later, another guy walks in wearing a light blue shirt and tailored slacks. A couple of girls follow him from behind, murmuring quietly to one another-- but when the guy suddenly stops right in the doorway, they collide right into him, startling him into making an undignified squawk.

“After you,” he recovers quickly and gestures forward with a practiced charm. They smile tentatively at him and nod at Iwaizumi as they walk toward seats in the back of the room. 

Still in the doorway, the guy places his hands on his hips and scans the room carefully, clearly deciding where to sit. Iwaizumi watches him from the corner of his eye. 

This guy better not sit next to me, he thinks to himself. Maybe it’s the way this guy is already tapping his foot so loudly he can hear it from across the room, or the way his flippy boy-band hairstyle doesn’t have a strand out of place. Call it intuition, call it a sixth sense— whatever it is, something about this guy just screams irritating.

Iwaizumi hasn’t been wrong yet.

As if reading his mind, the guy’s eyes suddenly snap dead onto his. Iwaizumi quickly looks away, glancing at the clock to try to escape his notice as he feels his ears burn. Don’t you dare, he threatens him internally. There are literally a million other seats you could choose.

He steals another glance back to the door, only to see that sure enough, the guy is making a beeline straight for him. No, no, no, no—

“Yahoo~,” the guy greets, giving him a little wave as he approaches his desk. He’s tall, easily taller than me, Iwaizumi notes begrudgingly, and lean, with sharp brown eyes behind the kind of fashionable thick frames Iwaizumi has only ever seen in magazines. 

Iwaizumi grunts at him, nodding his head in acknowledgment. He doesn’t really do small talk, let alone yahoos. He would’ve thought that was obvious given the general impression he tends to make on strangers, but this guy seems oblivious to any sense that he doesn’t exactly want a desk partner.

“Is that your idea of a hello…” The guy leans forward and squints at the makeshift name tent Iwaizumi has folded in front of him, trying to make out the smudged kanji. “Iwa-izumi Haji-me. Hmm… no, that won’t do,” he says aloud, tapping his chin. “Too long.”

Iwaizumi turns to look at him directly, his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“Iwa-chan,” the guy decides. “Iwa-chan, is that your idea of a polite greeting? Who raised you?”

“What the hell did you just call me?”

“Iwa-chan,” he repeats, and he heads to the other chair and sits down, as if this conversation is going well. “That got your attention, didn’t it? You had every intention of ignoring me–– on our first day of lecture, no less!” He frowns. “I don’t appreciate being dismissed, so now you have a nickname. So there.”

“Is this how you always approach strangers?” Iwaizumi asks, his shirt starting to feel a little tight around the collar. “You just decide to give them childish, overfamiliar nicknames because you want attention?”

“It’s how I speak to difficult people who don’t know how to make polite conversation,” the guy responds a little haughtily, pinching his lips together as he pulls his notebook out from his bag and sets it on the desk. “How about: Hello! Nice to meet you! You know, small talk!”

Iwaizumi pinches the skin between his eyebrows, already feeling a headache coming on. “Look,” he begins, trying to sound calm. The expression the guy gives him in return tells him he’s not doing so well on that front, but Iwaizumi’s always had an honest face. “Clearly we’re not off to a great start. Why are you sitting here when you could literally be sitting–-” he gestures across the room, “Anywhere else?”

The guy crosses his arms across his chest, looking down at him past his nose. “I want to be close to the board. Is that a crime?”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says, “because it’s been less than a minute and we’re already arguing.”

“Well, you can move then,” the guy replies, mimicking his gesturing. “No one’s stopping you.”

“What the hell, I got here first,” Iwaizumi retorts, and now he’s the one to cross his arms stubbornly. “You should be the one who moves.”

“Well, that’s no excuse,” the guy shoots back over his shoulder, sticking his tongue out at him like a damn child. “You’re the one who has a problem sitting here. I’m perfectly content.”

Iwaizumi can literally feel his blood pressure rising with every second he has to spend speaking to this guy. “It’s not an excuse, asshole! I got here first!”

“I’ll have you know–-” the guy begins hotly, but Irihata-sensei chooses then to step calmly into the classroom, and he promptly cuts himself off and smiles brightly at their professor. 

What a fake jerk, Iwaizumi thinks. 

He looks around the room and realizes that many more students have settled in since he began this argument with-– whoever this guy is, and the class is buzzing with small talk as people prepare for class to begin. He rubs a hand over his neck in agitation before opening his notebook in case he needs it. Irihata-sensei ambles over to the front and claps his hands together, and the room quickly quiets down. 

“Welcome, welcome,” he says cheerfully. “I’m so happy to see all of you here. I am Irihata-san, and I am a chemistry professor here as well as the head of the department. Congratulations for making it in this course, because it’s not so easy to get into,” he wags a finger at them, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “And as I’m sure you’ve heard, it can be even harder to get out!”

Some students laugh nervously, but Iwaizumi just feels his jaw clench a little tighter.

“You may have heard that this is a challenging course, yes,” he continues, “and you would be correct to believe this is true. However, I believe in all my students, and I encourage you to find a good, strict balance between your studies and your other commitments this semester.”

Iwaizumi thinks about his burgeoning courseload and part-time job at the recreational center and swallows hard. He sneaks a peek over at the asshole next to him, who is writing neatly in his notebook with a fancy-looking gel pen. Is he just writing down everything he’s saying? he thinks. Shit, should I be doing that?

Irihata-sensei’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “As for the topics we’ll be covering together, we’re going to review some general chemistry, before getting to alkanes and alkenes, alcohols and phenols, carbohydrates, lipids, amines and amides…” Iwaizumi writes down as much as he can remember, already trying to keep up.

He sees a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye and looks over to see that the guy next to him, still perfectly composed, now has his hand raised. “Yes?” Irihata-sensei asks. 

“Will we be reviewing any biochemistry in this course, Irihata-sensei?”

He nods happily. “Why yes, you beat me to it. We managed to sneak it into the syllabus this semester.”  

“I’m glad to hear it,” the guy replies, genuinely looking excited. “I heard this class only went over the basics originally, so I’m glad you included it this time around.” 

He added more shit to the course? Iwaizumi thinks, scrubbing at his hair. And he’s happy about that?

Irihata-sensei prattles on about exam dates and their lab schedule until the end of the lecture, when he makes his final, damning announcement before they break for lunch.

“To make things simpler to keep track of, your lab partner for the semester will be the person sitting next to you. Please introduce yourselves if you have not already done so.”

Iwaizumi slowly turns in horror toward the smirking asshole next to him. 

“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Iwa-chan!” he taunts, snickering as Iwaizumi groans and puts his head in his hands. 

“What even is your name?” he says, his voice muffled through his palms. “And who sent you from hell?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re lucky I’m here,” the guy scoffs, turning away to rummage through his bag. “I’m Oikawa Tooru, and mark my words-– you’re going to be glad I sat next to you before the semester’s over.”

“You self-important jacka-– dammit,” Iwaizumi cuts himself off as Irihata-sensei steps closer to them, smiling politely as he passes them the printed version of their syllabus. He sits up a little straighter and nods politely in thanks to their professor. 

After he walks over to the next pair, he scans this Oikawa guy next to him, head to toe, and sighs. It’s just one class, after all. He can change his seat when this is over, and find another person to sit with for their lab. He doubts Irihata-san would remember his face after a single lecture.

But then he thinks, fuck this, I chose this seat on purpose. It’s the perfect distance from the board, and I can see Irihata-sensei clearly. There has to be another way. 

Iwaizumi takes another deep breath, and goes with his gut. 

“Alright,” he says, making sure Oikawa’s eyes are on him before he smiles widely with all of his teeth. Oikawa looks a little alarmed, and Iwaizumi thinks that’s a win if I’ve ever seen one. “Fine, Shittykawa. But I can’t say the same for you.”

Chapter Text

An hour later, Iwaizumi walks into their laboratory classroom to find Oikawa already seated, arranging his pens and fiddling with the levers attached to the table. 

“I still haven’t forgiven you for your mean nickname, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tells him when he walks up to their desk. “But we’re using the Bunsen burner today! I’m setting it up now. I think I know which lab we’re starting with, too.”

“Great,” Iwaizumi replies bluntly. “Did you commit the syllabus to memory already or something?”

Oikawa laughs, waving him off. “No, no, Iwa-chan. I’ve just taken a few chemistry classes already.”

“So have I,” Iwaizumi sighs. “What’s the first lab, then?”

“Thermochemistry,” Oikawa swivels on the rickety stool to fully face Iwaizumi. “Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yes,” Irihata-sensei comes up from behind them, smiling good-naturedly. “I like to start off the semester with something a little interactive, make it fun for you kids during our review.” He looks at them closely. “We’re all trained in laboratory safety, aren’t we? Where are your goggles?”

“In my bag, Irihata-san, sorry,” Iwaizumi says immediately, reaching for his bag under the desk.

“Good, good,” Irihata-sensei says, nodding. “Never forget them, they’re very important!” He looks at Oikawa, squinting over his glasses. “Nice to see you again in one of my classes, Oikawa-kun.”

“It’s nice to be in one of your classes again, Irihata-san,” Oikawa smiles at him. “I’m very excited for this semester.” Irihata-sensei nods and walks over to the next pair, and Oikawa turns his attention back to the lab report in front of him. 

Good thing he didn’t switch seats, Iwaizumi notes. Irihata-sensei might’ve remembered after all.

“Let’s get started,” he sings, buzzing around him as he pulls the Bunsen burner closer to Iwaizumi. “Can you man the flame under the hood, Iwa-chan? You seem trustworthy.”

Irihata-sensei is still too close for Iwaizumi to say what he really wants to say, lucky for Oikawa. “Fine,” he bites back, scooching closer to the desk.

Oikawa clicks the lighter over the burner while Iwaizumi holds it tight to the counter. It sparks a few times before roaring into a giant flame in front of him, so high that Iwaizumi’s goggles fog up before he can jump back. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!” he snaps, forgetting himself, and Oikawa laughs like the prick he clearly is. 

“It’s just a little fire,” he replies cheekily. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What? You can’t handle the heat, Iwa-chan?”

“I’ll handle the heat, alright,” he retorts, and turns the gas dial to add fuel to the flame. He can tell Oikawa feels it, but he doesn’t jump back as anyone with a lick of sense would. He grins as he stares at it flicker, and Iwaizumi watches its reflection dance in his eyes. 

Who is this guy? He can’t help but wonder. He turns to face it himself, fighting the instinct to move away.

“Not so scary, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chirps smugly, eyes still locked onto the blaze behind the glossy plastic of his goggles. “It’s OK to be scared. I won’t judge you.” 

Iwaizumi decides it’d be in his best interest to count to ten before replying. If they were any younger, he would’ve foregone a civilized reply and just gone straight for Oikawa’s throat. 

“Would you shut up and just start burning shit?” he finally grits out.

“Sure, Iwa-chan. You can turn that down now, though, because I need to prep this test tube with our first substance,” he sings, waving the test tube clamped to a metal holder in front of his face. 

Irihata walks past them before Iwaizumi can throw Oikawa onto the fire. “Oikawa-kun, please don’t move the test tubes around like that, they are very fragile!” he chides before walking over to a pair of students arriving late. 

“Of course, sensei,” he says, nodding seriously, but he winks at Iwaizumi as soon as his head is turned. “You also don’t have to hold onto the burner this long, Iwa-chan, that’s dangerous. Who told you to do that?”

“Why you—” Iwaizumi roars, his voice masked barely by the sound of Oikawa’s cackle. Iwaizumi takes it back-– his intuition is spot on. This guy is a nightmare.

Iwaizumi feels the pressure of his clenched jaw begin to ache as he places different substances into each vial, determined to get through the lab without any other hiccups. 

Surprisingly, Oikawa is content holding each vial aloft with his beaker tongs over the flame before recording each reaction on their lab report, humming some inane tune under his breath as they work. 

He occasionally feels Oikawa’s eyes on him, an assessing and mischievous glint in those big brown eyes of his. He can’t fathom what he could possibly be looking for, and he doesn’t want to know. What he does know is that Irihata-sensei never leaves the room, of course, too busy supervising each pair work on their first lab of the semester-- which is probably for the best, considering Iwaizumi would’ve been expelled from college had he been left with Oikawa unsupervised.

They make it through to the end of the task sheet in under an hour, and Iwaizumi breathes a silent sigh of relief. He leans over Oikawa to flip the page, and the sigh gets caught in his throat when he realizes there are several more questions they have to answer before turning it in.

He’s still stuck on the third one when Irihata-sensei starts speaking at the front of the room.

“I see that some of you have finished early. This gives me a lot of hope for this class,” he praises, smiling widely. “As you can see on your reports, you will have to invest additional time to ensure you understand the material, which means meeting with your lab partner outside of class. You are required to organize regular study sessions together since you will be partners for the next few months–- believe me, you will thank me later.”

Iwaizumi whips his head over to Oikawa, who is busy scribbling notes into his lab notebook and frowning slightly at the page as he concentrates. “Iwa-chan is my study partner too, huh,” he comments without looking up. “This class really wants us to put some hours in early!”

Irihata-sensei interrupts before Iwaizumi can respond. “Thank you for today, and I’ll see you next week!” He toes a stopper underneath the door before padding off down the hall.

Iwaizumi shoves his stuff in his bag as soon as he’s out of sight, glancing over at the clock again to see how much time he has to grab something to eat before his work shift at the rec center. Oikawa calmly gathers his things in a neat pile before tucking them away in his backpack, still humming that senseless tune quietly to himself before clipping it shut and throwing it over his shoulder.

“We don’t have to meet up. Irihata-sensei would never know,” Iwaizumi suggests, following behind him as they walk out of the classroom together.

“Well, I’m not going to be the reason we don’t do well on our lab reports, but if Iwa-chan wants to sink and take me down with him I suppose I’ll simply have to let Irihata-sensei know-– Iwa-chan!” he squeaks, his neck squished by Iwaizumi’s strong arms as he holds him in a headlock. “I’ll especially have to let him know if I’m choked to death!”

“How would you? You’d be dead,” Iwaizumi mutters, but he releases Oikawa, who scrambles quickly out of arm’s reach before patting down his hair. “Great. I can’t believe I have to spend even more time with you.”

“You should be so lucky,” Oikawa retorts, brushing off imaginary dirt from his clothes. “Do you know how many people would kill to be in your place right now?”

“Do you know how many people I would kill to not be in my place right now?”

“You’re so ungrateful,” Oikawa huffs. “Now, let me give you my number so we can figure out a time to meet.”

“Ungrateful, my ass. Hand it over.”

Oikawa slides his phone out of his pocket and hands it to him. Iwaizumi types in his contact info quickly before he can think too much about it.

Oikawa looks back at what he’s typed and wrinkles his brow. “No, no, your name is Iwa-chan,” he corrects, replacing his name as he types. “Iwa-chan… grumpy… chemistry guy. Okay! I just texted you. Now you have my number too. Aren’t you excited for the semester, Iwa-chan?”

“This is going to be a nightmare,” Iwaizumi mutters as he reads this is oikawa, your lab partner (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ before he walks off without another word.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The next day begins the way it almost always does during the school year: with Iwaizumi and one of his roommates, Kuroo, going on their morning run together. The sky streams in a deep, foggy blue as they mumble their good mornings to one another, distracted by the routine of tying their shoelaces and tugging on their socks. As soon as they make it outside, they take a moment to do some quick dynamic stretches before they start trudging down the block.

Iwaizumi lets the calm of the morning air seep into his bones, relishing in the feeling of his muscles thrumming under his tracksuit. He loves this quiet time he gets to spend with Kuroo every morning. It’s calming, meditative-– just what he needs to burn off some steam before the rest of the day gets to him.

Unfortunately, today is a little different. 

It’s just that he can’t get that annoying guy from his chemistry class off of his mind, despite his best efforts. He visualizes the hours he’ll have to spend with him— Oikawa Tooru— stretching out ahead of him as he runs down the block, the hours upon weeks upon months.  

Maybe he’s being dramatic, but just thinking about it makes him want to lie down for a while.

“Did I tell you I’m paired with an asshole in one of the hardest classes I’ll ever have to take?” he asks Kuroo, staring straight ahead as they wait for the light to change.

“Is it CHEM 325?” Kuroo asks. “I heard once that a guy passed out in the middle of a test in that class.”

Iwaizumi turns to him in horror, nearly tripping over a small crack in the sidewalk as they start up again, and Kuroo lets out a dry chuckle. “I think it was because he wasn’t sleeping, or eating. One of the two.”

“Those are basic necessities,” Iwaizumi replies, his mouth thinning into a troubled line. 

Kuroo makes an assenting noise. “Someone forgot to remind him, I guess.” They slow down again once they reach the end of the next block. Iwaizumi watches his breath puff out in front of him, somehow already exhausted.

“This is going to suck, isn’t it?” Iwaizumi finally says. “And there’s no way out of it.”

“That’s not a given,” Kuroo gives him a sidelong grin, his puffy hair starting to wilt with sweat. “I say offense is the best defense. If you have to take this class, give it everything you’ve got.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says after a brief silence, just as the light changes.

Maybe it’s obvious how he's feeling from the tone of his voice-- because at the next light Kuroo gives him another long glance, like he wants to say something he means. 

“Iwaizumi,” Kuroo waits until Iwaizumi turns to see he’s giving him those captain eyes from his volleyball days. “Don’t forget yourself, alright? It’s not anything you haven’t done before." He reaches out a hand to clap him on the shoulder. "Just figure out how to win."

He’s being serious, and Iwaizumi feels a surge of confidence rise in him the longer they stare at each other. 

He forgets, sometimes, that even Kuroo’s nerdy little pep talks have their own way of being reassuring.

“Thanks,” he tells him before he knocks his shoulder into Kuroo's. “Race you back?”

“Get ready to lose,” Kuroo answers, and they both book it down the block, pumping their arms in an attempt to run even faster.

When they return to their apartment forty-five minutes later, Iwaizumi launches himself on their couch and munches absentmindedly on a banana as he watches Kuroo pour frozen fruit into a blender. I’ll show that Oikawa jerk, he thinks, before the blender whirs to life and Iwaizumi hears Daichi thump a fist against the wall in protest. 

Later that night, Iwaizumi begrudgingly opens up Oikawa’s chat again. He drafts hey this is iwaizumi and hey asshole, before deleting them both. He sighs, sitting up in bed and running a hand through his hair. 

Just type the next sentence you think of and move on, he tells himself.

hey. so when do you wanna meet up and where, he quickly types.

He gets a response almost immediately. 

iwa-chan!! you took so long i started to think you already gave up on class (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ

you’re so annoying, i hope you know that. i’m free on tuesday nights, what about you

i am very charming, iwa-chan is just mean (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ what time? i was thinking we could meet in the library in the evening— the sci center is always crowded, plus my teammates are always there

i’ve yet to see it. library at 6pm is good with me. don’t be late, i hate that shit.

if you say so (づ ◕‿◕ )づ see you soon, iwa-chan!

Iwaizumi tosses his phone on his pillow and lets out a deep breath. This will be fine, he tells himself, staring at the ceiling in the dark. And even if it isn’t, I’ll figure it out somehow.

Chapter Text

Despite his best efforts, Iwaizumi is not the first one who gets to the library for their study session. When he walks into the lobby around ten minutes to six, he receives a text that says:

on the third floor, big table, find me＼(＾▽＾) ／

He curses under his breath and runs up the staircase. He rolls his eyes when he spots Oikawa already has his notebook out, along with several gel pens, a well-loved graphic calculator, and their lab guidebook open to the lab where he'd nearly burned Iwaizumi’s eyebrows off.

As he approaches, Oikawa holds a stack of neatly stapled paper toward him with a guarded expression.

"What's this?" Iwaizumi asks, snatching it from his grip. He narrows his eyes once he realizes that Oikawa’s done the entire damn lab report by himself.

“I just thought we could just review it together this time,” Oikawa says, watching him from behind the stapled papers. “Since I—”

“Yeah, no,” Iwaizumi cuts him off, tearing the paper in two before he can think twice about it. “You didn’t have me come all the way over here for nothing. We’re doing it together.”

Oikawa considers the ripped-up pages for a moment before letting out a belated indignant huff. “That took me an hour, Iwa-chan,” he says, taking them back reluctantly. “We could’ve used it as a reference, at least.”

“Well, you have only yourself to blame for doing your lab without your lab partner,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You’ve got some nerve to try to do this for both of us. It’s too late for that. I’m here, and you’re not counting me out.”

“Fine, fine,” Oikawa dismisses his protests with a condescending wave of his hands. “Sit down, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi does, plopping his things down aggressively on the table. As he unzips his bag, he pauses. “Why did you even do the lab by yourself? Do you think you’re better than me or something?”

“No,” Oikawa shrugs. “I just figured I’d save us both some time. You didn’t sound like you wanted to meet up, after all.”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, setting his notebook on the desk. He figured Oikawa was a good student, but something about his smug nonchalance annoys the shit out of him. “You’re top of our class, aren’t you?”

Oikawa gives him a sharp, annoying smile. “I don’t know why you would doubt it, Iwa-chan. I have brains, brawn, and beauty. I’m the whole package!”

“Well, you look, act, and sound like a dumbass, but I guess numbers don’t lie,” Iwaizumi snips back.

“Oh, like you have much going for you!” Oikawa objects hotly. “Are you going to take your lab out or not, since you so kindly ripped mine?”

Iwaizumi slaps open his notebook with a scowl. “Here.”

Oikawa reviews it again, nodding to himself. “OK, so I think this is the first answer,” he writes quickly in a loopy script. “What do you think?”

Iwaizumi leans in to read aloud what he’s written. “Examples of real-life endothermic reactions include evaporation, photosynthesis, baking milkbread–- it doesn’t matter what kind of bread, Shittykawa–- and cooking eggs.” 

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “I could’ve said anything! No need to be boring.”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi relents. “What about rusting?”

“Rusting is an exothermic reaction, Iwa-chan, but don’t worry– I just thought of another one. Melting snow!”

“Put freezing ice, then, for the next one,” Iwaizumi suggests, and Oikawa hums as he writes it down. “Yes, real-life exothermic reactions. Rusting, freezing, condensation, nuclear fission….”

Iwaizumi frowns. “Nuclear fission?”

“Of course,” Oikawa tells him matter-of-factly. “You remember that from Intro, right? The nucleus breaks apart into smaller nuclei, and heat is released in that process. Oh, I could add nuclear fusion as an endothermic reaction, hold on…” he scribbles that in too, while Iwaizumi watches from across the table. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says after a moment, starting to feel a little embarrassed despite himself. I can’t believe I forgot that, he thinks. That’s as basic as it gets.

“You want to take this one?” Oikawa asks, pointing at the same question Iwaizumi had been stuck on when he’d first read through the report. Iwaizumi shakes his head. 

“What will happen to the rate of an exothermic reaction if the temperature is increased?” Oikawa reads aloud. “Oh, it’ll increase, of course!”

Iwaizumi feels his neck grow hot, the answer feeling obvious after hearing it. He knows there’s nothing wrong with forgetting something he’d learned more than a year ago, but there’s just something about being in front of Oikawa that’s making him feel behind, somehow. Oikawa is just thinking aloud but he’s clearly in his element, and Iwaizumi hates how out-of-his-depth he feels.

He watches as Oikawa murmurs to himself, writing the answer to the next question, and something like pride tightens in his chest and makes him sit up straighter. Fuck this, he thinks, gritting his teeth, and both he and Oikawa’s eyes widen when he realizes he said that out loud. “Like hell you’re going to beat me,” he continues, not missing a beat.

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. “Oh, Iwa-chan. I already have.” He motions to the lab in front of him. “I don’t even know what the point of ripping the lab report was if I’m just doing it all over again.”

“Give me that,” Iwaizumi demands, and scooches closer to take another look. He sees another question: what will happen if you lessen the heat in an endothermic reaction? After a moment, he remembers a similar answer he’d written a year ago.

He scribbles in the reaction will slow, and shift to the products to retain its equilibrium. “Take that,” he says triumphantly.

“Fine,” Oikawa admits. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll be able to beat me in class.”

“I’d watch out if I were you,” Iwaizumi warns. “I’m going to kick your ass on our first exam, just wait and see.”

“Sure,” Oikawa allows, and pushes the lab closer to him with two fingers. “But first, show me what else you’ve got.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Their next lecture is on a Thursday, and the first thing Iwaizumi sees when he walks in is Oikawa has beat him there yet again, already staring at his notes with round, concentrated eyes.

Iwaizumi walks over warily, unclipping his backpack from his chest. Oikawa startles a little when he hears the click of the buckle.

“Iwa-chan!” His tousled bangs fall into his eyes when he looks up to greet him, and Iwaizumi blinks, distracted for a second before he nods. “Still thinking about changing seats? I got here first this time, so now you’ll really have to move!”

“I told you it’s too late for that, Shittykawa,” he says grimly, sitting down with a sigh. “After we submitted our first report, Irihata-sensei recorded who our partners were. He sent an email this morning.”

“True,” Oikawa relents, nodding sagely. “Iwa-chan spent all his time in the library threatening the great Oikawa-san and developing wrinkles. I remember it all very well.”

“You were being annoying,” Iwaizumi replies smoothly. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Oikawa pouts before he returns to rereading his notes. Iwaizumi watches him for a moment, still agitated. I'm not the one who insisted on sitting together, he thinks haughtily. If I had it my way, we'd be sitting on opposite ends of the room. 

Iwaizumi relaxes in his seat once Irihata-sensei begins their lecture, reviewing their lab report answers in a calming voice. He lets out a breath once he realizes there are three whole days he won’t have to see or interact with Oikawa. He and his roommates will go to the gym, he’ll catch up on homework for his other classes— he'll do his best to forget that this entire week has happened at all.

It’s not until he shuts his apartment door behind him a few hours later that he remembers Kuroo and Daichi had texted him about going out earlier that day, meaning he’d have the apartment to himself for the night. 

He sits on their worn, well-loved couch and sighs wearily. He doesn’t have any readings to catch up on yet, his best friends are definitely off pregaming at Kyoutani’s by now, and it feels like it’s a little too early in the semester to catch up with acquaintances over dinner. He could’ve easily tagged along, but he doesn’t feel like going out and getting wasted. 

He’s in the third year of his major, and his classes are already getting serious in this first week alone. He feels more serious, too.

Suddenly, he remembers his old notes from last year are in his desk drawer, packed from home on the off-chance that he might need them for this semester.

Next thing Iwaizumi knows, he’s camped out in the living room with only a small desk lamp on, his AirPods in, and a steaming cup of tea next to him as he rereads his notes. He’s so lost in it that he startles when he hears the door clang open, with Kuroo and Daichi whooping as they stumble in.

“Hajime!” Daichi greets loudly. Iwaizumi winces before looking over to see his flushed cheeks and clouded eyes. “How come you didn’t come out with us, huh?”

“Eh, I wasn’t in the mood,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You guys have fun?”

Kuroo grins jauntily, his arm slung around Daichi’s shoulders as he sloppily kicks off his shoes. “Hell yeah!” he cheers before Daichi shushes him, laughing giddily.  

“Sawamura saw the guy he was crushing on last semester at the club,” Kuroo teases, and Daichi shoves him from the genkan. “He looks even cuter these days. I think it’s his new haircut.”

“Shut up!” Daichi shouts, still too loud. “He does,” he tells Iwaizumi seriously.

“I believe it,” Iwaizumi smiles. “You still don’t know his name?”

“No,” Daichi complains. Kuroo tuts as he waltzes into their narrow kitchenette. “You haven’t asked!” he calls over his shoulder, and Daichi nods sadly in agreement.

“Wait, that could be your goal for the semester,” Kuroo finishes pouring himself a glass of water before grabbing the magnetic post-its they keep for grocery lists off the fridge. “We should all have one, honestly. Or more than one, should you be feeling ambitious this year,” He pulls out a pen, speaking as he writes. “For Daichi: so help us: find out what your crush’s name is.”

“Fine,” Daichi says, walking over to the fridge and snatching the pen from him. “For Kuroo: keep his ass in his own business.”

“My ass?” Kuroo chuckles, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. “Something tells me you need some water too.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, his arms draped over the back of his chair as he watches Daichi sip his water while scowling at Kuroo. “It’s good to have you guys home,” he tells them. “Put down that my goal is to beat my lab partner’s ass at Chem.”

“You really hate that guy, don’t you,” Kuroo comments, lifting himself to sit on the counter, his rooster’s nest in even more disarray than usual after a night out. “The chemistry genius.”

“I hate him,” Iwaizumi declares, throwing a fist in the air, and both Kuroo and Daichi stare at him for a beat before bursting into laughter. Iwaizumi breaks out into a grin, the lingering tightness in his chest loosening at the cheer of his roommates.

“It’s so early in the semester to have found your mortal enemy,” Daichi remarks after their laughter has died down.

“Plus, you were better in Chem than me, and it’s literally my major,” Kuroo adds. “Don’t you remember constantly beating my exam scores in Intro?”

“And yet here I am,” Iwaizumi says, gesturing at his notes spread out on the living room table. “I was alright, but he’s better, I think. For now.”

“What did you say his name was again?” Kuroo asks as he pours both himself and Daichi another glass. 

“There’s some water in the kettle if you want tea,” he tells him. “And it’s Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru.”

“Oikawa Tooru? That guy is a setter legend!” Kuroo exclaims. “He’s a player on our volleyball team. He’s absolutely incredible. Remember that game I took you to in our first year?”

“He’s a pain in the ass is what he is,” Iwaizumi retorts. A foggy memory comes to mind-- a tall guy with a killer jump serve, and Kuroo yelling in his ear when their team had won. He shakes his head. He had stopped going to volleyball games a long time ago-- they'd brought back too many memories of what could've been. "I think I might remember, though. He was pretty good."

“That’s pretty cool, honestly,” Daichi says while washing his glass. “Why do you hate him?”

“He’s just so-–” He pauses, considering how best to explain it, that rush of heat he’d felt as soon as he and Oikawa had first spoken. “We started arguing the day we met and haven’t stopped since.” 

“Huh,” Daichi nods. “On the board it goes! And then I’m going to sleep. We’re all-–” he makes meaningful eye contact with both Kuroo and Iwaizumi before he continues. “—going to sleep. We're lifting in the morning, and I need my two best spotters with me.”

“Yes!” Kuroo and Iwaizumi salute him, and he scribbles out Iwaizumi’s goal before padding out of the kitchen in his well-worn grey socks. “Go to bed,” he yells, and Kuroo laughs under his breath as he rinses his glass.

“Alright, alright,” Iwaizumi says, laughing too as he places his mug in the sink. He walks past the fridge and reads in bright red ink: IWAIZUMI’S GOAL: BEAT OIKAWA TOORU. 

A shiver that feels like competition runs down his spine. He grins sharply, relishing in the feeling for a moment, before slamming his laptop shut with a solid click. 

He’s going to need plenty of rest if he’s going to beat this asshole.

Chapter Text

“We’re creating hydrocarbon structures today, Iwa-chan," Oikawa announces as Iwaizumi approaches their lab table the following week. “There are some kits for us in the front by Irihata-sensei’s desk. I’d recognize those grey boxes anywhere.”

“Great,” Iwaizumi plunks himself down into his seat. “Shouldn’t take too long, then.”

He starts thinking about what he’ll do with a rare extra hour of free time when Oikawa swivels toward him with a strange gleam in his eyes.

“I’ll race you,” he offers. “Whoever can finish all of the structures the fastest will win…” he thinks, considering it for a minute. “What would you want, Iwa-chan?”

“For you to switch seats,” Iwaizumi tells him plainly, and Oikawa tips his head back and groans. 

“Noooo,” he moans. “Still? Silly Iwa-chan, you know you’d miss me if I weren’t here. This lab is going to be so easy. I’m trying to think of ways to make it fun.”

“This isn’t going to be fun in the first place,” Iwaizumi points out.

“I know, that’s why I want to improvise!” Oikawa argues. 

“Would it make you happy?”

“Yes!” 

“Then no,” Iwaizumi grins triumphantly when Oikawa shoots him a sour glare.

“You are so mean, I swear,” he complains.

However, that initial victory lasts for about as much time as it takes for Iwaizumi to fetch their kits and return to their table-- because he finds out, much to his chagrin, that Oikawa is relentless when he wants something.

“Iwa-chan, race me,” he pleads, throwing a red Oxygen bead to thwack him in the chest. “I’m bored. We have so many structures to get through.”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, peering up to see an oblivious Irihata-sensei fixing a structure for students at another table. “Do your damn work and stop throwing shit at me. It’ll go faster that way.”

“Would that make you happy?”

“It would, actually.”

Oikawa throws a white Hydrogen bead that hits him on the cheek. “Then no.”

Iwaizumi calls upon every spiritual deity he can think of to prevent him from strangling Oikawa to death. Oikawa pays no mind to his muttering, deciding the steam rising from Iwaizumi’s ears is a good indication that he should begin the next phase of annoying Iwaizumi to an early grave.

“Iwa-chan, that’s not how you do it,” Oikawa tells him, looking over his shoulder at the structure Iwaizumi’s building. 

“I want to throw you across the room,” Iwaizumi informs him. “This is how you do it, these two beads bend in opposite directions.”

“Wait a minute,” Oikawa interjects, and his growing smirk is so damn infuriating Iwaizumi can feel his ears burning from anger. “Keep it that way. I don’t know what I’m doing, bothering to correct a rival.” He winks, flicking a black Carbon atom against his stomach, and Iwaizumi has had it. He pushes back his seat, the metal scraping against the linoleum floors loudly.

“You have five seconds,” he warns lowly, his hands clawing onto the table's edge, “to get as far away from me as possible.”

“You want to chase me around this table so badly, don’t you,” Oikawa asks, smiling devilishly at him. 

“With every bone in my body."

“I’m sure. Can I tell you why you’re wrong now?” 

Iwaizumi steals another look at Irihata-sensei, who is now observing a pair closer to their table. If he murdered Oikawa right now, he’d definitely notice. Damn it. “If I don’t kill you first.”

“This,” Oikawa murmurs as he unsticks the two beads from one another, “Is a double bond, so you need to use the longer grey sticks to connect them together.” 

“Fine,” Iwaizumi says through gritted teeth. “But put it back the way I had it, because we’re making 2-cyclopentene.”

“Right,” Oikawa nods dutifully. “Whatever you say, Iwa-chan.” He looks up from his bangs once he clicks them together with a satisfying snap, narrowing his eyes at him while Iwaizumi fights the urge to throttle him.

“Why are you wearing goggles, silly Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks curiously.

Iwaizumi blinks, suddenly noting the hard plastic clinging to his skin. He’d forgotten he’d had them on. 

“Habit, I guess,” he grumbles. “I thought we’d be doing more today.”

Without warning, Oikawa reaches forward and lifts them from Iwaizumi’s face, gently pulling them to rest high on his forehead. “No wonder your structures are a little off.” He tuts, inspecting the cloudy plastic before his eyes lower to Iwaizumi’s face.

“Aww, look at you. Now I know what you’ll look like when you’re old with all these lines.” He coos, smoothing his fingertips over the reddened grooves around his eyes. “Such a grouchy old man already, Iwa-chan!” 

His fingers are warm, Iwaizumi thinks as he glares at him. Must be because he’s from Hell.

They startle at the sound of a cleared throat, turning to see Irihata-sensei frowning at the ground quizzically before giving each of them a disapproving glance. 

“Boys,” Irihata-sensei asks slowly, “why are so many of my plastic atoms on the floor?”

“Iwa-chan is very clumsy,” Oikawa tells him before Iwaizumi elbows him in the side hard enough that he starts hacking violently. 

Iwaizumi grins up at their professor. “Sorry, sensei, we’ll tidy up right away.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Oikawa, as it turns out, has a ridiculously large fanbase. Logically, Iwaizumi knows he can’t possibly pay this many people to gather in droves around him everywhere he goes, but he can’t think of a reason in hell why else they would willingly follow Oikawa of all people. 

Sure, he’s a well-known athlete on campus being scouted for a professional league, as Kuroo felt the need to explain to him like the damn nerd that is. Iwaizumi knows one thing for sure-- they haven’t spent more than five minutes with his annoying ass, good-looking or not.

Iwaizumi makes a habit of wearing his headphones as he walks over to the library for their meetings after noticing his gaggle of fans time and time again outside the library. On the third week Oikawa manages to catch his eye, waving his hands back and forth like a drowning man at sea. Iwaizumi reluctantly pulls them off to hang around his neck.

“I'll be up there soon, Iwa-chan! I just have some signatures to dole out!” Oikawa calls from the crowd. Some fans turn to him with narrowed eyes, jealous of whoever’s stolen Oikawa’s attention. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. 

“Don’t bother!” Iwaizumi yells back. 

The crowd gasps audibly, and Iwaizumi gets the strongest urge to lob something, literally anything, at Oikawa’s head. Maybe that damn volleyball he has slung casually under his arm. It wouldn’t kill him, but it’d get the job done. 

Iwaizumi knows there’s strength in numbers, though, so he starts stomping toward the doors instead when he hears Oikawa shout, “Sorry, everyone, Iwa-chan hates when I’m late!” and the disappointed grumbles that ensue.

It clearly doesn’t bother Oikawa, though, who only needs a few strides with those damn long legs to catch up to Iwaizumi. 

“Hi, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says breezily. When Iwaizumi turns to face him his grin is delighted, almost childish, as if he’s getting a kick out of seeing Iwaizumi fuming mad before they’re even in the building. “Don’t worry, I would never deny you the pleasure of spending time with me.”

Now at close range and with no army to shield him, Iwaizumi takes the opportunity to whack him upside the head. “I wish you would,” he snarks. “And don’t say my name so loud, people are going to associate us together and then I’ll start getting hounded too.”

“We are together, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouts as they enter the stairway. “We’ll be here for hours… and hours…”

“Don’t remind me, it’ll make the time go even slower.”

The plan is to get started on their alcohol chapter, and they get comfortable at their table before cracking open their textbook between them. They’re in the middle of a long string of practice problems when Iwaizumi interrupts Oikawa's long-winded spiel about his haul of confessions to correct him. 

“No, it’s obviously a phenol!” He shoves Oikawa’s pencil away from his notebook so he can look closer at his hastily written response of benzene. “Your fans know you forget about hydroxyl groups?”

“Oh,” Oikawa removes his hand covering the answer, staring at what he'd written in surprise. “Look at Iwa-chan being right for once! It is a phenol!”

“No one asked for your approval,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “I just know what I know.” Despite himself, he feels a little proud of having sharper eyes for once.

“Huh,” Oikawa says, giving him an appraising once-over. “Don’t be troublesome, Iwa-chan. Have you been studying on your own?”

Iwaizumi scowls at him. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells him. “Stop bragging about your love life and pay attention to our work.”

The life of Oikawa’s chuckle lasts until Iwaizumi harshly knees him in the hip.

“You’re actually very steady, aren’t you?” Oikawa notes, rubbing at his bruise and leaning back in his chair as his eyes linger on Iwaizumi. “Still no match for me, though. That’s epinephrine, not tyrosine.”

“No one asked you, Shittykawa.”

“Uh uh,” Oikawa tuts. “Two can play at this game. What’s this, Iwa-chan?” He asks, pointing at another question Iwaizumi had been working on. “Are those two double bonds next to each other?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer in lieu of tipping Oikawa’s seat to the side with his foot, sending him sprawling to the ground. Oikawa lets out a pained groan, rubbing his head woefully as he scowls at him from the floor. “You’re such a brute,” he sniffs. 

“You deserved that,” Iwaizumi tells him. “For being nosy.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“Still studying, huh?” Daichi asks Iwaizumi later in their living room, handing him a freshly brewed cup of tea. Iwaizumi nods at him in thanks, setting it on the table a good distance away from the computer he’s been crouching over for several hours now. “Do you have an exam tomorrow or something?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “It’s in a couple of weeks, but I’m trying to read this whole section now before I go to bed. I figure the more time I use to my advantage, the better.”

Daichi whistles, sipping from his own cup of tea as he looks over Iwaizumi’s meticulous notes. “Wow, you’re so committed! I’m used to seeing you cram a couple of days before exams.”

“Yeah, I know,” Iwaizumi smirks. “I’m trying to meet my goal, remember?”

“Ah, I do,” Daichi replies. “You’re not going to let him beat you.”

“Exactly,” Iwaizumi says as he lifts a fist for him to bump as he turns back to his screen. “Alright, Daichi. I’ll see you tomorrow. When’re you going to come on a run with me and Kuroo?”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Daichi grins at him and gives him a resounding slap on the back before he pads to his room in his thick woolly socks. “I’m feeling inspired now. I’m not going to let you guys beat me.”

Iwaizumi smirks at his screen as he returns to his notes. “We’ll see about that.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Irihata-sensei hands back their tests two weeks later, and Iwaizumi stares at his incredible, big red 97 before Oikawa’s fluffy head of hair dawns over his shoulder, ducking closely to peer at his score before Iwaizumi swipes at him.

“You’re doing almost as well as me,” Oikawa states, straightening his jacket as he settles back into his chair. 

“Uh-huh,” Iwaizumi says, tracking the way Oikawa’s eyes subtly narrow and his mouth tightens at the corners. Good. “Worried?”

“No,” Oikawa answers quickly, refusing to look at him as he runs a hand through his hair. Iwaizumi uses those seconds to sneak a peek at Oikawa’s test, a 104 staring defiantly back at him. “Why would I be worried? Clearly, this isn’t something that’ll last very long.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi retorts. Oikawa’s mouth forms into a sneer. “And don’t even bother with whatever you’re going to say next, because I know it’ll just be more bullshit.”

“Hmph,” Oikawa huffs. “I’ll have you know what I was going to say was perfectly legitimate, thank you.”

“Spit it out, then,” Iwaizumi leans back in his chair, raising a brow. “I’m all ears.”

“I was going to warn you to watch out, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa fully faces Iwaizumi, leaning into his space again. “Enjoy your little victory while you can, because I am not going to lose to anyone, least of all you.”

“Wow, those are fighting words.” Iwaizumi chides, placing his hand on Oikawa’s smooth forehead to push him back to where he came from. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Hmph,” Oikawa sniffs, and then refuses to speak to him for the rest of the lecture.

Or tries to, anyway, but his eyes keep darting over to analyze Iwaizumi like he’s re-evaluating a math equation.

“What is it, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Spit it out already.”

“What did you say your grade was last quarter?”

“That’s none of your business,” Iwaizumi tells him. “But I did well. I’m telling you I was just rusty.”

“Which professor did you have?” Oikawa continues, ignoring his answer. “What’s your major?”

“What does it matter?”

Oikawa squints at him suspiciously. “Have you been holding out on me?” He inches closer, trying to suss him out. “Pretending to be bad at chemistry so I’d let my guard down?”

“Pretending to be— ?! Listen, asshole,” Iwaizumi growls. “I told you to watch out, didn’t I?”

“Hmph,” Oikawa huffs, turning away with a frown.

When they have their lab later that day, Oikawa doesn’t bother to greet Iwaizumi when he arrives at their desk.

Iwaizumi waits for it for a beat too long before he shrugs and settles in next to him. After Irihata-sensei explains the procedure of the day, they get started with their Bromine tests. Oikawa wordlessly passes him vials without so much as looking at him. Iwaizumi feels he should feel grateful for the silence, but he can’t help but feel off. It just feels too quiet, he guesses. It’s unnerving.

It’s not until they’re in the middle of discerning whether different mystery substances are alkanes and alkenes that Oikawa finally speaks up.

“It disappeared in like a second, Iwa-chan. You just weren’t paying attention.” Oikawa erases Iwaizumi’s recorded result as he examines the first vial with furrowed brows. 

“I was,” Iwaizumi contends. “The Bromine solution took more than a couple of seconds to disappear. I’m telling you, that one is an alkane.” He leans over to rewrite it in their lab notebook.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa complains, watching him write it in. Iwaizumi steels himself, hoping that if he ignores him, maybe he’ll relent.

“Iwaaaaaa-chan,” Oikawa repeats, a little louder this time. Iwaizumi clenches his fists in lieu of responding.

“Iwaaaaaaaaaaa-cha—” Oikawa sings right in his ear, and Iwaizumi rounds on him furiously. “I swear if you don’t shut up, Oikawa,“ he roars.

“Don’t write it’s an alkane, because it’s not, okay Iwa-chan?”

“But it is!”

“What about this one, then?” Oikawa taps the surface of another glass vial, peering up at Iwaizumi inquisitively.

“That one barely hit the surface of it before it went clear,” Iwaizumi growls.

“I know,” Oikawa responds smugly. “Just checking to see if you have any perceptive abilities in that head of yours.”

“I cannot stand you,“ Iwaizumi lunges for him, and Oikawa has just enough time to set the vial down before he leaps to the opposite end of the table.

“BOYS, NO RUNNING IN MY LAB!” Irihata-sensei shouts, and both of them immediately freeze. They complete the rest of the lab in utter silence, but Iwaizumi can feel the stares of his other classmates on the back of his neck as they work and his irritation grows. Damn Oikawa, he thinks, making me act up like this and getting us into trouble.

Irihata-sensei calls them both to his table at the end of the lab, looking very annoyed. “Something as careless as running in our lab could seriously jeopardize the health of you boys, or one of your classmates,” he tells them. "What got into you?"

Iwaizumi’s ears burn as he stares at the table. He sneaks a glance at Oikawa, who looks appropriately cowed, too. “Sorry, sensei,” they say in unison. “It won’t happen again.”

"It was the power of chemistry," Oikawa chirps, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Did he really think now was the best time to be a kiss-ass?

“I know it won’t happen again,” he tells them, but when Iwaizumi finally looks at him again he almost looks amused, dammit. “Because all my students will act like adults, and they will get through this class together.”

"Yes, sensei," Iwaizumi and Oikawa bow in front of him before they are finally dismissed.

"Damnit, Oikawa," Iwaizumi snaps when they leave the building together, shoving his shoulder with his own. "Do you always have to be so annoying?"

"It takes two to tango, Iwa-chan," Oikawa retorts, and shoves him right back. "You're the one who didn't want to listen to me even though I was right. It's not my fault you act like a barbarian."

"That's not even true! Goddamnit, you weren't even paying attention to the experiment," Iwaizumi growls right in his face. "It's like you enjoy provoking me."

"You say that now, but wait until we write our lab report," Oikawa replies, sneering in a way that makes Iwaizumi's blood boil. God, this guy is so-- "You'll see I've won yet again, Iwa-chan."

That's it. "You know what? I'm going home, asshole," Iwaizumi barks. "I told you I'd beat you, and I'm already damn close. I'll see you in class and not a minute sooner."

"I can't wait, Iwa-chan," Oikawa taunts, and has the nerve to wink at him like the arrogant prick that he is. Iwaizumi hates him with the fire of a thousand suns. "Bring it on!"

Bring it on, stupid pretty boy, Iwaizumi thinks as he stomps back to his dorm. When we fight, I will defeat you. 

Chapter Text

A few days later, Iwaizumi heads to the gym a couple of hours before his shift begins at the front desk.

He takes his time with dynamic stretches, sighing in satisfaction as he feels tension drain from his body. He ambles over to a bench to start with chest presses, placing a towel toward the end before sitting on the edge with a huff. 

Once his headphones are situated, he leans back onto the bench, carefully aligning his hands before beginning his warm-up set. He completes it fairly quickly, his muscles warm under his shirt after his last rep. He sits up smiling as he begins to rack plates onto the bar. He’s going heavy today, and he’s feeling good about it.

After he’s racked and ready to go, Iwaizumi gets back into position and begins his first weighted set, breathing hard as he lifts up, down, and back again. 

He gets lost in it the way he always does, breathing hard into each thrust upward as his muscles begin to strain by the last few reps. He fights to push it up for the last time, grunting loudly as he manages to hoist it up off his chest. 

He noisily slams the bar backward into its holding place once he’s made it all the way up, and sighs happily. His music is blasting in his ears, he made it to failure right on target, and–-

And Oikawa Tooru is standing over him, blue wired headphones wrapped around his neck, mouthing words he can’t hear.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi rips off his own headphones, pulling at his towel to wipe his forehead. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Of course you’re that guy,” Oikawa accuses, ignoring the question completely. 

Iwaizumi dabs at his pectorals with his towel as he processes this, the sweat already beginning to pool at his neck. “What guy?”

“The guy who makes sex noises at the gym,” Oikawa replies after a moment, his eyes slicing up from his chest, and Iwaizumi genuinely feels a vein pop in his forehead. 

“Hah? Stupid, I’m not here moaning or some shit.” he lifts himself into a seated position so he can argue with him properly. “You’d make noise too if you could lift this heavy.”

“I can lift that heavy,” Oikawa scoffs, his arms crossed. “You were so loud that if I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was in front of a door with a sock on the knob. I was on the opposite end of the gym, and I could still hear you.”

“You are such an asshole,” Iwaizumi counters, rolling his eyes. “And a liar. I’ve been doing this for years and no one’s ever complained.”

“That’s because some people like it, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa explains, and Iwaizumi just wants to— wrestle him to the floor or something, for being so damn condescending. “And some people are too polite. However, some of us would rather get through our workouts undisturbed, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Iwaizumi huffs and scooches back on the bench. He takes out his phone and begins scrolling for a new song, something much louder to drown out unwelcome guests. Oikawa edges further into his vision, waiting for him to protest, and it only takes about four seconds for Iwaizumi to snap.

“Aren’t you done pissing me off yet?” he barks.

“Not even a little bit,” Oikawa says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Before Iwaizumi can think too much about it, he wraps a hand around Oikawa’s wrist and yanks him closer, causing him to stumble forward. Oikawa’s eyes widen when he suddenly finds himself inches from Iwaizumi’s face. 

“Cut it out and go back to whatever you were doing,” Iwaizumi snarls. “Or make yourself useful and spot me.”

“Iwa-chan would trust me with such a risky venture? How foolish of you!” Oikawa squawks before Iwaizumi pulls him even closer, their noses nearly brushing. 

“If you try to kill me, I will haunt you for the rest of your life,” Iwaizumi threatens.

“Fine,” Oikawa retorts, a strange note of nervousness in his voice. “But only to prove my point!”

Iwaizumi releases him, and Oikawa takes a second to regain his footing before walking behind the racked weight. Iwaizumi leans down until he’s fully reclined on the bench again, his breath evening out as he tries his best to ignore Oikawa hovering behind him. 

He lines his hands up on the small crevices on the bar, inhales sharply, and then lifts. Oikawa leans in, his hands steadily following the bar’s trajectory until Iwaizumi pulls it toward his chest. He gets through his set with little effort, making it to failure just a rep before he planned to. Oikawa racks it for him before Iwaizumi pops up again to take a much-needed gulp of water. 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi offers reluctantly, after checking his RPM on his Apple Watch. “You must do this all the time with your teammates.”

“I’m no stranger to this, yeah,” Oikawa shrugs. “Our conditioning is four to five times a week.”

“Cool,” Iwaizumi says simply before reclining again. He’s never been much of a casual conversationalist, after all.

“They're not loud like you are,” Oikawa remarks from behind him. “I'm certainly not.”

“Uh-huh,” Iwaizumi mutters, his chest heaving as he catches his breath, begrudgingly meeting Oikawa’s gaze boring into his. “Fine,” he says. “Prove it. I’ll spot you.”

They switch places, Oikawa perched on the edge while Iwaizumi takes another sip of water. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Iwaizumi tells him, hovering his hands underneath the bar. Oikawa gets into position before he lifts the bar, clearing the weight faster than Iwaizumi would’ve expected.

“Go, I’ve got you.”

Iwaizumi spots him until the tenth rep, until Oikawa is red and trembling as he lifts it high and then racks it backward with a clang. 

“Easily, huh?” Iwaizumi can’t help but rub in. Oikawa shoots him a glare as he rises to gulp down some water.

“Again,” Oikawa declares after a while, looking determined as he lowers himself down again. He inhales deeply after lining himself up with the bar, and Iwaizumi nods swiftly. Oikawa makes it to the end of his rep range this time, fueled out of sheer spite. Iwaizumi whistles when he pops up again, his shirt sticking to his back as he pants.

“You got it,” Iwaizumi acknowledges, and Oikawa preens before swallowing down a big gulp of water.

“Told you I could.”

“We’re at the same weight bracket,” Iwaizumi rebuts. “Plus, I heard a little grunting toward the end.”

“You did not,” Oikawa argues, and Iwaizumi smiles with all of his teeth. 

“I did–– and it sounded completely normal for a gym setting, because it was difficult.”

“I did not sound like I was deep in the throes of passion,” Oikawa stresses, and Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, coughing on the water he’s just sipped. 

"What?” he splutters, and Oikawa quickly descends back to the bench in lieu of an answer. 

“One more time!” he announces, getting into position.

“I'm doing dips after this,” Iwaizumi informs him after he knocks the bar back for his last set. “So get ready if you’re going to join me for the rest.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa simpers. “I do dips in my sleep.”

Okay, so Oikawa admittedly beats his ass at dips. Iwaizumi gets him back, though, while doing Arnold presses with significantly more weight. He feels proud of himself, but then--

He finally hears himself grunt and, well. Oikawa’s not entirely wrong on that front. He is a little loud. He sets the weights down with a deep sigh and turns to see that Oikawa’s already looking at him-- biting his plush bottom lip with sharp, white teeth. 

They get through Iwaizumi’s entire routine like that, bickering over machines and trying to one-up each other.

“Are we done with your lifts? I want to race you on the treadmill,” Oikawa chirps after they’re both panting and exhausted. “You look like a man who skips cardio.”

“Never,” Iwaizumi tells him very seriously. “Get ready to lose, asshole.”

Turns out Oikawa runs damn fast, and Iwaizumi nearly falls off his treadmill trying to keep up with him. Oikawa snickers breathlessly beside him, mashing the button over and over to kick up his pace.

“What position do you play again?” Iwaizumi wheezes afterward, still trying to catch his breath. 

“I’m a setter, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, smiling lazily at him as he wipes sweat from his forehead. “You’re fit, though. With those gorilla arms of yours, you’d make a good wing spiker.”

“I was a wing spiker,” Iwaizumi admits. “Back in the day.”

“You played volleyball? ” Oikawa screeches, and Iwaizumi winces. “How has this not come up before?”

Iwaizumi glances up at the clock, and balks-– his shift’s in less than five minutes, and he’s still sweaty and unshowered. Where had all that damn time gone?

“Iwa-chan, tell me,” Oikawa interrupts, pressing his knee to his chest in a leisurely stretch, and Iwaizumi slowly turns to him in horror. “Iwa-chan, pay attention to me.”

Had he lost track of time, training with Oikawa?

What’s worse is-– had he enjoyed it?

Iwaizumi decides he doesn’t have time to think about this right now, or maybe ever. “Yeah,” he finally responds, a little awkwardly, and gestures to the front. “My shift’s starting, so, uh—”

“Oh, right,” Oikawa ducks his head, looking sheepish. “I’ll see you in class,” he calls after him as Iwaizumi books it to the locker room.

One hasty shower later, Iwaizumi knocks backward into his desk chair with seconds to spare. His coworker Kyoutani walks in a few minutes later, clocking in at the front before sliding into the seat next to him. 

“Why’re you smiling, asshole?” He asks rudely, peering at him closely. “And wet?”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi says, kicking at the wheels of his chair. “And you’re late, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If Iwaizumi thought he’d let it go after a couple days of not seeing each other, he was being an idiot. Of course Oikawa would latch onto this and never let go.

“So Iwa-chan was a wing spiker,” Oikawa blurts before Iwaizumi can even sit down at their desk for lecture.

“Yeah, and?” Iwaizumi shrugs, settling into his seat. “I played until a bad game in middle school, and that was it. Hello to you too, by the way."

“I’d love to play against you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa coos, nudging his shoulder with his own. “I want to see what you’ve got.”

All Iwaizumi can remember is the looks on the faces of his teammates when he’d missed that last toss that would've won them their chance at Nationals. How could he be their ace, after that? How could he compete against their future rivals if he couldn’t even beat the ones in front of them?

“Well, too bad,” he chokes past a suddenly hoarse throat, “I don't want to fucking talk about it anymore, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a complicated expression Iwaizumi can’t quite parse, and doesn’t have the energy to. 

“Okay, Iwa-chan,” he mutters before Irihata-sensei clears his throat to start their lecture. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Later at the library, Oikawa keeps stealing glances at him when he thinks Iwaizumi isn't paying attention. He tries to ignore him, but finally cracks by the second hour of deeply awkward silence.

“What do you want, Shittykawa,” he asks, his tone flat as he stares balefully at their practice problems.

Oikawa doesn’t answer until Iwaizumi finally decides to meet his gaze. “If I upset you earlier,” he begins quietly, watching him carefully, “I didn’t mean to, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi sighs at Oikawa’s chastened expression, softening against his will. “It’s fine,” he replies. “It's not your fault, anyway.”

“What happened that was so bad you quit?”

Iwaizumi pauses, feeling a subtle lurch in his gut as he decides how to respond. Even years later, that cocktail of shame, guilt, and pride never faded as much as he thought it would.

At the end of it, he decides to be honest.

“I let my team down when they were relying on me,” he finally admits. “I felt I wasn’t the ace they deserved, after that.”

“You must’ve really loved it, then, to feel so strongly about it,” Oikawa says, surprising him. “I bet you if you played with me, it’d be different.”

“Ah, I dunno,” Iwaizumi replies. “I'm no Olympic hopeful.”

“I’m going to get you on the court,” Oikawa vows with a dramatic arm in the air, ignoring Iwaizumi when he shushes him. “Iwa-chan is strong and reliable, and responsible to boot. I'd toss to someone like you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Iwaizumi replies, taken aback by the high praise. “My roommate Kuroo’s been trying to get me back on it for years. It brings back too many memories for me.”

“It’s a challenge I’d be happy to take,” Oikawa flashes him a grin and a peace sign before returning to his notes, humming under his breath.

“How’s the season going for you, anyway?” Iwaizumi changes the subject. “Kuroo told me you were getting scouted by a bunch of professional leagues."

“Oh, yeah,” Oikawa blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s a lot to take on.”

"Well, good luck," Iwaizumi offers. "I guess. Although I'm sure you don't need it."

Oikawa looks down at his notes, smiling to himself. "I think this is the first time Iwa-chan's ever been nice to me."

Iwaizumi laughs. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it, dumbass."

They descend into silence for another hour or so, scribbling in their notebooks as they work on their problem sets side by side, until Iwaizumi sighs loudly and stands to stretch his legs.

“I fucking hate orbitals,” Iwaizumi mutters. Oikawa hums in agreement, stretching his arms above his head. They’re reviewing electron configurations, and Iwaizumi has quickly realized that he’s in grave need of a proper study of this, too. “They fucking spin in opposite directions so that they don’t repel, and I have to memorize them based on where they are, and the whole fucking concept of it is just so––”

“Stupid.” Oikawa finishes for him. “It’s stupid, I agree.”

Iwaizumi sighs loudly.

“How did you do it, you damn boy genius?” he asks, peering over Oikawa's shoulder.

Oikawa raises a brow at him. “I thought you said you were going to beat me.”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi relents, and sits back down to continue drawing d orbitals in clear frustration.

After a moment, Oikawa peers at his page, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He makes a pinched expression as Iwaizumi draws five misshapen balloon shapes on a graph until that’snothowyoudoit tumbles out of his mouth like he can’t help it. Iwaizumi just laughs in his face.

“It’s for the sake of our lab report,” Oikawa pleads, his palms raised apologetically.

Iwaizumi frowns at him, unconvinced. “This is my homework.”

“Well, you doing badly doesn’t reflect well on me as your chemistry partner,” he admits, and Iwaizumi’s frown deepens.

“You don’t have to help me to feel better about yourself, you know.”

“I’m not! I’m not!” Oikawa protests. “What, I can’t help you improve?”

“You just said– what good is being smart if you’re annoying about it!” Iwaizumi yells, and Oikawa arches his back desperately to flee Iwaizumi’s incoming whack.

“Did you not just ask me for help a minute ago? Just let me- agh, Iwa-chan, not so rough!”

“You’re not better than me, Shittykawa!”

“No one said I was!”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi relents. He’s kind of curious, sue him. “What I’d do wrong, then.”

“There are only four d orbitals,” Oikawa replies. “And they fall on the graph like this—“ he reaches for his pen, their shoulders brushing together as he traces them carefully in Iwaizumi’s notebook.

“You know, I’m not a genius,” Oikawa admits, staring at the page in front of them. “I just work really hard.”

Iwaizumi squints disbelievingly, but waits for him to elaborate.

Oikawa lets out a loud breath and leans back in his chair. “I learned a long time ago that there would always be people naturally better than me, no matter how much I loved what I was doing or how hard I worked. It really bothered me, and it still does.

But then someone important to me reminded me that, well, it’s up to me to figure out what my limits are.” Oikawa’s eyes are blazing a deep, endless brown when he looks up again. “That’s why I won’t lose to you, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s heart stutters for a second in his chest, but he’s unsure why. He hates to admit it, but he admires that level of dedication in a person. He can see how that kind of energy would be desirable on a volleyball team.

Huh.

“Well, I won’t either,” Iwaizumi finally replies, and he raises a fist in the air, waiting patiently until Oikawa raises his own, knocking their knuckles together. “So you’re on.”

“Right,” Oikawa nods. “You’re on.”

Later, they walk out together in comfortable silence as Oikawa neatly ties his plaid scarf around his neck.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi blurts, toeing the floor absentmindedly. “I’ll try harder to work with you— y’know, even though you’re a giant pain in the ass, and I’m trying to beat you.”

“So I’ve been told,” Oikawa says, peering up at him with a wry grin. “I’ll try harder, too.”

Iwaizumi nods. “Next week?” He asks gruffly.

“Next week,” Oikawa chirps, shooting him a peace sign before he gracefully strides off with those long legs of his.

Chapter Text

The week they cover carbohydrates, Irihata-sensei makes an announcement at the end of lecture. 

“Now that we’ve learned a little about mono–, di–, and polysaccharides, we’re going to explore some of their reactions in our lab this week!” he says cheerfully. “It’ll be fun, I promise-– the next lab is one of my favorite experiments.”

Iwaizumi walks in that Wednesday to see flour, yeast, a hot plate, and other various baking materials on the table. He wonders whether he’s in the wrong classroom for a minute, pausing in the doorframe until Irihata-sensei waves him inside. “Yes, I know-– aren’t you surprised?” he asks with a grin, clapping him on the back. 

“I am,” Iwaizumi confirms. “What is all this for?”

“This is a fun lab meant to show you both how yeast reacts with glucose and how to make bread in everyday life,” Irihata-sensei tells him. “Also, it’s a good reminder of how precise you need to be to do it correctly. Too much yeast and you’ll have bread that’ll rise like a balloon and taste like ethanol, but too little and it’ll be flat, dry, and mushy.”

"Huh," Iwaizumi says. "Well, this’ll sure be interesting."

“Right?" Irihata-sensei winks. "What can I say, I like to keep you kids on your toes!"

Oikawa waltzes in a few minutes later, looking formal in a button-down and a blazer. "Baking, huh?" he shoots Iwaizumi a cheeky smile, surveying the ingredients with a delighted glint in his eyes. "This is exciting! Aren't you excited, Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but his mouth curves in a small smile at Oikawa's enthusiasm. "Sure," he shrugs. "Let's do some damage, Shittykawa."

Once the rest of class filters in, Oikawa begins the experiment by carefully leveling a cup of flour with a knife-- his eyes glittering with an unnerving focus as he eyes the measuring cup in front of his face. “Ah-hah! A perfect amount,” he exclaims, dumping it in the bowl.

Iwaizumi leans in too, only to observe. He makes the mistake of sniffing a little, and now there’s some flour in his nose, and–-

“Achoo!” he sneezes loudly before he has a chance to cover his mouth. “Oops.”

Iwaizumi opens his eyes to see Oikawa shaking his head like a dog that’s just been doused in water. He’s coated in flour from the waist up, and Iwaizumi can't help but laugh under his breath. Oikawa shoots him a lethal glare that would genuinely inspire guilt if he didn't look so damn cute with tiny specks of flour stuck in his eyelashes.

Stupid, Iwaizumi corrects himself. He looks stupid, and childish to boot. Oikawa rakes his fingers through his hair, frowning as a small cloud of flour rises above his head. This time, Iwaizumi disguises his laugh with a cough. 

"Oikawa, all you're doing is making the rest of our class think you have a horrible case of dandruff. Go to the bathroom and fix it," he suggests, nudging his hip with his own. "I'll finish pouring everything out while you're gone."

"That's the least you can do for sneezing all over me," Oikawa mutters, annoyed, but he follows Iwaizumi's suggestion and brushes against him as he heads off to the door.

Before he can leave, Irihata-sensei interrupts his path. “Why don’t you just use the emergency shower around the corner?” he proposes. “It’s so rarely used, after all. You can make sure it still works.”

A few minutes later, Iwaizumi realizes he doesn’t remember what the equation is to describe the fermentation of glucose. He’s too embarrassed to ask their professor, and since Oikawa is still in the room, he figures he’ll ask him quickly before they get too far behind.

He walks over with their lab sheet in hand, turning the corner in the laboratory to where the emergency showers are. 

“Hey, Shittykawa, d’you remember what the formula is for— uh.”

Oikawa turns around, his hair sopping wet and flopping into his eyes. He’s shirtless, all lean muscle and surprisingly buff, and Iwaizumi’s breath stutters in his throat as he traces the constellations of dark brown moles scattered across his chest. “What formula?” Oikawa prompts after a moment of silence, looking at Iwaizumi curiously.

“Uh, for the fermentation of yeast,” he replies, his eyes dragging back up to his face. His throat suddenly feels dry as hell for some reason. 

“Silly Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, smiling as he turns off the spray. He rakes a hand through his hair, now flat and slick against his scalp. “You came back here just to ask me that?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says hoarsely, forgetting to explain the time issue as he watches a lone droplet of water slide from his neck to the curve of his pectorals, dripping past one of his dark nipples.

Damn pretty boy, he thinks before he can stop himself.

“Just tell me when you get back,” he says quickly, before Oikawa can say anything else.

Once he returns to their desk, strangely breathless, Iwaizumi decides to concentrate wholly on the assignment in front of him. He sifts out the flour from the bag, leveling it carefully just like Oikawa had. He thinks he does a damn good job of it too, measuring out the rest of their dry ingredients so they don't fall behind. He’s leveling out some sugar when he sees Oikawa walking toward him with dripping wet hair again and promptly drops the whole thing in the bowl, cup and all.

"Why did you do that?" he asks, and Iwaizumi looks back at the bowl as if it were responsible. He quickly fishes it out, turning to the sink to hide his burning face. "Clumsy Iwa-chan."

It’s absolutely ridiculous that he can look that good after an accident. Iwaizumi grumbles under his breath before he clears his throat loudly. 

Oikawa narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Did you add the yeast yet?" 

"No, you can do it," Iwaizumi replies before Oikawa can draw any conclusions.

Oikawa snaps up the packet and opens it with his teeth, still watching him. Iwaizumi decides he'll be damned if he breaks eye contact first, until Oikawa aggressively shakes it in their mixture and Iwaizumi belatedly remembers they were only supposed to use half.

“Damn it,” he curses. “Well, it’s going to taste like alcohol now.”

“Huh?” Oikawa wails. “You didn’t say anything, Iwa-chan! I’m not a baker!”

“Clearly,” Iwaizumi murmurs. “Well, I have the water ready, so might as well keep going.” He pours the warm water to activate the yeast.

“What do you mean, ‘clearly’?” Oikawa mutters haughtily as he stirs it in, watching for bubbles to rise. “I could be a baker. I could win Bake Off Japan if I really tried.”

“No one would ever ask you to be on Bake Off Japan, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi assures. “I think we can start mixing with our hands now.”

Oikawa drops the spoon with a huff to grab the box of gloves, but still holds it out for Iwaizumi to do the same. They both prod and pull at the mound of flaky flour, their hands colliding in the bowl over and over despite Iwaizumi's best efforts. Oikawa seems too lost in thought to notice, staring blankly at Iwaizumi’s arms as he kneads the sticky parts of the dough with the dry parts.

“Earth to Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says once Oikawa’s hands go lax in the bowl. “What’re you glaring at?”

“Uh, nothing,” Oikawa clears his throat and averts his gaze. “Your hands are really warm.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi looks down at them, considering. “I think it’s the water, maybe.”

“No, the water is tepid,” Oikawa stares down at the bowl. “And it’s all gone. Can you pour in the oil?”

“Can you pour in the oil?” Iwaizumi shoots back. “My hands are too sticky because someone just stopped kneading for no reason.”

“So snippy even after I had to strip for you,” Oikawa complains, wiping his hands with a towel before tilting the oil into the bowl. “And you made me a mess. Think of my reputation, Iwa-chan.”

“No one asked you to strip for me, ” Iwaizumi snaps, strangely getting a little restless at the idea. He distracts himself by massaging the oil into the dough. “I wasn’t even in front of you when you were-- undressing or whatever.”

“You came all the way over to the shower while I was showering, what did you think you were going to—”

“Boys,” Irihata-sensei says in his booming, no-nonsense voice, and they both shut up immediately, shooting each other identical scowls as soon as he walks away.

At the end of lab, Irihata-sensei tries a bit of their bread, frowning as he chews. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you could get drunk off of this!” he chastises.

“I know,” Oikawa says miserably. “We got distracted.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes in irritation after Oikawa sneezes for the third time in a row in the library a few days later. His demeanor from their experiment a few days ago has all but vanished: today his hair is drooping like a plant that hasn’t been watered— and when he meets his gaze, Iwaizumi spies the dark crevices under his eyes.

“Hey,” he tries, his voice a little gentler than usual. “What's going on with you?” 

Oikawa takes a second to register his question, blinking at him before he props his chin up to frown at him properly. “Huh?”

“I can tell you're not sleeping,” Iwaizumi pokes at the wrinkles gathering between his eyebrows. “You look like shit. Have you even eaten today?”

“No, but why thank you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa responds primly, sitting up a little straighter before his exhaustion gives him up, and he slumps forward again. “I knew from the moment we met that you were a polite gentleman.”

“Uh-huh,” Iwaizumi tsks. “Take care of yourself, idiot.” He watches as Oikawa tiredly runs a hand through his hair, not bothering to answer him. “Hasn’t anyone told you that?”

“I suppose,” Oikawa blows a raspberry. Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose at him until he finally sighs. “Fine, fine. Not really.”

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Iwaizumi chides. “Don’t practice so late. Focus on what’s in front of you.”

“OK, Mom,” Oikawa yawns. “I’ll think about it.”

Iwaizumi cracks his knuckles. “On second hand,” he says lowly, “Maybe I’ll put you to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Seriously,” Iwaizumi stresses. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, Iwa-chan. I don’t have time for this as it is. I have to go practice on my serve.” He looks lost and tired, his gaze unfocused and weary, and Iwaizumi’s stomach twists. 

“Didn’t you just come from practice?” he asks.

“You don’t get it,” Oikawa bites out. “It’s not good enough, and it has to be, because I have to be, and I’m not. I’m not and god knows if I’ll ever be–-” And with that his voice breaks, and he gathers his hair in his hands.

Iwaizumi’s stomach twists tighter as he stares at the chestnut locks nestled between Oikawa’s fingers, every muscle in his body tense. He remembers how subdued Oikawa’s been the past couple of days, and curses himself for not saying anything sooner. 

“You need to rest today, at least. I know your ass knows that much,” he finally says. “There’s no point in trying to improve when you’re at your limit.”

“Seriously, who are you, my mother?” Oikawa pops his head back up to glare at him, but Iwaizumi simply stares back until he relents. "I need to push past my limits, don't you get it? This is all I have, really and truly, and it’s just-– constantly slipping away like a fucking fish, Iwa-chan, and there’s nothing I can do but try harder, and even then it might not be enough.” 

A silence falls over them, and Oikawa looks like he’s about to burst into tears as he stares at the plain linoleum wood of the table.

Ah, fuck it. Iwaizumi's not heartless, much as he hates to admit otherwise.

“I’ve seen you play, you know,” he confesses, and Oikawa’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn't want to feed your giant ego, but my roommate Kuroo took me to see your game in our first year to try convincing me to play again.”

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa frowns. "You never told me that."

“Listen to me, idiot. I saw you, and you–- I hate to admit it, but you were fucking incredible,” Iwaizumi hadn’t meant to ever tell him any of this, but now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. “You conducted your team like a damn orchestra. Every move you made, every gesture. You made it look so easy.” He looks at Oikawa’s manicured hands, their carefully curated strength.

“And if even I couldn't see that, I’d know you were damn good at what you do. I’d know that you deserve to do it, as much as you want, for as long as you can.” He looks up into Oikawa’s eyes, and startles once he sees him hanging onto his every word. “It’s not all up to you, you know. It’s the people you do it with, along with a bunch of other shit you can’t control.”

“When are you going to let me toss to you?” Oikawa asks, surprising Iwaizumi into a blush. No matter how many times he says it, he still can't quite wrap his head around the fact that Oikawa actually wants to trust him with a toss.

Still, Iwaizumi can't imagine stepping on the court again. “I told you, it's been a long time,” he sighs. "I doubt I'd be good enough."

“Of course you would. You’d be incredible, especially with me on the court with you.” Oikawa assures. “In another life, we’d be invincible.”

“Well, maybe we should,” Iwaizumi offers without thinking, and he reaches over to squeeze his hand. Oikawa’s eyes widen in shock as his fingers curl around his. 

Iwaizumi pauses, staring at his hand on Oikawa’s.

What am I doing? 

He decides to coolly clear his throat and pull away. “Wanna get back to work, then?”

Oikawa looks down at his notes, his hair falling into his eyes. His mouth is tugged up into a small, secret little smile, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what the hell to think. “Fine,” he says, prying open his laptop again. "But only if you promise to try. Meet on the court after practice. I'll toss to you then."

Iwaizumi bares his teeth at him.

“Please,” Oikawa pleads this time, his voice gentle as he tugs on his arm like a child. His eyes are so big and brown as he stares him down, and Iwaizumi can't find it within himself to look away. “I want to play with you, Iwa-chan.”

“When’s your practice end?”

“Every day except Thursday at around 9,” Oikawa says quickly.

“Alright. I’ll be there.” Iwaizumi relents.

He watches Oikawa’s face thoughtfully as he turns his attention to his computer. He seems calmer, his shoulders relaxed as he types. Iwaizumi wishes he were like this more often, no longer full of hot air and deliberate asides made just to piss Iwaizumi off. 

At that, he shakes his head, hoping that'll inspire his brain to knock it off. What’s it to him, anyway, if Oikawa is calm or not?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Man,” Kuroo complains way too loudly after Iwaizumi reports the news over the stove. It's his week to make the household bentos to tide them over for the week. He's donning their shared kitchen apron with a faded KISS MY ASS stretching across his chest, which he forever remains grateful has never seen the light of day. “Are you serious? You're telling me Oikawa Tooru got you to agree to what I've been working on for years?"

“First of all, we have neighbors,” Iwaizumi reminds him sternly, and Kuroo shrugs at him sheepishly. "It's not like that. I told him about the time you took me to a game on campus, and one thing led to another."

"I can't believe this," he drawls, sitting on the counter with his long legs dangling off the edge. "And here I thought we were like the blood through our veins, Iwaizumi."

"No one told you that," Iwaizumi points the spoon at him. "He's just as weird as you, honestly. He said, 'In another life, we'd be invincible.'  What the hell does that mean? He hasn't even seen me play yet."

“Well, you were an incredible ace," Kuroo encourages. "He probably has a sixth sense for these types of things. He's a very intuitive, analytical setter from what I've seen over the years."

“But you remember what happened, that game with Date Tech.” Iwaizumi sighs. "I couldn't come through when the team needed me most. Everyone worked so hard for so long. All six of them were strong enough to win, except for me."

"You lost faith in yourself, that's what I remember," Kuroo fixes him with a solid stare under his heavy lids. "It was one moment, one game. It didn't define you then, and it doesn't define you now. Who knows-- maybe you'll get the itch again, after playing with this guy. Your supposed rival."

"Maybe," Iwaizumi looks down into the boiling pot of curry. "Hey, can you try this?" He ladles out a sample for Kuroo to sip from.

"Are you serious?" Kuroo cries. "If I weren’t in love with Kenma, I’d marry you in a minute.”

“Uh-huh,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Don't make me poison your food.” 

“Sure,” Kuroo lilts, his eyes already lingering on the fourth box on the counter. “Who’s the last one for?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I would never marry someone so damn nosy.”

“Yes, you would. You like that sort of thing,” Daichi says through a yawn, scratching his stomach as he walks into the kitchen to grab an apple. “Oh, that smells so good. You’re such a catch, Iwaizumi.”

“I’ll poison it all, just wait,” Iwaizumi threatens with a growl, pointing aggressively at them with their kitchen spoon.

“Is that for someone special?” Kuroo raises his eyebrows playfully. “Is that why you’re being so pleasant this evening?”

“It’s for that dumbass, because he's been forgetting to eat,” Iwaizumi grumbles as he stirs the curry, missing the exchanged glances between Kuroo and Daichi. “He has a game next week, so. It’s about fueling every day, not just the day before.”

“How does that epithet go again? 'Feed your rival and strengthen him, so that he may destroy you?'” Daichi jokes.

"Oh, you haven't even heard the worst of it," Kuroo tells him. "He's going to play volleyball with him, too."

"Damn," Daichi whistles, leaning on the counter. "Are you guys friends now or something?"

"Hell no," Iwaizumi scoffs. “He’s way too aggravating for that. I'm just not an asshole."

"Whatever you say, buddy," Daichi says. "Wait, speaking of our goals: I saw the guy today."

“Oh, yeah?” Kuroo squeezes his shoulders excitedly. "Does he have a name?"

“I didn't speak to him,” Daichi sighs, taking a big bite of his apple and chewing wistfully. "But I found out he works at the cafe near the science center."

“Alright, so we have to go," Iwaizumi says. "Did he see you eyeing him?"

"I'm not sure," Daichi shrugs. "But you guys can't go with me. You assholes will make it too obvious."

"Yeah, yeah, well maybe it'll get you somewhere," Kuroo smirks.

Daichi glares at him, elbowing him in the gut until Kuroo satisfies him with a wheeze. "I wish you'd stick to your goal, Kuroo."

"I have not been keeping up with it at all," Kuroo laughs, fending off the rest of Daichi's blows. "And I gotta say, I have no regrets."

"We can't all have a built-in boyfriend from childhood," Daichi chides. “I hope I haunt your dreams.”

“Nah," Kuroo shrugs. "I got lucky, for sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if a certain volleyball star haunts Iwaizumi's over here, though.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, suddenly remembering the warmth of those deep brown eyes. “It’d be a nightmare, alright.”

Chapter Text

Oikawa is waving off his team when Iwaizumi walks into the gym, the all-too-familiar Mikasa ball slung casually under his arm.

He stands on the edge of the court, surveying his surroundings. He notes the wide, high net in front of him, the waxy expanse of the wooden floor. It smells overwhelmingly of sweat, like hours and hours of hard work trapped in a single space.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa turns, greeting him with a wide smile. “You came!” He looks so comfortable here, at ease and in his element, and Iwaizumi is reminded of what it felt like to watch him from afar at that game way back when.

This is where Oikawa belongs. The court, this life, his future-- it all feels a world apart from Iwaizumi, and he can't help but feel a strong pang of regret just from looking at him.

Maybe I could have-- his mind betrays him, and he shakes his head quickly before he can finish that thought. It's no use, anyhow.

“I did,” he confirms. He feels so awkward, the nostalgic smell of salonpas fresh in his nose, but he takes a deep breath before he meets Oikawa's eyes.

"You OK, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa asks, stepping closer. "I'm happy you made it, you know. I don't know if I should admit that to my rival, but it's true."

Iwaizumi shakes his head, scuffing his feet on the ground. Snap out of it, he tells himself. 

“I brought you something," He fishes out a bento from his gym bag, and hands it to Oikawa. He feels even more embarrassed as Oikawa stares at the container with wondrous eyes, but he forces himself to continue. “Take care of yourself so I can beat you properly, alright?”

“You…” Oikawa pauses, still trying to piece together the neatly packaged lunchbox in his hands. “You made me a bento?”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi huffs. “It was my turn to cook for me and my housemates this week."

"Iwa-chan is not such a brute after all," Oikawa cries, lifting the lid in wonder and inhaling deeply. "And it smells amazing, too!"

“Can’t be a proper rival if you’re not even eating,” Iwaizumi mutters, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I figured you might be hungry after practice, and you're only staying this late for me, so."

"Let me eat this, and then we can play," Oikawa says, heading over to sit on a bench and open the box with a delighted smile. "Are you warmed up, Iwa-chan?"

"Yeah, I went to the gym before this," Iwaizumi shuffles over to sit beside him. "I'll wait for you."

“It tastes amazing,” Oikawa moans, forking bite after bite into his mouth ravenously, and Iwaizumi unexpectedly feels goosebumps rise on his skin. Huh.

"Stop making weird noises when you eat," he scolds, and Oikawa sticks his tongue out at him before chewing a little more quietly.

"What do you want to do?" Oikawa wipes his mouth with his forearm once he’s done eating. "I know it's been a long time. I want this to be fun for you."

"I want to see what I can do," Iwaizumi admits, staring at the height of the net with a surfacing determination. "I want you to toss for me, like you said you would. I want to match your power."

"Let's do it, Iwa-chan," Oikawa gives him a shark-like grin as he stands, offering him a hand. "Leave it to me."

Oikawa steps onto the court, tall and confident. He palms the ball carefully. “I want you to hit it like this,” he directs. He hoists the ball up, up, up into the air, and it follows his lead, falling gracefully down from the sky. He jumps with all the power his body holds before slamming it on the other side of the court with a sure hand. Iwaizumi watches with still breath as it flies with a whoosh to the ground, landing with a hard thud. He returns from his flight light on his feet, grinning at Iwaizumi over his shoulder triumphantly. "Like that, okay?"

“What can’t you do?” Iwaizumi blurts. “Seriously.”

“Is that a critique, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, his eyes narrowing into slits. 

“Obviously not,” he retorts. “I mean it. Everything you do is just— incredible.”

Oikawa stares at him with an unreadable expression. “Oh,” he says. “I told you, I practice.”

“Yeah, I know,” Iwaizumi confirms with a swift nod. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to–-” Oikawa points at the volleyball on the other side of the court, “hit the ball over the net with all your strength. Do you think you can do that for me?” His eyes shine with a determination that if Iwaizumi didn't know any better, he'd call hunger. Iwaizumi feels it flood into his veins when their eyes lock, like two puzzle pieces slotting together.

“No problem,” he boasts, suddenly compelled to put a name to the energy buzzing between them. “You can count on me.”

“I know I can,” Oikawa says, staring at the volleyball spinning in his grasp before tossing it in the air.

The ball glides through the air, high and slow. It’s such a perfect toss, so curated somehow, and he’d be damned if he’d let an good opportunity go to waste. Iwaizumi sweeps his arms backwards, engaging his glutes before running toward the descending ball and jumping high.

Time seems to slow as he’s midair. He sees the ball coming right to him, asking for his hand. When he makes contact with it, he strikes it as hard as he can right over the net with the meat of his palm, fingers outstretched, and he watches in satisfaction as it hits the floor with a satisfying wham.

“Hell yeah!” He cheers when his feet touch the ground, fists clenched. His hand stings a little, but damn did he he miss this feeling, that whole-body thrill of satisfaction humming in his veins. When he turns away from the net toward Oikawa, he’s looking at him with something like recognition in his eyes— like he’s found something he’s always wanted, and Iwaizumi—

Iwaizumi couldn’t look away from him even if he tried.

Even worse, he doesn’t want to.

“Told you,” Oikawa’s voice is full of so much pride that Iwaizumi can’t help but bask in the glow of Oikawa’s smile. “Together, we’re invincible.”

”It went alright, then?" Kuroo asks him later, over their Mario Kart game in the living room. Daichi's half-asleep drooling on his shoulder, the console tangled in his lap, but he blinks awake to hear Iwaizumi's response.

Iwaizumi pops a handful of popcorn in his mouth. "It was fun," he allows. "It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be."

"Hell yeah," Daichi sleepily pumps a fist to the ceiling. "Bro, I swear you're becoming friends. You need to change your goal on the fridge."

"Never."

"We don't believe you," Kuroo informs him. Iwaizumi crashes his cart into Kuroo's in retaliation, but he looks unfazed. "You're not allowed to replace us with him, alright?"

"I tolerate him, nothing more," Iwaizumi argues. "We're not at each other's throats as much anymore, but it's not like we're hanging out outside of-- no."

"Oh yes," Daichi wiggles his eyebrows. "Hanging out voluntarily, like friends do."

"Goddamnit," Iwaizumi groans, forfeiting the game and tipping his head back into the cushions. "Why does this always happen to me."

"I don't know, but you sure know how to pick 'em!" Daichi laughs.

"You guys are no help at all," Iwaizumi complains, sulking while Kuroo and Daichi snicker, high-fiving over his lap.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few days later, Oikawa arrives at their study table out of breath. “Apologies,” he leans forward to hold both his knees as he gulps in as much air as he can. “Coach wanted to talk about something and it took longer than I expected. Did you get a head start?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says simply, his foot tapping under the table. “I was waiting for you.”

He hasn't had a chance to talk to Oikawa since their night on the court together, but he's still a little unnerved at the idea that he and Shittykawa might actually be friends now despite his best efforts.

He might be willing to work with the guy, work out in the gym, and even try his hand at volleyball again with him, but when did that all amount to a friendship? Had Iwaizumi gone soft?

Oikawa shoots him a sharp grin, already regaining his composure as he slides an arm across the gleam of sweat on his forehead. “Alright then,” he says, plopping in the chair across from Iwaizumi. “What did you catch from our lecture about bases today?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Iwaizumi groans. “I caught that we have a lot to memorize.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Oikawa replies smartly, taking out his materials and arranging them neatly on the desk. “Besides the obvious hydroxide, I have a trick for memorizing the six that are strongest.”

“Alright, dumbass. Hit me with it,” Iwaizumi says, stretching back in his chair. 

“Little Naive Kids Can Seriously Brave Anything,” Oikawa recites, looking up as he remembers each one, using his pen to puncture the air with each word. He smiles at Iwaizumi, playful and calm. “The anything doesn’t refer to an element, I just didn’t know how to end the sentence when I came up with it.”

“What if I thought anything meant something?”

“There’s no An in the periodic table, stupid,” Oikawa blows a raspberry at him, cradling his cheek in his hand. “This is something you should know by now.”

“We don’t have to memorize the periodic table, dumbass,” Iwaizumi retorts. “Plus, there’s astatine, and that’s At. That’s close enough. How many people have you misinformed into thinking AtOH is a strong base?”

Oikawa looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. “Easy. I would question their judgment, because astatine is a halogen, and it’s unstable as hell. In what world would any sane chemist think that that would create a strong base?”

“Ah, but we’re not talking about sane chemists,” Iwaizumi says, a mischievous glint in his eye growing as he leans over the table. “We’re talking about your fan club taking a chemistry course, looking for any excuse to talk to you–- knowing you’re a genius at it, mind you– going Oh! Oikawa-san! What’s your mnemonic for strong bases again?”

“Aw, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says slyly, putting a hand to his heart, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You think I’m a genius?”

Iwaizumi feels his face grow hot. “Damn it, you have a 4.0! I’m simply stating a fact!”

“No, no, Iwa-chan, keep up the flattery. It's been all week, now." Oikawa’s grin splits across his face so brightly it hurts to look at. Iwaizumi squints at him, trying to think of things he hates. 

“Maybe one day you can even join my league of fans. They’d be lucky to have a member who has spent so much one-on-one time with the great Oikawa-san,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Over my dead body,” Iwaizumi scowls, folding his arms across his chest. “If anything, I’ll tell them what a nuisance you are. Maybe then they’ll finally come to their senses.”

“I think you’d still have to join, though,” Oikawa replies. “You know, to gain their trust. Otherwise they’ll just think you’re jealous. If it helps you sleep at night, you can tell yourself you’re an, ah…” he taps his chin thoughtfully. “An undercover agent.”

“You are unbelievable,” Iwaizumi hisses, and he jumps when he hears a loud shushing noise coming from the foray of bookcases behind them. “And I have a better sentence for you.”

“What is it, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa says, leaning in slightly with his chin in his hands, gazing at him under his eyelashes.

“Little Naive Kids Can Seriously Barf,” Iwaizumi shares plainly. Oikawa looks deeply and unequivocally unimpressed. “What! Don’t give me that face, they do! It’s succinct and more accurate!” 

“You are such a caveman, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa mutters, looking back down at his notes. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Later, Iwaizumi walks up to the library counter to check out the ridiculous rhyming book Oikawa had insisted he borrow to think of a better way to memorize base chemicals. He slides the book forward, glancing up to see a sleepy-looking bookkeeper with heavy-lidded eyes who stares at him blankly as he scans the book without even looking at it. Iwaizumi turns to leave with the book in hand before he hears him clear his throat. 

“I added something for you,” the bookkeeper says, already sounding bored with the conversation he’s started. Iwaizumi turns back to face him, eyebrows raised.

“Added what, another book? I just need this one,” Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. “It’s for this argument I’m having with my lab partner, this thing we came up with for class. I’ll return it early, don’t mind.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s explaining this to the bookkeeper, who absolutely does not give a flying fuck why Iwaizumi, twenty-one-year old sports science major, has just rented out My First Book of English Words: An ABC Rhyming Book.

“Oh, believe me, I know,” he says, pointing plainly at the sign behind him. His nametag, reading Matsukawa, glints obnoxiously in the corner of his eye. “We’ve received many complaints from your companions on the third floor.”

Iwaizumi balks at him, confused. “Complaints…?” he trails off, his gut twisting as he looks toward the sign. He sees a typical set of warnings, like anything someone would be admonished for in a typical library. It reads:

no smoking

no yelling 

no running

no phone calls

And then he sees an added note, in hastily written sharpie:

no FLIRTING!!

Iwaizumi splutters wordlessly in disbelief. He wasn’t–- they weren’t–-

“I know, I know,” Matsukawa says, hands lifted in a placating, don’t shoot the messenger manner. “I don’t want to hate on your game, I respect it. But, y’know, the library is meant to be quiet and tranquil, not hot and steamy for your foreplay or whatever. This is a working environment.”

“I know that!” Iwaizumi yells, and Matsukawa raises an eyebrow at him. 

“That’s yet another thing that’s frowned upon here,” he says, and he has the audacity to point at it without even looking. “Did you read the sign?” 

“Yes, I read the damn sign,” Iwaizumi hisses at him, his fingers clawed on the edge of the counter. “What are you trying to say, that you added that last part because of us? All we do is argue!”

It was impossible that anyone could ever overhear them and think they were flirting, Iwaizumi thinks to himself angrily. He didn't even want to concede they were friendly yet! It couldn’t apply to anything he and Oikawa had ever done, with nearly every meeting of theirs ending in bickering or a plain old argument. Iwaizumi would know if he were flirting with someone, because it was supposed to feel-–

It was supposed to make you feel good, probably, and all Oikawa inspired in him was anger, annoyance, and occasional amusement, yes, but only ever at Oikawa’s expense.

The corner of Matsukawa’s mouth twitches, almost as if he wants to laugh, but he maintains his serious, unbothered demeanor. “Look, whatever gets you going, man, but you’re still yelling. May I suggest a rowdy club, or the great outdoors? Sound travels way differently there.”

“I’m leaving,” Iwaizumi says angrily, looking around to make sure no one else has caught wind of this conversation. Matsukawa continues to stare at him, watching as he snatches the book from the counter. “We’ll be quieter, though, alright? Thank you for this horrible, terrible headache,” he adds, sliding the book aggressively in his backpack as he storms toward the front doors. 

“But the problem was also the nature of the conversations,” Matsukawa says exasperatedly to himself, watching him escape as quickly as he can possibly manage. “Well, he’s gone.”

Chapter Text

After the checkout debacle, Iwaizumi starts going to the library without Oikawa. He figures that if he goes often enough on his own, whoever thinks they’ve been flirting will realize he’s just a studious guy who only comes to the library for academic purposes.

Their study sessions stay the same, and he doesn’t tell Oikawa he visits the library on his own time. There’s just something about it that feels a little wrong, somehow, but he tries not to feed into that too much. He just doesn’t think there’s any real reason he should.

It doesn’t seem to matter, anyway, because Oikawa seems to find him every time he’s there. 

During his second solo visit, Iwaizumi is concentrating on the lipid chapter in his textbook when he feels a hot breath grazing his shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Iwa-chan, studying to death?” He whips around to see Oikawa scan his notes, eyes narrowed as he leans over him. “We just went over that yesterday. Are you really worried you’ll fail?” He chuckles, but something about it feels off-putting to Iwaizumi. “Even though you’re not as smart as me, I’m sure you’ll scrape by!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what the hell to say, still so startled that he doesn’t even touch the insult. “Dumbass, how did you even know I was here? Are you spying on me?”

“How presumptuous of you to think you’d be doing something interesting enough to be spied on,” Oikawa says defensively. “Other people can be good students too, Iwa-chan.”

"You complain about the library at least once a week,”  Iwaizumi retorts. “You always study in the science center with your teammates when you’re not with me.”

“I changed my mind. It’s not so bad,” Oikawa says, his tone clipped and a little rushed. “Maybe I like it now.”

“Uh huh,” Iwaizumi says, unconvinced. “You went on a ten minute rant about the ‘creepy horror movie lighting’ two days ago, and when I asked if you wanted to meet somewhere else, you said ‘no, this is the only place my teammates would never be’. And then – ”

“I just–” Oikawa starts, and then cuts himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “Ugh, never mind,” he harrumphs. “I’ll see you in class, Iwa-chan.” 

He turns swiftly to leave without another word, and Iwaizumi sighs in relief as he watches his long legs stomp away to the staircase. He returns his attention back to his textbook, and silently prays Oikawa doesn’t suddenly decide to borrow a book from the counter.

The next visit is no different. Iwaizumi is sitting in their usual spot, squinting at the structure of a complicated-looking steroid when he feels more than hears the slam of two long hands in front of him on his desk, pale fingers spread wide against the cheap wood. 

“You’re here again? It’s Friday. Why are you studying so much, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa stares intently at Iwaizumi, searching for god knows what. Iwaizumi certainly doesn’t want to find out. 

He clears his throat. “What can I say, big brains aren’t made overnight.”

“You’re taking three other classes and you’re doing just fine. Your grades, by some miracle, are almost as good as mine,” Oikawa emphasizes slowly. “You’re lying, and I want to know why.”

“Why do you care, anyway?” Iwaizumi challenges right back. “This is how I keep up with you. I put the extra hours in.”

“But this is ridiculous. It’s like you live here.” Oikawa gestures around the cold, dusty library. “Look at this place! Do you eat? Do you sleep? Is it really that important that you dedicate twenty hours to chemistry a week?”

“Don’t you do the same thing on the court?” Iwaizumi retorts, and Oikawa’s eyes grow stormier by the minute. 

“That’s different, stupid Iwa-chan, are you trying to become a chemist?”

“What business is it of yours!” Iwaizumi hisses before he remembers that damn list and curses under his breath, looking around surreptitiously for nosy, assumption-making thesis students.

Oikawa follows his gaze, frowning as he leans forward and squints at the bookcases, before sliding his eyes back to Iwaizumi’s. “Maybe it’s none of my business, you’re right. But you’re going to tell me.”

Like hell he will. “And why’s that?”

Oikawa walks to the other side of the desk toward Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi freezes, looking down at his desk in a silent panic before he feels a soft pull of fingers on his chin, lifting his face to Oikawa’s searching gaze.

He looks up at him, and he has no idea what his face is doing, but Oikawa smirks at the sight of it. 

“Because I want to know,” he murmurs, and his gaze is intense suddenly, lids lowered with his thick lashes making soft shadows under his blazing eyes. He can feel the soft breeze of his breath on his face, on the sensitive skin of his lips. Iwaizumi swallows.

“Does that work on everyone?” He asks slowly, and Oikawa lets out a low chuckle, fingers warm on his chin.

“Is it working on you?” He replies, his smirk unmoving.

Iwaizumi leans in a little bit more, baring his teeth. “Not a chance in hell.”

Oikawa pulls back, pursing his lips as he considers Iwaizumi. “Maybe we shouldn’t study together anymore, you know. So Iwa-chan doesn’t become an old man in the next two months from living in the library.”

Iwaizumi frowns, unimpressed. “Are you threatening me with a good time?” He gestures at his painstakingly detailed notes. “I’m clearly in the middle of a review.”

He catches a glimpse of Oikawa’s pout, and he lets out a sigh. His eyes do hurt, after all, and he knows better than to think he’ll retain anything else from this long-ass list tonight. 

“Look, I’ll pack up, alright? Does that make you happy?” He grabs his bag roughly from the floor and begins to shove things into it haphazardly. “I don’t even know why you care— or why you’re here on a Friday night too, by the way. Don’t you have anything better to do, pretty boy?” 

“I do, actually,” Oikawa says, and he looks suspiciously pleased, a little smile on his lips as he watches Iwaizumi pack. “And you’re coming with me.”

“And why would I go anywhere with you?” Iwaizumi scoffs, lifting his eyebrows up at Oikawa as he zippers his bag closed.

“C’mon, you’re not doing anything else even mildly interesting with your time,” Oikawa quips. “It’s a party my roommate Suga is hosting. You may even know him. I think he’s in your Calc class.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “And how would you know that?” 

Oikawa averts his eyes, and Iwaizumi decides not to push it. He begins to walk in the direction of the doors, Oikawa following his pace without a hitch with his long stride. He shoulders the door open as they walk down the stairs in companionable silence. 

“What kind of party is it going to be, then?” Iwaizumi asks as they exit the library, the cool night air causing him to shiver. He wishes he’d brought his jacket. “I’m not really even dressed for one.” 

“I think you look– well, how Iwa-chan always looks,” Oikawa trails his eyes over his frame for a long moment. “You look like this wherever you go anyway. I just figured you chose to have no sense of style.”

“My shirts are incredible and you know it,” Iwaizumi threatens. “Plus, you’ve only seen me in class, the library, and the gym. I only dress casually when I go to those places.”

“So what, you’re telling me Iwa-chan can get dapper? I’d like to see you try,” Oikawa responds coyly, elbowing him in the side.

“Why?” Iwaizumi asks, brows furrowed before he elbows back. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal your fangirls with a suit or anything. I’m just saying I step it up once in a while.”

“I’m afraid I won’t believe it until I see it,” Oikawa sighs wistfully.

“In your dreams, Shittykawa.”

“Uh huh,” Oikawa stops walking after he sees Iwaizumi do his best to stifle yet another shiver. “Are you cold, Iwa-chan? You’re shivering.”

“It’s fine. How far is your place, anyway?” He asks through chattering teeth, and turns to see Oikawa’s white-and-teal track jacket being held in his face.

“Take it,” Oikawa demands. Iwaizumi reluctantly snatches it from his hands and slides it on. He’s too cold to bother arguing, and the sleeves draping over his hands are warming him up already, and Oikawa is–-

Oikawa is red up to his ears, looking almost— nervous, which makes no sense whatsoever. Iwaizumi bumps him harshly with his hip to snap him out of it. 

Oikawa shoves him back, and Iwaizumi gives him a toothy grin. “Oh, you’re on,” he roars, and lunges for him. Oikawa yips in laughter and leaps away just in time, and Iwaizumi chases after him in hot pursuit all the way to his dorm building.

Oikawa’s 2LDK turns out to be nicer than he expected, primarily because it’s clean and modern-looking. There’s already quite a few people at the party, music playing in thumping beats through speakers on their kitchen counter. Iwaizumi’s attention is torn away from his surroundings only when Oikawa gets a solid grip on his arm to pull him inside.

“Welcome,” he says, watching closely as Iwaizumi checks out the place. “We have a nice home, don’t we, Iwa-chan?”

“You do,” Iwaizumi confirms. “It’s clean in here. Even my roommates and I don’t keep it this nice.”

Oikawa looks a little taken aback by his honesty. “Suga and I-– we like to keep things tidy,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Suga knows who I am, huh?” Iwaizumi asks. “Is he that gray-haired guy over there?” He gestures with his chin at a tall, attractive guy in a thick cardigan who looks vaguely familiar.

“Yeah, that’s him!” Oikawa replies, waving at him. 

“How does he know me again?” Iwaizumi asks. Oikawa glances at him quickly before looking away, leaning against the wall. "Do you talk about me with your friends or something?"

“Well, don't you?” he asks hesitantly.

Iwaizumi thinks about how much Oikawa's dominated his conversations with his friends as of late. Damn, he's really got to get on top of that. 

“My friends know you because everyone knows you,” he tells him, the half-lie weighing heavy on his tongue. “I’m just your lab partner.”

“Iwa-chan and I have spent a lot of time together!” Oikawa won’t meet his eyes. “It would make sense for him to come up in casual conversation!”

“But why would he know what I look like?”

“We put two and two together, alright? It wasn't that hard,” Oikawa snaps. Iwaizumi stares at him, a little confused. What did he say that would get him this upset?

When he looks at him again from his feet, Oikawa’s already turned away, walking toward the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable, Iwa-chan! I’ll be back!” Oikawa calls over his shoulder.

Iwaizumi frowns before making a beeline toward the drink table, figuring that’d be a safe place to hover while he waits. In the meantime, he scans the room more closely this time, trying to figure out if he knows anyone else.

He sees athletes he recognizes from other classes and girls he’s seen around campus, but no friendly faces. He slumps against the wall, opening a beer with a twist of his hand, and gulps a third of it down. 

Iwaizumi’s not shy under normal circumstances, but being on his own in unfamiliar settings– along with Oikawa unceremoniously dumping him in his own living room– has him feeling a bit on edge. 

He pads open his phone after another swig of beer, considering if he should text the roommate groupchat to get Kuroo or Daichi to join him, before remembering that they’re both out at another bar by now. He sighs, slumping his shoulders against the wall. 

A few minutes into balefully watching the party, Iwaizumi spots Oikawa in a secluded corner, hovering over a couple of girls, his arm lazily stretched above his head as he leans against the wall. The girls look casually pleased, nodding as he gestures animatedly, his beer bottle sloshing around in one hand as he talks. He narrows his eyes at his back, figuring Oikawa must have forgotten all about him. He takes another long swig of beer.

Iwaizumi folds his arms closer to his chest, unsure if he should leave or stick it out a little longer. What kind of person invites someone to a party only to desert them, he thinks bitterly, and doesn’t realize he’s scowling until he meets the gaze of a guy with a bizarre pink bowl cut who promptly walks up to him, giving him an amused smile as he grabs a drink from the bar. “Hey, you’re in my marketing class, right?” Bowlcut says. “How’s Ukai treating you?”

Iwaizumi sighs in relief. “He’s alright. He’s got an interesting approach to our lectures, but you don’t expect him to be as thorough as he is with the whole vibe he has going on.” 

Bowlcut gestures at himself with his bottle of beer, looking even more amused than before. “Well, look at me. Looks can be deceiving!”

Iwaizumi eyes him, appraising. “Are you thorough, though?” Bowlcut only laughs.

“No, I’m Hanamaki.” He gestures over to the couch, taking a seat on the armchairr while Iwaizumi takes the couch. “I heard Ukai’s grandpa used to teach at our university too, y’know. Apparently he made a big impression back in the day.”

They continue talking about class for a while, starting in on Professor Ukai’s love of a good tracksuit when Iwaizumi feels a warm presence jostle him on the other side of the couch. He interrupts himself to give them a piece of his mind for sitting so close, only to find Oikawa already in his space. “Of course it’s you,” he sighs. “Remembered me finally, did you?”

“I could never forget Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replies smoothly, jostling him as he gets so close Iwaizumi can smell the slight scent of beer on his breath. He wrinkles his nose.

“Oi, you smell.”

Oikawa smiles slyly. “Oh, but you like how I smell.”

"Listen, beer-breath," Iwaizumi angles himself toward him further, their knees knocking as his old anger picks up from where he had left it upon Oikawa’s nonchalance. “Why did you even want me to be here if you were going to spend the whole night flirting with a bunch of girls?” 

Oikawa leans forward, getting so close his forehead skates the skin of Iwaizumi’s, the slight contact ticklish and unnerving. 

“Why? Did Iwa-chan want my attention all to himself?” He laughs quietly. “Greedy, greedy,” he coos, his hot breath caressing Iwaizumi’s cheek.

Iwaizumi feels heat rush to his face, ears turning a bright red from embarrassment or something else, he doesn’t know. “No, dumbass! Not deserting your guests is like hospitality rule number one!” he hisses. “I could’ve kept my ass in the library, I don’t know your teammates!”

“Oh, but they know you,” Oikawa admits, guilt coloring his voice as he leans back slightly. 

Iwaizumi squints at him suspiciously. "They know me too?”

They both startle at the noise of Hanamaki clearing his throat from the other sofa, turning to look back at him. “Not to interrupt your lovers’ quarrel, but I believe you interrupted a riveting conversation about our marketing professor’s personal life.”

“Makki!” Oikawa snaps, voice suddenly much louder. “Don’t interrupt me while I’m interrupting.”

“Anyway,” Makki says, ignoring him, “You were saying about Takeda-san, Iwaizumi-kun?”

Oikawa slumps further and pouts, eyes closed as he leans his neck back into the couch. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, thinking that maybe some silence could do him some good.

A few minutes later, Iwaizumi turns around to ask a question only to find Oikawa snoring softly beside him. 

Iwaizumi considers him for a moment. He looks almost– beautiful, if Iwaizumi didn’t know what he was like when he was awake. He watches as he breathes deeply in and out, calm and quiet for once in his goddamn life, his eyelids fluttering softly.

Objectively, of course. He has eyes. It’s not hard to see that Oikawa’s beautiful.

He scans the room to find a pile of folded throw blankets hidden away in a corner. He tugs a soft-looking one over to the couch, draping it over Oikawa until only his head and feet are poking out. 

He looks back at where Bowlcut was sitting, only to see he’s since gotten out of his chair and is appraising him with a look Iwaizumi can’t interpret. “I’ll see you in class, Iwaizumi,” he says, nodding at him before sticking his hands in his sports jacket and walking toward the door. 

Iwaizumi looks back at Oikawa again. He’s much less annoying when he’s sleeping, he thinks, and decides that thought is much too weird to entertain any further.

He puts his hands on his knees and stands, tucking the blanket up to Oikawa’s chin. He looks up to see Oikawa’s roommate also staring at him from their kitchen nook, washing dishes without looking at what he’s washing.

“You might want to get him some water and an aspirin,” Iwaizumi says to him, walking past him toward the door. “He’s going to feel all that beer in the morning.”

“I’ll pass along the advice from you,” Suga smiles, waving him off. “Oikawa’s not the biggest fan of medicine, but I’ll leave him some water before I head off to bed.”

“I– you don’t have to tell him I said anything,” Iwaizumi blurts. “In fact, don’t. He might get the idea that I don’t hate his ass.”

“Noted,” Suga says with a laugh. “Believe me, I understand— I tuck guys I hate into bed too. They need their beauty sleep just like the rest of us!”

Iwaizumi flushes and looks away. “I can see how you two get along,” he says, and Suga laughs even harder. 

He has a toe in the doorway when he blurts, “Can I—”

He curses under his breath. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He should be halfway down the hall by now instead of making a fool of himself in front of his lab partner’s roommate. 

It’s too late to back out now, though, so he continues. “I mean, can I just do it since you still have so much to clean?”

“Sure,” Suga says, his smile knowing in a way that Iwaizumi pointedly decides not to think about. 

He takes a wet glass and fills it with water from their fridge, doubling back to open the cabinet Suga gestures at with his chin to find a vial of aspirin along with a bunch of other bottles of prescribed meds. 

Iwaizumi notices that most of them are labeled with Oikawa’s name. Most of them look like pain meds.

He pads back to drop two of them with a glass of water, before seeing a notepad with one of Oikawa’s gel pens on the side table. He grabs it and scrawls, Drink up, idiot.

He looks at his sleeping face one more time. 

“Alright,” he calls, without looking away just yet. “I’ll see you in... Calc, I guess.”

“Not if I see you first!” Suga calls back, and Iwaizumi smiles despite himself as he shuts the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Turns out Oikawa is damn near unreadable when he wants to be.

They’re camped out at their usual table, gel pens and post-its strewn everywhere as they prepare for their next exam. Oikawa's been unusually quiet tonight, albeit with a suspiciously amused glint in his eye as he works on his laptop beside him. They've agreed to create one large document of everything they need to know, and Iwaizumi hates to admit how much easier it is to study now that they’re doing it together.

“Should we start editing now?” Oikawa interrupts his thoughts. He’s very old-school regarding exam prep, insisting on writing everything by hand so they can "encode it better, Iwa-chan, that's how memory works." Iwaizumi hates that he finds it just a little bit endearing, even if it means they're constantly bumping into each other to write notes on a single document.

Otherwise, it’s not that awkward between them— except Oikawa’s forearm brushes against Iwaizumi’s each time he jots something down, and for some reason it’s challenging his ability to focus on what he’s writing.

Oikawa shifts as he hums under his breath, and their thighs brush. That’s all it takes for Iwaizumi to feel a blush erupt from somewhere deep in his chest, his whole body blooming alive. What the hell is wrong with him? Maybe he’s getting a fever. He grips his pen tighter, trying his damnedest to focus.

“You’re so warm, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, and Iwaizumi jumps at the sound of his voice. “For such an animal, I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Iwaizumi swats him in the back of the head. “What’s your problem today, Shittykawa.”

“Nothing. I like it,” he smiles wider, knocking his knees into Iwaizumi’s thigh for emphasis. “I run cold, so. You’re my own little furnace, right here in the library.”

"Yeah, maybe that's why you fell asleep the other night," Iwaizumi shrugs. He decides this time is as good as any to ask, so he goes for the kill. "Why did you invite me over anyway? All you did was flirt with girls all night.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Oikawa denies petulantly. “We were having a perfectly nice conversation, Iwa-chan, you should try one sometime.”

“That’s not what I saw,” Iwaizumi argues. “Lucky for me your teammates were there to talk to.”

“It’s impossible that you saw me flirt,” Oikawa says, and when he meets his eyes he looks calm, like he’s decided something. “With them, I mean.”

“Why are you trying to tell me what I didn’t see?” Iwaizumi complains. “I’m not stupid, you know!”

“I’m gay,” Oikawa tells him. “I don’t like girls like that.”

“Oh.”

He knows it’s hard to just come out like that, despite how much time they've spent together. Hell, he doesn’t want to leave him hanging, so he decides to just bite the bullet.

“Uh, me too, actually.”

Oikawa’s eyes gleam when he smiles. “Really!” he says with a pleased little laugh. “Iwa-chan has been keeping secrets from me!”

“You look way too happy about this,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Oh god, please don’t set me up with any of your teammates.” 

“No problem,” Oikawa’s grin sharpens. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Um, good,” he shuffles some papers absentmindedly, suddenly feeling watched under Oikawa’s heavy gaze.

“That’s wrong, by the way,” Oikawa points out, his long finger pressing against a note Iwaizumi’s made about lactose. “There’s no alpha isomer, because beta-galactose is the first monosaccharide in the bond–- that’s what determines it.”

“Yes, there is,” Iwaizumi bites back. “I just reread this section last week. Lactose can have alpha or beta isomers because the hydroxyl attached to the first carbon in the d-glucose molecule isn’t bonded to anything, so it can open up.”

"No,” Oikawa stresses. “If you would just let me--" He grabs Iwaizumi's arm with both hands to win the pen from him.

"Good luck with trying to get this away from me," Iwaizumi says smugly. "I haven't won five arm-wrestling championships consecutively for nothing."

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa tries to twist his grip to no avail. "You think you're so strong and that means this is over, don't you? Not even close!"

"I don't think so, I know so," Iwaizumi assures him. 

Oikawa takes a deep breath and blows it all out in a frustrated rush, like a petulant child. "Iwa-chan is so mean to me. He can't admit that I know more than him about literally everything–"

"You'll have to try even harder than that to make me laugh, you know," Iwaizumi scoffs. "I'm just trying to save our study guide from your wrath."

Oikawa blows a raspberry at him. "I refuse to even dignify that with a response," he says, glaring at Iwaizumi's iron fist. 

Iwaizumi thinks I've paired up with a five-year-old, and says as much, but Oikawa doesn't reply. He’s still staring at Iwaizumi's hand, seemingly trying to analyze how to best to peel his fingers apart. His grasp has loosened, but Iwaizumi can't help but wonder why he hasn't let go.

Oikawa looks up at him under his long eyelashes, his gaze curious and heavy-lidded. Iwaizumi doesn't know what else to do but to look back, swallowing hard.

No flirting in the library, he remembers suddenly, and he shakes his head to rid himself of the thought.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa begins, before he leans over his hand and licks it, his hot tongue laving a warm, wet line across his knuckles. “Why did you care about me flirting with those girls?”

Iwaizumi stares at his mouth, simultaneously flabbergasted and flaming hot for some goddamn reason. “Did you just lick me?”

Before Oikawa can answer, they both jolt at the sound of a fresh thunderstorm breaking loose onto the pavement.

Iwaizumi sighs, grateful for the intervention. He doesn’t know what he would’ve said, anyway. 

They begin to pack their things, silently deciding to finish up the study guide another day. Oikawa meticulously drops his gel pens into his little plastic case one by one, and Iwaizumi feels himself getting a headache just from watching him. 

"Do you want to walk home with me," he asks tiredly. "God knows I've had enough with your antics, but I think if you got wet you'd wake the whole campus from yelling about your hair or something."

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa exclaims, smiling wickedly at him over his shoulder. "I thought you'd never ask."

They stomp out into the rain together a few moments later, Iwaizumi’s teal blue umbrella surprisingly sturdy under the powerful winds of the storm. Oikawa crowds close to him as the rain starts to pour harder, looking up anxiously. 

He suddenly grabs the handle of the umbrella, even though it is Iwaizumi’s umbrella, thank you very much, and tugs it away from him. “I’m taller,” he explains smugly.

Iwaizumi tries to swipe it back, but he only manages to grasp Oikawa’s hand instead. This time, the umbrella only budges an inch in Oikawa’s strong grip. 

"There are better ways to get me to hold your hand, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says slyly, their legs brushing as they walk north in the downpour.

“Who’d be dumb enough to want to hold hands with you!” Iwaizumi hisses. “Give me back my umbrella, I’ll just hold it higher.”

"Don’t be jealous just because no one wants to get near your hands, you brute," Oikawa mocks, and lets go of his hand to grasp the inner crook of his elbow instead as he narrowly avoids a puddle.

"Well, you did," Iwaizumi retorts, hoisting the umbrella higher, "So clearly you're not so opposed to them."

“Uh-huh,” Oikawa glances at him, analyzing his expression. He catches his eyes before he can look away, watching as Oikawa’s smirk grows wider and his grip tightens around his arm. “Well, that was in the name of science, so I can’t be blamed for that.”

“I don’t think science would approve of licking someone to fix a lab report. In the name of subjects they care about-– y’know, like hygiene and disease.”

“Are you really complaining about my cooties, Iwa-chan? What are we, five?”

“With how you act most of the time, we might as well be!” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you complaining until like a minute later. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were into it.”

Iwaizumi seriously considers leaving him in the rain to get soaked in this torrential downpour.

“I am seriously considering leaving you in the rain to get soaked in this torrential downpour.” He pauses. “I’m still thinking about it, honestly. You deserve it just for giving me your germs.”

“Well, good thing you’ve already walked me home, then,” Oikawa tells him, laughing at Iwaizumi’s harrumph.

Iwaizumi slows down once they reach a few steps from the door, where he thinks Oikawa can run out under the awning without so much as a sprinkling.

“Take me to the door, Iwa-chan, c’mon,” Oikawa presses instead, tugging on his elbow until they’re both standing under the awning. Iwaizumi clears his throat too loudly, busying his strangely sweaty hands with closing his umbrella.

They both stare out into the rain, side by side. Oikawa looks like he wants to say something, but Iwaizumi beats him to it.

“You took that aspirin, right?” he blurts. 

They hadn’t talked about the party after the whole I wasn’t flirting thing, about how Iwaizumi had felt the ghost of Oikawa’s hot breath trailing up his neck long after he’d left. He just wanted to say something about it, get it out into the open, even if he can’t say what he’s thinking really. 

What is he thinking, really?

“No,” Oikawa interrupts that train of thought. “I take pain medication I can’t mix with anything else.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi replies, not sure what else to say. He doesn’t want to pry and ask what it’s for, so he doesn’t. “I didn’t know if Suga had told you.”

“Suga told me you tucked me in,” Oikawa teases, stepping closer. “And clearly Iwa-chan wanted me to know, since he’s bringing it up right after walking me home. What d’you want, a reward?” He leers at Iwaizumi, grinning. 

“Hah?!” Iwaizumi splutters, until—

He registers a pair of lips pressing against his cheek, soft and sure, rendering him completely and utterly silent. Oikawa pulls away after a beat, his brown eyes sparkling in the muted dusk.

Iwaizumi stares at the floor, the rain roaring in his ears. His brain doesn’t know how to translate what’s just occurred, all his thoughts dissipating in the mist of the rain. All he knows is that he can still feel the sensation of Oikawa’s mouth warm on his skin, and he represses the urge to touch it, tingling and ticklish from the contact.

When he finally tears his eyes away from the ground, Oikawa is smiling at him as he tracks the way Iwaizumi’s blush bleeds into the neck of his sweater. “More germs for Iwa-chan, since he’s been such a gentleman,” he jokes, and his voice is warmer than Iwaizumi’s ever heard it. “Good night.” 

Iwaizumi simply balks, still speechless. Oikawa jauntily opens his lobby door, turning to wink at Iwaizumi through the glass before making his way inside.

“Fucking hell,” Iwaizumi mutters to himself. He stomps all the way home, red and embarrassed in the pouring rain.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I’m home,” Iwaizumi calls out when he unlocks the door. His clothes are soaked through, slick and dripping with water. He quickly tears it all off into a pile on the floor of the genkan, not wanting to create puddles all over the apartment. 

“Welcome back,” Daichi appears from his doorway. His lips lift into an amused smile once he sees Iwaizumi blinking the rain from his eyes, water spraying from the spikes of his hair in tiny beads onto the rug. “So, did you arrive here mostly naked, or?”

“Now who had you running home in your tighty whiteys, Hajime,” Kuroo sings, peeling off his headphones as he peeks around the laptop perched on his thighs. “Do tell.”

Hajime looks down, belatedly realizing that yes, he is standing in their genkan in his underwear. “Obviously I did not get home like this,” he complains. “It’s raining really hard outside, and I walked all the way home.”

“We live about ten minutes from the library,” Kuroo reminds him. “Why do you look like a drowned cat?”

“I walked Shittykawa home first,” Iwaizumi explains, reaching behind himself to peel off his dirty socks one by one. “He lives a little further away, and I had an umbrella.”

“How gentlemanly of you,” Kuroo teases, and Iwaizumi shoots him a withering glare.

“No, Kuroo, you’re missing the point. So you had an umbrella?” Daichi presses, and points to the umbrella sprawled by his shoes. Iwaizumi turns slowly to stare at it, cursing under his breath. “And you still managed to get soaked?”

“Oh my god. The plot thickens,” Kuroo says gleefully, placing his chin over the screen of his laptop.

“I forgot I had it,” Iwaizumi says through gritted teeth. “I got a little distracted after I dropped him off.”

Kuroo closes his laptop with a snap, his grin widening as he gives Iwaizumi a slow once-over. “How so?”

Daichi grabs a plastic bag before he makes his way to the genkan and pauses in front of Iwaizumi, watching his face carefully. “You’re red,” he observes, before he carefully piles his wet clothes inside. “And you won’t look me in the eye for more than a second.”

“I could’ve done that,” Iwaizumi tells him. 

“Just tell us,” Daichi suggests. “Is it a good kind of embarrassed, or a bad kind?”

“Good point,” Kuroo nods, his arms crossing over his chest. 

Iwaizumi rubs absently at his cheek, and both their eyes zero in on the motion. “It wasn’t bad,” he tells them. “He just kissed my cheek once I dropped him off.”

“So that’s why you’re blushing,” Daichi says, his grin sneaky and knowing. Iwaizumi doesn’t like it one bit. “You know you’re smiling a little, right?”

“And you are still red,” Kuroo says, the glee riding his voice as his eyes burrow into the side of Hajime’s face. “I can see it from here.” 

“Don’t you know?” Daichi calls out, interrupting his thoughts. “Hajime doesn’t blush, he burns.”

And he feels it even more acutely then, the soft peach fuzz of his cheek still buzzing and alive. He doesn’t know how to feel about any of this.

Daichi looks back at him, a little more seriously this time. “I won’t tease you about it,” he offers. “Too much. But he likes you, you know. In case that was what you were wondering. And I think you like him too.”

“Yeah, I–” Iwaizumi pauses, and sighs. “Let me get back to you on that one.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Daichi says solemnly, clapping his shoulder as Iwaizumi pads his way to the shower.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He lies flat on his back in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling.

The thing is, Iwaizumi Hajime does not– has not– crushed for a long, long time. He hasn’t liked anyone since the sixth grade, since he’d learned boys didn’t always like when you kissed their bruises after you’d played a little too rough in the dirt together.

Over the years, he’d surrounded himself with good friends, gay friends, and he’d been grateful for their company. It’d helped him become more comfortable with himself in his day-to-day life, no longer feeling the pressure to lie about who he was attracted to or be anyone he wasn’t. Being gay felt like just another part of him now, like being an only child or a natural athlete.

Nevertheless, he hadn’t really thought to pursue anyone, putting that aside to focus on his studies, his friendships, and his family– and he’d never really had a reason to regret that choice. He still doesn’t.

If you had asked him before, he would’ve told you he felt–- well, settled. 

But since he’s alone, in the dark and burrowed under the covers, he lets himself think about Oikawa the way he knows he wants to: flushed and confident on the court, staring at him in a way that’d burned through him at the core with that wild look in his eyes. Drenched from the safety shower, his muscles tantalizing and strong. Teasing him in the library, tilting up his face to reveal the long line of his neck as he smiles, wide, sharp, and promising.

Iwaizumi wonders what he’d feel like on top of him, maybe. How he’d feel with his weight pinning him down, with those broad, muscular thighs straddling his own.

How he’d lean in, his voice pompous and smart-alecky as ever, his plush mouth tracing the shell of his ear, his large hand tracing up his–-

“Oh, did Iwa-chan want my attention all to himself? Greedy, greedy…”

Warmth pools in his belly, and he closes his eyes despite himself. He feels like an animal coming out of a long, long slumber. He doesn’t just feel turned on–- he feels... alive.

Goddamnit, his traitorous mind says, as he slowly reaches under the elastic of his boxer shorts. I like that asshole back, don’t I?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You were right,” Iwaizumi groans to Daichi the next day over breakfast. “It’s a damn nightmare.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daichi says, through a mouthful of rice. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi makes it to lab the next day to see several different chemicals under the hoods of each station.

“Welcome back!” Irihata-sensei greets, popping out of nowhere to clap a hand on his shoulder. 

“What’re we doing today, Sensei?” Iwaizumi asks unsurely as he unclips his bag from his chest. “We’re not baking again, are we?”

“We are not, I’m afraid,” his teacher chuckles good-naturedly. "We are making something else to complement our lecture on lipids. Any idea what it might be?”

Iwaizumi looks closely at the chemicals they're going to use. Okay, there's triethanolamine, propylene glycol, stearic acid, methyl stearate, lanolin, mineral oil... and suddenly it clicks. “Are we going to make lotion?”

“We are!” Irihata-sensei exclaims. “Good for you! I see someone’s been paying attention.” 

“Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi slowly turns around with equal parts excitement and dread. As soon as he meets Oikawa’s big brown eyes, Iwaizumi's body betrays him into offering a small smile, damnit. 

“Someone looks happy to see me,” Oikawa sings, beaming as he settles into his seat. 

“Uh-huh,” Iwaizumi retorts, ears burning as he looks down at the counter. Fuck, he wasn't subtle at all, was he? “Tell yourself that if it makes you feel any better.”

“Say whatever you want, Iwa-chan. I’m happy to see you too,” Oikawa nudges his elbow with his own cheerily. “What’re we doing today? I didn't have time to review the syllabus this morning.”

Iwaizumi takes a moment to respond, still processing the subtle touch. “We’re making lotion,” he finally tells him, his voice deeper than before. “Some groups are going to make it with missing ingredients, but we get to make the original recipe.”

“Wonderful!” Oikawa exclaims, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

The lotion turns out to be a thin, creamy white, viscous liquid that sticks to the bottom of their graduated cylinder. Oikawa holds it aloft, their goggles fogging as they stare at it quizzically.

“It looks like-- " Iwaizumi blurts before cutting himself off.

“Like what, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa turns to him with a huge grin. “What does it look like to you?”

“Well...” he pauses to glance at Oikawa, noting the smug look on his face. He swallows hard. “Like lotion. It looks like lotion.”

“Uh-huh,” Oikawa replies, and he winks like an asshole, because he knows what Iwaizumi was going to say, and he swears, if he says it aloud he’ll––

“Ah, there’s Iwa-chan’s seriously-debating-murder face,” Oikawa clucks his tongue. “I won’t say it, but I just want you to know I agree.”

“So you agree that our lotion looks like lotion,” Iwaizumi gives him an unamused glare.

“Iwa-chan, you know what it looks like! It looks like a load of—“

“SHUT UP!” Iwaizumi yells, prompting the whole class to look at him. “Sorry,” he apologizes to the group, gesturing toward Oikawa, and they return to their labs without a second glance.

After class, Oikawa stops him from leaving with a large hand clutched onto his elbow. His hands are warm, and just the thought of the wayward thoughts Iwaizumi had about those hands the night before makes his palms start to sweat. “Did you get home okay yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi clears his throat loudly. "Yeah, I did. My roommates complained about all the rain I brought home, but it was a downpour."

"Iwa-chan must've been distracted," Oikawa teases, winking at him with a cheeky grin Iwaizumi hates to say looks all too handsome on his goddamn pretty boy face. "I'll see you at our usual spot tonight, yeah?"

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, trying to shake himself out of the sudden rush of heat boiling in his blood. "Not if I see you there first, Shittykawa."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There’s no other way to describe it. Oikawa is driving Iwaizumi absolutely insane.

Iwaizumi is aware that that his way of being nervous isn't how most people act. Hell, he hates even admitting that he's on edge just by sitting next to Oikawa, trying not to act on the tension bubbling under his skin.

The ball's in his court, Iwaizumi knows. Oikawa likes him, he likes Oikawa. It's no CHEM 325, and yet Iwaizumi doesn't know what the hell to do next.

What is he supposed to say to this smug asshole? Hey, turns out I don’t hate your ass— in fact, I might even like it? Hell no. 

Oikawa clears his throat after ten minutes of pin-drop silence, staring at their notes in the library. "I don't know if we've ever gone so long without a single protest from you, Iwa-chan. It must be my lucky day," he jokes, but Iwaizumi can see the hesitation in his expression. He feels guilt dig itself into the pit of his stomach as he rubs his sweaty palms against his pants. “Let’s go over nomenclature for alkanes, then."

Iwaizumi groans. “Why,” he complains, even though he secretly thinks it might not be a bad idea. Anything to get all this off his mind. 

Oikawa harrumphs before he continues. “I like making mnemonic devices for things,” he explains. “It helps memorize them faster.”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi sits up straight in his chair. This, he can do. “I’ll start. Methane can be…”

“Milkbread!” Oikawa nearly shouts before Iwaizumi can think of anything. “That's my favorite dessert, in case you were wondering. There's a place not far from here that sells some."

“Dumbass, I said I would start!” Iwaizumi complains. “Ethane can be evil, like you.”

“I am not evil,” Oikawa stresses. “I would think Iwa-chan would think better of me by now. Propane can be proper, and butane can be beautiful, like me.”

Iwaizumi snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you even need help with this list?"

“For pentane…” Oikawa ignores him, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “How about pent-up rage, because it’ll remind me of you?”

Iwaizumi bares his teeth at him, but Oikawa only chuckles.

“Hexane can be hex–– based on what you want to do to me right now, based on how you’re glaring a hole in my head.”

“That's not the only thing I want to do to you,” Iwaizumi murmurs dangerously under his breath.

“Anything you can think of for heptane, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa interrupts with a raised brow. “We’re up to seven carbon atoms now.”

“Hept for… connect,” Iwaizumi thinks out loud. 

“That’s so cute, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa coos. 

“It rhymes!” Iwaizumi protests. 

"There's my Iwa-chan," Oikawa praises, looking at him with an expression Iwaizumi can only describe as gentle. "I was beginning to think you'd been abducted and replaced somehow.”

No flirting in the library, Iwaizumi thinks. Well, maybe that's what had been going on for much longer than he'd wanted to admit.

Fuck it, would that be so bad? Maybe not. Maybe he owed it to himself to see what they could be, if anything at all.

Only one way to find out.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Iwaizumi tries, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "If you're open to it."

"Anything," Oikawa says quickly, before his cheeks explode into a rosy hue of pink. Interesting. "Um, I mean, what's on your mind, Iwa-chan?"

There's a sudden clatter by the bookshelves, and both of them startle until a couple of guys make their way through the shadows.

"I knew this was where they study, I told you," One of them whispered to the other. "Oikawa's always hiding away with this guy so he can--"

"Hey, Akaashi-kun," Oikawa loudly interrupts, shooting the dark-haired guy a cutting glance. "What're you doing here?"

"Hi, Oikawa-kun!" The other guy nearly shouts. He's got a shock of wild gray hair that makes him look like he'd stuck his hand in an electric socket. "Just wanted to congratulate you on Argentina, man! Coach spilled the beans. That's so awesome!"

Argentina? Iwaizumi studies Oikawa's face, who looks seven shades of constipated. 

"Thank you, Bokkun," Oikawa purses his lips. "You couldn't have told me tomorrow?"

"We were passing by! Hey, is this the guy you're always talking about? The great ace?" Bokkun extends a hand to Iwaizumi to exchange a nice, firm shake. "I'm Bokuto, heard a lot about you! Your partner here is going to play pro in Argentina, isn't that great?"

"Oh, yeah?" Iwaizumi replies with raised eyebrows. "When were you going to tell me, Shittykawa?"

"Well, um, it just happened today," Oikawa admits sheepishly. "I wanted to go pro here at the beginning of my career, but lately I've been thinking about playing abroad after I graduate. A couple of leagues reached out about it, so."

Iwaizumi can't tell what facial expression he's making, but he hopes it looks supportive. “Congratulations. That’s pretty far from home though, no?”

"Well, Japan doesn't have space for me," Oikawa frowns determinedly. "I learned that long ago. But I have a dream to fulfill, and I'm going to reach it no matter what it takes."

"Yeah," Iwaizumi remembers himself, trying to ignore the weight of dejection blooming in his heart. This wasn't about him at all. Oikawa deserved to pursue everything he'd worked so hard toward for so long. 

"Well, we'll see you guys around," Akaashi interrupts, looking curiously at the two of them. "See you on the court, captain."

"Great to finally meet you, man," Bokuto claps him on the back before making to follow his friend. "See you around!"

"Why are you so tense?" Oikawa asks once the doors swing closed. His large brown eyes are narrowed carefully, trying to solve for X. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Iwaizumi sighs. "You didn't do anything wrong, Stupidkawa. I just should've known better."

"What do you mean?" Oikawa asks sharply. All the warmth in his face is gone, and Iwaizumi can’t bear to see it. It's just his luck, falling for a shooting star with no signs of stopping. He'd be stupid to ask for anything from someone who was already going somewhere far beyond his reach.

"I'm happy for you, Oikawa," he tells him. "But we're meant for different worlds. I don't start things I can't finish, not anymore. You should just go your way, and I'll go mine."

"What are you talking about?" Oikawa reaches for him, but Iwaizumi stands before he can. He looks almost desperate, and Iwaizumi can't possibly fathom why. He's just a guy-- a steady rock, sure, but ultimately ordinary. They never should've crossed paths in the first place.

"I'm right here, Iwa-chan, not in some other world. I want to know what you were going to say." 

Iwaizumi shakes his head dismissively, rising from his seat to quickly pack his things. He needs to get out of here and fast. "Don't worry about it," he replies. "I should go."

"Iwa-chan, wait!" Oikawa shouts after him as he strides to the stairway, but he doesn’t turn back.

He's already outside when Oikawa catches up with him.

“Remember what you said at the beginning of class?” Oikawa yells from behind him, and his voice sounds more exasperated than he's ever heard it. “When you told me I’d regret sitting next to you? Being partners with you?”

Iwaizumi whirls around to stare at him, the night still and quiet, as Oikawa stares back. The library looms large and imposing behind them, but all Iwaizumi can see are Oikawa’s stupid, ridiculously full lips as he prattles on, gesticulating wildly into the night air.

“What are you so afraid of?” he yells. "What're you going to do, just give up again?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Iwaizumi barks back. "It's pointless to keep pursuing something you know isn't meant to be."

"How do you know that?" Oikawa cries. "Damn it, take a risk for once in your life, Iwa-chan!”

“Goddamnit, you are always so— so—“ Annoying, Iwaizumi wants to say, but he stops himself. It's not the right word, and it hasn't been for god knows how long. “I don’t know what to do about you. One minute I couldn’t get rid of you and the next you’re…”

“I’m what, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa demands, fists clenched by his sides. “I'm what?”

“I don't know, okay!” Iwaizumi shouts. God, I'm horrible at this. “I started looking forward to seeing you. I grew stronger just by being around you.”

“What else?” Oikawa dares to step closer, eyes shining with something that looks like hope.

“I wanted you to look at me, even more than you already do. I wanted you to—“

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa interrupts impatiently. “I'm always looking at you.”

And that’s it. 

Iwaizumi grabs the collar of that damn white high school jacket of his and slams him against the wall of the library building. He kisses him angrily, swallowing Oikawa’s sharp inhale of surprise whole as his hands clutch desperately in that damn boy-band haircut of his.

Oikawa finally kisses back after a long moment, giving it as good as he’s getting it, kissing Iwaizumi like he’s trying to climb into his mouth. Iwaizumi can feel his blood sing with how alive he feels, a storm brewing under his skin the longer they stay kissing feverishly under a soundless sky. 

He wonders if Oikawa would agree, relishing in his groan as he softly bites his bottom lip.

He doesn’t want to hear Oikawa say he was right. He doesn’t want to hear that he doesn’t want to be partners with him anymore. And he could pretend like he doesn’t know why but damn it, he does.

He’s known for a while. He’s known for too long.

“Enough,” Iwaizumi declares when they break apart, breathing hard through his mouth, lips puffy as he leans his forehead against Oikawa’s. They breathe together until Iwaizumi’s eyes finally meet Oikawa’s gaze, his hands still twisted in his collar. 

“Enough,” he repeats softly, eyes flickering back and forth between his dark eyes and his pouting, wet mouth, leaning into him further and further still as he inhales, his vanilla-musk smell strong and intoxicating in his nose. 

The longer the silence between them grows, the more Oikawa’s mood seems to sharpen into a strange, challenging anger. His grip tightens on Iwaizumi’s neck, and Iwaizumi leans into him like a tree swaying toward the wind.

“Is that all?” Oikawa says finally, his tone tight with frustration. He frowns as Iwaizumi’s bright green eyes flick toward his lips again, and blows hot air into what little space exists between them. “Don’t tell me you’re not going to finish what you started, Iwa-chan.” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes glance up, caught and still simmering while their chests heave together. He can’t kiss him again— not until he knows it’s real, that this is something that he wants, too.

"What do you want, Shittykawa?" he murmurs. "This goes both ways."

Oikawa sighs a hot, dissatisfied breath. “I want you, you complete oaf,” he complains as he finally pulls him in all the way, letting Iwaizumi dive back into the cavern of that hot, irresistible mouth. 

Iwaizumi doesn't care, for once, too busy kissing back as if he’d never stopped and breathing Oikawa in as he crowds him into the wall and tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. All that frustration finally catalyzes into hot, searing presses of their lips, into strong arms holding him tight against the wall.

Oikawa kisses him slower this time, letting out a soft moan as Iwaizumi licks at the roof of his mouth. Their tongues touch, and it feels electric —a little zing travels down Iwaizumi's spine, making the hairs on his neck stand up. Oikawa sucks at Iwaizumi's tongue while he paws at his neck and shoulders covetously, clearly relishing in the strength of Iwaizumi’s arms under his fingertips. 

Still, Oikawa doesn’t push against him any further than that, until Iwaizumi begins to clash against him again and again like a raging storm. He moves lower to mouth at his neck, the friction growing between them making Iwaizumi’s mouth dry and head dizzy.

“I want you,” Oikawa breathes, and Iwaizumi muffles a groan into his skin. 

“Stop talking,” he orders.

“No,” Oikawa grins breathlessly as he feels Iwaizumi’s teeth scrape his jugular in warning. “And I don’t think you want me to, do you, Iwa-chan?”

“Will this shut you up?” he replies lowly, reaching down to smooth his palm over a very interested bulge under the fabric of his pants, and Oikawa, honest to god, squeaks right in his ear. “Is this what it takes?”

“N–never,” Oikawa quickly regains his footing. “Not unless you take me home first.”

Iwaizumi peels off of him and stares: at Oikawa’s dilated pupils, his heavy breaths, his wet mouth. A challenge he’d be damned if he didn’t take.

"Let's go, then,” Iwaizumi grunts, peeling him off the wall and storming off with Oikawa in tow, hand seared onto his. “Because you’re right. I haven’t even gotten started with you yet.”

Oikawa sits gingerly on his bed once Iwaizumi shuts the door of his room, looking around. He analyzes Iwaizumi’s neatly-kept desk, the Godzilla figurines on his shelf, and his running clothes already laid out for the next morning. Iwaizumi leans against the door and closes his eyes, thanking every god he's ever heard of that Daichi and Kuroo are already asleep by now.

“This is very cute,” Oikawa gestures vaguely as Iwaizumi sits next to him, an all-too-knowing grin on his face. “It’s nice to see Iwa-chan is an athlete and a nerd.” 

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi tips his chin with his fingers to press another kiss onto his mouth. It's impossible not to notice how pretty Oikawa looks with parted, pink lips, his long eyelashes tickling his cheeks. He scrapes his teeth softly against his bottom lip again just to hear Oikawa moan into his mouth. God, he likes that.

Iwaizumi leans into him as he prods the seam of his lips with his tongue, eager to taste. Oikawa hums after a moment, breaking the kiss to loosely straddle his lap, and the weight of him on his lap feels grounding.

Iwaizumi clutches his waist tight as he kisses him messily, sneaking his fingers under Oikawa’s shirt until he can feel the warmth of his skin. He tugs at the hem, breaking the kiss to stare as he reveals all that pale muscle of his begging to be touched.

Without warning, he flips Oikawa onto the mattress, his chestnut hair fanning out onto his pillow as he looks up with eyes nearly black with arousal.

Iwaizumi straddles his hips this time, adjusting himself slightly to get comfortable until he feels something hard at his thigh. He smiles deviously at Oikawa-- who gives him a dazed look, too turned on to bother being embarrassed. His hands crawl down into his lap to press softly against his crotch.

“Oh,” Oikawa breathes, and Iwaizumi’s smile grows even wider.

“Can we––” he asks, motioning at his own bulge. Oikawa nods furiously, his hair still in disarray. Iwaizumi moves on top of him again until they’re perfectly aligned, caging him in with his thighs and tangling their legs together. 

“Fuck,” Oikawa sighs happily, staring up at him with wide eyes. Iwaizumi dives in, biting kisses against Oikawa’s mouth as he ruts against him–- again, again, the mounting pressure in his gut growing stronger and stronger. “Fuck me, fuck me, Iwa-chan, god..."

“You’re so-–” Oikawa begins leaving wet kisses under his jaw, arching his back as he rocks back and forth to Iwaizumi's answering groan. “Fuck, we should’ve–- hah, goddamnit–- we should've been doing this a long time ago.”

“I know,” Oikawa breathes, voice stilted a little as the friction grows between them. “Mhmm, fuck, keep doing that. You feel so good on top of me.”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi says, beginning to grind more sinuously against him. “Damn it, take your pants off. Let me see you, c’mon,” Iwaizumi tugs at his belt loops, and Oikawa ducks his head to hide his smile.

“I was thinking about this since that day we made that shitty bread,” Iwaizumi confesses, his eyes growing wide as he pulls it off and casts it aside. “You got me so goddamn mad. I dreamt that night I fucked you right there in the safety shower.”

Oikawa gasps. “That long? You never acted any different!”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi laughs, hands skating along the indentations of Oikawa’s abdomen, his sculpted biceps, those brown moles on his chest he’s been aching to see again. “Took a long cold shower after that one.”

“I beat you again,” Oikawa says as Iwaizumi bends down to press soft kisses against each one. “I started fantasizing about you after that day in the gym. With those sounds you were making, I wanted to give you something to suck on after you benched my bodyweight.”

“No wonder you could barely do it,” Iwaizumi murmurs, a shiver running through him at the thought. 

“Shut up, yes I could,” Oikawa laughs breathlessly as Iwaizumi begins sucking on another mole close to his nipple. “But if I was struggling, it’s because half of my blood supply was down south the entire time we were there.”

“Damn it,” Iwaizumi tugs at his nipple with his teeth, watching hungrily as Oikawa arches his back. “That librarian was right, then.”

“Why are you thinking about other people right now? Take off your shirt,” Oikawa demands, pinching the fabric between his fingers. When Iwaizumi dutifully raises his arms and pries it off, Oikawa tips his head back and lets out a moan, long and loud, his hands reaching to touch.

“Wow,” he breathes, his fingers skating down his toned abdomen and his wide, muscular chest before squeezing his pectorals greedily. “I don’t know how I’m going to handle myself alone with you in the library after this.”

“Won’t be able to contain yourself?” Iwaizumi teases, reaching to pull at his boxer briefs. “I’ve thought about it.”

“You have?” Oikawa chokes as Iwaizumi pulls him out. He’s thick and long and slightly curved to the side, and Iwaizumi can’t help himself. He carefully thumbs the head and wonders how the weight of his cock might feel in his mouth. He snaps his eyes back to Oikawa, who looks like he’s trying not to evaporate into the sheets.

“Yeah,” he begins. “Want me to suck you off under the table, see if anyone catches us?” Oikawa lifts his hips, seeking more friction. “Try to have your smart ass concentrate then, huh, while I take you in my mouth and swallow you down?” Iwaizumi asks, pulling himself out of his hands to begin jerking off their cocks in one large hand.

Oikawa moans again, this time so loud Iwaizumi wonders if Daichi or Kuroo are deep sleepers. Well, he's about to find out. “Fuuuck, Iwa-chan. You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that.”

“Quiet,” Iwaizumi hisses. “You have to practice.”

“Shut me up, then,” Oikawa whispers with those big doe eyes, and Iwaizumi curses under his breath. 

“Gladly.” 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So, what I’m getting from this,” Iwaizumi begins once their breath has settled, their hearts have slowed, and their cum is still drying on his stomach. “Is that you like me.”

Oikawa laughs almost hysterically, gesturing at the pillows on the floor, the mess they’ve made of each other, the wet spot in the sheets. “God, you think so, Iwa-chan?”

“It wasn’t that obvious before.” Iwaizumi retorts. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t kissed you?”

“Oh, you were going to eventually,” Oikawa assures him, even going so far as to put a hand on his knee as if he’s letting him in on some well-known secret. “I had a whole plan prepared for any kind of contingency, ask Refreshing-kun next time you see him.” 

“You realize that’s a horrible way to woo someone,” Iwaizumi squints at him. “You really are a dumbass, huh. Do you have a death wish? Is that what it is?”

“Ah, but you forget that I’m not just someone, and neither are you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chides, leaning over to wrap his long arms around Iwaizumi’s neck and bring their faces closer together. “Haven’t you noticed I never give up on the important things?”

“Yeah, to a fault,” Iwaizumi huffs, and Oikawa steals a quick kiss, softly enough that Iwaizumi looks cross-eyed when he pulls back. 

“You’re so cute when you’re mad. Chalk it up to schoolyard-crush behavior, but I stand by it.” He crowds in to press their mouths together again and again, just to see Iwaizumi’s eyes grow lethargic and sleepy-drunk from affection. “After all, it worked, wouldn’t you say, Iwa-chan?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi yawns, heavy-lidded and subdued. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Oh, I will,” Oikawa honest-to-god winks. “Just you wait.”

“What have I done?” Iwaizumi covers his face with his hands while Oikawa cackles right into his ear, his sweaty sex hair tickling his cheek. 

Oikawa is settling into a comfortable sleeping position when Iwaizumi shifts closer, hot breath trailing onto his skin. “I’ve liked you for a while, you know,” he mumbles. “Even though you annoyed me, and even though you still do. It got too hard not to.”

Iwaizumi hears a tittering muffled by fabric, and when he lifts his burning face he sees Oikawa giggling quietly into his pillow, peeking out at him with his warm brown eyes. “Me too, Iwa-chan,” he admits, and reaches to thread their fingers together, his hand large and warm. “Me too.”

Iwaizumi wakes up blearily with sleep still in his eyes to rumpled sheets, loose, relaxed muscles, and the ever-present urge to pee. He swings his legs off the mattress and pads to the bathroom— but stops in his tracks once he sees Oikawa sipping a glass of water in his kitchen, still maddeningly shirtless. Kuroo is sitting on the other side of the counter, grinning at him like the cat who caught the canary. 

Oikawa faces him, his abs shifting tantalizingly under his skin, beaming from ear to ear. “Your goal for the year was to beat me, huh?” He asks, clearly amused as he points at the whiteboard. “What about bedding me?”

“Can you please shut up?” Iwaizumi mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s too damn tired for this.

“He has a good point,” Kuroo offers, raising his eyebrows. “Was this part of the plan?”

“No,” Iwaizumi stresses, and Oikawa and Kuroo cackle in unison. “God, I should’ve known you two would be an even bigger pain in my ass together.”

Kuroo laughs heartily. “We got well acquainted, what can we say,” he tells him. “Actually, we were just talking about Oikawa going pro. I was telling him my uncle’s a great travel agent. Gets great deals all the time.”

“Hah?” Iwaizumi raises his brows. “I’ve never met this uncle of yours.”

”I’ll fill you in,” Kuroo shrugs. “I have a feeling you’re going to need him in the near future.”

“And I heard you’ve been taking Spanish for years to fulfill your foreign language prerequisite,” Oikawa says shyly. “I could use a good teacher.”

“Um, well— let me pee real quick,” Iwaizumi grunts, feeling flustered and still bleary-eyed from sleep. “Then I can make you something to eat, if you’re hungry. Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

“I’d be a fool to miss out on a breakfast made by Iwa-chan,” Oikawa grins, rounding the corner to take a seat next to Kuroo. “Get to it, because we have a lot to talk about.”

”Yeah,” Iwaizumi turns toward the door so Oikawa can’t see his smile. “I guess we do, Shittykawa.”

Chapter Text

It'd been a month since things... escalated between them. Iwaizumi hasn’t killed Oikawa yet, so he considers that a plus.

In fact, despite their hectic schedules, Iwaizumi now found himself spending more and more time with his damn menace of a chemistry partner.

They still spent hours bickering over their notes in the library, sure, but now they’d continue the evening by watching sci-fi classics in the comfort of Iwaizumi's living room, or competing at the gym long after they had officially closed.

Oikawa especially loved when he got to witness Iwaizumi's household cooking in real time, going so far as to request if "Iwa-chan could wear the apron without anything else on, please?" He got a good kick in the ass for that one.

Call it Stockholm Syndrome or call it being 'whipped', Iwaizumi couldn't help but notice how comfortable it all felt. There was no real script to follow for a boy like him falling in love with a boy like Oikawa, as far as he knew. But he knew that dating someone was supposed to be a 'big deal', full of romantic gestures and grand declarations of love.

What they had together felt more like what they'd had before: a fated rivalry turned friendship turned into— well, whatever it was that let him finally end their many arguments by tackling Oikawa with furious kisses instead of flying fists.

(Or sometimes, when Oikawa was especially annoying: furious kisses and flying fists.)

When he brought it up to Kuroo one morning during their run, how natural everything felt despite recent R-rated developments, he was informed with unrestrained glee that that's what happens when you're with the right person, loverboy. But what did that pointy-haired jerk know, anyway?

(Apart from his experience dating his best friend for over a decade, of course.)

From time to time, Iwaizumi did catch himself wondering what that would've been like, meeting Oikawa earlier. Maybe he would've killed him in cold blood long before he realized he'd fallen for the asshole. Maybe they would've started dating much sooner.

Maybe he even would've played volleyball longer had he had someone to compete with, someone who riled him up and sparked that hunger to strive for more.

But he didn't have time to think about those things, not with their finals coming up. They hadn't even had time to get up to anything more since that first night together. Damn Kuroo and his terrible sleep schedule.

Speaking of which--

“The enzyme adapts to fit a substrate’s shape...“ Oikawa recites quietly next to him in the library, lifting his arm to splay his fingers wide in the air. Iwaizumi mirrors him without thinking, caught up in the way Oikawa's long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. The fucker was so goddamn distracting, and the worst part was that now he knew Iwaizumi was a sucker for it.

“And vice versa, like this,” Oikawa grabs his hand to thread their fingers together. “So they can fit perfectly, and create something together that they couldn’t have been apart. Seeking each other, finding each other, holding on, and then letting go, forever changed.”

“You love holding my hand, don’t you,” Iwaizumi tells him, shaking their clasped hands in front of Oikawa’s face, and Oikawa splutters wordlessly. "You goddamn pretty boy flirt."

“So what if I do? Is that so wrong?"

"Shut up," Iwaizumi chastises. He has half a mind to whack him one, but the trouble is it wouldn't be proper punishment; he has a sneaking suspicion with every damn day they spend together that Oikawa's got some nasty kinks he’s accidentally been indulging just with his natural personality. “Listen, dumbass. I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Oikawa asks with a cheeky grin, oblivious to his telepathic scolding. They're still holding hands, but Iwaizumi pretends he doesn't notice. Maybe it’s not so bad, or whatever. “Is it dirty, Iwa-chan? Please tell me it is."

“No, you damn pervert. Also, stop being so loud, we're already on the library watchlist.” Oikawa's grin only widens, and the masochist allegations remain. “We need to actually study for our final next week. No more bullshit, and no more flirting. Help me focus or I’ll hole up in here otherwise, and you won't get to see me until the day of the exam.”

“Is that a threat?” Oikawa’s bright brown eyes glimmer in ways far too appealing for a simple Thursday afternoon. Damnit, was he as much of a pervert as Oikawa? Was freak contagious after all? “You'd miss me too much, Iwa-chan, don't kid yourself. I can’t promise no "bullshit", as you say, but let’s do it. We’re going to make so many flashcards... hey!”

“What did I say?” Iwaizumi admonishes, having reached over to pinch Oikawa’s arm. “I meant it.”

"Fine, fine. Let's make a wager, then," Oikawa flips to a page of the textbook to material they'd learned closer to the beginning of the semester. Iwaizumi can’t believe there was a time that he found any of that difficult, but he supposes that’s the reward of a proper studying routine. "We can't have proper sex until the semester ends."

"Why are you speaking so damn loud?" Iwaizumi yells as quietly as he can, which is not very quiet at all. "Do you want to die?”

"What can I say? I have plans," Oikawa admits with a dreamy smile. Iwaizumi hates that he wants to know what he has in mind. "But I want you to wait for it. Give you something to look forward to."

"How does your evil, conniving ass brain even come up with this stuff?"

"I'm a man of many talents, Iwa-chan. Anyway, you can't touch yourself, either," Oikawa instructs, pointing his pen at him menacingly. "You have to save all that for me. I'll take care of it."

"What the--" 

"In fact, since I can tell you're into it..." Oikawa looks around surreptitiously. "Maybe I'll help you take the edge off."

"It's the middle of the day!"

"No one's here," Oikawa shrugs, but something in his gaze tells Iwaizumi he likes the thrill of knowing that there could be.

What a goddamn demon.

"You want to?"

Iwaizumi balks wordlessly, but the growing bulge in his jeans informs him that yes, duh, of course he wants to, as his palms leak sweat all over his jeans. Even his own body was betraying him, but that didn't mean his morals had to. "This is a public place! This is the library!" 

"Then I suggest you follow the rules, Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispers as his long ass fingers crawl toward his zipper, "and keep quiet."

“You don’t want to know what’s going to happen if you don’t stop looking at me like that,” Iwaizumi warns.

“Who says I don’t?” Oikawa breathes, his eyes darting between his eyes and his mouth before ducking closer to whisper in his ear. “I wish I could ride you right now. Like we talked about, right here in the library. You think you could still concentrate?”

Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa until he's nice and secure on his lap, bracketing his hands around Oikawa’s hips and squeezing, possessive and playful.

Two could play at this game, and like hell was Iwaizumi going to lose.

“Fuck no,” he grits out. “And I wouldn’t want to.”

Oikawa watches him with wild, dilated eyes. He already looks debauched, and they haven't even done anything yet. “Why not?”

“Because we’d be banned forever,” Iwaizumi slaps his ass without warning to a resounding yelp from Oikawa. “But I’d be too busy enjoying the view.”

”C’mere, big guy,” Oikawa paws at his pants until he finally frees his dick from the slit in his boxers, because he's a heathen, and Iwaizumi genuinely cannot believe they're actually doing this. "Let me see what you've got."

In the library, for god's sake.

What he can't deny, though, is how enthralling it is when Oikawa slinks down from his lap to the floor onto his knees, tilting his face upward to kiss at his leaking, throbbing cock.

“Goddammit,” Iwaizumi curses. Oikawa looks so incredible down there, staring up at him with his wide, unblinking eyes as he slurps him down into that annoying, beautiful, perfect mouth of his.

“Mmm,” Oikawa moans, his lips shiny and wet with precome. “You taste so good, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi threads furious hands into his hair, preparing to pull him off for the sake of responsibility, but one eyebrow raise from Oikawa makes him simply hold on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he groans, finally giving in. “You look so fucking hot, Tooru.”

Oikawa wraps his hand around him and jerk him off with a tight, sure grip, licking at his cockhead with a quick tongue while he catches his breath. “You’re going to do well on that exam,” He instructs, kissing the tip lovingly before wrapping his lips around it and off with a pop. “I piss you off so bad, right, Iwa-chan? This is how I'll make it up to you."

“You damn tease,” Iwaizumi replies, because he can’t think of anything else except how syrupy sweet and demanding Oikawa is, both hungry and irresistible when he’s on his knees all for him. “Fuck, Shittykawa, anything you want.”

“Yeah? Anything?” Oikawa grins cheekily, dragging Iwaizumi’s cock around his lips and against his cheeks. There’s a mess of precum all over his face that he chases with his tongue, and Iwaizumi can feel his own mouth water with the desire to taste. "Don't you go and tempt me with a good time. All I want right now is for you to cum."

“Suck it, then,” Iwaizumi growls, forgetting himself as he holds his cock aloft to feed it into Oikawa’s mouth. “Please, I need—“

Oikawa dutifully leans forward and swallows as much of Iwaizumi’s cock as he can, his eyes wide and alluring as he bobs his head in his lap. He looks obscene, slurping him down, cock leaking everywhere, desperate to get as much of him down his throat as he can. 

"You're being so good for me," Oikawa cries. "My ace."

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi nearly shouts, forgetting where they are, trying desperately to keep himself from fucking his face. “Tooru, you’re being so good for me, I’m gonna—“

He stifles his shout with a fist stuffed in his mouth as he fills Oikawa with cum, pleasure sparking behind his eyelids as he slumps against the chair. Oikawa swallows as much as he can and licks away the rest, politely tucking him away in his boxers before he rises to stand.

“Thank you for the meal,” he says with a wink. “I hope you enjoyed your reward, because we're definitely going to get banned from how loud you just were.”

"Goddamnit," Iwaizumi mutters, wiping spare cum on his pants. “We’re going to hell for that for sure.”

"You're going to hell for doing that to a perfectly good pair of slacks." 

"Oh, yeah?" Iwaizumi wiggles his fingers in front of his face. "You want some more?"

"Noooo!" Oikawa yips, all remaining endorphins forgotten as he runs down the hall, fly still undone. "Anything but my Versace jeans, Iwa-chan! They gave me this during last spring's campaign, and I won't let you ruin it!" 

Iwaizumi jumps out of his chair, smirking deliriously. He really did find a way to boil his blood, but like hell if he was complaining. 

Maybe he'd needed a little wake-up call in the name of Oikawa Tooru all along. 

"I'm coming for you, rich boy!" He yells, hastily zipping up his own pants before running after him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Are you wearing a suit?” Oikawa screeches when Iwaizumi walks into their classroom on the day of their final.

Iwaizumi smirks. He looks good, then.

“What's it look like, Shittykawa? I figured I’d dress for the occasion, seeing as I’m about to beat your ass,” he says smugly. "I told you I knew how to step it up now and then."

Oikawa grins, unabashedly looking him up and down. "I stand corrected, Iwa-chan," he murmurs, stalking toward him like an animal assessing its prey. “You really don’t play fair. How am I supposed to concentrate when you look like this?”

Irihata-sensei even smiles when he sees his get-up, a deep black suit Iwaizumi got fitted in for his cousin’s wedding last year. He’s bulked up slightly since then, so it's not a perfect fit-- but Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind from the way he’s trying to keep his drool in his mouth.

“Please move your seat a little further away, Oikawa-kun,” Irihata-sensei admonishes him gently before handing him his exam. “And good luck to you.”

"Meet me after class, OK? Keep the suit on," Oikawa whispers. "And may the best man win."

"Prepare to lose," Iwaizumi sneers.

Once he begins the exam, Iwaizumi forgets about everything else for a while— too busy analyzing every question with the utmost precision. It feels nearly easy to complete after all the preparation he and Oikawa managed to achieve, even with the few challenging questions he stumbles onto here and there. 

Oikawa submits his exam first, but Iwaizumi's not far behind. He turns to see that the entire class is still sitting behind him, not even halfway through the material it took him mere minutes to review. He tries his best not to fidget anxiously in his chair as Irihata-sensei slowly collects the remaining exams from their peers.

“I’ll be back once I run these through the scanner,” Irihata-sensei announces. “Then, I’ll call you out into the hall to give you your final grade. That way, no one has to wonder how they did in the course. I know this class was stressful for a lot of you, but it's finally over!”

The class cheers. Iwaizumi peeks over at Oikawa, who is beaming from ear to ear. We did it, he mouths, and Iwaizumi can't help but return his grin.

When had it stopped feeling like a true competition between them?

“Iwaizumi-kun and Oikawa-kun!” Irihata-sensei calls a few moments later, interrupting his thoughts.

They immediately look at each other, startled.

When had they become a team?

They head out into the hallway, and Irihata-sensei waits patiently until the door is shut behind them to speak. 

“Congratulations, boys. You both aced your final.” He smiles at their twin sighs of relief. “I wouldn’t say the same about your conduct, but I can tell you truly pushed each other to perform at your best. You’ve gotten here together, so it only felt right to call you out together, too.”

“We did, didn’t we, Sensei?” Oikawa beams, hooking his elbow with Iwaizumi’s. “Apologies for Iwa-chan, though. He’s a little rough around the edges.”

“Is that so, Oikawa-kun?” Irihata-sensei asks, and something about the glint in his eye is all Iwaizumi needs to see that he knows. “You seem to be getting along with one another just fine these days.” 

“He’s alright,” Iwaizumi interjects, while Oikawa blushes a faint pink. “Just takes a bit of getting used to.”

“Yes, well, I’m wishing you both good luck,” he finally takes a damning glance at their entangled hands. “And congratulations.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“So, what do you want?” Oikawa asks from the comfort of his couch, dressed warmly one of Iwaizumi's soft hoodies. Iwaizumi heads toward him with a couple of steaming mugs of tea.

“I didn’t win,” Iwaizumi resists the urge to smile at Oikawa's grabby hands attempting to snake around his waist. “I’m coming, relax. I got the same score as you.”

“Come here, you oaf. And yes, you got the same score as me,” Oikawa opens up the blanket, beckoning him inside his nest. “Which means I am no longer the top student in the class; we both are. You did what you wanted to do. You beat me.”

“I guess I did,” Iwaizumi relents, letting himself be pulled in and bundled up, snuggling against the curve of Oikawa’s body. “But I don’t want that anymore. We aced the class together.”

“Still. Who am I not to reward my ace?” Oikawa presses a kiss against the nape of his neck, and Iwaizumi shivers. “What would you want?”

“You know what I want." Iwaizumi lowers his voice as lips trace the shell of his ear.

“Yeah?” Oikawa whispers with a soft, pleased smirk as he grasps his face with large, warm palms, gazing into his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi murmurs, caught under the barely restrained hunger he sees mirrored there. 

Oikawa raises his brows. “Now?” 

“In like a bit, if you want,” Iwaizumi tips his head back onto his shoulder. “I just got comfortable here.”

He closes his eyes then, taking a nice deep breath. Goddamnit if it didn't feel good to finally relax after such a tough semester. He sighs deeply, smiling as Oikawa's hands skate playfully over his bare abdomen. It felt all the more satisfying knowing that he had been challenged over and over again, but he'd managed to overcome each and every obstacle. 

Hell, maybe he could shoot for the stars, too.

"I want to play with you again," Iwaizumi hears himself murmur.

"On the court?" Oikawa asks, squeezing him tight around the middle before pressing a kiss in his hair affectionately. "Give me a date and a time, and I'll open up the gym for us."

"Relax, hotshot," Iwaizumi laughs. "Maybe next week, if you can."

"Anything for you, Iwa-chan," Oikawa trails another kiss along his neck before he begins getting bolder, running his hands along his thighs with a hum as Iwaizumi shifts between his legs. "Anything at all."

Iwaizumi senses something hard against his ass and smirks. 

He begins slowly grinding back against that bulge of his, but hisses once Oikawa scrapes his teeth against his jugular.

“Alright,” He tosses the blanket to the side, looking down to observe how obscene the tent in his sweats has become. He grabs Oikawa's hand to drag him into his room, closing the door behind them with a resounding thud. “Let’s go.”

Oikawa's eyes skate over Iwaizumi’s body before flickering back to his with a certain intensity he’s never seen from him before. “I need that shirt off. Honestly, everything needs to be off, immediately.”

Iwaizumi rips his shirt off without breaking eye contact, staring at Oikawa with prideful eyes. Still, he backs up as Oikawa crowds him closer to the door. 

“So you want to be spoiled, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, his voice nonchalant as he places his hands on either side of Iwaizumi’s head, nudging a knee dangerously close to his crotch. “For all your hard work?”

“Fuck you,” Iwaizumi lifts his face a little. Fuck, he’s into this–- the way Oikawa towers over him, close and heavy and hot. 

“Let me see,” Oikawa scrapes a soft line against Iwaizumi’s abs with a nail. He traces along his pectorals before finally reaching his nipples, making Iwaizumi shudder as he tilts his face higher even as his cheeks burn. 

“That’s right, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs. “God, I’m barely touching you.” He pinches one between two fingers, and Iwaizumi bites back a keening noise. “Look at you, so needy too.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi grumbles before Oikawa ducks down to begin kissing the skin right at the juncture of his jaw.

“Gladly,” Oikawa replies, and suddenly he’s lowering himself on his knees, tugging at the waistband of Iwaizumi’s boxers to his knees. Iwaizumi’s cock springs out, thick and fat against his mouth.  

Oikawa licks his lips. What a troublemaker, that one.

"You always get so wet for me," he teases, licking innocently at the head of his cock. "Leaking all over your boxers, yeah? Just from a little heavy petting."

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi moans, unable to tear his eyes away as Oikawa hollows his throat, sucking on his cock dutifully while using two of his fingers to softly rub behind his balls. Those goddamn talented hands. "I haven't come in a week, what did you expect--" 

"I wanted you needy like this," Oikawa admits, popping off of his cock with an obscenely wet sound. "So you could tell me what you want."

"Oh, yeah? And what is that?"

"This," Oikawa hoists him up with a grunt as he carries him to the bed only to dump him unceremoniously on the duvet. He crawls toward him on his knees, placing Iwaizumi’s heels on his shoulders before grinding against him. He was big, screw him, and so goddamn strong, and Iwaizumi just wanted him to--

“Fuck, fine," he chokes out. “I want you, Shittykawa. C’mon.”

"I know you do," Oikawa smirks. "You left some interesting cleaning supplies in the bathroom."

"Damnit," Iwaizumi curses before Oikawa wraps his hand around his cock again to jerk him off to full mast, so heavy with blood he sags under the gravity of his wanting. 

"You prepped yourself, too?" he asks, taking a meaty, muscular thigh in each hand and holding him high in the air with ease. Iwaizumi feels the blood rush to his head as he's held up in a semi-handstand for Oikawa's viewing pleasure. "Let me see."

"You dumbass, wait--"

Oikawa leans down to give his asshole a proprietary lick. “Oh, you like this,” He teases once Iwaizumi struggles in his grasp, feet kicking up in the air. "God, you're so hot." He curls his tongue and prods inside him exploratorily. Iwaizumi blinks rapidly, either from the head rush or the prostate stimulation, he doesn't know. 

"I'm not a goddamn acrobat," he huffs. "Let me lie on my stomach, you sadist."

"Ugh, fine," Oikawa coos, easing up the tight grip of his thighs to flip him over. "Why don't you show me the fruit of your labor?"

"You going to shut the fuck up, or should I make you?" Iwaizumi interrupts. Any sense of shame he felt about this is long gone as he lifts his hips and spreads his legs apart for better access.

All he is now is hungry and wet, his cock leaking just at the sound of Oikawa's dark chuckle. He gets to work, though, licking him open and out like he’s dying to taste him as he curls and twists his tongue right against his prostate. 

“The guy who wanted nothing to do with me is now spreading his legs for me, hm?” Oikawa murmurs delightedly against his thigh, nipping at the skin there. "And you taste so good, too."

“I swear to god, Oikawa,” Despite his barking, Iwaizumi's relieved to hear he tastes alright. Daichi had explained so much about enemas and lube over dinner the other night, he thought he'd never have an appetite again. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

“Why, of course,” Oikawa tells him. Iwaizumi peeks over his shoulder to see Oikawa's cock lifted high and proud, weighty and thick between his fingers as he pumps it in his fist. "Whatever my Iwa-chan wants."

"I swear if you don't, I'll--" Iwaizumi threatens, interrupted by the sensation of Oikawa's cockhead pressing bluntly into his hole. He'd done all the damn scissoring and lube, and even tried a small plug he'd bought on one seedy internet search— but it still couldn't fully prepare him for the overwhelming sense of fullness.

Oikawa is big everywhere, and Iwaizumi hates to say that it suits him. 

Iwaizumi also hates to say that he likes it, far more than he'd ever imagined. He resists the urge to shiver in pleasure as Oikawa pushes his hips forward, rocking into him slowly to get himself to fit.

“So tight, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sings. "You ready for me?"

"Give me your worst," Iwaizumi demands. "I want it all."

When Oikawa finally thrusts forward, he feels weightless, all sensation narrowed down to the sparks exploding behind his eyes as his cockhead rams against his prostate, over and over again.

Even when he misses the spot, he stil feels so damn good. He loves the weight of him draping over his back, knowing Oikawa can tell how much he wants it from the way he rocks back on his cock to meet his thrusts. “That’s more like it,” he challenges over his shoulder, still scowling even as he drips slick sweat all over his sheets from the way he's railing him. “Show me what else you’ve got.”

“Iwaizumi Hajime, who didn't even want me sitting next to him, is now riding my cock,” Oikawa teases as he thrusts deeper. Iwaizumi could slap him for having such a dirty mouth were he not, well, occupied. “Little did I know all I had to do was stuff him full.”

Iwaizumi growls. He can’t even deny it, too lost in how good Oikawa feels inside him. “Who–-  hah, fuck–– are you even talking to, Oikawa?”

“I’m talking to you,” Oikawa tells him. “You’re taking me so well. Like you can’t get enough,” His eyes wild and voracious as he watches Iwaizumi rock himself back and forth on it, clearly enjoying it by the way his eyes roll back.

“Ah, ah, ah," Iwaizumi groans, lifting his hips as Oikawa slips out of him. “Hold on a second, I need to get the angle right.”

“Come here then,” Oikawa orders. “Closer, c’mon.”

He flips him over swiftly so Iwaizumi can clamber into his lap, their chests clashing and tacky with sweat as he kisses him in a rush, both of them too out of it to care about finesse. With his other hand, Oikawa palms his own dick and slides it against Iwaizumi’s asscrack, groaning from the friction.

“Put it back,” Iwaizumi breathes against Oikawa’s ear, nipping against the slick skin. “Give it to me now, I swear to God.”

“Iwa-chan doesn’t need to be so demanding about it,” Oikawa admonishes him with a pleased grin, his lids lazy with pleasure as he palms the back of Iwaizumi’s thighs shamelessly. “Up, up, now,” he whacks his ass for good measure before spreading his cheeks apart with his strong grip.

Iwaizumi sighs as Oikawa guides himself back in, stilling to allow him to readjust to the stretch. 

“Fuck,” he pants once Oikawa’s bottomed out again, clawing onto Oikawa’s shoulders. “Alright, fucking move, Shittykawa, I need it.”

Oikawa shuts him up with a strong thrust, grinning as he watches Iwaizumi’s mouth sharpen into a rare, pleased grin. “Fuck yes, just like that.” Oikawa gives him a sharp, competitive smile, thrusts up, up, again and again, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in just to hear the way it punches the breath out of Iwaizumi’s lungs. 

“Yeah, yeah, hah––” he grunts, his whole body thrumming with pleasure. “Goddamnit, Oikawa,” he breathes. “Fuck me harder, c’mon.”

Oikawa gives him a little smug half-smile for that, lifting his hips higher for more leverage.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises lowly, watching Iwaizumi fuck himself on him over and over as he bites his lips and grips at his ass to pull him down roughly onto his cock. “You’re being so good for me.” 

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi’s smile is competitive as he stares back at him under heavy lids. Sweat slicks down his wide, muscled chest, his arms flexing as he grasps the small of Oikawa’s back with large hands to arch his back and open up his hips more, his knees digging into the mattress as he takes him even deeper. “Keep it up,” he demands roughly, gyrating his hips as he rides him into the mattress. “C’mon Oikawa, you going to come inside me? Or will I beat you at that too?”

Oikawa keeps up the pace, flexing his thighs as he bounces him on his lap. “I’ll think about it,” he manages to reply with a shit-eating grin, face sweaty and red from effort. “You’ll get to come--hah-– when I think you deserve it.”

Iwaizumi gets close to Oikawa’s face. “Now,” he growls, and the way Oikawa looks at him is ravenous. “I’m close.”

Oikawa wraps a hand around his cock as Iwaizumi bites at his jugular, a little harder than Oikawa'd like based on his yelp. "Cum for me, Hajime," he moans. "God, I wanna cum inside you, oh, oh--"

Iwaizumi takes one look at Oikawa's blissed-out expression and spills everywhere-- his chest, his abdomen, even the base of his chin.

"Fuck..." he groans. Oikawa looks desperate, so Iwaizumi squeezes his hole a little tighter so he can fill him up with his seed too. He can be nice sometimes. 

It’s worth it anyway to see the look on Oikawa’s face when he finally lets go, warmth flooding deep within him as he groans with pleasure.

"Goddamn you,” Oikawa mutters, sucking another hickey into his skin as they cool down from their high. "I'll never be able to get hard again.”

"Heh," Iwaizumi laughs into the pillow. "That's what you get for being such an asshole."

“You say that about everything I do,” Oikawa complains. “It’s like crying wolf at this point.”

”Yeah, well, I call it like I see it,” Iwaizumi yawns. 

They settle into a comfortable silence, but ten minutes Iwaizumi stretches with a yawn before he turns to look at Oikawa.

“Alright, pretty boy. Again,” Iwaizumi half-asks, half-demands, arching his back and nudging against him. Oikawa stares at him in shock, but Iwaizumi feels that warm stickiness slowly trickle out of him, and thinks, fuck it: he could use a refill.

“Again?” Oikawa’s hair is still smooshed from the pillow, he’s bleary-eyed and clearly moments away from sleep, and all Iwaizumi can think is goddamnit if I don’t love this dumbass.

“You’re complaining?” he asks with a raised brow. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Oikawa rubs his eyes open, voice low and breathless as he reaches for him with eager, covetous hands. “Again.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes as he kisses him, savoring the feeling of his weight on top of him, the scent of his vanillin shampoo, the way he moans in his ear as he rubs against him.

As Oikawa enters him again, where he’s still soft and sensitive, he can’t help but wonder: how many more agains would they share?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The cicadas produce a symphony of sound that pulsates in a strange rhythm: loud, louder, louder still, their screeches nearly deafening in the otherwise quiet summer evening until they are suddenly, unexpectedly quiet.

It's a bit early for them to arrive this year. Graduation is a week or so away, and then that's it: time to pack up, move out, and start the rest of their lives. 

Iwaizumi just doesn't know what that will look like for him, yet. 

Oikawa interrupts his thoughts, chortling on the grass beside him. “That's how you sounded last night,” he jokes with a cheeky grin. "Cicadazumi."

"Shut up before I make you," Iwaizumi orders. "Not at the picnic."

"It's nothing we don't know," Daichi complains. He's scowling at him behind a plate full of barbecue, legs sprawled out on their shared blanket. "It's a wonder you didn't get kicked out of the library for public indecency." 

Iwaizumi and Oikawa exchange a knowing glance. 

"We had to run," Kuroo continues exasperatedly. "All I wanted to do was rest after that long ass exam, but it was an emergency."

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes so hard it genuinely hurts. "Shut up and eat your damn food, you gremlins," he demands. "I don't want to hear another word about this."

"I had to hear too many words about a lot of things," Daichi murmurs darkly under his breath. 

Iwaizumi busies himself with his own plate. The school hosted quite a feast for the seniors every year to celebrate their achievements before graduation; he'd been looking forward to this all year.

So why couldn't he stop thinking about the future?

“Wait,” Kuroo's cheshire grin grows on his face until it's nearly blinding. "Is that him, Daichi?"

“What guy?” Iwaizumi asks.

“My crush,” Daichi wheezes.

"Oh, is that so?" Oikawa grins like the cat who caught the canary, waving Suga over. 

Daichi isn’t and has never been a fool; he rips his eyes away from Suga to narrow his eyes at Oikawa and Kuroo in turn. "Are you guys messing with me or something?"

"Never," Kuroo says innocently. "Me? Mess with you? Who do you think I am?"

"You're a horrible meddler, that's who you are," he groans, schooling his face into a painfully awkward smile as Suga walks closer. 

“Hey, guys!" Suga greets, grabbing Oikawa's outstretched hand for a squeeze. "Wow, I finally get to see the loverboys in action. Nice to see you again, Iwaizumi."

Iwaizumi sticks his tongue out at him. "Suga," he acknowledges. 

"Everyone, this is my roommate," Oikawa explains, with a long look at Iwaizumi before he turns to Daichi. "And this handsome, single gentleman is..."

Daichi coughs loudly. "Daichi," he says. "Uh, Daichi Sawamura."

“I know,” Suga teases. “You’re the hot guy that’s always staring at me at work, the bar, the club...”

Daichi chokes. "What?!"

"You heard me," Suga flops down on the picnic blanket with a grin. "Can I hang out with you guys for a bit?"

"Yeah," Daichi replies before anyone else can, clearly eager, and his ears burn bright red as they all devolve into laughter.

It’s evening by the time Oikawa and Iwaizumi are finally alone. The full moon shines onto them both, bright as ever. Oikawa has been uncharacteristically quiet ever since their friends left, but Iwaizumi knows all he has to do is wait him out. 

The trouble is it’s been more than an hour, and maybe he’s not the most patient guy in the world.

“Spit it out, Shittykawa,” he orders. “I’m getting old over here.”

"I'm scared, Iwa-chan," Oikawa finally admits into the night air, absentmindedly playing with a loose thread fraying from the fabric of his jeans. "About moving. All those new people, a whole new language... it's going to be difficult. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You'll be fine," Iwaizumi objects, shifting onto his side to face him. "They're going to be lucky to have you."

Oikawa smiles, quiet and sure under the moonlight. "I know," he begins, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "But it's going to be difficult to get used to. I'm going to have to change so much."

"You mean you're going to have to accept that things are going to be harder for you," Iwaizumi corrects. He kicks at his foot with his own for good measure. “That's your path, Oikawa."

Oikawa sits up. He wraps his arms around his knees as he looks at Iwaizumi straight on.

"Oh, yeah?" he says. "Well, you didn’t know me when I was a kid. It was just me against the world, forever, all the time.”

He slumps, hiding half his face away in the crook of his inner arm. It’s unlike him, Iwaizumi thinks, looking defeated, his voice low and heavy as he burrows further into himself. 

“I don’t know what you were like, but I can guess. You were probably very you, all serious and honest and strict, keeping your team and your friends in line just like you do now. And as much as I hate to admit it, I probably could’ve used someone like you around.” 

“If I had to be saddled with you for our whole lives,” Iwaizumi pauses, considering. “I think I could take it.” Oikawa lets out an amused chuckle at that. “Who else could, anyway? You’re the most annoyingly persistent person I’ve ever met in my life.”

Oikawa raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to object.

“But,” Iwaizumi continues, rising to raise his arms over his head in a leisurely stretch, “God probably saw my ass when I was born and said no, put Shittykawa in the same college as him and not a minute sooner, so he can enjoy his years of good blood pressure in peace!”

“Aw, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, lifting his head with a sly grin. “Why’s that? Because I make your heart beat all fast?”

Iwaizumi sighs in defeat, looking up at the sky. “Yes, and it’s insufferable.”

Oikawa laughs, long and loud. Iwaizumi loves the way he laughs: beautiful and bright, just like the rest of him.

He just hopes he'll be able to tell him that someday, if Oikawa’d keep him around long enough to let him.

"I just feel like I'm going to be lonely all over again," Oikawa finally admits with a sigh. "I know things will be hard. It's always been hard, but it's always been worth it."

"And? So what's the issue?"

"The issue is that I just found you, Iwa-chan. I finally found my fated partner, but now I have to leave."

"Well, don't let me stand in your way," Iwaizumi sits up. He's kind of offended, sue him. "I never asked you to sacrifice anything for me. I know you have big dreams to run after."

"No, Iwa-chan, listen. I can't help but want too much; that's always been my problem. I wonder: Will you wait for me? Will you actually visit? It’s too much to ask of you, Iwa-chan. I haven't even had the guts to ask you to be my boyfriend because of how little time we have together."

Iwaizumi huffs loudly and reaches out for his hand.

What a goddamn idiot he'd fallen for.

“You know, Oikawa, I was lonely too," he admits. "I always wished a kid my age would move into my neighborhood. You'd have been a pain in my ass, but I think you were right about what you said on the court that day: together, we would've been unstoppable."

"You think so?" Oikawa looks at him with tears in his eyes, and Iwaizumi swears to the night sky that it's the last time he'll ever make Oikawa Tooru cry.

"I know so," he assures him, squeezing his hand tighter. "Sometimes, I feel like I missed you before I ever knew you existed. I don't know why, but that's the way it goes."

Oikawa stares at him, unblinking as he hangs onto every word, and it gives Iwaizumi the strength to continue.

"But none of that matters because you need to focus on what's in front of you, dumbass. I'm here now. Look at what we accomplished together with that damn chemistry class. We’re still unstoppable. So what do you want to do about it?"

“Hajime,” Oikawa says gently, grabbing onto his wrist, “I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me, no matter how far I go."

"So then, move forward without hesitation," Iwaizumi grins triumphantly. "Because when you come back, I'll defeat you."

"Defeat me? With what, your insane libido?" Oikawa complains, but he leans in for a kiss anyway. "Bring it on, Iwa-chan. Bring it on."