The mental image that one has of another person does not necessarily correspond to reality. It can be distorted by feelings, from absolute abhorrence to affection or pure admiration, or get stuck in time, crystallized around a memory. In the same way that for a father his kids will always be his beloved little children, for Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru was a jumble of bright smiles and crocodile tears, of tenacity, scratched knees and alien t-shirts. A skinny and ungainly child, pure concentrated calamity wrapped under an innocent façade.
But the concepts that one forms are susceptible to change. Sometimes because an unexpected facet is discovered, such as the class bully being fond of classical ballet, or that the affable-looking nerd is into heavy metal. Sometimes because a third party comes up with a stupid comment such as:
"Hey, he truly is hot."
Just like that.
"Excuse me?"
"Oikawa" Hanamaki clarified, gesturing towards the aforementioned, who practiced his serves a few meters away from them, as if that were the source of his incomprehension. "Not that I'm into him or anything, but I have to admit he's a hunk. No wonder half the school is after him."
He watched Iwaizumi, as if waiting for agreement on his part. The brunette just stared at his partner. Surely Mattsun would appear at any moment with a camera and admit that it was a joke to see the face he made. Because it had to be.
"What are you talking about?" Matsukawa asked, approaching calmly. No trace of a camera.
"I think Makki is having a stroke."
"Dude" the guy protested. "It's not my fault that you can't appreciate beauty. Matsukawa, don`t you think Oikawa is really fine? Physically, I mean. We all know that his brain has been short-circuited for years."
Instead of answering, the tallest of the three looked at their captain, studying him. Out of sheer inertia the other two joined in the contemplation. Iwaizumi thanked every god that Oikawa hadn't noticed their conversation. At that time he was preparing for a new serve. He saw him spin the ball between his hands, skillful. He could almost feel his mind going blank as he closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing so that his pulse would not shake. The eyelids opened, revealing a gaze from another world. Launch, run-up, jump and zas, all power, elegance and coordination.
"Hey, Earth to Iwaizumi" Makki pulled him out of his musing with a friendly nudge. "Cat got your tongue?"
"He's a beast" Iwaizumi mumbled before turning on his heels and going to the locker room.
When did that happen? He mentally revised lustrums of memories in an attempt to find the moment in which the weakly boy had transformed into an indomitable beast. Because the image of that powerful and potentially lethal musculature - at least it would end up killing him if his heart kept racing like that- did not fit at all with the Oikawa Tooru-file of his brain archive. In that tab could have fitted things like "soft hair", "impeccable nails" and, being magnanimous, "pretty smile" - because yes, sometimes, very occasionally, Oikawa could smile sincerely, without traces of arrogance or veiled taunts, and even Iwaizumi had to admit that it was nice.
But never, ever "hot".
Oikawa, his Oikawa, the one he knew and… loved?, well, whatever; that one had the sensuality of an escargot to him.
Or so he thought.
Because the fact was that he was in the dark in the locker room with his forehead resting on the cold metal of a locker while trying not to think that way about his best friend. "Trying" being the keyword.
I'm going to kill Makki, I swear to God that-
"Iwa-chan?" cold sweat ran down his back. "Iwa-chan ..." Oikawa carefully opened the door. "What are you doing with the lights off? Do you have a headache?"
"Yes, ah ..." he hesitated. He reached for his jacket and sports bag, ready to take advantage of that not-all-that-false excuse; it felt as if the characters from Inside Out had started a war into his brain, using memories about Oikawa as artillery. Why did his neurons absorb his smiles, his looks, and the tone of his laughter so easily, but he was incapable of ordering the noble gases according to their atomic weight? Was the fourth krypton or xenon? "I'm leaving before it gets worse."
"I'll accompany you. I'm going to tell Mattsun to lock and..."
"No!" Oikawa jumped a little, startled. Iwaizumi tried to correct himself. "I mean, it's not necessary." He rubbed his eyes, frustrated with himself. "Is not like I'm dying."
"Glad to hear. Because I don't think I could find another best friend, ace and vice-captain all in one." Oikawa smiled at him.
"And babysitter, don't forget babysitter" he added.
Oikawa pouted, sulking.
"I'll let it slide because you are feeling bad."
"And because I could beat you" he huffed a laugh, walking past him to get out of the room.
"Cocky" the boy murmured, but Iwaizumi detected a hint of genuine worry in his eyes that the childish banter couldn't opaque, and he found out he could feel warm, vulnerable and safe at the same time. "Come on, I'll grab my stuff and walk you home."
"There is no need to-"
"I know" he cut. His stare left no room for objections. "I do know there is no need but I want to take care of you. Just in case" his expression became lighter and Iwaizumi knew he would say some idiocy. "At least until human cloning has been perfected and can replace you."
"Idiot" Oikawa dismissed the insult with a wave of his hand and hurried to gather his belongings. "I highly doubt he would put up with you, no matter how much of a clone he were. I don't even know why I do…"
"Because deep down you love me" he turned to stick out his tongue to him.
Iwaizumi knew he had to talk. Saying something like "yes, as in the ninth circle of hell, which is where you came from" or "maybe Marianas Trench-deep" would have been appropriate. Remaining silent looking at the ground was the same as confessing his guilt. Even Oikawa, who was denser than lead off the court, was able to interpret that silence. One of the two had to answer or run away, and Iwaizumi was positive he was not able to do so. From discovering his feelings to have them destroyed in less than ten minutes. At least he would enter the Guinness Book of Records for sure.
"Iwa-chan" he looked up out of inertia, and was surprised to see the other hesitant, unsure, as if Iwaizumi were going to break into pieces if he spoke too loud or looked at him too intently. "Do you love me?"
Was it too late to say "no even for free"? Yes, it probably was. The point in which he could feign dementia and leave with his dignity more or less intact had already past.
"Maybe" he found himself saying, his voice husky. "Maybe I caught whatever Makki has, because apparently he thinks you look good, and now I think he's right," here goes nothing, "and that I like you."
"Oh."
Oh.
Oh!?
He confessed and all he got in return was an onomatopoeia?
"Is that all?" he asked, more surprised than indignant.
"Oh my God?" he laughed. The bastard. He wondered if a paracetamol overdose would kill him fast enough or if he should jump out of a bridge. "I'm sorry" Oikawa kept talking between streaks of nervous laughter. "I just didn't see it coming. You to like me."
"I'm the most surprised."
"I'm sure."
"So what now?" Iwaizumi asked after a short silence.
"Well, I guess is a good moment to say that I like you too. And now I'll walk you home, tuck you and take care of you like the good boyfriend I am, okay?"
Iwaizumi allowed him to drag him by the hand without saying a word. First of all, because blurting out that phrase had taken Oikawa every ounce of courage he possessed, judging by the deep red shade of his face. And secondly, because he was very busy doing a major update in his mental files.
Oikawa Tooru
Strong.
Elegant.
Volleyball idiot.
Smart. But he's still an idiot.
Perfectionist.
Childish.
Handsome. Terribly.
Warm.
My boyfriend.
-.-.-
Helium, neon, argon, krypton, xenon and radon.
