A.N.: Yes, the IwaOi hell got me too! I confess, I'm weak against these two bastards. Oh babies! I've been plotting/writting this for over 2 months now! And only now I got the ability to publish it! Arg!
Please keep the tags in mind. This first couple of chapters are a bit intense and angst - I mean it!

I'm aiming for more or less 10 chapters, let's hope the plot bunnies don't decide to fuck up with me (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

Title of the fic comes from "Welcome to New York", by Taylow Swift (because I'm weak and I fell to TayTay's music spell and I kinda ploted all the fic with 1989 and yeah... all chapter titles will also be 1989 musics' quotes, ah!)

If anyone that is reading this, is a regular reader os mine, you might find some similarities between the base of this plot and one of the my previous Naruto works. I have a few guilty pleasures, sue me x)

Beta-ed by lovely: JustAnAvidReader

No further ranting!

Chapter 1
Butterflies turned to dust

23rd of September, 2015
Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department

"It's match point for Japan and it's Oikawa serving!"

Voices filled the room. Cheers and exclamations echoed as everyone present watched the game displayed on the LCD screen with intensity. Some declared their full support for Japan while others enlivened the Captain of the National Team with a contagious enthusiasm that could be felt across the whole floor.

Iwaizumi sighed and looked at the black coffee cup the waiter just placed on the counter. The final game of the 32nd Volleyball World Championship: Japan vs. USA. Japan was winning 2-1 and if they scored that match point, they would win Worlds. Iwaizumi took the cup with the hot coffee to his lips. He didn't turn around to look at the TV and watch the final rally. He closed his eyes when the referee whistled the order to serve. He breathed deeply and heard Oikawa's hand hitting the ball in his monstrous serve. A lower toned receive was barely understandable over the excitement of his co-workers and the spike plus receive on Japan's side was greeted with even louder voices.

He caught himself holding his breath, lips pressed to the cup. Empty mind, all his attention fixed in the melody of the game he knew by heart. The USA team got the ball up after one of those nasty spikes Ushijima was still so damn famous for. It was back to Japan side. Nishinoya received and passed to Oikawa.

The rally was running long, the players were anxious, the public thrilled with all the euphoria of a World Championship final and Iwaizumi didn't need to see it to know how relaxed and extraordinarily focused Oikawa was. Because he knew his team, he knew that game, he knew what he had to do to win. Because that was his dream!

"SAKUSA SCORES! JAPAN IS THE NEW WORLD CHAMPION!"

Iwaizumi released his breath and opened his eyes slowly. The coffee was no longer burning hot when he finally sipped it. He could tell everyone was jumping around, celebrating, screaming, a thunderstorm of happy adrenaline rushing through everyone's veins. It had been a few decades since Japan had last won Worlds, so the enthusiasm was understandable. An imperceptible smile brushed his lips before he drank all the coffee and set the cup down on the counter, turning to leave the Department's bar.

He walked closer to the wall, away from the cheerful mass of people, and dared, for a second, to glance at the TV. Oikawa's bright smile was all he could see before he turned away and walked out without much of a sound.

xxx

He wasn't even back in his office when his phone started to buzz. Line* messages from old teammates, from his mother, from people he met when he was still the Ace of AobaJousai. Everyone had seen the game, everyone was sharing the good news and he knew too damn well that every single one of them was expecting a reaction from him. He knew most of the Japan current team, he played with them and against them in high school, he was someone who breathed volleyball and couldn't live without it. So watching the National Team, lead by his best friend, win Worlds? Oh yes, everyone definitely needed a reaction from him.

And that was the last thing Iwaizumi wanted to talk about.

Walking into his office, he closed the door and dropped his tired body onto the fake leather couch. He reached to his vest and took out a strawberry flavoured lollipop (someone should have warned him that changing his smoking addiction to a lollipop addiction was not a very bright idea). He leant back on the couch and closed his eyes again, breathing out as the creamy strawberry flavour melted slowly on his tongue.

Volleyball had left his life when he finished high school and the victory at the World Championship wasn't going to change that. The Police Academy he joined after graduation left him very little free time. In between theoretical classes like Introduction to Criminal Law or Human Relations, and physical training like Firearm Skills or Self-Defense, there was no time to play volleyball or to watch volleyball or to go out and talk about volleyball like his group of friends was so used to. And when he graduated from the Academy, he got himself so deep into work he was actually awarded a promotion to Assistant Inspector at the young age of 23. The Inspector title came three years later.

"Iwaizumi-senpai!" Kindaichi yelled as he burst the office door open and his sparkling eyes landing on the other man. Iwaizumi sighed. For a moment, he had forgotten that Kindaichi had joined him at Police Academy and, later, at the Organized Crime division of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. "Have you watched the game?!"

"Ah…" It was easy to ignore the Line messages and the phone calls, but Kindaichi was standing right in front of him and it was not like Iwaizumi could just remain silent. Karma was a bitch, right? "I… heard the final rally, yes."

"IT WAS FANTASTIC!" Kindaichi yelled, slamming the door shut and jumping in front of the couch. "SAKUSA'S SPIKE WAS TREMENDOUS! TREMENDOUS! I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A PERFECT-"

He kept ranting and gesticulating and yelling and laughing about the game. Iwaizumi could understand him, of course, he could. Watching the people you know, the people you played with for so many times, so many years, take the National Team to World Champion was something indescribable. The older man tried to tune off for a bit, ignore Kindaichi's rant without being rude, but the younger was making it hard.

"-AND THEN NOYA-SAN RECEIVED! AND OH MY GOD!" he jumped from one side to the other, as he replayed the rally with his own body. "I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SEE THAT BALL BEING RECEIVED! AND OIKAWA-SAN WAS SO- ah!" he stopped abruptly, black eyes staring at his senior, letting a heavy silence drop in the room. Iwaizumi thought that Kindaichi looked almost like a lost puppy. "I'm sorry… I forgot you don't… that volleyball is not your… thing anymore."

"It was a great game, Kindaichi. I understand your enthusiasm," Iwaizumi said, his voice plain and simple, stripped of emotion. "The guys did a great job. A World title is not something that falls from the sky, after all!"

"Senpai…" he hesitated and Iwaizumi waited patiently, watching as Kindaichi bit his lower lip and scratched the back of his left hand with more strength that he probably needed. "The… AobaJousai Volleyball Club alumni is going to gather this Friday night for drinks. Nothing too big or fancy," he gave Iwaizumi a quick and weak smile before continuing. "Anyway, we would like to have you around as well. And… Oiwaka-san said he would find a way to show up…"

"I'm sorry, Kindaichi, I'm not free on Friday night," the Inspector said. Kindaichi looked disappointed, but he didn't push any further. It was a big shot to be able to gather all AobaJousai alumni under the same roof. "Maybe next time."

Only there wouldn't be a next time and Iwaizumi knew it. And even if there was, he wouldn't be attending.

The end of high school had been too dramatic and too extreme for Iwaizumi. His life took an 180º turn, his entire routine was trashed and rebuild from scratch. He woke up one day and there was no more Miyagi, no more AobaJousai, no more friends or family around, no more volleyball, no more… Oikawa.

Damnit…

How much he forced himself to not think about Oikawa? How many sleepless nights before he could stop dreaming about Oikawa? How many nightmares before his body gave up to tiredness and forced him into a dreamless sleep that wouldn't last long and left him as exhausted as he was before? Days and days of anguishing over someone who stayed in his past. Months of depression and almost despair as he couldn't just get over his turmoils. He had lost Oikawa and, consequently, stepped away from everything familiar to him. He drowned in his studies, in the physical classes, in anything he could find that would take his mind of his past. His oh so damn recent past, that hurt like a century of torture upon his soul.

Twelve years had passed since then.

And Iwaizumi wasn't sure he recognized Oikawa's voice anymore.

Probably not, he thought, looking away from Kindaichi to the rain that was falling slowly outside. It's been too damn long. Without a word, without a card, without a Line message. They parted at graduation, pushed by some silly teenager fight that got too big, too strong, too out of control and too proud. They didn't call on birthdays, they didn't call when Oikawa joined the National Team nor when Iwaizumi was promoted, they didn't call when Iwaizumi got shot on a mission nor when Oikawa had surgery because of his knee. They didn't visit the other at the hospital, they didn't send flowers for graduations nor a birthday or new years card.

They parted.

And they never reunited again.

xxx

The clock on the wall marked half-past nine when Iwaizumi decided that the day had been too long and he needed to go home. The game finished around eight something and, since then, all he had written on his reports was garbage. He was too far lost in memories made of dust, in feelings he wanted to forget but kept coming back to haunt him. He groaned, frustrated, and got up, grabbed the jacket of his dark grey suit and his overcoat, and shoved another lollipop into his mouth before turning off the lights, leaving the already empty office right after.

The damned game had pushed a wrong button, dragging a whirlwind of oppressive emotions into his chest and heart. He felt like he was back in his academy days when he was doing his best to shut down all those feelings, and failing miserably. He didn't want to think about volleyball, about all it meant to him, about all the memories it gave him. He didn't want to go on a trip down memory lane, not when he had given up so much in order to be functional again.

"Who the fuck am I kidding?" Iwaizumi growled while waiting for the elevator, his jacket and overcoat already on. It was not the volleyball, it was not the game, it was not the memories. He watched games of volleyball before, he had seen the National Team play before and he was showered in memories every two weeks, when he returned to his parents home, in Miyagi. He was breaking, and his excuses for that meltdown were even more pathetic than how he was feeling at the moment.

He entered the elevator, pressed the ground floor button and leant his head onto the cold metal of the wall closer to him. A headache was starting to pound its way into him. He held his breath and swallowed dry, closing his eyes for a brief moment. The flash of a bright smile making him curse and snap his eyes open again.

He hadn't seen Oikawa's real smile in over a decade.

And the one he saw on tv, the one that was so pure and warm and intense, the one that was Oikawa's deepest secret when they were 17. The one smile that was able to take Iwaizumi's ground from under his feet, destroy his heart like it had been hit by a lightning, shatter all his resolutions and convictions and - goddamnit! - even make him forget his own name! That one smile that Oikawa never showed to anyone else, the one smile that was kept for the most important occasions, the one smile Iwaizumi knew, always knew, from deep inside his soul, that was kept for when dreams came true. That smile that Iwaizumi was always so certain that would only be displayed when he was right there, at Oikawa's side… was seen on TV, with the glacially cold distance he never thought it would be possible in between them.

The 17-year-old Iwaizumi would find ridiculous and impossible the scenario in where Oikawa wins the World Championship and he himself is not there, in the stadium, right next to his best friend, celebrating together and seeing that bloody damned smile right in front of him.

Life was also a bitch, uhn?

He crushed the cherry lollipop with his teeth when he reached the ground floor and exited the elevator. He just wanted to go home, to collapse on his bed and pray to have his emotions back under control when he woke up on the next day. After passing through all security procedures, Iwaizumi headed for the front door of the building, saying goodnight to the night shift guard, who waved at him in return.

The rain was still falling softly, almost delicately, like a sakura petal during spring. He opened a black umbrella he had taken from the bin next to the front door and stepped into the street. A mild wind caressed his face before he pulled the lapel of his overcoat closer to his neck. He turned right, heading for Sakuradamon metro station while his brain reminded him that he still had, at least, half an hour of commuting before he could be home.

There was no traffic at that time, the street was incredibly calm and, unconsciously, Iwaizumi was thankful for that. He turned at the corner of the building, the still green trees taking most of the rain on their leaves, leaving the underneath almost dry. He looked up at the canopy of dark green and tilted his umbrella forward in order to close it.

But suddenly the air was heavy and humid and hot, very hot, too damn hot. His skin was crawling, and Iwaizumi's respiration was forced out of his chest by an invisible strength that punched his stomach. His head was spinning, he was nauseous and dizzy. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, his free hand coming to cover his lids while he dared to inhale deeply, forcing his lungs to expand again.

Let it be a hallucination, he begged, prayed and beseeched to whomever or whatever would listen to him. And under his breath, he cursed.

Karma was a bitch. Life was a bitch. Why would fate be any different?

His heartbeat became loud and harsh as he turned to the person leaning against one of the trees in complete silence. The hazel eyes he had dreamt of for longer than he could even tell were on him and he felt weak. So weak he couldn't move, he had no voice to talk, no strength to breathe, nothing. He stood there, under the trees which protected him from the cold rain, with those cursed eyes upon him and he just stared back.

The silence reigned between them. Seconds felt like a torturous eternity and there was no more rain, no more wind, no more occasional car passing by.

A soft, delicate, shy smile crossed those hazel eyes before drawing itself on pale lips and Iwaizumi felt his world fall apart even before that voice echoed around his name.

"Iwa-chan…" Oikawa... Oikawa… Oikawa. Oikawa! "I won Worlds."

To be continued

A.N.: "Butterflies turned to dust" - Clean, 1989 by Taylor Swift

*Line - a texting app very similar to Whatsapp and Telegram that is a HUGE success in Japan and has the greatest majority of the market.

HAPPY IWAOI DAY!
I promise 2nd chapter soon :3

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Akira