Iwaizumi's waiting when Oikawa eases the bedroom door open.
Oikawa had planned to be quiet, to slip away after Iwaizumi's breathing had fallen slow and steady to save himself the trouble of overcoming actual physical restraint. It was easy enough to feign compliance, to widen his eyes into innocence when Iwaizumi asked if he was going to watch the videos again, to proffer lies made easy with overuse. "I'll sleep," he says, fluid and elegant in words and motions alike as he stripped his shirt off for bed, and he knows that'll be a distraction, will keep Iwaizumi's mind off any giveaway strain in his words. "Rest is important, right, Iwa-chan?" They didn't rest right away, of course - Oikawa thinks they could no more manage that than he could spread wings and fly - but it's a welcome intermission, to have the thoughts of their upcoming match knocked clear out of his head by an Iwaizumi who is always exactly as aggressive as Oikawa needs him to be.
It's later, then, going on a half-hour since Iwaizumi groaned something about Oikawa being too hot and rolled over and away, that Oikawa slipped the sheets, padded out of the room on noiseless feet to head to the computer where he can slide on headphones and stare unblinking at the familiar patterns of attack, defense, charge and retreat, a battlefield forming itself into clear lines of strategy under the attention of his eyes.
He doesn't know how late it is when he finally shuts the video off and makes his way back to bed. Late, he's sure, far later than he wants to know, but lying in bed wide-eyed with insomniac stress is far worse than lulling himself with study, no matter how little Iwaizumi seems to understand that. Some of the stress is gone, the panicked butterflies in his stomach have settled for the night, and by the time he turns the door handle with no sound at all he thinks he might be able to sleep, at least through the remaining hours until morning.
Then he steps into the darkened space, and Iwaizumi lifts his head to scowl at him, and all Oikawa's hard-won calm disintegrates. He freezes, stalled still in the doorway by the almost-panic in his veins, and it's true that Iwaizumi isn't in charge of him but there's still the threat of judgment crackling in the space between them, and in the first heartbeats of expectation Oikawa feels like nothing so much as a child caught doing something forbidden.
Then Iwaizumi lifts a hand to gesture him in, says "Come here" with far more softness in his voice than Oikawa expects, and all Oikawa's panic skids sideways into confusion.
He's expecting to be smacked, once he comes close enough for Iwaizumi to reach him, a cuff to his hip or a punch to his stomach, hard enough to startle a reaction out of him but not enough to do any lasting damage. He comes anyway, unwilling to refuse the draw of Iwaizumi's fingers, and when they curl against his wrist without the least suggestion of violence Iwaizumi nearly jerks back from the shock.
"Calm down, Tooru," and that's another shock, Iwaizumi almost never calls him by his first name. It's enough to render Oikawa mute and compliant, to draw him forward at Iwaizumi's tug to drop to the edge of the bed already weighted by the other boy. His night vision is still recovering from the glare of the computer screen, but he can make out the shape of Iwaizumi's shoulders pale in the darkness, the shadow of his eyes under the sleep-tangle of his hair.
They're silent for a moment; then Oikawa takes a breath, lifts a hand. "Are you mad?" His voice draws far more plaintive than he would like, weird and catching at the back of his throat, and his fingers are unsteady when he touches against the line of Iwaizumi's jaw, fumbles across his features to feel out the shape of his mouth.
He's just pressed fingertips to soft lips when Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, soft in consideration of the dark but clear in the quiet between them. "If you want to stay up all night rewatching games of volleyball matches, it's on your own head."
"Have you given up playing parent?" Oikawa asks.
This time he does get the punch, a low quick motion that lands solidly in his stomach, and he's giggling breathlessly when Iwaizumi grabs at his shoulder to drag him down.
"Shut up and go the fuck to sleep," he growls. "Or at least stop talking so I can."
Oikawa goes, sliding down over the sheets warmed by Iwaizumi's presence. It feels good to lie down, to let the tension of alertness sag out of his shoulders in time with Iwaizumi's steady breathing. The hand at his shoulder lingers, fingertips pressing idly against his skin in something that is not quite a caress and not quite not.
"I thought you'd be mad," Oikawa says finally, in complete disregard of Iwaizumi's demand for quiet.
There's a groan, the hand at his shoulder sliding down to tense against the side of his neck. "Shut up," Iwaizumi sighs, then: "I just want you to get enough rest." He's caught by a yawn, a huge stretch of his jaw that nearly sets Oikawa off into one of his own. "You never sleep as much as you should."
"Aww," Oikawa purrs, sliding in closer over the bed to press against Iwaizumi's chest. "Are you worried about me, Iwa-chan?"
"Fuck off." Iwaizumi brings a knee up, the impact jarring against Oikawa's thigh, but Oikawa shifts to tangle his legs with the other boy's and Iwaizumi doesn't make an effort to pull back. "You're too much of a pain in the ass for me to bother worrying about."
There's a pause, the quiet filling into dark and velvety around them. There's tension in Oikawa's chest, something that's mostly affection and a little guilt, and while the first part is fine he can't bear to leave the second in effect.
"Iwa-chan." It's too loud, far above the whisper that he needs to communicate, and Iwaizumi groans again, a growl threatening at the back of his throat. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
The hand at his neck goes back, this time, cupping the curve of his neck before ruffling up into his hair. "I knew you would." Iwaizumi's voice is heavy, slow with sleep more than with anger. "Your innocent act is completely transparent."
"It's just because you know me so well," Oikawa purrs.
The hand in his hair pushes roughly against his head, pushes his face down against the pillows so Oikawa's giggle is muffled against their soft.
"It's not knowledge I ever wanted," Iwaizumi says, holding Oikawa down until his laughter has faded to quiet. "Now be quiet and sleep."
Oikawa lifts his head, blinks at Iwaizumi's features. The dark has given way to his vision, now, enough that he can see Iwaizumi's shut eyes and the frown clinging to his lips. Even in the shadows of the night Iwaizumi's features are familiar, the lines of irritation in his forehead and at the corner of his eyes so clear Oikawa doesn't need to see them to know they're there.
"Iwa-chan." Soft, this time, the whisper that it deserves. "I love you."
Iwaizumi's mouth twitches, the frown giving way to startled movement. He doesn't open his eyes, musters a sigh instead, and when he says, "I love you too, Tooru," he manages to make it sound aggrieved, like it's a great burden to offer up the words. But when Oikawa reaches out to press his fingers against Iwaizumi's features, the creases of frustration are nowhere to be found.