'You are lacking expression' ceaselessly echoed in Oikawa's mind and worked holes into the dents that were already forming in his confidence. Those were the words that his teacher shouted at him in practice today. They caused so much shock that his hands slacked just a bit and he almost dropped the girl he was lifting.
Oikawa was not used to negative feedback.
When talking about what makes a perfect dancer, Oikawa had it all—the height, a lean body, the perfect technique, and flexibility. But the current lyrical piece that his college's contemporary dance group was working on called for more than his usually fluid and graceful form. It needed a visceral yet controlled power to every step, something that Oikawa had trouble with. And to make matters worse, it was Iwaizumi's forte.
Oikawa saw Iwaizumi as a rival. And although he believed Iwaizumi's bulky body was better suited for American football, he couldn't help but be jealous of the other's raw movements, high jumps, and mastery of improvisation. Oikawa caught himself staring at Iwaizumi a bit too much, and even when he chanted that it was for the sake of self-improvement, he understood that it was involuntary; the way Iwaizumi's tan muscles produced such precise and dynamic turns never failed to capture his attention. This odd mix of admiration and envy pushed him to seek Iwaizumi's attention through overconfident statements, stupid jokes, or silly faces every time their eyes met. But Iwaizumi would barely reciprocate; he'd usually shrug and very occasionally, furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. Oikawa had never before sought validation from another person, so not getting it from Iwaizumi was making him impatient.
And these bubbling feelings, along with the jab to his ego from today's practice, felt like acid in his stomach. So, like he did with most of his problems, he stayed in the studio after practice to drill these frustrations away. Oikawa walked over to his dance bag in search for bobby pins to get his damp hair of out his face. He then took out his lyrical pirouette shoes— he barely got to use them as a male in contemporary dance—and slid them on. He had a secret; when he was alone like this, he often practiced the female parts of the dance. They got all the fun leaps and jumps, and Oikawa had learned all the moves from just watching them do the routine countless times. No one was watching, anyway; he could have all the fun he wanted.
He rolled his black tights up to his knees and walked over to the stereo to play the song. They were using some English song called "You Found Me" by The Fray. Even though he barely knew what the song was saying his teacher explained it was about loss of faith and loneliness. It made Oikawa chuckle a bit; the song was causing those exact feeling in him, yet, he couldn't express that. He stretched his neck and played the song, closing his eyes and getting into the starting position.
He gave himself to that pained, husky voice and thundering drums. The vibrations of the piano and the guitar guided him though the first few counts of floor work but just as he came down from a pirouette, he heard shuffling behind him. He halted and turned around to see a grinning Iwaizumi by the door.
"Idiot, if you danced like that during class, the teacher would stop nagging you."
"Well, you see" Oikawa said breathlessly, using the bottom of his white t-shirt to wipe his face, "If you haven't noticed, I'm a guy, so I can't do the girl parts in class."
Iwaizumi walked into the studio and dropped his bag besides Oikawa's, "Not that, smartass. I mean with that much emotion. You know, I never liked your dancing; it felt superficial and forced, but when I see you like this, it's like you're a different person".
Oikawa pouted, "You jerk. You only wish you were half as graceful as me."
"Yeah, sure."
"Whatever." Oikawa stopped the song, "Why are you even here?"
Iwaizumi shrugged, "I thought a certain idiot was going to overwork himself."
"Aw, Iwa-chan was worried about me?"
"No, I wasn't." Iwaizumi huffed, "Just shut up. You have issues with expression right? I can help you."
"How?"
Iwaizumi reached out his hand, "Let's do the routine together. Since you seem to have fun with the girl part, we can practice the duet."
"But you are shorter than me" Oikawa sneered.
"That doesn't matter!" Iwaizumi played the song and pulled Oikawa to the center of the floor.
They got into their starting positions and Oikawa pressed his chest in an attempt to still his heart; in theory he knew how duets were supposed to work from the girl's prospective, but he had never actually experienced anything like it. It was obvious that Iwaizumi was ripped, but could he actually support all of Oikawa's weight? He bit his lip; he didn't have much of a choice but to trust him at this point. The first few eight counts had them apart so Oikawa was still a bit stiff, embarrassment lacing his every gesture, but the moment Iwaizumi grabbed his hand for a mirrored leg extension, every worry he had dissolved. Iwaizumi's hand was warm and rough against his. Every touch and breath they shared though the music's narrative seared his skin and made him think, ' ah, this is what a duet is supposed to feel like'. The way Iwaizumi's fingers gently sat on Oikawa's waist for every assisted pirouette, or how they slightly dug into him when they did an arabesque press, made Oikawa's breath catch. Without a need for words, their bodies were communicating.
Oikawa wanted to break this tension with a stupid comment, but he was too lost in the rhythm of the song and the serious brown eyes peering into his own to even laugh. So he didn't hesitate with the last move of the routine, even though a more reasonable person would worry. He got a little momentum by running to Iwaizumi and jumped towards him. Iwaizumi caught Oikawa by the hips in an over-the-head boat lift and slowly brought him down as the song faded out, their bodies flush against each other. And for the first time since the song started they broke eye contact to close their eyes and kiss. It felt so utterly natural, as if all these months were a set up for this moment.
Oikawa pulled away, "So does this mean I should kiss my partner at practice?"
"I'm going to punch you." Iwaizumi spat, his mouth curving into a grin.
Yet, nothing really changed.
The searing glances shared between them and that stubborn tension, that all was there from the moment they met each other. The kiss hadn't changed anything. Especially since neither of them had the courage to bring it up, nor the urgency to push anything forward. Not right now, they'd think. It's best to focus on the performance. And with these itching feelings, they stayed together after practice and ran the routine countless times. Oikawa was slowly getting better at expressing himself and it was showing in regular practice; his teacher barely gave him any negative feedback. They both knew that these not-so-secret meetings, these few hours of bodily communication, were now becoming useless.
But Oikawa didn't want to stop. He knew he had to, the extra practice was cutting into their time to do homework and midterms were right around the corner, but he was starting to realize that he loved dancing with Iwaizumi. He couldn't put his finger on why it felt so different than dancing in class. Well, actually, it wasn't very hard to at least take a guess. His attraction to Iwaizumi formed itself in warm tingles every time they touched, only getting hotter with the duration of other's hold on him. Even when Iwaizumi wasn't assisting him on a move and they did their separate floor work, his skin prickled in anticipation for the next time Iwaizumi would touch him. There were many moments that Iwaizumi's rough hand, placed right at the base of Oikawa's spine, held them so close together that they could feel all the slight contours of the other's body. It didn't take long for Oikawa to memorize every curve of Iwaizumi's abs, as well as discover the slight tinge of earthy green in Iwaizumi's brown eyes.
"We should stop doing these extra practices. You already got the hang of it."
It wasn't surprising. He knew that Iwaizumi would be the first one to mention something, but the way he said it with such ease did sting quite a bit. Oikawa thought that maybe, with the way Iwaizumi's breath ghosted over his ear, tickling the back of his neck, that maybe they shared the mutual desire to keep this going. Oikawa chugged down the water in his bottle as a last hope to cool his body, throbbing from the fingerprints Iwaizumi pressed into his skin. Unlike him, Iwaizumi had his priorities in check. It was infuriating, but it was better this way.
Oikawa put his hand on his hip, "Aw, are you saying you hate spending time alone with me?"
Iwaizumi zipped his dance bag, "You know that's not what I'm saying, idiot."
"Yeah," Oikawa smirked, "I know. I get it, mom. I'll make sure to rest up, eat properly, and do my homework."
"Good." Iwaizumi mumbled, walking ahead to the door, "And stop calling me mom."
Oikawa waved, "Good night."
"Night."
As Oikawa watched Iwaizumi's broad shoulders walk farther away, a tiny bit of sadness peeked through his confident expression. They kept, quite literally, dancing around the subject. He didn't need a definition or a label, he just wanted to clarify just a bit more what exactly their relationship was. But then, there was his pride; he would never ask Iwaizumi up front. He felt like he was the one constantly chasing after Iwaizumi, and he couldn't stand seeming like some love-struck idiot who desperately wanted to start something. He was much better than that. He refused to be the first to go weak at the knees, even if that meant infinitely hiding all these strange urges stirring in his chest.
And contrary to his expectations, hiding his feeling wasn't too difficult a feat. After all, he rarely saw Iwaizumi. Now that they weren't having an after-practice rendezvous, the only times he could see him was during practice, and even then, they rarely spoke. They only traded curious glances, and on Oikawa's part, the occasional childish expression. To everyone else in the room, they had never exchanged even a word. No one knew how Oikawa's eyes secretly followed Iwaizumi's figure through every movement, no one except Iwaizumi. Oikawa has never been one to be shy; sure, he was purposefully, almost sulkily, being passive at the moment, but only so he could force Iwaizumi to make the first move. Patience. But at least Oikawa was now certain he had Iwaizumi's attention— he could feel Iwaizumi's gaze on his back, as if it was tracing patterns in the space between his shoulder blades.
These feelings were lopsided, messy, and vague, but unequivocally mutual.
"Do you always eat alone?"
The husky voice jerked Oikawa from his thinking, a mental maze that was currently the cause of his food growing cold. He looked up to see Iwaizumi sporting a mildly amused grin and sighed, "Iwa-chan, you better not be assuming that I have no friends. Because I do."
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, shifting his tray to his left hand, "Wow, for being the snarkiest diva I know, you really can't take a joke."
"Well, how many divas do you know?"
"Not very many."
Oikawa looked down at his soup, "You can sit down, you know. You look like a weirdo just standing there." He smirked, "Unless asking permission to sit with me wasn't your original plan?"
Iwaizumi sat down, rolling his eyes, "I'm starting to regret it."
They ate in silence for a while, the buzzing of the cafeteria and the clanks of their plates filling the air between them. It wasn't necessarily awkward. It was natural that they had to get accustomed to seeing each other not as dancers, but as normal college students with interests and hobbies outside of dancing. But this somewhat stifled air brought back a question that often lay on the forefront of Oikawa's mind: what did he like about this guy? Truthfully, outside of his wonderful dance ability and delectable body, he barely knew anything about Iwaizumi. And that led to: did he actually have a crush on this guy? It could possibly be, strictly, sexual attraction.
He was positive similar questions were floating in Iwaizumi's mind.
"Um, so what are you planning to major in."
"Man, straight to the hard-hitting questions, Iwa-chan. Is that how you pick up girls?" Oikawa mocked.
"Has anyone ever told you what a grating personality you have?"
"No, actually, you might be the first."
"They weren't being honest, then."
"Ouch." Oikawa chuckled, "We're still freshman so I'm not really sure, but I think I want to major in business."
"Hmm, I guess I could see that."
"Because of my charming aura?"
Iwaizumi's lips formed into a teasing smile, "Sure, something like that."
Oikawa puffed out his cheeks, "Jerk. What do you want to major in, then?"
"Medicine."
"Oh," Oikawa crossed his arms, "That's actually super surprising. Don't you need to, you know, be gentle to be a doctor? You seem like such a brute."
Iwaizumi cocked his head to the side, "Well, that's because you haven't seen my gentle side. If you'd stop being such a douche all the time, then maybe—" He abruptly cut himself off, as if he was walking on a mine-loaded field. He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to the level of the glass of milk in front of him.
"Maybe what?" Oikawa challenged.
"Nothing."
It wasn't a blushing stammer or his irritated mumble; it was a stern, final reply. And if there was something Oikawa was sure he knew about Iwaizumi it was that his stubbornness matched his own. This topic was completely off limits.
"Okay, then." Oikawa put his hands up defensively, "No need to get so snappy."
Iwaizumi sighed, "I wasn't being snappy."
Oikawa leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands cupping his face. He was tired of this shit. Neither of them was being honest, instead they were having sass competitions laced with unsatisfied libidos. Something, he needed to get something from Iwaizumi—a reaction, an answer, anything that pulled them out of this monotone pattern they were falling into. Oikawa's eyes scanned Iwaizumi's face, now quite alert with this unwanted attention, and the rest of his upper body, resting on the cellphone a few centimeters way from Iwaizumi's left hand.
"We should exchange phone numbers."
"Huh? Where did that come from?"
Oikawa pursed his lips, "You really need to ask that? After all those one-on-one dance practices, Iwa-chan?"
"…Fine."
They traded phones and inputted their information. Oikawa made sure to add a heart to the end of his own name, which earned him a glare from Iwaizumi (even though he made no effort to change it). Iwaizumi was the first to check the time on his phone and make the predictable homework excuse. They walked together to empty their trays, Oikawa making unnecessary jokes about Iwaizumi's height and exaggeratedly wincing when the other nudged him sharply in the ribs. It made sense that Iwaizumi was always wearing less layers than those around him; his skin was so damn warm to the touch. Maybe it was that excessive temper of his. After a few more crude jokes, and Iwaizumi's hand roughly mussing Oikawa's hair to show that yes, he could reach that high, they went their separate ways. On the way back to his dorm, Oikawa raked his fingers through his hair, eyes closed as he tried to remember the feeling of Iwaizumi's hand on his head. With the way his cheeks burned up when alone, ditching that act of nonchalance he always put in front of Iwaizumi, he started to wonder if maybe he should major in theater.
He was sinking.
At first, Oikawa only sent a text here and there—usually of the annoying nature—just to keep his existence at the front of Iwaizumi's mind. But unconsciously, it increased to at least one text a day. The texts were a mix of morning or night greetings, the occasional dinner invitation (which Iwaizumi only accepted if Oikawa was going to swipe for him), and pretty much any random thought that popped into Oikawa's head. Of course, not every thought, since then most of those texts would say 'I want to see you'. Yeah, Oikawa was sure Iwaizumi would block his number, or at the very least complain about the influx of silly messages, but he didn't. He didn't go as far as to initiate a conversation, and he didn't always reply, but when he did, he often replied with emoticons. Oikawa understood that it was only because the emoticons took the least amount of effort, but he still thought it was adorably out-of-character.
And the more he learned about Iwaizumi, the rapid fluctuations of his mood, his occasional booming laugh, the unconcerned way he shaped his hair, the dial-like pressure control he had to his usually harsh digits, the more Oikawa's mind filled with imaginary scenarios. Iwaizumi was always rough with him, and though that mental image alone sent a bolt up his spine, he was sure that a feathery touch from him would be bliss. It was unsightly, really, how daydreaming and pen cap biting had become part of his daily habits, but he figured if he didn't let it effect his grades or dancing, there wasn't any harm in it. He especially tried his best to reel it in for dance practice, reminding himself that even though he was the best, he needed to concentrate on bettering himself, but his eyes would still selfishly follow Iwaizumi.
"I know you all want to rush off but I have an announcement. Gather around," commanded their teacher, her nasally voice ringing through the room. They all trudged back to the center, dance bags and outdoor shoes at hand.
"In this piece there will be a section for a female solo and one for a male solo as well. Anyone who wants to audition for the solo needs to come up with four eight counts of choreography. You can use the first 20 seconds of the song or the 20 seconds after the one minute and 25 second point. Auditions will be in two weeks. That is all." She clapped her hands to signal the end of practice and the group dispersed in murmurs and whispers.
Oikawa excitedly hummed a tune as he packed his bag; his insistent need to have it completely ordered before stepping out the door was the main reason he was always last to leave. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and turned around, the smile on his face gradually shrinking as he registered the expression on his teacher's face.
"…Oikawa."
He immediately straightened up, wary of the tone of her voice, "Yes?"
"I was very happy that you were able to finally express yourself in the duets. I know you've struggled a bit with lyrical, but being the talented dancer that you are, I always believed you would master it." She sighed, "Yet, you've been lacking concentration lately. You've always been a favorite of mine but if you truly want this solo, you'll need to buckle down. Or someone whose more of a natural at lyrical, like Iwaizumi, might take the spot from you."
And she walked away completely unaware of the carnage she had just sparked.
Did she do it on purpose? Did she knowingly pinch the nerves that would hurt Oikawa the most? It didn't matter; the damage was done. Oikawa stood there, palms sweating so much his bag slipped to the floor. It wasn't too late. He chewed on his bottom lip and paced around the room, palms pressed to his temples in an attempt to block the erratic heartbeat flooding his ears. It wasn't working. He needed to reset himself to who he was before Iwaizumi stepped into this practice room that one night. Fuck the admiration, the addictive giddy feelings; he only needed the desire for dominance as fuel. After eating too many sweets, there was now a need to hide his heart behind steel like a rotting cavity. He was naïve to think that his envy and love could ever coexist.
Oikawa had happily let his feelings sink him.
But now here, all the way at the bottom, he realized he had run out of air.
