Author's Note: time for more iwaoi and some good old fashioned fluff- 6.5k words of it, to be exact. I mean, I don't have much to say about this chapter. it's pretty straightforward: these boys need to learn how to use their words. to summarise, there are movies, a sleepy oikawa, a scared iwa, and lots of other good stuff! on a side note, the rating should go up pretty soon so look out for that

as always, thank you to my marvelous betas and everyone who continues to read this! you all are the best! now, let's carry on with the story. enjoy!


Iwaizumi Hajime is the king of grand ideas.

Seriously, it's a problem. Not many sane people would be able to follow his current thought process, and he kind of wants to smack himself in the face for being so rash. After admitting to being an alien to the one person he swore he'd never tell, Iwaizumi somehow got it in his mind that inviting that same person over to his apartment was a good plan.

Yeah, it's crazy. Absolutely nuts. But it's one of probably a thousand ridiculous decisions Iwaizumi's made throughout his life. At this point, he figures he might as well just keep racking them up. Maybe there's some kind of award for the person who makes the most stupid choices in the shortest amount of time. He could give an acceptance speech and everything. "I, terran enthusiast and master of stupidity, Iwaizumi Hajime accept this honor and, in turn, would like to thank Oikawa Tooru for inadvertently convincing me to make more questionable decisions than I could've ever imagined possible. Really, I appreciate it."

Would Daichi laugh or cry? Or both? Iwaizumi knows he'd be doing both.

More than anything in this world and his own, Iwaizumi wants to call this whole thing off. He and Oikawa are sitting on the bus, which, to Iwaizumi's relief, is under the direction of a completely different driver at this hour, someone less imposing and less inclined to randomly shoot him death glares, when the thought suddenly rears its ugly head before he can push it back down. He's still not quite sure what overcame him in that moment, what pushed him to flat out tell Oikawa. It was a mistake, something he can now easily blame on the "heat of the moment," on the twinkle in Oikawa's wide eyes as he peered up at the stars.

How could he say no to a face like that? How could he tear down the only human being possessing an imagination and sense of wonderment on par with himself? Oikawa stares at the sky as if he lovingly created each and every planet and star in existence, as if he sculpted and combined the necessary elements with his own bare hands. His eyes trace their way slowly across the whole expanse of the visible universe and, eventually, settle on Iwaizumi, filled to the brim with the unabashed curiosity he reserves solely for the cosmos. It makes Iwaizumi feel special, to be lumped in with the spectacular planetary bodies and stars that, to this day, spark a flame in his chest just as they did in his youth.

Still, that doesn't excuse Iwaizumi's selfishness. He did it purely to satisfy Oikawa and, indirectly, satisfy his own guilty conscience. Their people have rules, and he had just broken the most important one: revealing his true identity to a Subject. His Subject, at that.

Daichi's going to kill me, Iwaizumi muses with finality, already having accepted his fate. He glances down at the single black glove in his lap, smoothing his thumb over the soft wooly fabric. He'll have to tell those pretentious jackasses, and I'll be forced to return to the ship. I doubt they'll let me continue to do research.

Similar thoughts fill his head the entire bus ride back. It figures that when Iwaizumi actually needs Oikawa's enthusiasm and big mouth, he decides to act very out of character. He keeps to himself for most of the trip and says little to nothing. But, out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi catches his shaking knees and fidgeting hands. Oikawa doesn't have many tells. They're easy to miss, and Iwaizumi thanks his keen senses for noticing the subtle jerks and twitches, the shifting of bone beneath skin as his fingers curl and uncurl against his thighs.

That's how Iwaizumi knows Oikawa's really been affected. It isn't often that he lets other people see how he's truly feeling, and, when it comes to expressing emotions in a straightforward manner, Iwaizumi can only count the number of occasions Oikawa's used his words like a mature and responsible adult on one hand. He's a closed book, sealed with a lock and key and, hell, probably layers upon layers of duct tape that would take years to peel off. But Iwaizumi will solve the enigmatic puzzle that is Oikawa Tooru. Even if- especially considering his latest slip up- it's the last thing he does.

They finally pull up to the bus stop outside of Iwaizumi's apartment complex before his thoughts can venture further into dangerous territory. Anxious to get inside and out of the cramped space, Iwaizumi stands and follows closely behind Oikawa who, hopefully, knows where he's going. They climb off along with a group of people who don't look old enough to legally drink but still clearly have drunk a considerable amount in the past couple hours. A tall, gangly guy nearly trips going down the steps, and Iwaizumi can't help but sigh. This must be why Daichi refuses to buy alcohol for the apartment.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are the last off the bus. The temperature seems to have dropped considerably, even since their last time on the hill, and icy wind cuts through their thick jackets as if they're paper thin. Anything other than standard room temperature, a comfortable 290 or so degrees Kelvin, feels strange to Iwaizumi. He's used to being holed up in a space ship all day; it's not as if the onboard atmosphere control system created temperature fluctuations to simulate seasons.

The tipsy group of young men sluggishly stalk off, and, the moment Oikawa's feet touch solid ground, his head whips from one side to the other, eyes squinted. He looks absolutely comical, but Iwaizumi keeps quiet, calmly watching the spectacle unfold. Curious, he clears his throat, wondering how Oikawa will react.

He continues to scan the surrounding area, though, ignoring Iwaizumi's obvious call for attention. After swiveling his head around once more, bouncy hair swaying in the breeze, he stops and deadpans, "Do aliens live in like… weird futuristic apartments?"

Ah. Right.

Iwaizumi doesn't know why he still expects Oikawa to ask reasonable questions.

"It's a normal apartment, Asskawa," he chides, trying out a new nickname he'd thought of on the way over. Oikawa's jaw drops, and Iwaizumi silently pats himself on the back for coming up with it. "And what the hell do you mean by futuristic anyway?"

"Like everything is… shiny and electronic," Oikawa manages between breaths as he struggles to catch up. His dress shoes click pleasantly on the pavement. "Oh, wait, I bet you have a robot that does all the housework, right?"

"A… robot?"

"Of course."

Iwaizumi stares blankly at Oikawa.

"I don't even know where you come up with this shit. Is that like a normal thing in those movies and books of yours? Does every alien have a robot handmaid? Or is that just your imagination running wild?"

"I mean, not always, but I'm sure you have the technology to build a robot capable of mundane tasks like cleaning around the apartment," Oikawa huffs almost angrily, as if Iwaizumi's lack of an android house slave personally offends him.

Iwaizumi turns in the direction of his apartment. He needs to get inside soon because this weather really doesn't agree with him. Well, namely the additional hypothalamus mechanism built into his chip, but he chooses not to mention that to Oikawa who will likely interrogate him about why he needs an additional organ anyway.

The sidewalk's end is in sight, and Iwaizumi picks up his pace slightly. From here, he can clearly make out the staircase that's attached to the side of his apartment building. Thankfully, no one seems to be there or they'd be very confused by Oikawa's interest in artificial intelligence and the cleanliness of Iwaizumi's bedroom.

"Maybe you don't need a maid because you and your friend are neat freaks," Oikawa contemplates. "I don't know much about your lovely roommate, but I doknow you pretty well. Iwa-chan doesn't strike me as the overly organized type."

He's already halfway up the stairs and sneaks a glance over his shoulder. "You're one to talk," he shoots back, grinning devilishly when Oikawa nearly loses his footing. "Don't forget that I've seen your room, too, dumbass."

Oikawa's too dumbfounded to offer a clever insult in return. That's a first. Not that it's a bad thing. Iwaizumi can only handle a certain number of these weird questions.

Out of habit, Iwaizumi normally tries to block out Oikawa's running mouth. Sometimes he thinks the other talks simply to hear himself speak. Admittedly, Oikawa has the sort of melodic voice that's smooth and professional, perfectly suited to someone with his level of confidence, while also light and teasing. Iwaizumi hates how much he enjoys the incessant chattering. The background noise is strangely soothing.

Just when he's starting to enjoy the quiet, Iwaizumi hears a gasp, a hitch in Oikawa's breathing, and knows there are more questions to come. Probably a mountain of them, too, if Oikawa continues to be his naturally inquisitive (read: nosy) self.

"Oh, Iwa-chan, there are so many things I can't wait to ask you," he starts gushing, just as he'd done at the park. "I'm still trying to get over the fact you're from a different planet and that you spent your life in a spaceship and…"

He carries on undeterred. Apparently he could care less whether Iwaizumi's listening or not. There he goes again, proving another of my theories, Iwaizumi thinks, reflecting back to his earlier realization about Oikawa and his ranting.

Eventually they come to his apartment. Iwaizumi quickly unlocks the door and ushers Oikawa inside. Of course, not even the door is up to Oikawa's standards. "No fingerprint scanner? Or voice recognition lock mechanism? Lame, Iwa-chan," he remarks, shaking his head disappointedly.

Iwaizumi's about to snap at him, maybe address the underlying fact that science fiction is, in fact, fiction, but the words die in his throat. Sitting casually with his shoes propped up on the coffee table is none other than Daichi or, in other words, the last person he wants to see right now.

"Ah, I was beginning to wonder where you were. And you brought a friend over," Daichi comments by way of greeting. He flashes Iwaizumi a look out of the corner of his eye that effectively silences him. "This must be Oikawa-kun."

He's dressed casually but not his usual kind of casual. The navy blue pullover and dark wash, tighter-than-necessary jeans make that abundantly clear. Iwaizumi doesn't have the best sense of fashion- mostly because his people are limited to uniforms- and knows little to nothing about terran fashion, but even he recognizes the outfit for what it is: Daichi has a "date."

What the hell is a "date" anyway? He's overheard countless conversations around campus, but the term's meaning still eludes him. From what he's gathered, it has something to do with two people meeting in a non-platonic way. But that makes no sense in this situation because… Daichi's not interested in a relationship like that. Actually, he's not technically allowed to have that sort of relationship, especially with a human being.

Iwaizumi's head hurts. Why do terran customs have to be so damned confusing?

"Nice to meet you, sir," Oikawa greets politely, adopting the tone he uses when speaking to his seniors and superiors. He then seals the deal with one of his thousand watt smiles, eyes glittering, and Iwaizumi wonders if Daichi's buying his act. While most people seem to accept Oikawa's effortlessly casual and carefree façade at face value, Iwaizumi sees right through it, sees it for the humongous lie that it is.

"Nice to meet you, too, Oikawa-kun." Daichi nods his acknowledgment and stands, approaching the doorway. Iwaizumi stiffens, feeling as if his entire being is rooted to that particular spot. At his side, Oikawa doesn't seem bothered, but, knowing him, he's probably thinking of all the outrageous things he wishes he could ask Daichi concerning space travel and robots and who knows what else. He's too scared to find out.

Daichi stops right in front of Iwaizumi and, carefully, sets a heavy hand on his shoulder. Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to sink through the floor and disappear. "Well, I'll be heading out. I left the stir fry out for you so just make sure you clean the dishes afterwards. Oh, and there should be enough for your friend, too."

So I was right after all. He is going out.

"Where are you going?" Iwaizumi asks, an unspoken "at this hour" implied in the furrow of his brow.

They lock eyes and, for a moment, Iwaizumi wonders if Daichi can see through his lies the way he sees through Oikawa's. He wonders if he can smell the betrayal on his clothes or can hear the litany of "Iwa-chan is an alien!" that's likely running on a loop inside Oikawa's head. But nothing significant happens. Iwaizumi doesn't catch on fire, and, from what he can tell, Oikawa seems unscathed.

Instead, Daichi's lips stretch into a smile, and he explains his plans quickly as if he's in a rush. "Sugawara and I are going bowling. But don't worry. I'll be back by tomorrow morning."

There's a glint in Dacihi's eyes, though, that sets Iwaizumi on edge and practically screams that there's more to his brief explanation. A meaning that Oikawa's certainly not allowed to know about. The silent communication isn't anything new, and the two of them make use of the skill often. They used it several times in the past when Iwaizumi's professors came to Daichi's quarters to complain, when Supervisors got too nosy about the research they did in their spare time and decided they needed to brief both on their fields of study.

Iwaizumi can't turn a blind eye to Daichi's unspoken request. "Actually, I might need your help in the kitchen before you-"

"You'll be fine, Hajime." Daichi cuts Iwaizumi short without batting an eye. Leveling a strange and indecipherable look in his Student's direction, he tightens his hold a bit before drawing his hand away. Iwaizumi's shoulder burns where Daichi's fingers had previously rested. He tries and thankfully succeeds to cover up the resulting wince from the contact.

Yeah, I'm dead, Iwaizumi decides.

Daichi turns to Oikawa then, and his face transforms. The happiness reflected in his smile appears genuine, and the dangerous twinkle vanishes from his eyes. He looks the part of the conscientious roommate once again. "It was very nice meeting you, Oikawa-kun."

"Ah, well, the pleasure is all mine, Sawamura-san," Oikawa chirps, a little too enthusiastically. "I hope that you have a fantastic time this evening with your friend."

Iwaizumi wants to stop that damn mouth from moving before Oikawa embarrasses the hell out of both of them, but Daichi chuckles good-naturedly and steps through the doorway.

"I appreciate your kindness. Same to you, Oikawa-kun," he says, lips still quirked up at the edges. But he glances at Iwaizumi, and the faint difference in his tone sends an unpleasant shiver down the other's spine. "And you, too, Hajime. Have fun."

The word "fun" sounds bitter on his tongue, and Iwaizumi hopes he's the only one who catches the ominous undertone. To his relief, Oikawa saves him with a charming, "We most certainly will. See you later, Sawamura-san."

Daichi waves and pulls the door shut behind him as he heads out into the night. The lock clicks into place, and both Oikawa and Iwaizumi are left staring at the door. Although Oikawa remains clueless to what really transgressed just now, Iwaizumi knows full well that Daichi somehow detected his guilt.

And, for the first time in his mostly emotionless life, Iwaizumi Hajime's genuinely afraid.


Oikawa narrows his eyes, glaring down the television.

It looks normal enough, but he won't take any chances. For all he knows, the remote on the table may have a button that transforms the display into a three-dimensional projection. Or maybe has a direct connection to the mothership… now that's an interesting thought.

He wonders what other hidden treasures could be found within the walls of this seemingly harmless apartment. From his spot on the couch, he can see both residents' bedrooms as well as the bathroom and small dining space at his back. It's fairly simplistic with furniture that likely came with the lease. He hasn't quite determined whether the several landscape paintings and tapestries adorning the walls were also included, but he can't imagine the complex's decorators shelling out the money for all of them, especially the largest one that hangs on the wall opposite the television.

His next question: are they Iwaizumi's or Daichi's? For some reason, he can't possibly see them belonging to Iwaizumi. He's too… well, Iwaizumi to care whether something's pretty or nice to look at. Oikawa laughs softly to himself.

Propping his arm along the back of the couch, Oikawa stretches his neck to peer into the tiny kitchen, curious as to whether they're eating there or at the breakfast bar. Iwaizumi's standing in front of the stove, the strong plane of his back facing Oikawa. He serves stir fry on to two separate plates and then hesitates.

Odd…

Oikawa watches closely for more, but Iwaizumi turns and quickly makes his way to the living room without further interruption. His shoulders seem tense, though, and his usual stride looks a bit stilted, as if the wind's been taken out of his sails. He's not an especially chipper person, but Oikawa can tell something's wrong.

He slumps onto the cushion beside Oikawa and sets down both plates. Amazingly enough, he also managed to tuck the silverware under each plate so as to avoid a second trip. For some reason, it doesn't surprise Oikawa. Silly Iwa-chan.

Worried about what he'd just witnessed, Oikawa opens his mouth, ready to resume his interrogation when-

The delicious aroma wafting up from the food roughly shoves Oikawa's anxiety back for the time being. He can smell the cooked broccoli and peppers and can practically taste the salty tang of soy sauce on his tongue. Exercising every ounce of self-control he has left, he slowly picks up his fork instead of digging in like he wants to. I never knew aliens could make such good chefs. He hopes Iwaizumi's cooking is just as delectable.

"Dig in," Iwaizumi urges, waving at Oikawa's plate with his fork. "The faster you eat, the faster we can get to the important stuff."

Oikawa almost drops his silverware. Would he divulge more secrets? "What 'important stuff?'"

"I don't know about you, but I've neglected my calculus homework for the past couple days. Tonight's basically the only chance I have left to get it done before another professor shoves more homework down my throat," Iwaizumi comments drily, spearing a green pepper with his fork tongs.

He's always had his suspicions about Iwaizumi, but now Oikawa knows for sure that he's a lot nerdier than he lets on. Even with a friend over, he wants to do school work. They're college students now so assignments pile up a lot quicker, but Oikawa can't believe it's the first thing on Iwaizumi's mind when his incredible best friend's paying a visit. Oikawa usually just stays awake late into the night and works on homework while his friends sleep. Not that he and Kageyama invite many people over. Other than the usual suspects (Kuroo, Bokuto, and Hinata), only Yaku has been asked to spend the evening there before.

"Homework, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa pops a piece of chicken into his mouth and mumbles as he chews, "I should've known you'd turn out to be an even bigger nerd than me."

"Hey, wait a-"

"But your species must be more advanced than ours to come up with those chips. Under your skin, right?"

Iwaizumi snakes his fingers beneath the sleeve of his shirt and lightly rubs a darker patch of skin that could easily be mistaken for a mole or birthmark. "Right here. They implant it almost immediately after we're born."

"Interesting… and they do more than just camouflage your body?"

"A lot more," Iwaizumi echoes back. But his lips curve into a frown. "They perform many different tasks at once, but that's about all I can say about them."

"Synthetic, lightweight, performs various functions simultaneously… Are you geniuses? Is Iwa-chan secretly an alien mastermind hoping to take over the world?"

"Trust me, world domination isn't our goal," Iwaizumi scoffs. "Especially when it comes to Earth. A lot of my kind resents humans and this planet in general so the last thing they'd want to do is set up shop here."

That makes no sense. "Resent us? Why?"

"It's a long story. Suffice to say that we have different priorities and a lot of big shots envy how carefree the human race seems." Iwaizumi picks out another green pepper, and, distantly, Oikawa wonders if they're his favorite food. "Anyway, I guess you could say we're pretty advanced. But no, I'm not like the freaky mad scientists from your weird ass books."

What does he think I read? I have far better taste in literature than that.

"So are you super smart? For your kind, I mean."

Iwaizumi sets his fork on his plate and scratches at the back of his neck. "Kind of. I just learn at a faster rate than most."

Oikawa almost chokes on the onion he's munching. He says it so nonchalantly, as if being superior minded in an already superior minded civilization isn't a big deal at all. Oikawa works hard on a daily basis to make decent grades, and, although he's fairly smart himself, that doesn't mean he could hold a candle to an extraterrestrial capable of learning an entire species' customs and lifestyle habits in a matter of a years.

"I feel like you're more of a genius than you think, Iwa-chan."

"And what gives you that idea?"

Oikawa honestly has no idea and says so. Instinct? A gut feeling? Most of his feelings regarding Iwaizumi are just that- gut feelings.

"Maybe we shouldn't work on calculus after all," Iwaizumi sighs, moving his half-finished dinner to the table. "There's no way I can deal with you gushing over me for the rest of the night. I'll go crazy."

"Not a fan of compliments, huh?" Oikawa still has most of his stir fry left but feels weird eating when Iwaizumi's already finished. He sets the plate next to his host's.

"Any suggestions about what we should do?"

"Ah, changing the subject. I see, Iwa-chan," Oikawa coos, "You really are a genius."

They go back and forth like this for a bit longer before Oikawa eventually concedes that, yes, he does have a suggestion. The tote he'd brought along for the UFO hunt earlier sits alongside the couch, and Oikawa reaches over to sneak his hand under the giant navy blanket. He first withdraws his overnight clothes and, ignoring Iwaizumi's startled protests, darts into the bathroom.

He quickly pulls his shirt over his head and shimmies his pants down until he can step out of them. The shirt and lounge pants he brought are lighter, looser, and leave Oikawa feeling more at ease. He checks his reflection, specifically the state of his hair, and tries to smooth the wrinkles in his t-shirt. Why does it matter what I look like? It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone. Denial snorts derisively from its place in the very back of Oikawa's mind.

Oikawa slips back into the living room with his original outfit tucked under his arm. Iwaizumi looks suspicious, maybe a tad scared, but doesn't say a word. Oikawa excitedly wriggles back onto the couch and stretches his body across the side, digging around inside the giant tote again for a couple minutes before his fingers brush the plastic DVD case at the bottom.

Before heading out, Oikawa spent about an hour arguing with himself about what to bring. Kageyama wasn't much of a help either, lying in Oikawa's bed, completely immersed in the latest issue of Inside Volleyball. The blanket, though, was a must. It was the blanket, the one that, even as a child, he'd brought along when he scurried down the street on a clear night, hoping to catch a glimpse of an actual spacecraft. The fraying edges and assortment of moth balls are the best indicators of its years of service.

He'd shoved it into his bag without a second thought. But whether to bring more still posed an issue. Finally, after snapping at Kageyama to lay in his own bed if he didn't plan on offering input, he decided on three DVD's: Alien, the first Men in Black, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Now he's absolutely thrilled he brought the movies along. Deep down, he worried that it would be his last night with Iwaizumi and wanted to make the most of it. He'd never, not even in his wildest dreams, thought Iwaizumi would be an alien or that he'd invite him to spend the night.

"Ta-da!" Oikawa withdraws the Alien DVD case with a flourish. Ignoring Iwaizumi's audible gulp, he slides closer and taps the egg oozing green goo on the cover. "How about we watch this first?"

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, which, to Oikawa's disappointment, are back to being hidden behind some sort of biological camouflage. "Alien...?"

"Alien," Oikawa confirms, waving the case around.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, Iwa-chan, it'll be funny." He taps his chin thoughtfully with the plastic case, covering his smirk. "I mean, a sweet little alien watching a movie about another bigger and scarier alien that likes ripping people's faces off? Should be a good laugh."

"You sure have a twisted sense of humor. Who laughs at someone getting torn to shreds by a- Wait, 'sweet little alien'? Who the hell are you calling sweet and little? "

"Compared to this guy, you're pretty tiny," Oikawa explains with a shrug. He moves the DVD just in time to avoid Iwaizumi's swinging arm. "And I don't imagine that you make a habit of killing people. Unless of course you do… then we may need to have a talk about how this whole 'friendship' thing is going to play out. I'd rather not go to jail, thank you very much."

The food long forgotten, Oikawa notices that there's barely a foot of space between he and Iwaizumi. To try and physically force the movie's content into Iwaizumi's brain, he had slid closer and hadn't even noticed the way his hand naturally came to rest on Iwaizumi's jean clad thigh. His fingers tighten reflexively, liking the feel of denim and muscle that twitches beneath his touch.

Oikawa inhales and, everywhere, everywhere, there's Iwaizumi. The lingering scent of detergent and aftershave, the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his chest- Oikawa can't escape it no matter where he lets his eyes rest or where he focuses his attention.

Slowly, he lifts his head to gauge Iwaizumi's reaction. And he doesn't seem to be faring any better.

For a brief moment, Oikawa imagines what it would feel like to slip his hands under Iwaizumi's shirt, how it would feel to softly press kisses to his jawline, to his neck and down to his collarbone. Iwaizumi would shudder and whisper Oikawa's name, utterly confused but wanting more. Then Oikawa would finally kiss Iwaizumi fully, would push and push until there's no space between them, until their bodies melded together with legs intertwined, breathing in each other's air, tasting each other…

You can't, Oikawa reminds himself. You absolutely can't do this to yourself. Or to Iwaizumi. He hates that side of his brain, the logical side that never fails to rain on his parade. Grudgingly, he leans back the slightest bit. He's not sure whether he's imagining it or not, but Iwaizumi's face seems to fall.

Almost like he's upset.

"So, the movie?" Oikawa's voice cracks and, fuck, he wishes he could put an end to this whole personal space issue they have.

"Yeah… yeah, sure." There's a slight break in Iwaizumi's voice, too. It makes Oikawa feel a little better but only a little. "We can watch that, I guess."

Before he can embarrass himself any more than he already has, Oikawa scrambles off the couch with the DVD in hand. His legs aren't half as shaky as his hands, and he manages to load the disc player and make it back to the couch without dropping the case or, worse, falling headlong into the table.

Tucking his feet under his body, he crawls back into his spot by Iwaizumi's side. All of the blood seems to have rushed to his head, and he can barely keep his thoughts straight, can feel them darting frantically around his skull. The sensation is insufferable and far worse than it's ever been with any of the numerous girls he's been involved with in the past. He knows he's blushing. Iwaizumi could probably reach out and wrap his hands around Oikawa's embarrassment, as if it's some tangible creature snaking around their seated figures, wrapping itself around their limbs like a snake. And, after sneaking a glance over at Iwaizumi, he finds that he isn't the only flustered one in the room.

What the hell was that? Oikawa blinks, zeroing in on the television screen as the trailers play. This is getting to be annoying. If I don't stop this now, I'll end up doing something stupid like… well, something that will likely scare Iwaizumi away for good. Maybe if I just get it over with and kiss him, I would know for sure that I'm not interested…

Oh no. No, no, no. He needs to forget that outlandish idea, and he needs to forget about it fast.

Thankfully, the movie starts and silences the maelstrom in Oikawa's head. It's hard to think about potentially kissing your newest friend when people onscreen are screaming in terror.

He's seen the movie enough to quote most scenes line by line. After about the fifth time, he stopped squealing and squirming during the most suspenseful parts. They were certainly well done, but he mainly watched the film for pure enjoyment at this point. Back when Kuroo and a few other neighborhood boys reluctantly agreed to join him for a biweekly "movie night" in elementary school, the entire film had Oikawa on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the screen. At that age, Oikawa had only just begun his journey into the science fiction genre. To this day, Alien remains his first and, quite possibly, favorite alien movie.

Iwaizumi's surprisingly quiet. The parts that scared Oikawa in the past don't seem to faze him, and, whenever the Alien appears, he snorts softly under his breath. He comments here and there, pointing out little nuances and scientific impossibilities. Oikawa bristles with pride when Iwaizumi mentions mistakes he already picked out in recent viewings. Some, though, he admits are new, and his theory about Iwaizumi the Closet Genius resurfaces.

Advanced species or not, Oikawa suspects that Iwaizumi's intelligence surpasses most of his kind. It's a hunch, at best, but the feeling is another gut instinct he can't seem to shake.

Not only did I find an alien- I found a special one.

Halfway through the movie, right after Oikawa quotes yet another section of dialogue, Iwaizumi breathes, "How many times have you watched this?"

The sudden question makes Oikawa jump for the first time since the film started. "Huh?"

"You seem to know it pretty well. So I was curious," Iwaizumi explains, shifting slightly in his seat. Normally, Oikawa would chalk it up to Iwaizumi getting him back for his earlier smart ass comments. But there's nothing harsh about his tone and, when Oikawa turns to check his expression, the barely there smile and softness of his gaze confirm his suspicions. Iwaizumi's genuinely curious.

"None of your business," Oikawa grumbles because he needs to break the tension that's settled over them. It's not uncomfortable. Actually, it's far worse. The mood's too comfortable and dangerously close to the feeling that had overcome Oikawa on the hill a couple hours ago, the feeling that had crept under his skin when he'd accidentally crowded against Iwaizumi on the couch.

"More than once."

"Hey, don't say that like you know for sure, Iwa-chan!"

"Oh, but I do."

"You wish!" Oikawa huffs and looks back toward the movie. Stupid alien and his stupid face and stupid brain.

Ten or so minutes pass before Oikawa feels himself drifting off. The screen begins to blur around the edges, and the actors' voices sound distant, like they're stuck at the far end of a tunnel, shouting and hoping that Oikawa can hear their pleas. His eyelids feel heavy, and he knows he'll be asleep soon. But Iwaizumi seems fine.

"How about Men in Black next?" He doesn't want Iwaizumi to know just how tired he really is.

"Okay," Iwaziumi agrees, a small laugh slipping past his lips.

And that's the last thing Oikawa remembers before everything goes dark, body cushioned by something firm and warm as sleep overcomes him.


Thump.

Startled, Iwaizumi turns his head only to find Oikawa slumped against his shoulder. He sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. Oikawa's the one who had such big plans for the evening to begin with, and he's already passed out? Only seconds ago, they'd been discussing their movie schedule for the remainder of the night. The drowsiness in Oikawa's voice now made a lot more sense.

I can't believe this. Iwaizumi glances at the digital clock perched on the little side table. The boxy numbers and letters "11:47 PM" glare back at him as if they're mocking the irony of this situation. His life is apparently a gigantic cosmic joke. The person who's all gung-ho to watch science fiction films is fast asleep, while the subject of basically every movie belonging to said person is wide awake.

There isn't any point to keep going now that Oikawa won't be able to join him. Iwaizumi cracks his neck and readies himself to stand. He'll take the DVD out and pack the rest of the cases back into Oikawa's monster of a tote bag. That way, he won't have to deal with Sleeping Beauty's bitching the next morning.

But…

Has Oikawa's hair always smelled so good? The faint aroma of apples seems ingrained in every soft strand of hair that tickles the underside of Iwaizumi's jaw, and Iwaizumi has to fight back the urge to lean a bit closer, to bury his face in the thick mass of chestnut hair, and inhale. It's intoxicating. He's familiar with the odor, and, since it's likely artificial, he knows all too well that it shouldn't smell as incredible as it does.

As if that's not bad enough, the angle of his face gives Iwaizumi a clear view of Oikawa's fluttering lashes and closed eyelids, of the slope of his nose, of the gentle swell of his lips, of the jut of his chin and powerful jawline. He's the very image of tranquility and peaceful slumber. Pictures from his textbook didn't do the real thing justice, the human face, concrete and less than an arm's length away, as the REM cycle slowly kicks in.

Where did all of that energy go? That cocky attitude? Iwaizumi laughs quietly to himself. In all honestly, he likes that Oikawa's far from perfect. No one's meant to be "perfect." As a matter of fact, Iwaizumi's gone from tolerating Oikawa's imperfections to, well, embracing them. They suit him, and Iwaizumi can't imagine him being any other way.

Still, the silence is a pleasant change, and the opportunity to just sit and, without interruption, admire Oikawa's features is certainly nice. He would never tell Oikawa this- for fear the jerk's head may actually explode if his ego grew any more- but, as humans go, as all extraterrestrial species known to Iwaizumi's species go, he really is beautiful.

Inside and out, Iwaizumi thinks and, unable to resist the urge any longer, raises his hand to lightly brush his knuckles across Oikawa's forehead, pushing a few wayward pieces of hair to the side. Thankfully, he doesn't stir. But he does mumble something about "robots" and, oddly enough, "chicken" that forces another small chuckle from Iwaizumi's parted lips.

Up until now, Iwaizumi's forgotten that Oikawa changed clothes before the movie started. The ratty-looking gray shirt has a grainy photo screened on the front, a tiny aircraft of sorts levitating above the trees along with the words "I WANT TO BELIEVE." His sweatpants have little bulbous alien heads similar to the ones adorning his bed sheets, and they also look worn from years of use.

Fuck.

This is incredibly risky. Even more risky than he'd originally surmised the first time he saw Oikawa.

I just have to go grab a blanket and get my ass to bed. The longer he stays on this couch, pondering over and studying Oikawa, the more he runs the risk of lying down and staying with him for the rest of the night. Which could be a potentially horrible decision on his part.

He's strong; he can handle one measly human.

He's not just any human.

A human is a human. Letting himself get too attached is completely out of the question.

You're already too attached. Too late to fix that.

Wow. He needs to get rid of the inner Daichi crammed inside his brain. The imaginary bastard annoys Iwaizumi almost as much as Oikawa does.

Eventually Iwaizumi talks himself into moving from his spot on the couch. He manages to shift Oikawa on to his back without disrupting his sleep. He heads to Daichi's room and retrieves the spare blanket they keep stowed in his closet. Carefully, he places it over Oikawa and, realizing that the poor human's neck will be incredibly sore in the morning based on his current position, sneaks one of the cushions from another chair under Oikawa's head.

To his relief, Oikawa's a heavy sleeper. He remains motionless throughout the whole rearrangement. Once or twice, his eyelids twitch and, right after Iwaizumi pushes the seat cushion into place, he mutters about robots again.

Idiot.

Iwaizumi is satisfied with his work and decides that he really, really, needs to go to sleep. He's a couple steps from his bedroom door when the soft whine stops him in his tracks.

"Nnn…"

Confused, he glances over his shoulder in the direction of the couch and slumbering houseguest. Nothing seems out of place. Oikawa's probably dreaming about androids and stir fry; Iwaizumi's just overreacting. Content, he scoffs at Oikawa's crazy imagination and turns around.

"Iw… Iwa…"

Time seems to freeze. Iwaizumi's feet refuse to move.

"Iwa… chan… Iwa-chan…"

Oikawa practically whimpers the last part, and Iwaizumi forgets how to breathe.

Without a second thought, terrified and rattled to the core, Iwaizumi dashes into his room and buries his face in the nearest pillow.

Fuck.


A/N: come bother me on twit or tumblr: tobiologist