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Oikawa knows he’s got it going for him.
He’s in university now, still playing volleyball, still riding on his high school legacy as the pretty boy top setter. If anything, he’s cultivated it-rumours spread about him rejecting every girl who confesses to him so nicely that they go away satisfied, a school-wide myth that if you get hit by a ball spiked by the great Oikawa’s hand you’ll get top marks in the next exam, shreds of gossip fluttering around like butterflies that Oikawa doesn’t mind at all. His grades are decent, and it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t go to university with his best friend since they practically live at each others’ houses anyway, and his hair doesn’t even need as much coconut oil as it did before to stay in silky waves in the morning.
Oikawa knows he’s got everything going for him, but there’s just one single flaw that he can’t get rid of.
This flaw reminds him of Ushiwaka a lot, actually. Stubborn, persistent, dense. And just like Ushiwaka, it’s like a concrete wall in his path to attaining a level of pure perfection, which has kind of been his goal since day one. Oikawa hates this one flaw, but it’s as much a part of him as volleyball is.
Oikawa gets jealous. Really, really easily.
This is what he ruminates about as he sits in Iwaizumi’s lawn, trying to ignore the fact that Iwaizumi is not paying attention to him and is petting. His new dog. And ignoring Oikawa while he strokes the stupid thing’s beautiful, ruffling fur. And ignoring Oikawa. Oikawa has no idea what is going on, but all he knows is this: It’s currently two in the afternoon, and also five minutes since he pushed open Iwaizumi’s front gate and the blasted animal started barking as if he were the intruder instead of it. They say dogs are man’s best friend. Oikawa is Iwaizumi’s best friend. The dog has no place in this beautiful friendship. “Go away,” Oikawa hisses now from the corner of his mouth, “I’m giving you this one chance to get off Iwaizumi’s lap.” The dog has the gall to stare at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as it is gently pummelled by Iwaizumi’s tender, calloused palms. Oikawa hasn’t been this mad since he ran out of coconut oil in the shower. “Did you hear me? I said, go away.”
“What the hell, who are you talking to?” Iwaizumi shoots a scornful look in Oikawa’s direction.
“It’s nothing!” Oikawa smiles, sweetly, using his most golden voice, and when Iwaizumi’s attention is diverted he stares with eyes narrowed to slits at the pomeranian that has made a home in Iwaizumi’s crotch area. “Two can play at this game, bitch.”
“It’s a male dog, actually,” Iwaizumi frowns and adds, “Don’t you have anything better to do, Shittykawa? I need to give Toodlehead a bath.”
Oikawa is boiling at this point. He can literally feel the blood surging to the surface of his veins, hear the primal call of anger somewhere in the depths of his astral ears. His foot, he realises, has been tapping vigorously against the ground for some time now. “Fine,” he says in a clipped tone, “Go give it a bath, I’m sure that’s a top priority.” He pushes Iwaizumi’s front gate open with considerably more force than he did when he entered. A faint “wait, shittykawa” sounds from somewhere behind him, but Oikawa doesn’t register it over the indignant buzzing in his ears.
It is time for the next phase of revenge.
-
“Hello, Mrs Oikawa? Is Sh- Tooru at home?”
Iwaizumi receives a regretful reply, but he knows that it’s all a facade because he can hear bad outer space sound effects drifting from Oikawa’s window on the upper floor. Oikawa doesn’t want to see him, apparently. He feels a twinge of worry deep down in his gut despite his normal reaction to scoff and put it down to normal antics. Oikawa doesn’t….lock him out like that. He’s seen Oikawa at his weakest, kneeling on the court with his pride more bruised than his knees, painted yellow and purple all over with brewing insecurity, knuckles discoloured from the number of times he’s ground it against the volleyball. He’s seen Oikawa cry all sorts of tears, from big bubbly ones to ones that leak, hot, from beneath Oikawa’s eyelids, and he’s seen Oikawa with all his smiles, too. The smile that can melt hearts but is simply Oikawa’s over-the-top way of being polite, the smile that Oikawa serves, tinted with threat, along with the ball over the net, the smile that Oikawa only reserves for when the two of them trade stupid stories in the early hours of the morning. And every single time he’s seen Oikawa like this, the point is that he got to. That Oikawa let him in. But now he’s standing here, hands shoved into his pockets, on the doorstep of Oikawa’s house while his mother smiles kindly at him, guilt showing in the wrinkles by her eyes.
Scratch that, Iwaizumi is more than a little worried.
So after he bids goodbye to Oikawa’s mother, he treads quietly around the the back of the house, where a drainpipe has always been conveniently located. As a child, Oikawa used it to sneak out at night to go alien-watching, and every time Iwaizumi would wait with an exasperated patience. Iwaizumi only hopes the drain pipe will hold up his weight. He lifts his foot and places it, experimentally, on the base of the pipe. It creaks a little, but the noise of galactic warfare engulfs it along with the buzzing silence of the night. It’s fine, it’s fine, Iwaizumi tells himself as he grips the window ledge overhead and hoists himself up, arms straining with effort. He’s not going to hear me. He won’t hear me. He has absolute shit hearing.
“What the hell? Who are you?” Oikawa’s voice is suddenly directly above Iwaizumi’s head, and Iwaizumi has a too-late flashback of Oikawa’s extremely keen senses. There was this one time Hanamaki told Kindaichi that Oikawa’s shoes were getting kind of scuffed and Oikawa, from the other side of the court, completely lost it. Hanamaki got no more free trips to the ice cream store after practice. Iwaizumi fades with a sinking feeling out of this flashback as the window rattles and Oikawa peers suspiciously out into the night.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Look, Oikawa, what happened this afternoon? Are you okay? You just walked out-“
“Ah, to get this, of course!” Oikawa raises a small, wriggling object right above Iwaizumi’s face, and all Iwaizumi can see is a small, pink- “GROSS! Ew, ew, don’t hang its ass right above me!” Iwaizumi struggles for a brief moment on the window ledge, hands scrabbling for purchase, and finally he gains enough leverage to tumble into Oikawa’s room. “Is that a dog? It’s cute!” Iwaizumi’s eyes land on the wriggly object in Oikawa’s hands, all floppy ears and sad, droopy eyes, and has the sudden urge to smother it in a hug. “What breed is it? Hey, when did you even get it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Oikawa internally screams as he sees Iwaizumi’s face light up. It is infuriating because Iwaizumi is, once again, distracted by a dog. He’d planned to make Iwaizumi green with jealousy, but the only green thing in the room is the alien face that wafts slowly across the TV screen. Oikawa wants to cry. (Why can’t Iwaizumi just flip and tell Oikawa that only he can have his attention and then Oikawa can return the dog to the shop already? The pet shop girl might have let him borrow it, but his looks can only last him for so long.) Oikawa decides that it’s time to amp up the situation even more.
“She’s so lovely, isn’t she?” Oikawa picks it up and cuddles it in his arms, “We’re best friends now!” This is it. Oikawa waits, bated breath, tense heart, the works, for Iwaizumi’s angry reaction. Oh, Oikawa will savour the taste of Iwaizumi’s jealousy. He’s going to learn what it felt like for Oikawa to sit on that lawn and have to watch Iwaizumi practically make out with the dog. Oh, he’s going to learn.
“She is lovely!” Iwaizumi has never been this excited.
Oikawa has never felt this wretched.
-
The next day dawns bright and early. Oikawa had kicked Iwaizumi unceremoniously out of his house, straight back down the drain pipe, and slammed his window so hard he might have bust his wall. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this over Iwaizumi’s dog. It’s so stupid, and he’s so stupid, but somehow everything is being pent up and he feels like he needs to release something like sludge from his lungs-
Then he realises that all this time, he’s been putting faces to Iwaizumi’s dog.
The cashier at the grocery store who hit on Iwaizumi (Oikawa had given him 8000 yen all in change). The volleyball juniors who clamour and beg for Iwaizumi to arm wrestle with them, “please, senpai”, hell, even Matsukawa when he clasps Iwaizumi’s palm and tries to wrest it to the table. The one girl last month who gave Iwaizumi a confession letter, (poorly made, Oikawa sniffed, much lower quality than the letters I get,) and the other girl from last last month who gawked at Iwaizumi’s arm muscles from across the school corridor. And, if he’s going to go that far, Oikawa might as well mention the one time he blew his top because Hanamaki said his shoes were scuffed, but really Hanamaki was trying to change the subject because he’d complimented Iwaizumi’s form right before.
Oikawa isn’t jealous of the dog itself. The dog is simply an ugly reminder of everything he feels that he’s been trying to avoid.
Huh.
Oikawa sinks his head into his hands and feels simultaneously relieved and burdened at the same time.
“You okay?” A familiar creak from beside him, a familiar presence that sinks itself into the chair. Everything suddenly seems larger and closer and louder than before. Oikawa presses himself more deeply into the darkness cupped in his palms.
“I really don’t know what’s been going on these few days. You…is everything okay? At school? Volleyball? What’s up? You haven’t been your stupid self.”
“Why, Iwa-chan, are you worried about me?” Oikawa smiles, bitterly, even though Iwaizumi can’t see his face.
“That’s your fake voice, don’t use your fake voice.” Iwaizumi feels something akin to betrayal. “I’m serious here, what’s going on?”
And Oikawa knows it’s a mistake the moment he lifts his hands from his face and begins to speak. He knows it’s a mistake, but he still looks right at Iwaizumi Hajime, the guy he’s probably in love with, and says “I’m jealous.”
“Of what? Oikawa, you’re the least likely person to be jealous of anything-“
“I guess that’s where you’re wrong! Because I’m jealous. I’m so jealous. I go to sleep feeling jealous and I wake up, still feeling it. It messes up my sleep schedule. It gives me eyebags! Even concealer doesn’t fix them! I’m jealous of everyone who looks at you and smiles at you and touches you and I’m jealous of every single person you pay attention to and I can’t stand it when you smile at them when you, could, I don’t know, be smiling at me?”
There is a frozen silence, and Oikawa plunges back in because godamn if he’s giving up now.
“I’d rather lose to Ushiwaka ten times over than have you sit and laugh and talk and move away from me! I- I’m- you’re like my favourite volleyball, okay? Ugh, ew, I sound like kageyama trying to confess to the shrimp, but I’m serious. I get jealous all the time because of you and I think I like you.”
“…Is that why… you- my dog- you left suddenly-“
“Yes.”
Iwaizumi bursts out laughing. It’s nothing like his usual dry chuckle- it’s full on, glorious laughter, and Oikawa is completely enchanted. “You- hahahahaha!” Iwaizumi tries to wipe tears from his eyes, but Oikawa can see that he has a tiny blush and it’s the best thing Oikawa has ever
witnessed in his entire human life. “ I can’t believe you even got jealous of the dog! It’s not even mine, it’s my uncles’, and you know, shittykawa, the
only reason I agreed to take care of it temporarily was because…uh. I, ah. It looks, um, kind of, um, brown hair.”
“Huh?”
“It had brown hair. Nice brown hair. Brown eyes. Uh.”
“Iwa-chan, I’m not getting it-“
“IT LOOKED A LITTLE BIT LIKE YOU, OKAY?”
There is another silence where Oikawa tries to resist the urge to kiss Iwaizumi and ultimately fails. And when Iwaizumi’s hand clenches lightly around the curls at the nape of Oikawa’s neck, with one hand gripping his shoulder, Oikawa may or may not feel the slightest bit of satisfaction, because well- He’s kind of being petted, isn’t he?