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play stupid games

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How long am I supposed to wait before I text him? Iwaizumi wonders.

After the date, he was tired enough that he had crawled into bed as soon as he got home and fallen into a blissful, dreamless sleep. But eventually morning came and brought with it its own slew of problems. Going on dates is one thing, but trying to navigate a relationship is another learning curve entirely. And a relationship is what Iwaizumi is aiming for, so he has to start figuring out all the unspoken rules that come with one.

He’s currently sprawled on his back on the couch, phone in hand. It’s open to Oikawa’s LINE page. His profile picture is a candid shot of himself laughing in his school uniform. That is, it looks candid, but knowing Oikawa, Iwaizumi would bet anything that he spent at least thirty minutes taking the picture before he was satisfied with it. Which, sadly, doesn’t mean he doesn’t look good in it.

There’s a status under Oikawa’s name that helpfully informs his friends that he’s online.

Iwaizumi groans. Worrying about texting etiquette is for children, and he’s a legal adult who’s supposedly mature enough to move to Tokyo to live on his own in a few months. This is ridiculous.

Steeling his resolve, and without giving himself time to overthink things, he fires off a quick message.


You: don’t make me regret this but how are you doing?

Oikawa: iwa-chan!!

Oikawa: i was wondering if u’d have the nerve to text me after being CRUSHED at laser tag yesterday

You: this was a mistake bye.

Oikawa: nooooo come back o(><;)○

Oikawa: i was just about to message u actually

You: why?

Oikawa: tetsu’s throwing a party at his tonight

Oikawa: come with? (ノ´ з `)ノ

You: what kind of party?

Oikawa: just a small get together!!

Oikawa: nothing illegal

Oikawa: probably

Oikawa: you’ll have fun promise ☆ ~('▽^人)

You: i dunno

You: i feel like Kuroo hates me

Oikawa: whaaat? pffft. no.

You: Oikawa.

Oikawa: ok ok

Oikawa: tetsu-chan is just being weird, i’ll work on him

Oikawa: but i want you there and that’s all that matters

You: fine

Oikawa: yay!!! i’ll send the address + time

Oikawa: meet you there ヾ(*'▽'*)



Oikawa’s definition of ‘a small get-together,’ Iwaizumi decides, needs some serious work. The party is already in full swing by the time Iwaizumi manages to find a parking space, taking extra care to avoid hitting the cars in front of and behind him. The music is so loud it’s audible from outside the house with the door closed. And when he does finally make it inside, half the guests are already drunk, clinging to each other and giggling and dancing with no apparent sense of rhythm.

Iwaizumi finds Oikawa amidst a throng of partygoers in the living room. He’s found a perch on the arm of a couch, and he’s nursing a can of beer and glaring at something beyond Iwaizumi’s field of vision.

Grinning, mostly with relief at seeing a familiar face, Iwaizumi walks over and sits down next to him. “What’s eating you?” he asks.

Oikawa doesn’t bother to acknowledge Iwaizumi with so much as a glance. He jerks his chin at the scene in front of them. In one corner of the room, half-hidden by a potted plant, are Kageyama and Hinata. Iwaizumi hadn’t known that they were going to be here. He’s a bit worried about how young they are, but nothing about their pose or expressions suggests evidence of any improper goings-on. They look innocent—cute, even. Especially considering the number of other couples already making out in various locations around the room.

“Kageyama and Hinata?” Iwaizumi asks. “They look like they’re having fun.”

“Sure,” Oikawa says. He takes a vindictive sip of his beer. “I bet Tobio is having a blast wasting Hinata’s time with his awkwardness and tragic lack of likeability.”

Iwaizumi hides a laugh behind his hand, and then he feels bad for laughing. “What do you have against Kageyama?”

“I don’t have anything against him,” Oikawa says. “I’m just looking out for Chibi-chan, and Tobio’s mean to him all the time. He’s not good enough for him.”

“I’m mean to you all the time, and you still like me,” Iwaizumi points out.

Hearing that, Oikawa blushes. Iwaizumi watches with interest as spots of pink appear against his otherwise fair skin. “I don’t like you,” he argues. “Who would like beef-for-brains Iwa-chan? I have better taste than that.”

Maybe it’s the relaxed atmosphere or the hazy light, but Iwaizumi can’t pretend to be annoyed. He reaches over and flicks Oikawa in the forehead. “You’re so shitty,” he says, not bothering to keep the fondness out of his voice. “Shittykawa.”

“Am not,” Oikawa says. He sounds distracted, and Iwaizumi realizes that he’s checking out of the conversation in favor of once again glaring at Kageyama from across the room.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Not this again. Come on, how about we go outside and leave poor Kageyama alone?”

“Fine,” Oikawa relents. He makes no move to stand up on his own, so Iwaizumi wraps an arm around his shoulders and helps him to his feet. Oikawa overbalances and stumbles into Iwaizumi’s chest before righting himself with a small grunt.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks. “How drunk are you?”

“Not drunk,” Oikawa insists, though Iwaizumi has his doubts about the truth of that statement. “Just dizzy. Was sitting there for a long time.”

“Whatever you say.”

Careful to keep him steady, Iwaizumi supports Oikawa’s weight as they stagger out of the front door. They settle onto the porch steps, and Oikawa plops his beer down beside him. Faint music and conversation filter out from the closed screen door, but it all sounds faraway, as if they’re underwater. The two of them are the only people out here. If Iwaizumi blocks everything out and focuses enough on Oikawa, on the pale curve of moonlight against his skin and the soft rhythm of his breathing, he can almost pretend they’re the only two people in the universe.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi blinks at him, wondering if he heard that right. “Huh?” he asks. “Sorry for what?”

Oikawa sighs. His eyes droop, and he shuffles closer and rests his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Soft hair tickles Iwaizumi’s chin. “Sorry for making you come to a party with me and then getting drunk before you even got here and then making you come outside with me. You didn’t even get a drink.”

“That’s okay,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m driving, anyway. And I like it better out here.”

“Hmm.” A puff of warm air hits Iwaizumi’s collarbone when Oikawa exhales. He shivers. “Me too.”


“Uh huh.” Oikawa pauses. “Th’ stars are pretty.”

“They’re really bright tonight,” Iwaizumi agrees. He points at a line of stars directly above them. “There’s the big dipper. Those four stars right there are the cup. You see it?”

“I see it,” Oikawa says. “And there’s Leo underneath it, and Boötes to the left over there. And that’s Arcturus, the fourth-brightest star in the sky and one of the three points of the spring triangle.” A slow, smug smile appears on his lips. “Please, Iwa-chan, don’t try to impress me with the big dipper.”

Iwaizumi lets out a sheepish laugh. “Okay, damn. Point taken. I didn’t know you knew so much about them.”

“Not as much as I want to,” Oikawa says. “Seijoh doesn’t teach astronomy. College will be different, maybe. I wanna—I’m gonna study astrophysics and work for JAXA or something. Who knows.”

A cricket chirps in the distance. Iwaizumi turns Oikawa’s words over in his head.

There are so many things about Oikawa, he realizes, that he doesn’t know. Worse, there are so many things about Oikawa that he brushed over or ignored or didn’t care enough to get to know. For years, he’s dismissed Oikawa out of hand as some golden boy with everything handed to him on a silver platter and no real aspirations. Which was stupid, in retrospect: Oikawa isn’t their class president just for kicks. He’s worked harder for it than anyone else in their grade.

“Wow,” Iwaizumi says, at last. It falls wildly short of what he actually wants to say, and he hopes it doesn’t come off as sarcastic.

“I’m full of surprises, Iwa-chan.”

“No, really—seriously. Good luck. You’ll do great.”

“Well,” Oikawa says. He blinks, taken aback. “Thanks, then.”

Iwaizumi hums in response, lifting his head to gaze at the moon overhead. It’s not quite full, but almost there.

“What about you, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks after a few seconds.


“What’s next for you, after graduation? You said you wanted to get out of here.” Oikawa pauses. “Biker gang?”

A startled laugh escapes Iwaizumi, and he whips around to look at Oikawa. He’s smiling too, wide enough for his dimples to show. They’re a little lopsided, and Iwaizumi, unfortunately, thinks they’re charming.

“Is that what you think of me?” Iwaizumi asks. “No, I… I was thinking of med school, actually.”

“Oh?” Oikawa’s smile softens. “Going to fix everyone’s problems for them, are you? How noble.”

Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck, where a light blush is blooming. “Nothing like that. I just… I like taking care of people, I guess.”

“I can see that,” Oikawa says.

Surprised, Iwaizumi glances over at him. “You can?”

“I mean, you did drag me out here. Thanks for that, by the way. I feel a lot better.”

“No problem.”

The quiet that next envelops them is soothing. Neither of them feel pressured to keep up a constant stream of conversation, but the silence between them is just as comfortable as the occasional comments they break it with. Iwaizumi doesn’t know whether it’s thirty minutes or an hour that he sits out there with his knee pressing into Oikawa’s thigh and Oikawa’s head tucked on his shoulder, but he wouldn’t mind if the moment lasted forever.

“Are you still drunk?” Iwaizumi asks after a while.

“I don’t think so,” Oikawa says. He picks up the can of beer, long forgotten by his side, and swirls it around, stares into it. Then he reconsiders. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Don’t drink so quickly next time, dumbass. Here, I’ll go get you some water.” Iwaizumi goes to stand up, but he’s stopped by the hand that wraps around his wrist and squeezes.

“Wait,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi waits.

“I was just thinking,” Oikawa says. “Don’t laugh at me—I’m drunk, you know, so I can’t take responsibility for anything I say.”

“You told me you weren’t drunk,” Iwaizumi reminds him.

“I was just thinking,” Oikawa starts again, “that isn’t it funny? If someone told me two years ago I’d be able to talk to you without wanting to punch something I wouldn’ta believed them.”

Iwaizumi lets out a wry laugh. “Not even,” he scoffs. “I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me that two months ago.”

“I guess,” Oikawa says. With a small frown, he eyes his beer and, after a moment of consideration, downs the rest of it in one gulp. The gleam that enters his eyes is… not sad, exactly, but pensive.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi bumps Oikawa’s shoulder with his own. “For what it’s worth, I underestimated you.” He cringes now when he looks back on the years he spent convinced that Oikawa was all sparkle and no substance. “So, you know. Sorry.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, so Iwaizumi takes it as a sign that he’s free to leave. “About that water?” He prods.

“Oh, right.” Oikawa’s grip around his wrist loosens. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Be right back.” Iwaizumi climbs to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yes, mom.” Oikawa rolls his eyes.

With a sigh, Iwaizumi walks away from him. He hesitates when he reaches the front door, one hand already on the knob, and turns to look at Oikawa one more time. He’s right where Iwaizumi left him: slouched on the porch step, empty beer can dangling loosely from his fingers, silhouetted against the stars. A gentle breeze passes by and ruffles his hair, and a foreign emotion clogs up Iwaizumi’s chest at the sight.

Half of him hates Kageyama for this: the lies, the illusions, the pretense that’s growing more and more genuine with every passing second. And the other half of him is grateful all the same, because who knows whether he’d ever have bothered to talk to Oikawa if Kageyama hadn’t asked him to.

A knot grows tight in his throat, and he tears his eyes away from Oikawa and reenters the house.



Everything is too loud and too bright, the world around him devolving into a cacophony of screaming and flashing lights and trashy music. Compared to the relative safety of the porch, it’s like stepping into an alternate dimension. Iwaizumi grits his teeth and shoulders through the fray. He’s only here to find the kitchen and get water so Oikawa can sober up.

( And then what? his traitorous subconscious asks. Drive him home? Walk him up to the door to make sure he gets inside safely? Kiss him goodnight on the porch the way you were too scared to do after your date ?)

No, Iwaizumi tells himself firmly. None of this is real, and also Oikawa may or may not be drunk and Iwaizumi is not going to take advantage of him.

After stumbling into an unlocked bathroom where two girls are making out, and then passing through the middle of a giant game of spin the bottle in the living room, Iwaizumi finds the kitchen. As soon as he walks in, he immediately wishes he could walk back out.

All the drinks—sake, beer, some expensive-looking glass bottles that probably belong to Kuroo’s parents—have been spread out on the dining table, and standing in front of it, like a pair of guard dogs or something, are Kuroo and Bokuto.

Before he can make his escape, Bokuto spots him and waves him over. Biting back a groan of frustration, Iwaizumi walks across the room to them. He does his best to act nonchalant.

“Iwaizumi, good to see you!” Bokuto cheers. His cheeks are flushed a bright red, and it seems he’s had enough to drink to make him more exuberant than he usually is, which is saying something.

“What are you having?” Kuroo asks, gesturing toward the row of bottles. He, unlike his friend, is either clear-headed or a good enough actor to fake it. His eyes bore into Iwaizumi, who resists the urge to take a step back.

“Soda is fine,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m driving.”

Kuroo shrugs and pours Iwaizumi a cup of coke. “Your loss.”

Iwaizumi takes it from him and takes a sip, glad to have something to do with his hands. Something tells him this conversation is far from over. As much as he wants to find Oikawa and leave, he stays rooted to the ground.

“So,” Kuroo says, “a little birdie told me something interesting.”

“I was the little birdie,” Bokuto pipes up. Iwaizumi hides his snort behind another sip of his drink.

“Right,” Kuroo says, with a wry smile. “Bokuto told me all about how you came to him for advice on dating Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “Really? I ran into him in the hallway and asked because it was on my mind. That’s all.”

“I see,” Kuroo says. But if anything, his stare hardens.

“Uh huh,” Iwaizumi agrees. He raises a bored eyebrow, trying to project boredom, but he’s afraid that Kuroo can see right through him.

Kuroo straightens, taking advantage of his height to glare down at Iwaizumi. “Any particular reason for the change of heart?” he asks. “Since, you know, you were the one who broke his heart the first time around.”

Iwaizumi’s throat drops into his stomach. Broke his heart? He has to swallow a few times before finding his voice. “What? I didn’t… it wasn’t like that,” he protests. “It’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious,” Kuroo repeats. Disbelief colors his tone. “Bo, could you give us a second?”

“You got it,” Bokuto says. He dutifully heads out of the kitchen, but not before grabbing three random bottles off the table and pouring a mixture of their contents into his cup.

They watch him leave, and then Kuroo’s attention returns to Iwaizumi. “I don’t know what you’re planning,” he spits, “but if I have my way, Oikawa is never going to cry over some shitty guy like you ever again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Fuck, Iwaizumi thinks. Kuroo has to be lying to get to him. Except that he sounds far too angry to be lying, sounds like this actually matters to him, and—there’s no way. There’s no way Oikawa actually cried over him, right? He thinks about Oikawa, alone on the porch. He thinks about the oddly wistful look that had appeared on Oikawa’s face near the end of their conversation. He thinks that he might be a bad person.

“I’m not planning anything,” Iwaizumi says. His voice sounds distant in his own head. He’s surprised that the cup he’s holding hasn’t slipped out of his fingers, they feel so numb.

“Sure you aren’t,” Kuroo scoffs. “You know, Oikawa was the same person three weeks ago that he is now. He was just as worthy of your fucking attention three weeks ago as he is now. Your mind’s the only thing that’s changed here.” Kuroo steps closer, never breaking eye contact. “So what changed it?”

Iwaizumi stays shock still. And no, he’s never thrown a punch before, but god does he want to punch Kuroo in his stupid, sneaky face. The only thing stopping him is the shame of knowing that Kuroo’s right. He is up to something, and he doesn’t deserve Oikawa, and Oikawa can never, never know about any of this.

Then Kuroo closes his eyes, and the spell is broken. He leans back against the table, and he no longer looks conniving or accusatory or anything of the sort. Just tired. “Look, Iwaizumi,” he says. “I want to like you. But I don’t know you, and I put my friends first. Always.”

Iwaizumi clears his throat. “I respect that,” he says carefully.

Kuroo scoffs. “Uh huh.” He pauses, then says, “Oikawa’s his own person. I’m not gonna fucking… forbid him from dating you, or anything. But hurt him again, and I can promise that you won’t be getting within ten feet of him ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Iwaizumi says.

“Great.” Kuroo smiles, sharklike. “Good talk. Glad we’re in agreement, Iwaizumi-kun.”

“Right. Um, excuse me…”

Iwaizumi leaves Kuroo alone in the kitchen. His legs feel like pudding. He barely registers pushing back through the crowds of people between him and the exit. The only thought running through is mind is that he has to find Oikawa, has to explain, has to ask him—

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi half-shouts, stumbling back out onto the porch.

Bleary with surprise, Oikawa pulls himself upright, rubbing his eyes. “Iwa-chan?” he mumbles. “What’s happening? Did you get me water?”

“Oh—shit, no, I forgot,” Iwaizumi says. “I, uh… I ran into Kuroo.”

“What’d he say?” Oikawa asks. “Don’t believe anything he says about me, he’s a big fat liar.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi says. You have no idea, he thinks.

“Mmh.” Oikawa gropes blindly at the banister for a handhold and pulls himself to his feet. He wobbles a little, and Iwaizumi grabs his elbow to steady him. “Are you going to take me home, Iwa-chan?”

“Sure.” Iwaizumi finds himself agreeing before he can think twice. He’d really rather be alone right now; he’d been planning on talking to Oikawa about what he heard from Kuroo, but he’s conflicted at the prospect of bringing it up when Oikawa isn’t thinking normally. But he has a perfectly serviceable car, and Oikawa lives close to him, and he can’t just abandon him for no good reason.

Their path to Iwaizumi’s mom’s black SUV, parked across the street, is a slow and painstaking one. Oikawa seems mostly sober by now, but drunkenness has been replaced with tiredness, and he’s half asleep on his feet. He shuffles along every now and again but is otherwise mostly dead weight, and Iwaizumi struggles to balance him. However, Oikawa does perk up when he hears the click of the car unlocking, and he lets himself be shepherded into the passenger seat.

“Didn’t know you drove,” Oikawa says once Iwaizumi climbs in on the other side.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I was worried something like this might happen. The motorcycle isn’t great for hauling drunk passengers around.”


They drive in silence until the silence becomes unbearable. Oikawa seems to have picked up on the change in the mood because Iwaizumi can feel his eyes on him, waiting for him to say something. He carefully avoids making eye contact. This is going to be awkward enough without it.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I—”

He stops in his tracks when Oikawa lets out a heavy sigh. “What did Kuroo tell you?” he asks.


“You said you talked to him,” Oikawa reminds him. “I love him and all, but he treats me like I’m a fucking child sometimes.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says.

“So?” Oikawa asks. “What’d he tell you?”

“He,” Iwaizumi says, “might have implied that you took it harder when I rejected you than I thought you did.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Iwaizumi glances over to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep. Then: “I’m going to kill him.”

“What? No. He was just looking out for you, and I—he’s right, I feel like shit—”

“No,” Oikawa says, vehement. “Don’t make it sound like you pity me or something. Yeah, it sucks to get shot down, but I can take care of myself.”

“Still,” Iwaizumi insists. “Even if it didn’t bother you at all, I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I want to apologize, so just—”

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa cuts him off again. “I told you, don’t bother, you’re terrible at apologies. Take me home and we’ll call it even.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Oikawa confirms. “Don’t bother waiting for me next week. I’ll catch a ride with Suga or something.”


“I won’t bother you again,” Oikawa says. “Thanks for humoring me, or whatever you’ve been doing the past week.”

“I wasn’t humoring you,” Iwaizumi starts to say. But he realizes that what he’s actually been doing is far worse, and he shuts up.

“Turn left at the next sign,” Oikawa says. He turns away from Iwaizumi, staring out of the car window into the darkness.

Iwaizumi already has the route to Oikawa’s house memorized, but he doesn’t say that. He’s embarrassed, he realizes, noting the way Oikawa resolutely avoids meeting his gaze. And, hell, why wouldn’t he be? This is Oikawa, who’s never shown a modicum of genuine interest in anybody, who finally decided to put himself out there and confess to someone in his third year of high school, only for Iwaizumi to not only turn him down but also insult him in the process. Of course he would take it hard, even if he pretended to brush it off.

Iwaizumi is a fucking asshole.

He turns left, then pulls into Oikawa’s driveway a couple of houses down. Oikawa has the door open the moment they’re parked, and Iwaizumi’s heart sinks at how obvious it is that Oikawa wants nothing to do with him anymore.

“Oikawa, wait,” Iwaizumi says.

To be honest, he expects to be ignored entirely, but Oikawa comes to a stop with one leg already out of the car. He turns back to Iwaizumi with an expectant expression on his face.

“I…” Iwaizumi hesitates. Oikawa looks torn between confusion and hope and fear, desperate to leave as soon as possible and equally desperate to stay and hear Iwaizumi out.

“I don’t want to stop talking to you,” Iwaizumi finally says, and it’s not what he wants to say at all.

Oikawa frowns. “I never said you had to.”

Iwaizumi nods, but he doesn’t believe it. Something about this moment is so definitive, like Iwaizumi could snap whatever tenuous link between them with one wrong word. And then that would be it, the end, no take-backs or do-overs.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Oikawa says.

“I want to spend time with you,” Iwaizumi tries. His hands ball into fists; he wants to reach out and touch Oikawa, but that would be a bad idea. “We were fine before today, weren’t we?”

“Yes?” Oikawa says. It comes out uncertain. “I don’t fucking know, Iwaizumi. It feels like you always have something over me.”

Iwaizumi goes stiff with panic. “Oikawa—”

But Oikawa doesn’t stop to listen to him. “You know where I stand, you know? And I have no idea what’s going on in your head. I don’t know if you’re spending time with me and—and saying these things to me for fun, or for some prank, or because you mean them—I just want you to be straightforward with me for once.”

The first thing Iwaizumi feels is relief that Oikawa doesn’t know about his agreement with Kageyama. Less than a second later, he feels guilty for feeling relieved. “Honestly?” he says.

Oikawa watches him, waiting.

“I—” Iwaizumi falters. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he says, which isn’t a real answer, but he means it, and it’s the only thing he can think of.

It’s not good enough, though, and he knows it. Oikawa offers him a confused smile. “See you, Iwa-chan,” he says, and then he hops out of Iwaizumi’s car, and he’s gone.

Iwaizumi waits around to make sure he gets to his door safely, but Oikawa doesn’t look back once.

Not that Iwaizumi was expecting him to. He curses himself into oblivion the whole way home.




Iwaizumi shudders when he hears that voice, gratingly familiar, call out to him. He hunches his shoulders and keeps walking down the stairs, determined to ignore it, but Oikawa refuses to let himself be ignored.


The sound of footsteps speeds up behind him, and Iwaizumi feels a tap on his shoulder. Hanamaki snickers and walks on without him. With no other option, Iwaizumi clenches his jaw and turns around. “Can you make this quick?” he asks.

“I’ll be out of your way before you know it,” Oikawa chirps.

A few passing students shoot them curious looks, but they all have places to be, and the stairwell soon empties out. Iwaizumi crosses his arms and waits for Oikawa to speak up.

To his surprise, Oikawa is… fidgety? He clasps his hands in front of him, eyes darting from side to side to make sure they’re alone. “Iwaizumi-kun,” he says for the third time. “Did you know I’ve gotten four confessions already this week?”

Iwaizumi is tempted to walk away then and there, but part of him is curious. Oikawa’s body language is odd. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” he asks.

“Well, yes,” Oikawa says. “I’m a highly sought-after specimen, which is why you should feel honored that I’m letting you take me out. On a date. How’s Saturday?”

Iwaizumi levels a blank stare at him for all of fifteen seconds. And then he walks away without a word.

“Wha wait!” Oikawa runs after him. “Is that a no?”

Obviously, it’s a no,” Iwaizumi says.

“Why not?” Oikawa dashes down the stairs, out of breath by the time he reaches the bottom from trying to keep up with Iwaizumi’s pace.

“You know, I distinctly remember telling you to leave me alone,” Iwaizumi says. “I think I said that ten minutes after we met, actually.”

“And I don’t remember ever agreeing to that,” Oikawa says. “Besides, it was a memorable first impression, wasn’t it?”

“You spilled acid on me because you were trying too hard to impress a girl,” Iwaizumi deadpans. “It was stupid and reckless.”

“And charming?” Oikawa asks hopefully.

“I said no. When are you going to drop it?”

“Technically you never said no,” Oikawa points out. By now, the parking lot is in sight, and Iwaizumi prays for the patience to ignore Oikawa until he can get on his motorcycle and drive away.

“Fine: no. Now leave.”

“Wait, but —”

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi stops walking and faces him. “We have never gotten along, we never will get along, and for all I know this is part of some stupid fucking joke that all your friends are in on, so I suggest you stop wasting your time. I wouldn’t go out with you even if you weren’t a shallow douchebag who’s going to peak in high school, because I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Got it?”

For the first time in as long as Iwaizumi has known him, Oikawa is speechless. He walks away without waiting for a response.