( Iwazumi gets shipped off to war for three years. Oikawa awaits for his return. Then Iwazumi gets honorably discharged, being able to come home, but not without physical wounds and PTSD. Oikawa should be happy about Iwazumi's arrival, but the battle wounds are still so raw and open–he's afraid he'll lose the only person he ever cared to call a friend. )
Oikawa still remembers the fight as if it were yesterday. His tongue still burns with insults and harsh words thrown at his best friend in anger. His eyes still sting with the tears he cried into his pillow the moment Iwazumi walked out the door, slamming it behind him on his way out. His arms still ached to grasp onto Iwazumi as the teen came back half an hour later, his own eyes scarred red with tears.
The night always came back to Oikawa in vivid nightmares. Then, the paranoia set in. And his words fears would manifest out of the shadows of the night. Iwazumi getting injured. Iwazumi getting captured as a POW. Iwazumi's body coming home in a casket.
Iwazumi's body never coming home at all.
Those dreams happened every night. And every night Oikawa woke up, knuckles white and grasping the sheets. His chest painfully constricting. The heartstrings that held up the shattered remnants of Oikawa's heart could barely hold on.
He hated those nights. Where his weaknesses came out like a vice. Wrapped around his neck. Threatened to snap it in half and seep into his bones and take over his blood and make him realize that he can't hold on. That he can't wait by the window or block out the pain and fear by playing volleyball for numerous hours of the day.
He literally could not function without Iwazumi by his side.
And such a thought terrified Oikawa.
He would pray and beg and plead at nights that Iwazumi was safe. That he'd be brought home safe and sound and, in one piece.
That the Iwazumi who kissed him and held him tight and made love to him before the day he left for the army, would still be the same Iwazumi who never tolerated his shit but always got flustered whenever he cried.
War's a cruel being, though. Once you enter into her domain, you never truly come out untouched.
Three, painful years passed. And finally Oikawa received a letter--one he stuck on the wall with all the other letters he got from Iwazumi, though they dwindled a bit through the years--that Iwazumi was coming home.
His Iwazumi was coming home.
Oikawa spent the majority of his Saturday fixing the little one room apartment the two had scraped their money together to buy. He tried to make something in the kitchen but Iwazumi was the cooker, not Oikawa. So at best all he could make was two bowls of instant ramen, tea, and some pudding cups he bought at the convenience store down the street.
Then he dressed up in a nice pair of khakis and a button down, grabbed the sign he made, and headed down for the airport.
He probably broke seven traffic laws on his way, but not even the law would stop him from seeing Iwazumi.
Oikawa arrived at the pick up station, eyes scanning the crowd for his partner. Finally, they landed on that familiar spike of black hair and Oikawa's heart nearly imploded.
"IWA-CHAN! IWA-CHAN HEY! LOOK, LOOK!" Oikawa held up the sign he made the day he learned Iwazumi was coming home.
HOT BOYFRIEND COMING TO PICK UP EQUALLY HOT BOYFRIEND.
Iwazumi stopped. His eyes landed on Oikawa and the setter nearly dropped his sign.
Those eyes weren't Iwazumi's. There was a haunted look to them. Haggard and bruised. But the ghost didn't linger for long. It came and went like a whisper, replaced with Iwazumi's normal look of annoyance when Oikawa was concerned.
