simp for haikyuu boys

She knew so much, your grandmother. Having lived through a war and through the twenty-first century, she’d seen many things, from a country laced with instability to a seed growing into a tree, splitting the earth. And for that, you loved to listen to her.

Once, she told you the story of her first love, the man before your grandfather. How they’d never even exchanged a word, just glances, all stolen. There was something in her voice then, one you didn’t know the word for yet, but if you were to put a name to it now, it would be wistful. He never came back from the war.

Another time, she told you a story about your father. How he’d been her last hope in a string of miscarriages. How your grandfather planted a gingko tree and prayed over it, a life for another life. A wish: let my child live, and I will never let you die. Your father was born, and just as he grew, the gingko tree did too. Your grandmother must have tended to it loyally, for whenever you visited, the tree would always be in full golden bloom.

You asked once if she ever got tired of taking care of it. But she only looked back into her house, right where the window provided a view of the kitchen, right where her son was, and shook her head. Smiled a smile that was earned with age and said, they say a gingko tree could live a thousand years. 

Perhaps there’s a wish there too.

Your favourite stories, though, are the ones she’d spun herself. Maybe they were folktales too or something her own mother had told her once upon a time, but they would captivate you like no other.

The one you remember most clearly is the story of the magpies.

There once was a Deity of Light who had a daughter, the Weaving Maiden, who grew up to be a talented weaver for the gods. One day, as she was weaving, she looked across the Milky Way and saw the Herd Boy of Heaven. She fell in love at first sight, and her father allowed them to marry; due to the bliss of marriage, the Weaving Maiden refused to create the beautiful clothes she used to make, and the Herd Boy abandoned the flocks and herds he used to love. And for their negligence, the Deity of Light grew furious. For punishment, he ordered them to live separately, with the kindness of allowing them to meet on the seventh day of the seventh month of each year.

On the blessed day, having tripped over themselves to meet each other, they found that they could not cross the Milky Way. In pity, the Deity organised for a mischief of magpies (or was it a murder of crows, you can’t remember) to come together as a bridge for the couple. And they were happy to be in each other’s arms, even though the happiness was brief.

You think of your grandmother today, on your walk home from work. The trees are bare, carrying only snow and the chill in the air. Save for one that stands a stone’s throw away from your apartment complex’s building. There, as you look up, is a magpie looking right down at you.

You smile at it but don’t linger long—you’ve been shivering the whole way home and eager to thaw. In a warm bath, a hot meal, and later, when your boyfriend Hajime comes home, in his embrace.

It’s only when you’re rummaging through cabinets, looking for something to wrap yourself into, that you remember what your grandmother had said about magpies.

Something falls as you pull a blanket out, and when you pick it up, you see that it’s a box. And when you open it, your mouth falls open too.

It’s a ring.

The memory of your grandmother comes, her wrinkled hand pointing to a low branch on her golden-leafed gingko tree, her voice saying: when you see a magpie, be prepared for good news.

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“What do you think of marriage?”

“Marriage?”

You lean down, sipping your tea as you shrug your shoulders. Inside, you were cringing. You had planned to go about asking in a…subtler way, but it was out now. You would just have to be casual from now on.

“Why are you asking? Are you thinking of proposing?”

“Sakura!” You give her a look before crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m just curious. Can’t two friends have a deep conversation?”

Sakura raises her brow and leans forward in interest, “Is my boyfriend proposing?”

You squint, “Sorry to disappoint, but he hasn’t said anything—“

Sakura sighs, with surprising relief, “Oh good, that would have been terrifying. Ha ha! I’m a baby. Babies can’t get married.”

You want to bonk her head and tell her, you are turning twenty-four this year. By all measurements, that’s Sakura unambiguously in her mid-twenties. But you’re twenty-four now and turning twenty-five soon. You don't think you’re any closer to fitting the label of an adult. You want to cling to youth too. In all the ways that count, you’re a baby.

Sakura pokes you out of his reverie, “What about you? What do you think of marriage?”

“I think…” you trail off with a sigh, staring out the window.

You’re both in a beautiful café in Sendai, some random hole in the wall with flowers spilling in fuschia pink blooms in tucked corners. It’s the eve of February, and you’re supposed to be looking for a Valentine’s gift for your boyfriend—but you can’t. Your mind is stuck on the past, last Friday to be exact. In every way but the physical here, you were still crouched in front of your closet, staring at the ring.

You shake your head, “I don’t know. I think I’ve always thought of it vaguely. Like, I do want to be married. And maybe I’ve even thought of being married to Hajime, but it was always a someday type of thing. You know? Something far away, promised but out of reach at the same time—“

“Oh,” Sakura’s eyes widen, leaning back into her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. “Did Iwaizumi propose to you?”

“Well,” you start casually, because Sakura does not need to know how insane this has been making you feel, “No, but I found a ring.”

“Like a real ring?”

You roll your eyes, “No, I found a ringpop he’s been hoarding for years— yes! A real ring! It looked real…it didn’t have a diamond or anything like in movies, but it was simple. Gold. Something that fit—“

“You.” Sakura finishes.

“Me, yeah,” you nod, heaving a sigh. “And I know I overthink things, but it has to be for me, right? Not unless he’s been hiding someone else, which,” you dismiss, “he is absolutely not. So, it’s mine.”

“Oh, so it’s already yours,” Sakura teases, and you reach over to swat at her but miss. Sakura’s surprisingly dodgy when she wants to be. Sakura grins at you, “Congratulations then. I hope you at least pick me as one of your bridesmaids, but it would be better if I was your Maid of Honour.”

You snort, “I don’t think you would settle for anything less than that.”

“I’m glad you know just how important I am to your life.”

“If I was getting married—“

“Oh, but—“

You already know the next words out of Sakura’s mouth. “I know, I know, I found the ring, but what if he doesn’t actually want to marry me? Or he did, then changed his mind—“

Sakura raises a hand. The doubts stop at your throat. “Do you feel like he’s planning on breaking up with you anytime soon?”

“No…” You say quietly. And then another thought comes, “But! I could be blindsided by it. It happens all the time. One person in the relationship thinks everything is fine, me, and the other wants to break up and move on. And you know, Iwaizumi is older than me. He’s at that age, where relationships are either heading towards marriage or a breakup, and—“

“You said it yourself,” Sakura points out, “He’s either going towards marriage or a breakup. Considering the ring and that you are in a happy relationship and how long have you and him been together?”

“Five years,” You press your hands to your cheeks, “We met when I was nineteen.”

“So one can say that you are very serious with each other,” Sakura reaches for your hands. You let yourself be held. “I think it’s safe to say that he wants to marry you.” Delicately, Sakura asks, “Do you not want to marry him?”

You bite your lip. You’ve always felt like this was a question that should be easily answered by a yes or no. And yet, you falter. You don't know what you want. You love Iwaizumi, yes, but do you want to marry him? Or, you do, but—

“Not now.” you rub your face, “I’m too fucking young. Isn’t marriage for… older people?”

You don't even know how to do basic things, like fix a light or unclog a drain. On laundry days, you dread having to fold a fitted sheet. The other day, you played video games until the sun rose. You can’t get married. Married people have children. You’re a baby. A baby can’t have a baby.

Sakura frowns, “You are older people. I know what I said about being a baby, but I am pretty sure we are what we used to think older people were. I think my mom got married at twenty-five, so,” she puts a finger up, “Which is you, in about a month. So you’re right on time!”

You feel your head spin, “It’s a little overwhelming.”

“I would be surprised if it wasn’t,” Sakura says with a surprising air of wisdom. “I think you need to think it over. What you want, what you need right now. If I know anything to be true, it’s that Iwaizumi loves you. And he is not going to break up with you, unless you do it first. So, as long as you love him and you’re honest, everything will be fine. And if your answer is still not now…”

Sakura smiles, “Then tell him wait. The two of you are never that far away from each other, anyway.”

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You think about it over the next couple of days.

You try hard not to let it show, at least not where Iwaizumi could see. You’ve been together for too long, and he knows you better than yourself. He would somehow find out about the ring, confront you about it, and then demand an answer before you even knew what to say.

And you’ve already been thinking about it a lot. In the quiet spaces of your day, you turn the question over and over like a rock. In the shower, you ask, what does it mean to be married? As you take out the trash, you wonder, what would marriage with Iwaizumi be like? As you walk into work, you think, what would be different? 

When you come home, you get your answer.

Iwaizumi is home earlier than you today. Lately, he’s been coming home so late, because he’s been chasing a promotion at work. More money, he explained, so we can move to a bigger apartment, buy you nicer clothes, take a vacation somewhere far. But you understood, it was more than that. Iwaizumi loved the thrill of achievement. Iwaizumi had an appetite for challenge, and his ambition was hungrier than most. It’s something you admire in your boyfriend. You respect it, support it, even if you certainly miss coming home to this Iwaizumi—tender Iwaizumi and his threadbare shirt and Godzilla-themed shorts cooking dinner.

Iwaizumi’s hair is partly wet still, freshly washed, missed by the hair dryer he only ever turned on long enough to dry the front part but not the back. You’re so endeared by the sight, you almost trip over your own slippers as you rush to hug him from behind.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi laughs, the sound a rumble you feel in your chest, “You’re back.”

You smile. Iwaizumi is so warm. You rub your face against the broad plane of his back, “Hi honey, I’m home.”

Iwaizumi twists in your arms, just enough so that he could properly hold your cheeks in his hands and kiss you right on your cold mouth, “Mhmm, honey. Where is the scarf I told you to wear?”

You giggle, “I forgot.”

Iwaizumi’s finger pokes your side, leaving you twisting in his arms, “You forgot? Do I have to wrap the scarf around you myself? You’re going to get sick again, and then you’re going to whine about how I could let you get sick.”

“I do not whine when I get sick!” You protest and try to grab his wandering hands. When you trap both in yours, you insist, “I’m an angel.”

“An angel who begs for cuddles,” Iwaizumi teases. He manages to pull his hands out of your hold. He grabs your shoulders and turns you around. In a high whiny voice that’s apparently supposed to sound like you, Iwaizumi says, “Babe, I’m cold. Babe I want a hug. Babe, kiss my forehead—“

“I do not!” you run away from him, but Iwaizumi still manages to hit your ass, “Go take a hot shower.”

You turn around, walking backwards into your room, “What’s for dinner?”

“It’s a secret,” Iwaizumi smiles, “You’ll see.”

You happily shower and just as happily get dressed in your pyjamas. There’s a bounce in your step that’s as silly as the smile on your face. It’s a smile that widens as you go to the tiny dining table and see what Iwaizumi cooked.

“Oh,” you say, feeling tender, “You haven’t made this in so long.”

Iwaizumi scratches the back of his head, “I know, I was trying really hard to remember the recipe, because you said the other day that you were craving the pasta dish I used to make at my old apartment.”

You smile as you stare at the plate before you, still hot enough where you could see the steam. The garlic smell is just as strong as it was the first time he made it. “We had this on our first date,” you remember well. You’re touched, lip jutting into a pout, “I can’t believe you remembered I said that.”

“How could I forget? You complained that I smell like garlic and didn’t want to kiss me until I brushed my teeth. I was so annoyed,” Iwaizumi says, though he only sounds fond now.

You roll your eyes, “I mean, I can’t believe you remembered I said I was craving this dish. I was so touched but now—“

Iwaizumi laughs, twirling pasta around his fork, “I just did. Why are you so touched? You know even though you talk one thousand words per minute, I always listen to you, right?”

“I know,” you say, softly.

You do know, a fact which settles inside you gently.

Marriage could mean many things, you think as you dig into the meal, but it could mean just this too. 

If getting married means this forever, then you’re going to throw away your reservations about earliness and age. You’re old enough for this: Iwaizumi with his cheeks stuffed full, eating like it’s his last day on Earth. Tired but content and whole in front of you.

You’ll settle in your old couch, made only comfier by the years, and watch the new episode of this drama you’re watching together. You’ve done the same thing for years, and you can’t see yourself getting tired of doing it—three to four to five years down the line.

Maybe even forever.

And maybe that’s all marriage is, you conclude when you tuck yourself into Iwaizumi’s side as you both get into bed.

A promise to be together, doing the same boring thing over and over again without aching for change.

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You text Sakura the morning after: if he asks, I’m going to say yes. 

You laugh when you get Sakura’s immediate response back: WHEN, NOT IF!!!!!! 

And then after a sobering moment (for Sakura, you assume), the following messages flash on the screen:

Congrats, Y/N!! 

I’m really, really happy for you!! 

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The more you think about it, the more you fall in love with the idea.

Iwaizumi in a nice fitted suit. Love in his eyes. In your daydreams, he’s crying like a baby as he puts the ring on your finger.

You’ve never thought about the specifics of a wedding, but now you can’t stop thinking about how it would go. Where it would be.

In the office, you type when is the best time to get married? on Google search and are bombarded by pages upon pages or articles. Spring, someone suggests, so the cherry blossom trees are in full bloom. Another one says, no, no, do summer— you can get married by the beach. 

You wonder about fall. Wouldn’t it be beautiful? You could have it in the outskirts of Tokyo, near your grandmother’s house, and your entire family could come. Your friends could drive down. You can picture your mother in a beautiful purple kimono. Your father looking dapper under the red and golden foliage of the trees.

Your eyes wander and land upon the time. You jolt, realising how much time you’ve just wasted, daydreaming of a wedding that hasn’t been set in stone yet. Iwaizumi hasn’t even asked you.

And that is the question now, isn’t it?

You wonder how long Iwaizumi intends to hold onto the ring. If he’s waiting for something—a sign or maybe even a hint from you.

You try to remember if you’ve talked about it before. Five years is a long time to be together after all, without it ever coming up. You’re pretty sure you’ve brought it up at least once, because a lot of the people you went to high school with are already engaged or married. Some even have children (which again, insane).

But you think Iwaizumi only ever commented vaguely. Like a wow, or even a teasing, oh really? Neither of your close or shared friends are married or even engaged, so it feels like it’s never really been front and centre in your minds. Or at least, in your mind, because clearly, Iwaizumi has been thinking about it.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to rush things. You both are still young, after all. You're just starting out in your own career too. It feels like there’s so many things you still have to accomplish before getting married, and Iwaizumi being Iwaizumi knows that.

But if he wants to get married soon… You definitely wouldn’t mind.

You already look at Iwaizumi like he’s forever. There’s never going to be anybody else for you.

Maybe he just needs encouragement. Maybe you just need to drop hints.

Over breakfast, Iwaizumi asks you, “Is there anything you want for your birthday? It’s coming up already.”

“It is coming up,” you note, pensive over your eggs. “I feel like it was just Christmas. And then we had the New Year. And then we have Valentine’s next week. There’s too many things happening, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, you should think about it,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s your twenty-fifth. That’s special. Think of something nice. Don’t think about the price.”

You hum, long and teasing, “Wow. That’s exciting. I don’t know. You’re the one with the expensive taste between us.”

Iwaizumi huffs, “You’re the one who’s stealing my clothes, which I bought based on my expensive taste.” He raises a brow, “Come on, babe. Be creative. I will only open my wallet this wide once.”

You sigh. You love gifts, but you’re not like him. You don't really care if it’s expensive or not. You just want something you’ll be able to use or something meaningful. “I don’t know,” you find yourself saying, “Maybe buy me expensive jewellery. We can get matching rings again or something.”

And right as the words leave your mouth, you fight the urge to flinch. God, you and your big stupid mouth. Your chest tightens. All you want is for the ground to swallow you up and absorb your existence. Why the fuck would you say that—oh my god, Iwaizumi is going to know that you saw the ring and what if he feels pressured to propose now? This is so embarrassing—

“The one that supposedly got ‘stolen’?” Iwaizumi smirks, not even looking up from his breakfast. “Sure, we can get one again, but maybe this time, we’ll put yours on a chain so nobody can take it away from you. It’s okay to say you lost it, baby. My feelings won’t get hurt. I promise—“

“You are so annoying,” you grumble, but inside, you’re so relieved. And maybe a little bit disappointed? Maybe a part of you wanted Iwaizumi to ask too. “I already have a necklace though. And it was very expensive, because I looked up the price—“

Iwaizumi groans, “You’re not supposed to look at the price! My love is not supposed to be measured—“

You grin, “And it seems like… your love costs exactly five hundred and twenty thousand—“

Iwaizumi kicks your leg, and breakfast goes on until it blends with the rest of the day. It was a rather obvious slip, and Iwaizumi dodged it. Expertly, one might say. The implications of that were as numerous and tangled as a ball of yarn.

And you, the silly cat, spend the waking hours untangling it, one by one.

He wants to marry me, you decide after one knot.

The ring was a mistake, you conclude after another. You haven't felt so consumed by the uncertainty of something, since the beginning of your relationship maybe. When you were wondering if you were hallucinating Iwaizumi’s interest in you.

You wonder if you hallucinated the ring too, but when Iwaizumi’s gone, you sneak back to the closet, reach deep into it, and feel your heart settle when your hands find the velvet box. You remind yourself to be patient, but it’s never been your strong suit. You wish this time that he would drop a hint or something. A little indication of when he plans to pop the question.

Iwaizumi behaves so normally it’s tearing you inside. To him, it’s like the ring doesn’t even exist in this world, let alone in the back of your closet.

At the rate this is going, you think you’re the one who’ll take the ring and pop the question. But it wouldn’t be the same, because you didn’t buy the ring. And you really feel like asking just to ask would not be a good reason to ask, even though yeah, you would like to marry him.

Just when you feel like banging your head on something, you get the first hint that Iwaizumi may ask soon.

He comes home one day and looks oddly skittish. You welcome him home, already in your pyjamas, and ask like usual, “How was your day?”

And Iwaizumi says, “It was good,” which is a fine answer. But he attempts a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and it has you wondering why. It could just be a bad day at work, so you let him be.

But then, the next day he comes home wearing the same expression. You ask the same question, and Iwaizumi gives the same answer. This time though, he doesn’t let it be. “Is work giving you a hard time? Are they asking you to work even more hours?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and that expression of his comes loose. He smiles, albeit a little tired, and says, “It’s nothing bad. It’s alright.”

You can only accept it, because Iwaizumi isn’t the type to keep secrets from you. Maybe early on, when you were a year into their relationship, he’d carry it all inside and never even let you know if he was struggling. But it’s different now. It’s late though, so you try to let it be.

But as you’re cuddling on the couch, watching TV, you feel his gaze on you.

“What,” you ask without looking.

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi says, and then you feel the sudden press of lips against your cheek. You turn and find him smiling at you, reaching for your hand. “I’m thinking of Valentine’s next week. We should do something nice. Like something fancy.”

He’s playing with your fingers as he says this, and your heart begins to pound hard against your chest. This is it, you think, he’s going to ask. 

You cannot contain the smile that blooms widely on your face, “I’m down. I already thought we were going to do something nice. What did you have in mind? Is there somewhere you want to eat at?”

“Should we go somewhere far? Like a weekend trip somewhere?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Would your work let you?” you’re trying not to get too excited. To be honest, you half-thought he would have work on Valentine’s Day, despite the fact that it would be on a Saturday this year. “Did they not schedule you at all that weekend?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “Nope. I’m free. Do you want to go to Okinawa?”

Your eyes are starry, “Can we? I’ve seen so many pictures and it looks so beautiful there! I don’t know if there’s anything fancy at all, but I feel like it would be super nice.”

Iwaizumi laughs. When he does, the corners of his eyes crinkle, creating soft lines that look like crow’s feet. You’re in love with it. “Of course, we can. I don’t mind that it’s not fancy either, but it still feels special. We haven’t gone on a trip in so long, have we?”

There, in the undercurrent of his voice, You can hear the faint trace of guilt.

“We haven’t,” you say, carefully neutral. Because your work takes so much of you from me, left unsaid but its presence very much felt. “But it’s okay, because we can go this time. I should go buy film for my camera. I want to take pictures of you again, like I used to. Do you want to stay for a few days? Or should we just go for the weekend?” 

“It would be nice to stay a while, right? I can find us a place to stay,” Iwaizumi says, pulling up his phone. “Ah, this is making me crave seafood.”

You've never been the fondest of seafood, but because Iwaizumi loves it, you’ve  ended up adding some to your diet. Some, you’ve even grown to love too. You gasp, “I want raw marinated crabs. I haven’t had that in so long either.”

Iwaizumi hums, “And sashimi too.” Iwaizumi looks up at him, “We should go visit my grandma again. She makes the best marinated crabs.”

You smile, “Yes, we should. Okay, I’m excited now. I’m gonna think about what we should do and what to wear. I hope it’s sunny, even though it might be really cold since it’s still February. But it would be fun! We should find those small shops and buy some snacks. And we should make a playlist we can listen to on the way there, and then another playlist we can vibe to on the way back home—“

“Yes, whatever you want, baby,” Iwaizumi chuckles, putting his phone down to wrap his arms around you. He rests his head on your shoulder, “It’ll be nice. I miss you, sometimes. Even though we see each other every day. Is that weird?”

You reach up, petting Iwaizumi’s cheek, “No. I miss you too.”

“You don’t get tired of me?” Iwaizumi asks, in a cute baby-like tone.

“Nope.” you answer easily. “Do you get tired of me?”

“Never,” Iwaizumi answers just as easily.

You grin, “What if you saw me every day until the end of time? Do you think you’ll be sick of me then?”

Iwaizumi turns his head, presses a kiss against the sensitive skin of your neck, and smiles when he feels you shiver. “Mhmm,” Iwaizumi hums, “I don’t know, maybe I’ll get sick of you then.”

You gasp, appalled, “You’re supposed to say, no, baby. I will never, ever get sick of you, because I love you so mu—oh!”

You find yourself suddenly on your back with Iwaizumi on top of him. “Hajime.”

He leans down, brushing your noses together, “I love you so much. There. Is that what I’m supposed to say?”

“You’re saying it wrong,” you say, voice soft even though you’re the only two people in the room, maybe even the only two people in the world. “You should say it like you mean it. With your whole heart.”

The corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth twitches. It’s the barest hint of a smirk.

“Let me just show you instead,” Iwaizumi says, before dipping down and kissing you.

You savour it, this kiss that tastes like confetti and promise. It’s an intimacy that feels like it’s been withheld from you. You’re hungry for it. You want so badly to make it last, but you’re too greedy.

For Iwaizumi’s dirty tongue and his rough hands. You encourage it, taking all his heated touches, and let yourself be split open, taken again and again until he’s filled you to the brim.

When you’re cleaned and washed and put to bed, you’re so happy you might just melt into the sheets. You think he is too, with the way he cuddles up to you in bed, how he nuzzles against your neck and holds onto you tight.

There’s so much to think about now, like wedding plans, invites, locations, and all these other things you’ve never even dreamt of having. But as you fall asleep, you feel Iwaizumi find your hand and intertwine your fingers, and your last conscious thought is that you’ll have this forever.