now at somisamu

knocks on Tendo’s door like, “hey! Shiratorizawa middle blocker. Miya Osamu from Inarizaki. i’ll be in paris for a week so can i crash on your couch?“

“hey.” you reply back, equally confrontational because the tension hasn’t dissolved yet but it has softened. rather than jagged edges, it smooths into a silent pressure that nags at your chest.

“yeah?”

you don’t know what to say. you’re mad. but you’re in love. you’re scared. but you’re in love. you’ve been taught that life is fleeting, that beauty is found in temporary. euphoria and grief will pass and you will be okay.

no one had told you that love is constant. no one had prepared you for the realization that love exists in an infinite plane that transcends between contradiction and similarity. loving is like inheriting a new skin. it sticks to every crevice of your body.

“hey.” this one is more tender, softened too in concern. it’s like he’s trying to reach in between the distance you both have placed between yourselves. you take it.

“i’m not saying sorry because i’m still mad at you.” you preface.

“for fuck’s sake—“

“but i just wanted to call to tell you i love you.”

he inhales like you’re saying it for the first time but it only takes a second for him to gather himself back together. “i love ya too.”

and with his admission, you feel yourself liquify in your seat as you wait for the light to turn green. it’s silent on the line as you two absorb the events that have occurred in the last couple of minutes because the last couple of hours seem negligent now. whatever you were fighting about, whatever it was that made him scream and made you walk out, seem trivial when it comes to this.

“i passed by an accident.” you tell him, gripping the wheel firmly as you make a left turn. “and i had to tell you i love you.”

“okay,” he accepts. “drive safe. call me when you’re done driving so i know you’re okay.”

“okay.”

Summary: you go over to Iwaizumi’s house with one tupperware only to be sent home with two.

Word count: 1.7k

Genre: fluff; pining; love found in food (it’s me. what do you expect?)

A/n: me reposting bc tags :/ and bc i really thought i forgot how to write fluff but all it takes is time skip iwa to get my heart going again.

you gather a deep breath, tote digging into your shoulder as your chest expanded before exhaling it all out and hunching over a bit. it’s no big deal, just a simple dinner at a friend’s house. it’s not even a date. he asked you if you wanted to have dinner and you’ve had many of those before. granted, dinner was usually a party that consisted of three or more people including your mutual friends. it was never just him and you and as much as you enjoy his company and believe him to be a fascinating meal partner, for some reason, you can’t even prepare a conversation to talk about besides weather and the latest update on the PlayStation 5 software.

(you only know this because you woke up to a notification from Apple News this morning. hopefully this dinner isn’t as dry as your phone is.)

“you got this.” you try and convince yourself. “it’s just eating. you do it all the time.”

you mimic the action in front of you with your hands as if you were an extra in the background of a restaurant scene of a theater play.

“just shovel, then nom. shovel then—“ Iwaizumi opens the door and his untimely presence finds you whispering to yourself and eating a mouthful of air. a sexy brow quirks with his lip.

he smirks down at you, obviously amused. his bicep hits his door frame as he leans against it with crossed arms and now you’re hoping he’s serving fondue so you can melt into the pot along with it. you want to sink to the bottom so no one can ever find you in the viscous, yellow abyss. maybe you’ll be left unstirred and then you’re nothing but burnt cheese too stubborn to be scrubbed off. it’s a better fate than this.

“i didn’t mean to bother you. go on.” he teases. he nods his head for you to continue. “i’m very interested.”

you fluster. if not at his words, then simply at his physique because even until now, you can’t get over the fact that you actually know a man as handsome as him, let alone have dinner with him.

“i was just practicing.” you huff with your hands now gripping your tote just so they have something else to do other than embarrass you.

“practicing.” he repeats with a small pause as he tries to connect the dots between your words and actions. “eating?”

“yes, practicing. i have a tendency to forget how to do things when i’m nervous. anyways,” you try and deflect by taking a step forward. iwaizumi stands his ground and just the overbearing presence of him, his cologne, the sound of his quiet huff that might signify a laugh, has you quickly retreating and taking the one step back. “are you going to let me in?”

his eyes widen a bit before a tanned hand shuffles behind his neck in what looks to be an expression of embarrassment.

“oh right,” he chuckles his way through, “sorry, i guess i should have practiced opening the door too.”

suna may jokingly call himself a piece of shit, but he’s always considered himself a decent man. this time though, not even his own conscience can save his ass.

“what the fuck were you thinking, rintaro?” you snap at him finally.

he’s not sure. he wasn’t, hasn’t been able to. he can’t remember when he has because if he had been thinking, if he could do this all over again, this car ride would feel different.

there’s a mixture of turmoil the sight of your presence brings, an irrational thought process he goes through that thinks you’re the solution to his problems. but every time he sees you again, he forgets that you’ve always been the source of them too.

you drum your fingers when he doesn’t respond. he can only imagine the tight lip of your disappointed frown, and the swollen eye bags you must carry since he’s decided to bother you in the middle of the night. back then, when you were roommates, when things were all good, homework would be the source of your ire. never him.

so suna closes his eyes and lets his head jostle against the window and presses his cheek against the cold glass to relieve the heat from his skin. he pretends he’s back in college after a long night out. it’s easy enough with your throwback songs wafting out of your stereo in nostalgic reverie. he can smell the wheat liquor on his lips and you smell like bedsheets and home, just like it had always been.

“your pr team is in for some work when they find out about the scene you just caused in the bar,” you grumble out at him. there used to be a hidden fondness within your tone that he would ignore back but this time you make it obvious he’s only an object of your torment.

suna was the one who left you behind. he was the one who moved onto higher things beyond your reach, and somewhere he thought you couldn’t follow. he was a fool.

if he could take it all back, if only he had known that he was lucky enough to meet the best thing that’s ever happened in his life so early, he would have dragged you with him. or he would have never left. he would have simply chosen the path that stayed by your side.

so he hopes, that maybe, time may warp itself and repeats the past.

“please take care of me.” he says, the same exact way he did when he walked through your door and became your roommate.

you sigh. it makes him open his eyes and look up. this is exactly what you did before. he holds his breath, waiting, mouthing the words he hopes you’ll say. suna’s spent months, years, revisiting the memory.

“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”

and though it’s an exasperation, it’s laced in a fondness that he has always hoped would be perpetual and he grins.

you give him a glance before rolling your eyes to stifle a smile, “don’t look at me like that.”

“can’t help it.”

“and get rid of me as your emergency contact.”

“can’t do that.” suna turns his head so you can’t see the beam that rides along his face only to be startled  by his own reflection. it’s been a while since he’s seen himself so happy. “you’re so good at getting me out of my messes.”