#oimatsu

Tooru scoffs and takes a sip of his cappuccino.  “I hated a lot when I was sixteen.  People, places, things.  Thankfully it was temporary and I got over most of it.”

“You never hated me,” Mattsun teases.  Tooru sets down his cup with a soft sigh.  He can feel Mattsun’s gaze and he forces himself to meet it.  “Or did you?”

“Not something I’m super proud of but, for at least a little while, yeah I did hate you.”

Mattsun’s gaze flickers around his face.  “You’re serious,” he finally says.

Tooru nods.

Sixteen had not been a good year for him.  Then again seventeen had been a bit of a crushing blow and eighteen had been a nightmare of hard work and an aching body that sometimes felt three times as old as it was.  But sixteen… sixteen sucked.  There’s no nicer way to say it.  He told Mattsun that he hated a lot when he was sixteen and he did.  But it would have been more accurate to tell Mattsun that he hated everything when he was sixteen; his family, his friends, his body, school, volleyball you name it he hated it that year.

He finishes his cappuccino and is rinsing his cup out in the sink when Mattsun finally speaks again.

“I didn’t realize,” Mattsun says quietly.  “I mean I noticed some things that you were suddenly very opinionated about but I didn’t realize that—”  He stops talking suddenly and Tooru glances over his shoulder.  Mattsun is still looking at him but his eyes are a little glazed like maybe he’s looking at Tooru but seeing sixteen year old Tooru instead.  “Oh,” he breathes out.

“Yeah.”

Hajime may have been his best friend since they were kids but that just meant that he sometimes had blinders on when it came to Tooru.  Oh sure he could put his foot down and even now he’s one of the few people who can chastise Tooru with nothing more than a stern look.  But Hajime didn’t always notice the smaller things which, at sixteen, was one of the reasons Tooru hated him for a little while.

Coincidentally noticing those smaller things was the reason that Tooru had hated Mattsun for that same little while.

“I did realize,” Mattsun says softly.

“You did.”

“I just didn’t realize you were serious about it.”

“I don’t think anyone did,” Tooru says airily as he dries off his cup and puts it away.  “And I’m pretty sure you and my sister were the only ones who even noticed enough to call me out on any of it anyway.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?  You were a giant miserable mess but oh it was okay because nobody else took it seriously either.  Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Why are you getting so upset?”  Tooru leans against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest defensively at Mattsun’s tone.

“Why am I?  Tooru.  You.”  Mattsun runs his hands down his face and lets out a disbelieving laugh that twists something in Tooru’s chest so sharply he’s a little afraid something just broke in there.

He watches Mattsun shake his head and look up like he’s asking some higher power for guidance and wonders if Mattsun is still in love with him even after all these years.  It’s been a constant in his life for nearly two decades now.  No matter what else is going on in his life he’s always known three things for sure: Iwa-chan is his best friend, his mother’s favorite fruit is peaches, and Mattsun is in love with him.

“Why are you here, Tooru?”  He startles at the question.  At Mattsun’s tone.  At the way Mattsun is studying him.

“What do you mean?  I retired.  I came home.”

“Not here in general.”  Mattsun waves behind himself, gesturing to the apartment as he says, “Here as in: in case you missed it this is my apartment, not yours.”

That something in his chest twists again and this time he’s surprised Mattsun doesn’t seem to hear the sound of it snapping in two.

“Home has never really been a place for me, Mattsun.  It’s always been a handful of people.”  

Tooru spins the ring on his pointer finger idly, staring down at the dark band as he wills his anxiety to cooperate, to not drag him under.  He takes a deep breath, refusing to meet Mattsun’s eyes and he lets out an airy laugh and heads out of the kitchen.  He grabs the few things he had left laying around Mattsun’s apartment and shoves them into his duffel bag.  He had gotten used to not really unpacking things since he left after high school.  He was never entirely sure when he’d be leaving, was always looking out the windows at the sky and twitching with a need to go.  To move.

To run.

He can feel Mattsun’s gaze on him the entire time and it makes him calm and restless in equal measure, something that Mattsun has always been good at.

He’s sitting in front of the door attempting to untie his shoes, duffel bag on the floor next to him, when he feels more than hears Mattsun come to a stop behind him.

“Leaving already?”

Tooru snorts, yanking at the knot in his shoelace.  “Well you made it abundantly clear that I’m not welcome here.”  He curses softly as his shoelace just gets more knotted and tangled.  “So I’m going.”

Mattsun plucks the shoe from his hands and after a minute he holds it in front of Tooru’s face, lace knot-free, and wiggles it when Tooru doesn’t take it right away.  Tooru huffs at him and grabs the shoe.  But he doesn’t put it on right away.  Because the thing is.  He doesn’t want to leave.  He doesn’t want to go back to his empty apartment across the city where he’s barely unpacked despite being back for almost a month now.  He doesn’t want to go and stare at his blank walls and pretend he isn’t ignoring calls from his mother and avoiding Hajime and, for once in his life, hoping nobody recognizes him when he steps outside in the morning.

“I never said that and you know it.  You know what I mean, Tooru.  You always have.”  

He does.  He knows what Mattsun means.  Just like he knows Mattsun loves him.  Just like he knows that clouds go in the sky and ice melts when it’s hot.  He knows.  That doesn’t mean he has any idea what to do with that knowledge.

“What do you want from me?”  He hates how defeated he sounds.  How unsure of everything he sounds.  

He is unsure.  Of almost everything.  But that doesn’t mean he’s okay with people seeing it.

“That depends.”  

He wants to turn around and look at Mattsun.  Or lean backwards and peer up at him.  Or maybe curl into a ball and disappear from the world for a little bit.  He wants a lot of things.  But he already got one of the biggest things he’s ever wanted in life when he went to Argentina for volleyball.  How can he even think about asking for more?

“What does it depend on?”

“Are you going to go halfway across the world again?  Leave everything behind and chase after a dream?”

Pure anger chokes him for a moment, memories of all the people who had told him his dreams were silly or pointless or out of reach suddenly threatening to overwhelm him.  Memories of everyone who had told him he’d never make it.  That he’d never be good enough.  Teachers and coaches and teammates and doctors and fellow students.  

“I didn’t just chase my dream.  I caught it.  I held it in my hands,” he bites out.  “So don’t judge me because you stayed here and putzed yourself into a job at a funeral home.”

Mattsun’s fingers dig into his scalp for a second before running through his hair.  “Again.  I never said that.”

Tooru lets out a shaky breath as his anger vanishes.  It’s always amazed him how easily Mattsun can do that; a simple brush of fingers or bumped shoulder and Tooru settles into his own skin again.  He anchors Tooru, grounds him in a way no one else has ever managed.

“I don’t plan on leaving again,” Tooru whispers.

“Good.  Not that I didn’t want you to chase your dreams.  I did.  I do.  Even if you decided tomorrow to go off again I’d support you.”

Thoughts of leaving flicker through his mind.  Images of places he’s been and places he could go.  Memories of being offered coaching spots and public speaking opportunities.  A couple years ago, a couple months ago, hell a couple weeks ago they sounded tempting.  Now they just sound exhausting.

He’s exhausted.

“So.  What do you want from me, Mattsun?”

“I want you to stay.”  Mattsun settles onto the floor behind him.  He’s a warm weight against Tooru’s back as he wraps his arm’s around Tooru’s waist and tugs him back enough to hook his chin over Tooru’s shoulder.  “You went and you caught your dreams and now you’re back.  I want the chance to catch my dreams.  I want you to stay.  Here.”

Tooru leans back against Mattsun’s chest.

“Here as in your apartment?”

“Here as in this city.  Here as in my life in general, if that’s all I can get.  But if I had it my way?  Here in my apartment.”  He squeezes Tooru and sighs.  “In my arms.”

If there was an Olympic event for most emotional whiplash moments in the span of five minutes he’d definitely be medaling.  Maybe not gold.  But definitely at least a bronze medal.  Because any trace of anger is long gone and his heart feels about seven sizes too big to properly fit in his chest right now.  With Mattsun pressed against his back, breath warm against his cheek, Tooru feels balanced for the first time in a very long time.  

Mattsun has always been waiting for him.  Not in a stagnant way or anything.  Mattsun has lived his own life, has had his fair share of ups and downs and experiences.  But he’s always had a place for Tooru at his side, in his life.  Just waiting for the day Tooru came back.

He can stay planted on the ground and stare up at the night sky without worrying what would happen if he floated off into that fathomless ether.  Because he could shoot off into space, rocket around among the stars a bit, and never feel the slightest bit lost.  He knows that Mattsun will never tie him down, will never drag him under the surface, anchored to the point of drowning.  But he’ll always be there.

Mattsun is his map, his compass, his North Star.

“Do you still love me, Issei?”  Tooru swallows down all his worries and licks the fear from his lips.  His dreams of pro volleyball are his past and Mattsun is his future.  A future that he’s pretty sure will be bright enough to outshine even the sun   one day.  “Are you still in love with me?”

“Yes.”

He closes his eyes and relaxes back into Mattsun’s arms, body boneless and soul drifting free.  

“I missed you,” he admits softly.  “Even when I was on top of the world and had my dreams right there in front of me.  I missed you.”

He can’t say that he’s in love with Mattsun.  Not yet.  But he knows Mattsun understands and he’ll get there eventually.

“What’s got you in such a pissy mood?” 

“He’s probably just mad because he never received any chocolate this year,” Hanamaki snickered and patted Matsukawa on the back, “looks like we have the new face of the volleyball team.”

“I said I rejected them all!” Oikawa turned a hateful glare unto Matsukawa. Some of his teammates hesitated when they felt the effect of it.

“Why you reject them?” Matsukawa stood steady against Oikawa’s non-verbal attack.

“Umm, I,” Oikawa staggered his words with Matsukawa’s unexpected question.

“Looks like someone's popularity has taken a hit,” Hanamaki continued to tease him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Oikawa grabbed his bag out of the locker and slammed the door shut. In the midst of getting ready to bolt to the door, Oikawa lost the gripping on his bag. He tried to catch the handle and correct his mistake only to miss and watch the bag fall while his contents rolled out on the ground. He mumbled inaudible words under his breath and dropped to his knees to throw his stuff back in his bag.

“I thought you said you didn’t accept any chocolate this year,” Iwaizumi waved a tiny box of square chocolate for everyone to see.

“They look handmade,” Hanamaki observed the package, “kind of cute but not as cute as Matsukawa’s”

Oikawa felt his last straw snap. He reached up and violently snatched the box away from Iwaizumi before grabbing his bag and rushing out the club room. 

Forget them! Forget that girl! Forget Matsukawa, that horrible idiot! Forget him!

Oikawa’s pace slowed down until he was standing alone on the path unsure of what to do with himself. He glanced down at the package in his hand. Some of the corners of the box were now bruised and messy. He guesses it didn’t matter. It was simple and boring compared to the one Matsukawa got even in its best condition. 

A drop of water fell onto the package. Oikawa slowly became aware of the growing wetness on his face. He continued to curse under his breath as he wiped away the tears. Repeating the words idiot and stupid - not sure if it was directed towards Matsukawa or himself. “Well, this was all a waste.” Oikawa lamented over the chocolate. He made a mess of the kitchen and bothered his sister for recipes all for nothing. 

“I think you have something that belongs to me,” Oikawa felt a chin resting on the top of his head.

“Mattsun!” Oikawa spun around and forced some distance between them. Matsukawa yawned and stared at Oikawa with half-lidded eyes. He suddenly felt conscious with his teary eyes still fresh. He tucked his head down to keep his face out of the sight of Matsukawa’s observing eyes. “What do you want?” Oikawa spat. 

“Chocolate,” Matsukawa pointed to the package in hand. “You made it for me, didn’t you?”

Oikawa cheeks turned a bright red and hid the package behind his back, “Don’t you already have enough chocolate. If you’re greedy you’ll get diabetes.”

Matsukawa sighed and scratched his head, “The girl from before didn’t give me time to say anything. She pretty much shoved it at me and ran away.” Oikawa didn’t say anything but his shoulder relaxed. “When I see her tomorrow I’ll make sure to reject her properly and tell her I already have someone.” 

“What about the chocolate?” Oikawa felt his eyes swelling unable to stop the water from overflowing onto to his cheeks.

Matsukawa tipped Oikawa’s head up and gazed onto Oikawa’s puffy, tear-stained face, “I gave them to Hanamaki,” he said wiping away the hot tears pouring on Oikawa’s face. “Gosh, you cry so easily.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa sniffled. He didn’t make a move to stop Matsukawa. “Who’s fault do you think this is?”

“Not sure, can’t be mine since I tell you every day I love you,” Matsukawa shrugged his shoulders. Oikawa was sure Matsukawa could feel the rising temperature of his skin. “If anyone should be crying it's me for you keeping me waiting so long.” Matsukawa dropped his arms back down to his side with the last of Oikawa’s tear dried up.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa whispered.

“No need to apologize. It’s pretty obvious you’ve fallen for me so I’m satisfied for now,” Matsukawa smirked.

It was so easy for Matsukawa to get on Oikawa’s nerves. They were having a moment but here Matsukawa comes ruining it with that challenging smirk, begging Oikawa to comment. “Here,” Oikawa shoved the box of chocolates to Matsukawa to avoid dealing with the statement. Matsukawa looked down at the box and then back up at Oikawa. “What?” Oikawa asked.

“Feed me,” Matsukawa stated.

“What?”

“Feed me,” he repeated, “you always showing so much ‘tsun’, I want to see more of your ‘dere’ side.”

“I’ll just throw them away,” Oikawa began walking away and was drawn back by Matsukawa.

“Come on, just feed me one,” Matsukawa wrapped his arms around Oikawa’s waist from behind.

“I refuse,” Oikawa tried to pull out of Matsukawa’s hold. They bickered back and forth until Oikawa finally gave in to Matsukawa’s demands. He ripped open the box and picked up one of the balls of chocolates for Matsukawa. Slowly Matsukawa took the chocolate into his mouth and chewed. Oikawa waited and watched Matsukawa’s single expression as he ate the chocolate.

“Salted Caramel?” Matsukawa asked and Oikawa nodded.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it,” Matsukawa answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s my favourite and you made it. Hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“It was simple,” Oikawa lied. He didn’t want to run Matsukawa over the details of overcooking the caramel into a sugar brick or the damage that was done to the kitchen until he got it right. All to make Matsukawa’s favourite chocolate.

“That’s good,” Matsukawa pulled Oikawa closer and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for the chocolate.” He took the box from Oikawa and stuffed it in his bag for later.

“Y-your welcome!” Oikawa stuttered out. People were going to start thinking his face was naturally red if he kept allowing himself to get this flustered. 

“Are you ready to admit you love me yet?”

“Shut up.”