Chapter Text
Iwaizumi Hajime was tired. He had just finished moving into his cramped Tokyo apartment, Hanamaki and Matsukawa harassing him the entire time they were helping him move his things in. They had promised to take him out to dinner tomorrow, as the two had taken up residence in Tokyo together immediately after graduating. Iwaizumi had waited until a week before his work began to move over.
He had managed to secure himself a medical rotation as a junior doctor at a prominent hospital in Tokyo by working his ass off and doing double time his entire undergrad. Half the time Iwaizumi wondered how he was able to get it all done and maintain his sanity.
It’s because that idiot Oikawa wasn’t pestering me nonstop and fraying my last nerve, Iwaizumi thought with a laugh before freezing.
It was easy for Iwaizumi to forget, especially when he was constantly swamped with things to do, and feeling nostalgic of times where he was happy and didn’t feel perpetually stressed, that his best friend was no longer by his side. It was especially difficult when said best friend had been with him for as long as he could remember, so the four years Oikawa had been missing seem so small in comparison. Iwaizumi had near constant slips where he would reminisce about Oikawa and their friendship as if he didn’t run away the summer they graduated high school.
Iwaizumi sighed. Now was not the time to ponder lost friendships. He was currently perusing aisles of the local grocery store, looking for dinner tonight and other groceries to last him at least two weeks.
“Mommy, buy this, buy this,” a young voice pleaded. Iwaizumi smiled to himself, it sounded like a little boy, probably with his exhausted mother after a long day. Iwaizumi could sniff out the toddler to be sure, but such actions were seen as rude and frowned upon, even from an alpha such as himself.
Iwaizumi’s suspicions were confirmed when he heard an indulgent chuckle. “No, Seiji,” the mother said, and Iwaizumi felt his heart stop. “We have cookies at home. We need to finish those before buying more, ok?”
Iwaizumi recognized that voice. How could he not, after hearing it consistently for over ten years, listening to the different pitches it could achieve through aging and circumstance. Even though he hadn't heard this voice for four years, he still could remember from memories, and phantom whispers late at night when he was alone and left to ponder where exactly his best friend vanished to. But this voice was a little softer, and more gentle than Iwaizumi could recall.
He snapped his head up from the package of miso he was inspecting, turning his head toward the origin of the voice, and gasped. Standing not twenty feet away was Oikawa Tooru in the flesh, who was holding the, presumably his, child in one arm while gently prying the package of cookies and placing them back on the shelf. He had his back to Iwaizumi, and had a cart full of groceries in front of him.
“O-Oikawa?” Iwaizumi’s mouth felt dry. Oikawa didn’t look much different, perhaps a bit taller, his hips a little wider. He was wearing a button down top with a cardigan and a belted skirt. Strappy sandals completed the ensemble. His outfit was fairly modest, the skirt a little more than half way down his thighs, but it still held that flirty flair that Oikawa always carried himself with.
Oikawa turned, a puzzled expression on his face before registering who addressed him. Realization dawned on his face in the widening of his eyes and stiffening of his stance. His free hand came up around the boy’s, Oikawa had called him Seiji, back, pulling Seiji closer to his person. On instinct, Seiji nuzzled his mother’s neck and gripped Oikawa’s shirt.
“Mommy…?” Seiji’s voice seemed to snap Oikawa out of the panicked stupor he was in.
“Iwa…izumi. How nice it is to see you again.” Oikawa had that crafted, perfected smile Iwaizumi had seen too many times in high school, the one he’d put on when greeting fans or dealing with Ushijima.
Iwaizumi frowned, furrowing his brows the way he always did around Oikawa whenever his antics infuriated him. Iwaizumi was about to call Oikawa out on his crap, when he became hyperaware of his son.
There was no denying the little boy, who looked around two or three years old, was Oikawa’s; Seiji was his mother’s spitting image. He looked so sweetly of Oikawa, from his large doe eyes, wavy hair, and childhood freckles, that Iwaizumi’s heart ached looking at him. He even had Oikawa’s ahoge. There were only minute differences as far as Iwaizumi could see; Seiji’s skin tone was a shade or two darker than Oikawa’s, his hair was so dark brown it looked black, and his eyes were not the deep chocolate brown of his mother’s but rather a swirling hazel. These features were vaguely familiar to Iwaizumi, but he couldn’t recall where had seen them before. Seiji had a worried frown on his face, and it wasn’t entirely Oikawa’s, yet Iwaizumi couldn’t remember where he had possibly viewed this expression. But these traits were obviously inherited from whoever the father was. And Iwaizumi had no idea who he could be.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Oikawa’s voice cut into his thoughts. “But I’m in a hurry, so I don’t really have time to chat. Goodbye.” And before Iwaizumi could react, Oikawa whipped around, grabbing his cart and striding down the aisle. As he left, Seiji swiveled his head around, peering over Oikawa’s shoulder to stare at Iwaizumi with his unnerving hazel eyes.
Once Oikawa was gone, Iwaizumi was left in the grocery shop aisle, thunderstruck and still clutching a box of miso.