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Oikawa steps out of the 1st grade classroom, breathing in the nostalgic smell of a school hallway. Like copier ink, and cleaning agent, and whatever the cooks had made for lunch today—something that had involved fish, Oikawa is sure of it. It makes him think fondly of his own school days; of races in the yard, of picking up a volleyball for the first time, of making the first of what would become lifelong friends. He misses the simplicity of it all, the carefree outlook on life. But as nice as it was, given the chance, he wouldn’t go back. He wouldn’t trade the ‘now’ for anything. Anything.
He notices a group of moms staring at him from across the hallway, eyes wide, whispering behind their hands. As he’s aged, Oikawa’s never grown out of having fans wherever he goes—even now, just beyond the threshold of thirty, he attracts attention whether he asks for it or not. Regardless, he’s not one for disappointing his admirers. He winks at them, blowing an exaggerated kiss as he does, and they immediately blush like a group of stoplights, quickly averting their eyes before moving on.
Having that taken care of, Oikawa glances behind him: Kiyoko, the keeper of his heart and light of his life (and, as far as he’s concerned, perfection incarnate) is trailing after him at a slower pace, seeming to be ruminating over what her teacher had said of her. He’s a warm man with a kind face, yet somewhat prone to sternness, surprising for someone as young as he is. But she seems to take his opinion of her very seriously, and she had been awash with nerves before the both of them had stepped inside the classroom—now she’s blushing slightly, glowing with the after-effects of the warm compliments that had been given to her in spades.
Oikawa smiles, nudges her gently with his hip. “That went well, didn’t it?”
Kiyoko looks up at him, blinking slowly. She shrugs. “I guess so.”
“’Insightful, kind, hard-working, sharp as a whip’. Kiyoko-chan, Sawamura-sensei could not stop raving about you! You are your father’s daughter, after all. I shouldn’t be surprised. ”
Her face twitches with the effort not to roll her eyes, and Oikawa’s grin widens. “I’m thinking celebratory ice cream tonight! And whatever you want to eat for dinner is on the table.”
Kiyoko’s mouth parts slightly, and she shifts from foot to foot, restless with the sudden possibilities. She’s already licking her lips, like she can taste some phantom food, and Oikawa tries to think of a way to distract her. Now that they’re done with the hard task of the evening, he’d really like to take a look around—he’s only been here a handful of times, and he’s willing to bet Kiyoko would show him around if he asked. But if she’s already as hungry as he thinks she is…
But then his keen ears catch onto something—a single voice, lovely and deep and warm among the indistinct babble of children and parents. A siren’s song, he thinks dazedly, his eyes making a thorough sweep of the busy hall—mostly mothers, some fathers, too many kids to really take note of—and then he sees him, down the hall some distance on the opposite side, closer to the classrooms for the higher grades. His grin becomes predatory, following his daughter’s example and licking his lips.
“Well, why don’t you think it over for a moment. I’ll be right back, darling. Daddy needs to speak to that handsome sensei over there.”
Kiyoko follows his eyes to the man at the other side of the hallway, and when she finds the one in question she frowns. She turns to look up at him, her expression distinctly unimpressed. “Don’t flirt here. You’re going to embarrass me.”
Oikawa presses a hand to his heart. “Daddy would do no such thing! It’ll only be for a moment, and then we can go home and make dinner together, I promise.”
Kiyoko studies him critically for signs of deceit. “Anything I want?”
He nods. “Absolutely!”
“Fine, then.” And Kiyoko unhooks her backpack from her shoulders, letting it sink softly to the floor as she leans against the wall. She purses her lips, and Oikawa pats her cheek, crooning. “Such a good girl.”
After a quick straightening of his shirt collar, smoothing the fabric across his stomach and brushing quick fingers through his hair, Oikawa slinks across the hallway. His target is speaking to another teacher, nodding at what she’s saying, looking a little wiped out with his hand on the back of his neck—Oikawa creeps up behind him, blows a soft gust of air against his ear. He stiffens, and Oikawa’s toes curl with delight.
“Hello, Iwa-chan~”
Iwaizumi sighs, tells the woman ‘thank you’ and dismisses her before he turns around, levels Oikawa with a flat, disbelieving look. “You again.”
“Me again.” Oikawa nods.
“It feels like I just got rid of you.”
“Well, dreams do come true, I suppose, because here I am again, in the flesh!”
Iwaizumi sighs. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Oikawa smiles, gesturing over to Kiyoko now bent over and messing with her shoelaces, her expression gravely serious in her intense concentration. “Can’t say I do. Had to take care of the little missy over there.”
Iwaizumi’s face softens as he looks at her. “How’s she doing?”
Oikawa puffs his chest out. “Perfect, of course. She’s an absolute superstar.”
“You sure are a doting parent,” Iwaizumi remarks dryly.
“Oh my, is that admiration I detect?”
“You’ll detect my foot in your ass if you don’t get out of my face.”
He had been getting a bit close—but Iwaizumi has the most stunning eyes; a deep, dark brown, like soil after a heavy rain, and Oikawa is admittedly weak. But he laughs as he complies, leaning back and making up for the fresh lack of proximity by batting his eyelashes coyly. “Speaking of my glorious behind—are you doing anything later tonight, Iwa-chan?”
“Not you.”
Oikawa grins. “You’re avoiding the question.”
Iwaizumi shrugs, scratching at his cheek and looking away. “’M busy tonight, sorry. Previous engagement.”
“I see. What about Saturday?”
He frowns. “What about Saturday?”
Oikawa starts fiddling with his fingers, feeling uncharacteristically shy. “Would you wanna go out on a date with me? Only if I can find a sitter for Kiyoko-chan, of course, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Iwaizumi curls his lip. “Now why would I wanna put myself through something like that?”
“Ooh, that’s harsh! But I guarantee that you’ll have a good time, Iwa-chan! Or your money back.”
“I was under the impression that you were already paying.”
Oikawa waves his hand flippantly. “A figure of speech, Iwa-chan! Now, what do you say?”
“I say…” Iwaizumi studies him, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Finally, he lets out a surrendering huff, grimacing like he’s disappointed in himself. “Fine.”
A bird flutters within Oikawa’s ribcage, its wings sending heat rushing up the back of his neck. He prays that his face isn’t reddening. “Really?”
“Yeah. Just make sure it’s someplace that’s not shitty.”
Oikawa beams, biting his lip to keep himself from doing the same to Iwaizumi’s. It’s difficult, seeing as his lips are full and a deep pink, practically begging to be kissed. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Iwaizumi huffs again, his eyes darting behind Oikawa’s shoulder, and his mouth quirks up in a charming little smirk. Oikawa’s heart does the Macarena in his chest. A whole Congo line of ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. “I think your daughter is getting impatient,” Iwaizumi remarks. Kiyoko’s not doing anything in particular to show her impatience, but that’s just the kind of child she is—Oikawa can see how her little fingers are clenched tightly at the front of her dress, which is evidence enough. They really should be getting to the supermarket, to get what they need before everything gets picked over.
Oikawa tuts regretfully—if only Iwaizumi could come home with them. “Duty calls,” he sighs, sending the teacher a sparkling grin. “I’ll see you later?”
“If you’re lucky,” Iwaizumi replies, waving over his shoulder and disappearing inside the room for the 4th graders. Oikawa tries and fails not to stare at his rear end as he walks away. The things I’d like to do to that man…
Oikawa positively floats back across the hall, a skip in his step. He scoops up Kiyoko’s backpack (decorated with a generous amount of Rilakkuma bears) and slings it over one of his shoulders. He sighs dreamily. “Oh, Kiyoko-chan, do you have any idea how smooth your father is? He just scored a date with that foxy sensei.”
“I don’t care.” Her face is surly, not meeting his eyes—Oikawa smiles softly, reaching out to brush his fingers through her bangs, tucking a long strand behind her ear. “Sorry for making you wait.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I know. If we hurry we can get what we need from the supermarket and back home within the hour.”
“I’m hungry now.”
“We can get you a snack. Tenmusu?”
The promise of her favorite food seems to placate her immensely, because she doesn’t make a fuss at all when Oikawa takes her small hand in his, swinging their clasped hands between them as they leave the school building together.
It’s raining, and Oikawa holds the umbrella over both of them with his free hand as they walk. He hums, giddy. Such a beautiful day.
***
Oikawa spends the rest of the afternoon with his head clouded by thoughts of a certain beautiful elementary school teacher. He and Kiyoko, after a successful trip to the grocery store, are hard at work preparing all the ingredients necessary for a hearty beef stew. Or, more specifically, Oikawa is handling all knife-related work, while Kiyoko is put to work clumsily peeling onions and carrots. Key word: clumsy. She’s able to rip the skin off of one onion and peel one carrot by the time Oikawa is ready to chop vegetables—he assists her with the rest, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
But he’s distracted, knife slipping more than once, and he hums to himself tunelessly—Kiyoko’s still finishing off her little group of store-bought tenmusu as she works, grains of rice stuck around her mouth.
“Daddy, pay attention. You’re going to chop your finger off.”
Oikawa once again catches himself daydreaming about a hard-won yet beautiful smile, and he carefully readjusts the knife in his hand. “Thank you, honey.” He leans over and wipes the grains of rice off her face with his thumb, sucking them into his mouth. She makes a disapproving noise but doesn’t protest.
“I think we need a little music to liven things up, what do you think? Whistle while you work, and all that. Slaving away is no fun if there’s nothing to dance to!” Oikawa reaches for the miniature radio tucked above the microwave, dialing through stations one right after another before he pauses at a station playing older music. He taps his foot to the beat, smiling as Kiyoko unconsciously begins swaying in her chair.
It doesn’t take long before he can’t hold it in anymore.
“’Cause baby there ain’t no mountain high enough!” Oikawa points at her, yelling at the top of his lungs and theatrically shimmying his hips. “Ain’t no valley low enough!” He spins around the table, reaching for both her hands. “Ain’t no river wide enough!” He presses them to his mouth, kissing them soundly, and she makes a face. “That could keep me from getting to you, babe!”
“Daddy, you’re hurting my ears.”
“C’mon babycakes, sing with me!”
“No.”
Oikawa laughs, and, knowing a lost cause when he sees one, settles back down at his side of the table. He finishes chopping the last of the vegetables and slides them into the pot before sitting down, leaning into his forearms. “Kiyoko-chan, do you have any homework you need help with?”
She shakes her head. “I have math. But I don’t need any help.”
“Of course you don’t, smartypants. Well, I’ll just sit here with you while you work, okay? The stew should be ready soon.”
He turns the volume of the radio down and flicks the TV on with the remote, listening with half an ear, the other half paying sharp attention to the way Kiyoko’s talking to herself under her breath, making soft noises of exclamation when she figures out a difficult problem. He’s not being biased in the least when he says she’s brilliant—she’s got school smarts, sure, but she’s also technical and wily. She has the potential to be manipulative and cunning, if she needs to be, but for the most part she’s kept herself remarkably humble. In that regard, she’s nothing like her father, and for that’s he’s grateful.
Oikawa is so, so proud of her.
Some time goes by, the simmering stew permeating their small kitchen with the smell of meat and potatoes. Even after her snack, Kiyoko is beginning to squirm in her seat as her belly rumbles, and Oikawa’s own mouth is watering—he had set a timer to let him know when the food was done, but a watched pot never boils.
It’s nearing seven o’clock and the both of them are at their limit—Oikawa is about two seconds away from throwing in the towel and digging into the pantry for an unopened package of milk bread (to hell with patience, to hell with responsibility), but then he hears the front door open. Butterflies erupt in his stomach, and a wide smile stretches its way across his face. He watches with unabashed delight as Kiyoko’s eyes go wide, her entire frame jolting up from the desolate pit of hunger. She grins—it’s huge, showing the gap in her bottom row of teeth. “Now, who could that be so late?”
She scrambles to get out of her chair. “Papa!”
Kiyoko’s already running for the shoebox where Iwaizumi’s just shaking raindrops off his umbrella and shrugging off his jacket—she only dithers for a moment before barreling headfirst into his leg, hugging on tightly. He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he bends over to hoist her up, pressing her to his side. She winds her arms around his neck and he kisses her cheek. “Hey, sweetheart. I heard you did real good today at the parent-teacher conference.”
Kiyoko shrugs even as her cheeks glow rosy. Oikawa smiles from the table, beaming with pride as he goes to check the progress of the rice cooker. “She’s a prodigy, I swear. The next prime minister.”
“Next prime minister,” Iwaizumi echoes, smiling and ruffling Kiyoko’s hair.
“Papa, don’t mess it up.”
“Sorry, sorry. Hey, what’d you two make for dinner? It smells amazing.”
“Kiyoko-chan’s super special secret stew recipe!”
Iwaizumi cocks an eyebrow, setting Kiyoko back on the floor. He bends down to pull off his shoes, one at a time. “That’s quite the mouthful.”
The timer on Oikawa’s phone goes off, and all three of them eye the pot on the stove hungrily. Kiyoko makes a soft noise of want, and Oikawa stands, sweeping pieces of carrot peel and dry onion skin off the table and into his palm. “Kiyoko-chan, go and wash your hands before we eat, please.”
He dumps the peels into the sink and watches her run off—then he turns and leans against the kitchen counter, hands braced behind him. Iwaizumi steps in close, loosening his tie as he does, and Oikawa smiles at him a little tiredly, the bustle of the day finally catching up with him. His body feels sluggish, but his hands still reach forward, his fingers curling into the body-warm fabric covering Iwaizumi’s stomach. “You’re late. It’s nearly seven.”
Iwaizumi leans over and kisses him, apologetic. “Sorry, we had a mandatory staff meeting afterwards to go over today’s results. Some parents were being assholes, as usual.”
Oikawa hums. “You don’t say.”
“But really, how did it go?”
Oikawa looks up, thoughtful. “Very good. The only thing is that Sawamura-sensei thinks Kiyoko may need glasses—she seems to be having trouble reading when the print is small.”
“We’ll have to make an appointment with the eye doctor, then,” Iwaizumi muses. He helps Oikawa take down bowls from the cupboards, ladles the stew and rice inside them before settling them down on the table, the fathers’ on one side and Kiyoko’s on the other.
The three of them eat together, the sound of the radio mingling with the low hum of the television and the quiet tranquility of Kiyoko’s small voice. She talks about Sawamura-sensei, and how she’s started spending recess with a little girl from the kindergarten class. She had pointed her out at the conference—light hair pulled into a side ponytail, waving enthusiastically if not a bit nervously at Kiyoko in the hallway. Kiyoko blushes as she speaks, and Oikawa smiles into his cup of apple juice. The stew itself is hearty and thick, making his eyelids droopy, but he still needs to do the dishes—
Iwaizumi won’t let him near the sink.
“They can wait until tomorrow,” he says, taking the bowl from Oikawa’s hands and filling it with soapy water, to deal with later.
Post-dessert finds them all watching a recorded episode of Finding Bigfoot, a guilty pleasure not just for Oikawa but for the rest of his little family as well. But for the most part, the program is going unwatched—Kiyoko is nodding off in between them and sinking bonelessly into the soft cushions, her breathing beginning to taper off into sleep. And even though he’s trying to focus on the screen, Oikawa catches himself staring at the ring on Iwaizumi’s left hand more than once—he wonders how many years it has to be before he doesn’t get warm embers in his belly just looking at it, just looking at this man and knowing that this is forever. It will probably never go away, Oikawa thinks. It’s been twenty five years since he first peeked around his mother’s legs and saw Iwaizumi, bug catching net in one hand and a cicada shell in the other, knees scraped to high heaven, and he’s still never been able to get rid of the subsequent flutter in his chest.
Oikawa reaches out, intertwining their fingers.
“So, Iwa-chan, about that previous engagement you mentioned…”
Iwaizumi’s just as comatose as Kiyoko, eyes half-closed, but his thumb still smooths over the soft skin of Oikawa’s inner wrist in acknowledgement. “Hmm?”
“Does it, per chance, involve me? And the bathtub? And maybe some of that lavender-scented bubble bath?”
“I was also thinking about finally using that candle your mom got us for our anniversary.”
“Oh, Hajime,” Oikawa sighs, leaning his head onto one broad shoulder. “You sure know how to sweet talk a man.”
Iwaizumi turns and presses a kiss into Oikawa’s hair. “I’m gonna tuck in Kiyoko. Go get the water running.”
***
“You don’t actually think they’re real, do you? I mean, that Sasquatch raiding the campsite looked more like a bear than an ape. That, or somebody in a costume.” Iwaizumi considers this for a moment before growling. “People need to make better use of their time than to be making stuff like that up. If he’s real, then he’s real, and there’s no need for that fake shit.”
“I love it when you get this passionate. It really sets the fire in my loins.”
Oikawa yelps as Iwaizumi pulls on the shell of his ear, then giggles when he soon after buries his face in the crook of Oikawa’s neck, intermixing kisses with blowing raspberries. A little bit of water sloshes over the edge of the tub as Oikawa thrashes, and he only stills when the candle becomes in danger of getting extinguished.
Iwaizumi leans away again, arms back around Oikawa’s stomach, pulling him into his chest. “So who were you thinking of hiring for a sitter?”
Oikawa reaches for a handful of soap bubbles, mashing them between his palms and then spreading them again, watching the network of sticky soap web between his hands. “I was thinking about maybe getting the Sugawara’s son—Koushi, I think?—to do it. He’s got this sparkly-ness about him, and I think he and Kiyoko would really get along.”
“High school student, right?”
“Mm, yes. Third year if I remember correctly.”
“We’ll have to ask him then,” Iwaizumi murmurs. They’ve already washed their bodies and hair, so the water is murky with soap. It’s also been long enough that Oikawa’s fingers have started to prune, and he experimentally pokes at the wrinkled skin—it’s weirdly squishy, and oddly satisfying. Scooping up a fresh blob of bubbles, he twists his torso around, smearing the mound onto Iwaizumi’s chin. “Ho ho ho!”
“Sucks to suck, you get coal.”
Oikawa pouts. “If I sit in your lap, will you give me a present?”
“You’re basically already in my lap, and no, I won’t. You’re on the naughty list.”
“For some reason that sounds kinky. I like it. C’mere, Santa Baby. Gimme a kiss.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, wiping a hand down his face. He flicks water at Oikawa with his thumb and middle fingers. “Sometimes I think Kiyoko is the one raising you.”
“That girl,” Oikawa shakes his head fondly, “is getting smarter by the minute. She’s growing up too fast, Iwa-chan. Make it stop.”
“As long as she ends up smarter than you, I’ll be happy.”
Oikawa narrows his eyes, turning to glare over his shoulder. “That reminds me. Kiyoko has been sharing some choice words with me lately. Key ones being ‘shitty’ and ‘dumbass’.”
Iwaizumi at least has the decency to look sheepish.
“You are being a poor role model, Mister. The future prime minister can’t be swearing like a sailor.”
“Sorry about that. I’ll work on it.”
They become quiet, Oikawa sinking back into Iwaizumi’s chest. The only sound is of snapping bubbles and the tiny drip drip of the water from the faucet. The bathroom is hot and foggy, smelling of lavender and citrus. Oikawa sighs, tilting his head back to rest against Iwaizumi’s breast bone. “I really do feel that way, you know.”
“Like how?”
“Like it’s going past me too quickly, and I don’t have the time to appreciate it. Like I’m missing too much.”
Iwaizumi’s hand pushes Oikawa’s wet bangs up and out of his face, trailing softly down his neck. He shivers. “You can’t stop time, Tooru.”
“I know. But I wish it’d slow down, just a little. She’s just so cute. I want her to stay six years old forever.”
He remembers the day he first held her in his arms—three months old, almond eyes bright and alert, grubby hands pawing at his face. She had spit up on his shoulder and he had cried from the joy of it all.
Lips press into his temple, his cheek. “Just take it one day at a time. That’s all you can do. Don’t take anything for granted, not that I think you do anyways.” Iwaizumi dabs a glob of bubbles on the tip of Oikawa’s nose—he then kisses it off, making a face at the taste of bitter soap. His smile is relieved when Oikawa lets out a small laugh. “But for what it’s worth…you’re a great parent, Tooru.”
Oikawa smiles wetly, his affection so strong it’s choking him. “Thanks, Hajime. You are, too.”
“Just don’t let it go to your head. It doesn’t need to be getting any bigger.”
“If you think my head is so ugly then why’d you marry me, huh?”
Iwaizumi laughs quietly under his breath.
The water is so comfortable, and the slick warmth of Iwaizumi’s skin all around him is delightful. Although there is just one thing that would really solidify this day into something very nearly perfect—“So, Iwa-chan. When you said earlier today that you weren’t going to be doing me tonight…” He bats his eyelashes. “Any chance I could get you to change your mind about that?”
“Aren’t you exhausted?” Iwaizumi asks, voice a low rumble, his fingers playing at Oikawa’s hipbone.
“There are certain things I’m never too tired for.”
“In that case,” Iwaizumi stands in the tub, carefully stepping over the edge and reaching for his towel. He casts a smoldering glance at Oikawa over his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for you in bed,” he says pointedly.
Oikawa has never dried off so fast in his life.
***
Kiyoko comes into their room ten minutes later, mumbling something about being eaten alive by a tuna, and subsequently interrupting what was looking to be a promising night. But they let her crawl into bed between them, both of them playing off their flushed faces as heat from the bath water. She snuggles up into Oikawa’s chest, sandwiched with Iwaizumi on her other side, and Oikawa smiles at Iwaizumi ruefully. They share a little 'what can you do' shrug, pulling the thick quilt up and over their shoulders, tucking it neatly under Kiyoko's chin. She smiles softly, already mostly asleep.
And Oikawa still wouldn’t have it any other way. Lying in bed with his husband, beautiful daughter sleeping between them, his life is positively charmed.
Plus, he has a date to look forward to on Saturday, anyways.
Their hands find each other's in the dark.