#iwaizumi haijme oneshots

[sunshinesukuna]

ferris wheel jives and unlived lives

pairing: farmer turned soldier!iwaizumi x f!reader

warnings: war, slight gore

summary: promises are always a one way road to regret. 

haikyuucreations0720 prompt: summer carnival!

words: 5.1k

i was gonna make a banner but onLINE SCHOOL. when i find the motivation i’ll make one for y’all but for now enjoy this fic in its rawest state. 

big thankies to @vventure and @tsukkiscookies for beta-ing this <3333

Hands thick from a lifetime of holding shovels and axes pick up the leather-bound book on the table. Iwaizumi Hajime, 1944, is engraved in rusted metal on the cover. He flips to the calendar at the front of the page. Circled in a thick fountain pen is today’s date, with “(Y/N)” scrawled underneath. 

Iwaizumi runs his finger over the lipstick stain at the bottom corner of the page. Had it been anyone else, he would have gotten a shovel from the shed and lopped their head off at the defiling of his precious journal. But not if it was you. Never for you.

He takes a deep breath before gathering all his belongings in his pocket. Not much, just his wallet with saved up money from his time serving and last month’s potato sales. Iwaizumi’s reflection glances at him from the rotary phone but he decides against calling you, lest your maid, or worse, your parents, pick up the phone. He adjusts his army cap and sweeps the dust off his shoulders before walking out the door.

You already know what time to come out anyways. Iwaizumi practically drilled it into your head the last time you saw him after you were 15 minutes late to your previous rendezvous. 

Cornfields turn into suburbs and the stretch of country land morphs into that of the city. He’s never really liked the city, preferring the clean air of the long extent of his farm compared to the smog. But it’s a small price to pay to see you. 

Some people give him odd looks on his way. In their defense, they do have a reason. Iwaizumi’s a scruffy farmer turned soldier riding a rickety car that groans and moans louder than the old men haggling over the price of a sack of corn Iwaizumi’s just trying to sell. He’s a black sheep among the delicate edges of the perfectly manicured lawns and pristine white paint of the government houses that all seem to wag their finger at him.

He finally stops in an empty field — he doesn’t dare park in front of your house, lest your parents see. The mayor would throw a fit if he ever saw his daughter walking around with someone the likes of Iwaizumi.

So he walks. Iwaizumi crouches by the massive oak tree that hides him from view. From his vantage point, he has clear sight of your curtained window. The glass is dented after so many pebbles flung its way. Iwaizumi saves his guilt for later and picks a small, innocuous one. 

He throws another one. 

The curtains crack open ever so slightly, and he catches a glimpse of an eye in between. Iwaizumi makes himself known. You open the curtains ever so widely, framing your face in between the cloth and shooting him a silly expression from atop your window. He shakes his head and beckons you to come down. 

No amount of military training could have ever prepared him for all of your descents down. He can’t help but flinch every time you put your dainty foot down on a branch that looks like it’s breaking point is way overdue. Thank heavens, you make it down,  your skirt slightly rustled and a leaf in your hair, but the mischievous glow in your eyes nullifying all other flaws. You hold his hands to steady yourself. They smell like iron. 

"Your father?" he asks.

"Out negotiating with the city next door."

"Your mother?"

"With my father.” You snake your hands around his waist until they meet his own that are clasped behind him. Slowly, you pry them apart until you have both hands in yours. He presses a tender kiss to your knuckles. “They say there's going to be a dance after all the diplomatic issues are done with. They won't be back until midnight."

"The maid?"

"Asleep."

"You?"

"Missing you as always." Iwaizumi scoffs, but he does nothing to hide the growing smile on his face.  

“Come on now, before the neighbors see us.” You grab his hand and make your way towards where you know he has his car parked, with no consideration towards anyone watching! In your defense, there isn’t anyone. Probably all in their own backyards, enjoying the luxuries that come with being part of the upper class, away from the trouble and toil of war efforts right now.

You wince a little at the loud squealing of the car opening. No one seems to have noticed, so you pull up a pastel shoe clad foot up into the dirty metal of the car. 

“Where are we going today?” you ask.

“You’ll see.” He revs the engine up. You pout.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“I’ll teach you to like them, then.”

You talk for most of the ride, mostly some of the gossip you hear here and there as the mayor’s daughter. Stolen kisses between the maid and next door’s chauffeur, plans to build a new shopping center once the war’s over.

The honking tires of the city are replaced by children’s music as more and more people file into the empty lot. Some are armed with picnic baskets and blankets, others with cones of ice cream and cotton candy bigger than your head. You observe your new surroundings.

“The carnival?” you ask. Iwaizumi shrugs and holds the steering wheel closer.

“I stumbled on them when I went out. And… you said that you wanted to go, so I— (Y/N)!” Iwaizumi’s windpipe is almost crushed by the pair of arms that wrap around his neck. He doesn’t try to remove them, instead settling for a hand on the small of your back. 

“I love you a thousand times!” 

“H-hey,” he chokes out in his best imitation of his “army” voice. “We’re still on the road. People could see us.” You shrug and pull back anyways.

The car finally comes to a stop at a large field where other cars park. You don’t even wait for Iwaizumi to come to a full stop before you leap out the door, stumbling a little when your feet hit the warm asphalt. The air is clear and sweet in your lungs as you take in the feel of the fresh new atmosphere. 

Iwaizumi’s just getting out, but you’re already walking to the other side and yanking his hand out, running as fast as you can to the opening gates. Carnival music blares through the air, mingling with people shouting at other people to come try out various games and food. So much was happening at the same time. When was the last time you went out like this without being stopped at the door by either of your parents? Second grade, probably, under the watchful eye of your nanny that tore you away from the other kids at the playground.

“Where do you want to go first?”

“Umm....” Your newly-found curiosity takes the best of you. There’s so much to see and do, and you’re not sure what should come first. From where you’re standing, you spot a large circle turning lazily in the sky. The line isn’t too long, and the view looks like it would be fantastic at this time. 

“The ferris wheel, maybe?” you suggest. 

“All right. You go line up and I’ll go get the tickets,” Iwaziumi says. You join the line that is steadily growing while your lover goes to buy some tickets.

Iwaizumi has just taken ten steps from you when an unwanted guest creeps up on you. Some people grumble from behind you at the appearance of this new tyrant that cuts in line so leisurely. He leans lazily on the divider right behind you and makes eyes you would rather he not make at you. The golden watch on his wrist clanks and tinkles on the metal divider. His hair is slicked back in imitation of the handsome actors on the screen, though the same can’t be said about him. 

The man behind you clears his throat a few times, each getting progressively louder and louder. He really isn’t going to stop is he? What if he knows dad?

The thought crosses in your mind, and without second guessing, you turn back. Your eyes lock with him for a few seconds longer than “accidental” could pass for. Turning back without acknowledging him would be what your parent considered impolite. And you were certainly not going to attend one of your father’s weekly lectures on attitude again. 

“Would you like a handkerchief?” you offered. You fished out the green cloth from the small bag you carried with you. The man accepts it with a cocky smile and a fake cough. You’re about to turn back when you feel a tap on your back.

“You know, I’m set to take over my dad’s company when he kicks the bucket. I could get a pretty girl like you all the pretty dresses and pearl necklaces you want,” he says. He slings your poor handkerchief over his finger like a dishrag. 

“That’s very nice of you,” you remark politely before trying to turn away. The tap on your shoulder keeps you from breaking eye contact with him. You’re already standing a little too close to the gate for your liking, but the sudden arm on your right side inches away from your waist keeps you from going anywhere.

“What does a cute gal like you prefer? Tiffany? Swarovski? Cartier?” 

“I’m quite alright, actually.” You look to the ground. Surely just buying two tickets shouldn’t take this long?

“Awh, come on. ‘Gal like you fancy a man who rides a red or white Cadillac?”

“Well, I don’t know. Men who can actually take care of their ladies instead of throwing wads of cash at them are quite popular nowadays,” you retort.

“Like me?” someone’s familiar timbre asks from behind you. You catch his reflection in the Ferris wheel door and can’t help but giggle a little bit at his sudden cockiness in the face of a new adversary.

Iwaizumi looms protectively over you, a hand on your shoulder. He’s not doing anything to the unwanted visitor in front of you, but you still enjoy his face whitening in fear. You take the chance and look up at your lover. 

The sunlight hits his face perfectly like he’s the chosen child of Helios; the shadows and light bending to his will and accentuating the harsh lines of his face. You swear you can hear the man whimper. 

The operator barks out for the next group of people to come inside.

“Of course!” you reply. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a ride to catch.”

The man hangs with his jaw open as he tries to form  coherent words. You balance between your heels and tip toes as the operator opens the capsule doors. Like the courteous gentleman he is, Hajime offers you a calloused hand up the carriage. The capsule ascends with an unceremonious squeal.

The capsules are cramped, but one look outside has you swooning. The view of your small town, accompanied by the man’s aggravated grunt, and a warm hand squeezing your own makes you feel drunk and sober, wasted yet clear-headed at the same time. A voice breaks you out of your stupor.

“He wasn’t bothering you, right?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“A little.”

His hands instinctively reach out to stroke your shoulders and hair. The intimacy of the capsule has made him more touchy. Instead of shy brushes on your forearms, he’s now melted into you, foreheads touching and breaths on your neck.

“Are you okay doll? Nothing wrong?” 

“The only thing that’s wrong is how long you left me just to get some tickets for us.” You pull away. ”I missed you, you know.” 

“Y-y-you did?” 

Iwaizumi’s flustered. Charmingly so.

“No, I missed your friend from the army that you brought over to your house when I was there that time. What was his name? Otsubo? O’Connel? Ogawa?” Iwaizumi sighs, memories of the brown-haired delinquent he was paired up with plaguing his thoughts.

“Oikawa.” His eyes glaze over as he stares into the window behind you. You click your tongue. This airhead. 

Without thinking, you press a kiss to his lips. It lingers, trapped in the confines of space, time, and your slowly waning self control. It��s nothing special, but maybe that’s what makes it all the better to remember. Who has time to remember grandiose scenes of kissing in the rain or in a fit of passion when mundane ones like these are the ones they experience the most? Quantity over quality for this one, shall we say? It’s your run-of-the-mill kiss shared by countless other actors and actresses and seen by thousands of other loyal viewers, but only truly felt by the two of you.

You finally find the will to pull back after a good 30 seconds. Residue lipstick stains his plump lips, almost camouflaging them amongst Iwaizumi’s burning crimson blush.

“Did you really think that I would miss someone other than you?” you asked. 

“Well, you looked like you did.” You put a hand to his cheek.

“You’ll always be my number one, Hajime.”

The ferris wheel turns for a few more times, hushed cuddles and silent declarations of love happening inside it’s capsules, you and Iwaizumi being the main culprits. He’s alone with you, with a perfect view. What more could he want? A thought pulls on the back of his mind like an impatient child.

What is he? A mere farmer who got drafted into the war, possibly to never return. And you? The mayor’s daughter. The difference between you two is larger than that of the distance between this quaint little town in the middle of nowhere and the sea. Iwaizumi imagines his future — not necessarily bleak, but definitely filled with dirt and toil, not one he would ever want to give you.

Perhaps it’s better for you if he doesn’t come back. 

You would grieve and cry for however long you pleased, but it would be the best for you. A new man would come and sweep you off your feet, like Iwaizumi once did. He would make time for you, like Iwaizumi once did. Maybe some money would be involved, and that’s where Iwaizumi can’t compete any longer. The altercation just now was proof of that.

The operator barks at the two of you to get out once your time is up. Iwaizumi hops off with ease, helping you with the strict confines of your skirt. He’s so enamoured in his thoughts, that he doesn’t realize that you’re shoving a cone of ice cream into his face. 

“Hajime,” you call. Your voice, the product of years of being taught how to speak softly like the ladies of your class, a far cry from the gruff barks of the farmers where he’s from, rings in his ear like a gong.

“What are you thinking about, Iwaizumi Hajime?” 

“Nothing,” he says stoically. Even though you see the postman more than you see Iwaizumi in person, you see through your lover in an instant. 

“Let me guess.... You’re thinking about....” You tap your finger on your lips in mock thinking. “Me! You’re thinking about me! Aren’t you?”

“What makes you think that?” he asks, but the flush on his face is definitely not from the carnival lights.

“You’re staring at my neck like I’m the one who stole those tomatoes from your garden bed last night,” you quip. Iwaizumi does nothing except pinch your cheek, to which you respond with a squeal and a nuzzle on his neck. Before you know it, there are fingers dancing on your midriff and torso, tickling the living daylights out of you.

“Stop, Hajime!” you plead relentlessly, but he has no mercy on you. Like a good soldier, he leaves no place unchecked. Your arms, your neck, your ribs. Iwaizumi takes no prisoners. By the time he does manage to pull away, you’re panting as you lean on him. 

“You could have made me spill my ice cream!” you complain as you hand one to Iwaizumi. The smile on his face is wiped away by a look of uncertainty. 

“You should’ve let me pay for that, (Y/N),” he says quietly. 

“Oh, please.” Your voice drops to a quiet hush as well, the smile shrinking away from your face until it’s only visible to the Iwaizumi and the sky. 

“It’s my treat for you. For taking me here.” 

The both of you eat your ice cream in silence. The only thing that could connect the two of you as a couple was a small patch of skin where your smaller hand touched his elbow, strong and hard from years of both farming and training.

He really should count his blessings someday. He’s alive, breathing, and healthy, for one. Iwaizumi isn’t rich, not as rich as you anyways, but he has a roof over his head and enough to make a meal for himself at least twice a day. The heavens could have stopped there, but no. They decided to send down an angel straight from their ranks to him. One with a glowing smile he would pay millions more to see just for another second, 

Yeah, right, find a new husband. Hell would freeze over before Iwaizumi would ever allow that to happen. 

But, like most things in his life, it’s shattered to pieces. 

Literally.

The sweet summer air turns into clouds of smoke at the pull of a trigger. Iwaizumi looks up. From the clouds, fall large blocks of metal that he recognizes all too well as rocket artillery. It hangs in the air for a hot minute, like a ballerina staying in the air just before she lands from her jump. Everyone holds their breath as the first shell makes its descent.

Sirens finally break the silence. Recorded laughter melts into shrill screaming as people rush to take cover. Civilians and members of the military alike take off to who knows where — parents seeking their children, civilian lovers holding on tight, a group of friends breaking apart because two of them bear a soldier’s cap a little too proudly.

Someone screams from the other side 

“A civilian attack?”

“Women and children to safety! At once!”

“Soldiers, report to the north gate at once! 

And it finally happens. A symphony of thundering cracks that shakes the ground under your very feet like a seesaw. The trills and hums of falling buildings and structures soon join it, bringing an eerie soundtrack to the scene of fire and blazes that unfold before your eyes. But the star soloist in the show is perhaps the screaming. It doesn’t discriminate. Everyone screams. Old men trying to survive another five years doing so hoarsely as the hang on to what’s left of the burnt wick that they call life. Teen girls doing so, trying to huddle together with their friends under what they think is a safe spot. It’s deafening.

A pack of soldiers run past you, some carrying first-aid kits and stretchers. Iwaizumi gives them a knowing glance and a nod, before finally looking to you.

You’re the mayor’s daughter. Of all people in this town your age, you know best that during times like these, duty comes first. But what is duty when the people left to carry it out are slaves to love? 

“Hajime!” you choke out. You don’t know whether the iron grip on his wrist is to keep him from going or to keep him from staying any longer with you. But you keep holding him anyways. 

“Go with them,” he says. His voice is calm and steady, interpolated by the crackling of fires and the occasional thundering of what must be more bombs coming from the air.

“You—”

“I’ll meet up with you later. At your front door, next time.”

His hands moved to cup your face. Fire and explosions are reflected in the tears that start to roll down your face. Sticky residue ice cream lingers on your hand, some of it getting caught in your face as you wipe down the tears that flow so ungracefully down the side of your face.

“At my front door?”  you ask.

The front door with the bronze plaque, serving as the golden gate for people of your class, but a barbed fence to those of Iwaizumi’s. The front door with a hole near the doorknob that your father never noticed, from when Iwaziumi used to sneak letters he wrote in school for you seven years ago. Maybe you would share a kiss, only to scurry back in the blueberry bushes behind your house because you saw the glint of your mother’s car in the driveway? Or maybe share a lazy nap in the sun because your father had guests from halfway around the world and the nanny was sick, and the circumstances and situation all just perfect.

Too perfect.

“Of course. If your father says anything about us, I’ll make him eat his own words.” Something bites at the back of his throat, but Iwaizumi coughs it back under the guise of ash. The last thing he needed or wanted was you getting scared.

“That’s a promise?” you ask.

“We don’t make promises in this household, doll.” 

You want to say something, but another bang cuts you off, followed closely another crowd of soldiers directing people off to the side. Iwaizumi takes a long whiff of your perfume— one nicked from your mother’s shelves, yet worn countless times. You smell good. 

Iwaizumi gives you a kiss on your forehead — a rather mundane one — before joining the crowd of marching soldiers. 

Everything is piercing. 

There’s something about the smell that invades his nose that makes him want to retch, yet fall asleep at the same time. It reminds him of the rubbing alcohol that they give the new trainee that bleeds first during hand-to-hand back at his base. Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose instinctively, but finds that the longer he smells it, the clearer his head becomes.

And the lights are just too bright. They’re a blinding white, unlike the yellow lighting he’s accustomed to. The white tiles and white sheets that wrap around him securely make it even worse. It reminds him of the showers back at boot camp, where blood and other bodily fluids contrasted proudly with the white tiles. He blinks several times as he gets his eyes to adjust to the new lighting. 

A machine whirrs and buzzes behind him. Iwaizumi has never prided himself on knowing lots about military technology, but in all his years training at the military, he’s fairly sure he’s never seen anything like this before. From where he’s laying down, he makes out a valve connected to his fingers.

“Mr. Iwaizumi,” someone asks. He makes out a silhouette leaning over him. Something pounds in his heart as he hopes that it’s you that’s come to see him, but an adjustment of the light quickly kills all of them. A woman with red lipstick and dressed like a nurse from the neighborhood hospital helps him up.

“Where am I?” he manages to croak out. 

“You’re at the hospital. There was an attack and you were ushered to safety when—” 

It’s like someone turned a light switch in him. One minute he’s drowsy and fatigued, the next he’s up and alert, ready to pounce at anyone. Iwaizumi sits up straight, eager to hear this new information that is to be delivered. 

“The others?” he asks. 

“They…” The nurse trails off. She looks down apologetically, the blinding lights reflecting off the sheen of sweat on her hands. Her figure shrinks a bit. The silence is enough to fill in the blanks. 

“You left the others out there to die?”

“Sir, we tried—”

The ground is cold and hard on his bare feet. Iwaizumi’s shoulders sag with the feelings of ten sacks of wheat on his shoulders. He’s getting very good at ignoring, what with people screaming around him and sirens that block out any other form of conscious thought. All he knows, hears, and wants is to run. 

So he does.

He makes it down an uncountable amount of flights of stairs, until his knees ache and his calves are on fire. The metal is cold, hard, and unforgiving. The light of the tunnel keeps on dipping lower and lower until he finally drops down onto the floor. It seems to be deserted. Iwaizumi puts his hands on his knees and breathes like the drill sergeant instructed him back at camp. It seems that he won’t have much time to rest, though.

“Rouge patient!” someone barks from the other side of the room. 

Iwaizumi curses under his breath. Every step he takes is a spike up his thigh. But he runs. He runs and runs and runs until he finally sees a glass door at the end of it all. The door seems to be protected by a set of numbers, like those on a calculator sitting next to it. Footsteps thunder behind him and Iwaizumi can hear people opening their office doors in hopes of intercepting him, only to have the rogue patient run past them. It’s now or never. 

The door squeals as Iwaizumi puts all his body weight into the front part of his body. There’s a change in the air. The previously dingy atmosphere from inside the building is now replaced with a fresh breeze. Iwaizumi can’t stop to admire the flowers though. Without a moment’s thought, he rushes through the streets, weaving blindly through vehicles until he spots a dim alley.

It’s still the light of day, but this alley was unoccupied. Iwaizumi drops to his knees a second time, trying to put the wind back in his chest. Breathing seems to do good, so he does so shallowly until his lungs are willing to take in more oxygen at a time. No injuries, except the burning in his feet from running on bare pavement across the city.

Iwaizumi finally opens his eyes for the first time. Where was he now? DId he land at the car repair shop near your house? No, it doesn’t smell like grease and oil. The clothing factory? No, there’s no smog in the clear, blue skies above. Iwaizumi retraces his steps around the city. He closes his eyes again, visualizing his footsteps.

The smell of cotton candy drowns him in his thoughts.

There must be a carnival going on.

But instead of rolling hills and low houses, giant blocks of stone and metal crane their necks to the sky, reaching aimlessly for the sun and clouds that hang over their heads so tantalizingly. Great pictures hang suspended over the buildings, depicting beautiful people with clothes that would make any person from Iwaizumi’s part of town gasp. He wonders how he didn’t notice them during all his running before. In his defense, running from people who would do questionable things to you impairs your peripheral vision for an unknown period of time.

Something flashes out of the corner of his eye. His hands reach up to pat his waist for the revolver on his waist, but there’s nothing there. A closer look at the flashing colours reveals themselves to be… a Ferris wheel? 

A simple road leads up to the ferris wheel. Street vendors and pedestrians alike bustle through the streets, enjoying the carnival. Iwaizumi can’t bring himself to care about them. The only thing on his mind right now is where you are. 

His mind is spinning so quickly right now that he doesn’t notice the lack of planes the air, or people laughing and chatting instead of screaming for their lives in the streets. Everything rings in his ears the same as they did that night. 

Some of the people he shoves through give him dirty looks. And he’s in luck too, not far down the street is the back of a familiar head of hair. A closer look reveals a blue bow, the same blue bow he recognizes as the one he bought you for your birthday. You had shoved his gift away and told him that the money would be better off feeding the cattle, but he had made sure that it found a snug home in your hair.

He doesn’t remember you wearing it on the car ride earlier.

There’s a cone of ice cream in your hand— not melting on the ground surrounded by ash. You blissfully lick the cone while looking at the rides whizzing above.

“(L/N)! Why haven’t you gone with the others?” Iwaizumi asks frantically. You turn your head back so casually Iwaizumi wants to yank you away. If it was any other person, he would have wanted to disappear right then and there.

But it’s you. Same eyes that widen in confusion when you look at him. Same nose that wrinkles in disgust when you see his bare feet on the concrete. Same lips that part ever so slightly at his appearance.

“I’m… sorry?” you ask. 

“There was an aerial strike, and everyone had to go to safety! Why weren’t you with them? I was worried sick for you the whole time and you stroll through the streets like everything’s fine and dandy?” 

People are starting to stare even harder now. Some people shuffle closer to you in case the worst situation comes to light.

“I think you have the wrong person, sir,” you say calmly. 

“Wrong person? Now is not the time for joking, (L/N) (Y/N)!” 

Iwaizumi wants to slap the eyebrows that are furrowing too slowly for his liking off your face, he just wants you to hurry up so the both of you can get to safety and meet at your front door like he promised but—

“(L/N) (Y/N)?”

“Who else would you be?” He must look like a madman now, screeching while other pedestrians give him odd looks. Someone seems to call the police on him, but the screeching of tires behind him is enough to dispel all sudden danger.

Black cars surround the small road, visages of baffled pedestrians and vendors reflected in their tinted windows. The drivers don’t seem to mind them, some opening the doors to their black suit clad passengers, all around his height and build. Iwaizumi feels a hand creeping up on his back, but he shakes it off and takes a long step to you. 

“(L/N) (Y/N) is my grandmother’s name, sir.”

-

yes this is inspired by captain america. copyright don’t come for me!!!!!

[sweet-citrus-candy]

sweet arms

(aka iwaizumi hajime’s arms)

that’s it. that’s the tweet.

summary: iwaizumi and you share a laugh over ice cream

(this happened during high school era! my fav <3 )

warnings: this is my first time posting my writing and i wrote this at 3 am. please don’t take it seriously. also a little itty bit of implied nsfw at the end if you squint, but it’s majorly fluff.

tags: childhood best friends to lovers and mutual pining (does neighbor to lovers count?)

tbh i really wrote this for the ending. so the parts leading up to it are pretty nonsensical and humorous.

—————————————————

it’s a hot summer day and you and iwaizumi walk to the grocery store to buy ice cream. being neighbors and childhood friends, the two of you practically do everything together. which is why after buying the cold sweet treats, the two of you head to your “secret hideout”.

a long time ago you had discovered a large willow tree out of sight of any passerby’s, and deemed it a secret hideout. naturally, being close friends with iwaizumi lead you to sharing your finding with him. the two of you often hid there and played with action figures. iwaizumi was usually godzilla, and you often played as king kong. each battle had a different outcome, and neither of you had any clue who was going to win until the final move. recently, neither of you brought the action figures. you were both in the third year of high school, so you didn’t play with them as often. only occasionally.

most days, the two of you liked to talk and joke about the most random things. perhaps a neighbor was opening her mailbox while wearing pajamas with ducks on them. maybe one of you had spotted two children wearing a large trench coat trying to enter the movies. not all conversations were about the people living in the same city, but a lot of them were.

today, the two of you are joking about a little girl who bit into a lemon at the grocery store earlier.

“i saw her picking up a lemon when her dad’s back was turned, and she bit into it! and she made the funniest face. it looked like-,” iwaizumi says scrunching his face.

you laugh really hard at the face he’s making and try to imagine what the girl must’ve looked like.

“and when her dad turned around he didn’t see the lemon at first so he looked like a fish out of water trying to figure out what was happening!” iwaizumi laughs while imitating the confused dad.

seeing iwaizumi open and close his mouth repeatedly made you laugh so hard you start shaking. your stomach hurts from laughing so you lightly punch iwaizumi in the arm as revenge.

he feels something cold touch his arm so he stops and looks down. you notice him pausing so you look down as well. iwaizumi is wearing a tank top and there on his bare arm is a smear of ice cream. you forgot you were holding ice cream when you punched him since you were laughing so hard.

“oh my bad! did we get any napkins?”

“no, we didn’t.”

you panic and use the only solution you can think of at the moment. you lick the ice cream off his arm.

the two of you short circuit. there’s no way that you just did that. no way. you were hallucinating. totally.

iwaizumi on the other hand was still processing what just happened. his mind is blank before it floods with thoughts. his best friend -no, his crush- of who knows how long just licked his arm. he’s not sure if you like him back the way he does, but he prays you do. did you not know what you were doing to him?

“oh my god. im so sorry. i shouldn’t have. what was i thinking??” you ramble.

“hey, it’s ok,” he responds in a calm voice. in a quieter one he adds on, “i kinda liked it.”

your eyes open widely; you had heard what he whispered. although flustered, you tease him back.

“it sure tasted nice. your arms are so yummy.”