Chapter Text
Like a school of fish, the people scatter before him, moving in a rush, each with their own destination. And like a predator, Iwaizumi forces the mass to split for him as he slowly makes his way through Tokyo Airport. His sharp eyes sweeping over the crown of people.
It takes him a moment to recognize him. A figure slips quietly through the frantic crowd, head lowered, hood pulled deep over his face. In both hands he carries two large suitcases, a phone wedged between his fingers and the handle. Clever he keeps moving, dodging past rowdy children and laughing families embracing each other. He looks just the same as the last time Iwaizumi saw him walk through this airport, all those years ago. Only the faint limp in his right leg and the darker taint on his hands and face, hints that things are not longer the same.
Finally, the man looks up, letting his gaze sweep over the crowd. He is slightly taller than average. His eyes are sunken, tired from the flight, and his lips look pale. Iwaizumi starts moving. Hands buried deep in his pockets, he makes his way through the crowd until he comes to a stop directly in front of him.
Surprise flashes across Oikawa’s face. “Hey,“ he says quiet.
„Hi,“ Iwaizumi replies.
Slowly Oikawa lets go of his right suitcase, as if unsure how to react. Naturally Iwiazumi steps forward to pull him into a firm hug. The headphones around Oikawa’s shoulder press awkwardly and uncomfortably against him and a new cologne clings to his pullover- a mix of lavender and bergamot. Iwiazumi doesn’t like it.
„I’m back, Hajime,“ Oikawa whispers against his shoulder.
„It‘s good to see you.“ Iwaizumi swallows to harden his voice again. Destined he pulls away. „Let‘s get you something to eat. Are you hungry?“
„A little,” Oikawa admits.
The walk to the car is silent. Iwaizumi grips the handle of the suitcase tightly. He thinks Oikawa might be eager to look around, but whenever he glances to the side, all Oikawa does is keep his head down and watch his path. No one pays him any attention and there is no one to greet him. He looks no different than any other guy returning from vacation. The same Japan has left him; the same Japan receives him- without tears and unrecognized. The country carries on, with or without Oikawa.
Once they are seated, Oikawa pulls off his hood and opens the windows, his hair damp from the flight. Iwiazumi’s hand taps a chill rhythm on the steering wheel along the radio. „How was your flight?“ he asks eventually. „Did you manage to sleep?“
“Not really,” he yawns long. „The old lady next to me kept bombarding me with questions.“
“About volleyball?”
Oikawa pauses. “No. About her grandchild’s birthday present.”
Purposefully Iwaizumi glances in the rearview mirror, blinks, and overtakes a green Jeep. The radio plays a cheesy Japanese opera his mum loved growing up. He can’t remember its name but he knows Oikawa definitely did- it’s the sort of thing he always had good memory for. But for some reason he doesn’t want to ask him about something so unimportant so he stays quiet. He pulls into the underground garage of his apartment, wondering when talking to Oikawa became so difficult.
„Missed Japan?“ Iwaizumi brings himself to ask once more.
Oikawa doesn’t turn his gaze from the window toward him when he answers. „Not at all.“