Day 11 of the Tokyo Olympics
“Your body okay? Any aches, things you want me to look at?” Iwaizumi asks Oikawa, his childhood best friend and long-term boyfriend and fated rival who he will be facing tomorrow at the largest international sporting event in the world–it’s complicated.
From the bed, Oikawa offers Iwaizumi a cheeky grin, although he’s too busy examining his bag, making sure he’s got everything packed for tomorrow, to notice it.
“Are you sure you should be fraternizing with the enemy the night before our fated battle?” Oikawa teases, to which Iwaizumi turns to regard him with an impassive stare.
“You came into my room,” he reminds, recalling how Oikawa turned up at his door a couple of hours ago after texting him that he’ll be coming over and then leaving him on read.
At this point, he can probably walk from his dorm to Iwaizumi’s room blindfolded given the number of times he’s visited. And it’s only natural, not because they’re finally breathing the same air after months of being away, but because Iwaizumi’s supposed bunkmate, the team’s doctor, had to stay in Saitama due to his wife going into emergency labour a whole month before her EDD.
That, and Iwaizumi’s other roommates in their 3-bedroom unit, Aran, Gao, Hyakuzawa and Komori, are all out visiting the recreation centre or fitness centre or something. Isn’t that the luckiest thing? (Why can’t the Olympic Village provide single bedrooms, that’d make a lot of things so much easier.)
So Oikawa’s here again in Block 905, seizing whatever pockets of time he has with Iwaizumi in between practice and games to catch up, wish each other luck, get a little frisky or just to be with each other. Today is a delightful combination of all four.
“And you’re going out of your way to make sure I’m in tip-top condition,” Oikawa chirps.
“So that defeating you will feel worthwhile,” Iwaizumi counters, deciding that he’s all set for tomorrow and moving to the bed.
“You keep telling yourself that Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breezes, eyes following Iwaizumi as he nudges his legs to make space for him on the edge of the bed. “One of us will be having victory sex tomorrow, and it’s going to be me.”
Oikawa is all smiles, genuine and playful and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, although his chest is buzzing with the same kind of mirth and he wants to kiss him, because they’ve come so far after going through so much, and the oceans between them are now mere inches. Iwaizumi wants to keep it that way.
“No matter what happens tomorrow, I don’t think I can feel like I’ve lost,” Iwaizumi tells him honestly and means it with every fibre of his being. Even if Oikawa’s team wins the quarter-finals tomorrow, he will feel the same triumph pumping through his veins. “I’m really proud of you.”
The smile on Oikawa’s face softens, and he pulls his legs in to scoot closer to Iwaizumi.
“I’m really proud of us,” he says, leaning into Iwaizumi’s space. “Look at us, fulfilling our promise to each other almost a decade later.”
Iwaizumi shifts to hike a leg up onto the bed and takes Oikawa’s hand in his, grazing his skin with the pad of his thumb. It’s a gesture he will never take for granted, no matter how small. He is acutely aware of how distance and time can fill the chambers of your heart with the deepest sense of longing.
“I always make good on our promises.”
“Except for one. Which I haven’t…” Iwaizumi starts, but leaves the sentence hanging. Hesitance settles on his features as he glances up at Oikawa to continue, “Remember a few months ago, when we talked about what we wanted after the Olympics?”
“Yeah?” Oikawa asks, the memory flashing in his mind. It had been a conversation about the future—their future—still so amorphous at that time but there was a new promise forged, and Oikawa remembers feeling that they’re going to be okay. When Iwaizumi speaks again, he clings on to every word like a sport climber would to a foot hold.
“I know we haven’t decided on anything, but I told you that I wanted a future with you,” Iwaizumi carries on. He holds Oikawa’s expectant gaze, his own eyes full of careful hope, and threads their fingers together. “I’m serious. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. If you’ll let me.”
“Of course I’ll let you,” Oikawa assures, the words coming out in an exhale. “I want the same thing.”
Iwaizumi laughs, short and relieved, like it’s just the thing he needs to hear.
“Good…that’s good,” he merely answers, wets his lips and swallows.
He’s nervous, Oikawa thinks and allows himself to wonder why. Suddenly, their promise from that day takes shape, and the very thought of it makes Oikawa’s heart beat wildly.
“What are you trying to say Hajime?” he urges, holding his breath.
God, is this it? Is it happening now? Are they doing this right now? On the cardboard bed in Block 905 of the Olympic Village? Will he finally be fiancé of Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer of the Japanese national volleyball team on the eleventh day of the Tokyo Olympics?
They’ve never explicitly talked about marriage but this is everything he’s ever wanted, a future with Iwa-chan, a life no longer plagued with heart-wrenching ‘see you again’s but blissful ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s. He can’t wait to say ‘yes’, can’t wait to renounce his boyfriend status at the top of his lungs from the balcony of this room.
“I’m saying—I love you so much Tooru, I—”
The doorbell interrupts him mid-sentence and Oikawa whips his head in the direction of the offending sound.
“Who the hell…?” he swears and straightens his back instantly when Iwaizumi actually gets off the bed to answer it. “You’re gonna get it?”
Aren’t they having a moment? Perhaps one of the most important moments of their lives? Whoever’s on the other side of that door better be sick or dying or Oikawa will personally make sure they are.
“It might be one of the players,” Iwaizumi posits, already having a gut feeling that it is. Throughout the Games, they have a record of looking him up at his room for the most trivial matters, he only hopes it’s nothing serious this time. It would be the worst timing.
When Iwaizumi swings the door open, he finds out that he’s half-right because it is a player, except it’s not just one of them.
“Get in line, I was here first oh hi, Iwa-kun,” Miya Atsumu greets with a charming smile after seemingly jostling someone away with a scowl a second before.
“Miya? What are you doing here? Are you okay?”
“Iwaizumi! I hope you are hungry, because I brought supper!” Hoshiumi Kourai cuts in from the right, holding up a plastic bag of what appears to be a random assortment of snacks. Hardly supper, Iwaizumi thinks. And Hoshiumi shouldn’t be binging on snacks the night before a game.
“Thanks, but actually I’m good—” he declines but is cut off by another player, Yaku Morisuke, who steps assertively in front of Atsumu and Hoshiumi.
“Iwaizumi, I forgot my Netflix password. Can I borrow your account?” he asks, cool smile on his lips. “You haven’t watched the new season of Money Heist yet right? We can watch it together.”
And then, everyone speaks one after another, crowding him in front of his door and probably disturbing the neighbours. Good lord, are they all here?
“Iwaizumi-san…Kageyama made me drink expired milk,” Hinata informs him worriedly.
“I didn’t make you drink anything! You drank it yourself!” Kageyama protests. Why did they both have to come here?
“Why would you even bring expired milk?!” Hinata exclaims, bewildered. They literally sell milk in the Olympic Village. There’s a Family Mart in the damn plaza.
“I didn’t know it’s expired! And I like the brand!”
“Hinata, if it’s only a few days after the expiration date, you’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi manages to tell him before the next person demands his attention.
“Can I borrow a laundry bag? I think I lost mine in the laundry centre,” Sakusa Kiyoomi asks.
“I told ya I had a spare—” Atsumu points out but is immediately silenced by the deadly glare that Sakusa threatens him with. Iwaizumi sighs. He supposes he does have an extra laundry bag.
“Iwaizumi! I found this in the corridor, is it yours?” Bokuto Koutarou asks, presenting him a book on ‘Strength and Conditioning for Young Athletes’, looking rather proud of himself.
“Uh no Bokuto, it’s not mine,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s not even in Japanese?”
“Yeah but it’s in English,” Bokuto comments, shrugging. He distinctively remembers that Iwaizumi is a badass bilingual. “Oh well, might be useful anyway right?”
“Someone probably needs it back. We should leave it in the lost and found,” Iwaizumi answers, not inclined to hold on to something that doesn’t belong to him. Just as he thinks this is all of them, Ushijima comes strolling over, carrying a few sheets of clear bags and…a pump?
“Good evening Iwaizumi, I came here to show you this since you mentioned you had space issues with your luggage,” the opposite hitter says mild-manneredly. “It’s a vacuum bag. I could show you how to use it, but I see you have many visitors. Perhaps I can come by another night.”
Iwaizumi stares at the yellow pump in his hand, and at Ushijima’s blank expression, then at everyone else who’s sporting varying degrees of excitement on their faces. He appreciates the gesture, he really does, but to have almost the entire team show up at your door for the weirdest shit is bringing about the onset of a migraine. And they have a game tomorrow. Did that somehow slip everyone’s mind? They should be getting ready for bed.
“What’s going on?” Iwaizumi hears Oikawa’s voice coming from behind. He appears beside him and instantly makes a face at the sight of the Japanese national team. Is that a fucking pump in Ushiwaka’s hands? “Why the hell are you all at our door?”
“This is Iwaizumi’s room,” Ushijima states factually.
“And Argentina’s dorms aren’t even in this block,” Atsumu makes sure to highlight.
“You slept with our opponent???” Hoshiumi questions Iwaizumi, his already round eyes going rounder. How he came to that conclusion when they’re not even dressed improperly is not something Iwaizumi wants to think about.
“They are literally together, why are you so surprised?” Sakusa mumbles through his mask.
“Because we’re playing against Argentina tomorrow!”
Oh, so they didn’t forget.
Oikawa, the little shit, doesn’t make things any better when he retorts, “There are some athletes who perform better when they have pre-game se—”
“Please stop talking,” Iwaizumi interjects with an exasperated sigh.
Yaku, who has been studying Oikawa the moment he appeared and realizing that no one else is around when he knows for a fact that four of their other teammates are roomies with their athletic trainer, probes, “Where are the rest?”
“They went to the recreation centre,” Iwaizumi replies.
“How convenient,” Atsumu enunciates each syllable carefully, squinting his eyes at the Argentine setter dubiously.
Obviously, Oikawa catches on and counters with a smug smirk, “Yes, it’s as if the gods want us to be together. Too bad for all you latecomers. You’re all about twenty years too late.”
Bokuto, one of the most faultless ones here, bless his heart, suggests cheerily, “We could still hang out. I could bring my Switch over. Or we could all just go to the recreation centre too.”
“It’s late,” Iwaizumi says, hoping they’d get the hint. Tough luck.
“Not late enough for supper!” Hoshiumi exclaims.
“Excuse me, we were in the middle of something important!!” Oikawa cries out, outraged. It’s not that he doesn’t like the Japanese national team, he loves them, as much as loving your rivals allows (Iwaizumi excluded of course). He’s well-acquainted with them and their antics, having formed a strange bond over video calls with Iwaizumi after practices and engaging their assistance to fend off serious admirers of their athletic trainer even though they form the inner circle of the Iwaizumi Hajime Fan Club.
But they interrupted their very intimate moment—Iwa-chan was about to propose (or so Oikawa thinks)—and none of them are sick or dying so is this really necessary?
“We are something important, right Iwa-san?” Atsumu counters.
Iwaizumi sighs. He is not getting paid enough for this.
“I am getting a headache.”
“Woah what’s this? Something fun going on?” a voice travels from the right and saviour of the day, man of the hour, MVP Ojiro Aran, at least in Iwaizumi’s eyes, saunters back to his room.
“Thank god you’re back,” he says in relief, and the weariness in his eyes is all too familiar to Aran. It’s a result of having to deal with the national team’s Iwaizumi-specific shenanigans and nothing to do with manual labour or the stresses of the day. He offers his friend a sympathetic smile.
“Need some crowd control?”
“Okay, whoever does not have a legitimate reason to be here,” Aran turns to the team to say, deceptively genial smile plastered on his face. “Go back to your rooms.”
Hinata and Kageyama are the first to leave.
“Please have an early rest,” Iwaizumi says after them as they turn away in disappointment. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Like the smitten fools they are, they all stand to attention and offer him a salute.
(Atsumu has yet to realize that he didn’t get a chance to tell Iwaizumi what he came to his room for.)
When they’re finally gone and Aran can finally enter his own room, Iwaizumi gratefully says, “Thanks. Where are Komori and the others?”
“No problem. They went to the convenience store, I have a video call so I came back first,” Aran replies and doesn’t forget his manners by giving Oikawa a nod in greeting. “Hey Oikawa.”
“Hi Ojiro-san, thanks for shooing them away,” he chimes even though he’s technically not supposed to be here either. But Aran is kind enough to look past his frequent presence in their room, and leaves the two of them be.
Believing that they will have some peace and quiet now would be a mistake, for Iwaizumi faces Oikawa with a rueful expression and says, “You should probably go too.”
“But Iwa-chan!” Oikawa protests wilfully. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
“We can talk again. We have time,” Iwaizumi assures, brushing gentle fingers through Oikawa’s hair, a little flat by the end of the day. As much as he wants Oikawa next to him as he sleeps, it’s important for him to be around his own team. “You got a big game tomorrow. Go be with your team.”
“Okay…” Oikawa relents, the corners of his mouth dropping visibly. He supposes they can continue where they left off some other time and who knows, perhaps he can even expect a grand proposal, although he would say yes in a heartbeat if Iwaizumi were to propose to him while they were brushing their teeth over the sink or something.
If Iwa-chan was about to propose, he’ll probably do it soon right?
The thought alone comforts him and fills him with renewed vigour. As Oikawa steps through the door and before he leaves, he spins around abruptly as if remembering something.
“Oh, and I love you too Hajime. Goodnight!” he says, a response to Iwaizumi’s interrupted words earlier. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips, leaving his almost-fiancé with a taste of him.
@tsumutsumu: who is @tooru_0720’s roommate? must be nice having the WHOLE ROOM ‘TA YERSELF
@tooru_0720: delete this.
@kourai_inthesky: see u on the battlefield tmr @tooru_0720!!!
@notyaku: sleep tight bitch
@tooru_0720: oh I slept very well ;)
@hajime_0610: GO TO BED
Day 12 of the Tokyo Olympics
Elle Hanigan, 24-year-old representative of Australia’s track and field team and resident hype starter of the Olympic Village who can and will make friends with everyone, just received the perfect pick-me-up on her gym session this morning.
It comes in the form of an attractive Japanese man who’s probably not that much older than her, with an unassumingly handsome face, short spiky hair, and dressed in a polo tee with the word ‘Japan’ impeccably printed on the back that hugs him in all the right places and shows off his well-built form in all the right ways.
Maybe it’s the clean-shaven face he appears with, generally refreshed but still hiding vestiges of sleep in the crinkles of his eyes, or the little nod he gives his teammates who entered a little after she did—cool and nonchalant like the Olympics got nothing on him—or the way he drops his shoulder to set his bag on the ground, that catches her attention. Whatever it is, he is god-tier eye candy, Adonis incarnate, the feeling of a successful baton change in human form.
From her leg press machine, Elle watches discreetly as Hot Japanese Athlete turns to one of his teammates, a towering guy with an undercut and a neutral expression, to tell him something before they head to the mats. That guy is definitely at least two metres tall, maybe they’re basketballers? And how sweet, Hot Japanese Athlete actually helps his teammates out with their stretches.
Throughout her workout session, Elle multi-tasks with completing her sets and live-tweeting about Hot Japanese Athlete and snapping cautious pictures of him. It is ten minutes in before she discovers that he’s in the volleyball team and about fifteen minutes in before she is bestowed the truth that Hot Japanese Athlete is in reality, Hot Japanese Athletic Trainer.
He is truly…something. Physical appeal aside, he seems to have an interesting relationship with the players. To be more specific, the players seem to have some sort of athletic trainer complex that is both impressive and comical.
Elle has already witnessed the blond guy offering Hot Japanese Athletic Trainer his water bottle which he had drank from moments ago, only to have it slapped right out of his hands by a shorter player with mousy brown hair. They’re both given stern looks and made to dry the mats. Someone with strikingly orange hair receives an encouraging hair-ruffle which puts stars in his eyes and makes his mouth go into a wavy line like he’s about to cry from the gesture. Another one actually blushes when he’s handed a fresh towel, supposedly having forgotten his.
In any case, Elle adds Hot Japanese Athletic Trainer to her list of eye-candy in the Olympic Village. It looks like she’s not the only one who harbours the sentiment if the replies to her mini live-tweeting session was anything to go by. Slinging a towel over her shoulder and exiting the fitness centre before volleyball eye-candy catches her staring, Elle decides to check her tweets after she takes a shower later, oblivious to the social media hullabaloo that she has inadvertently set into motion.
@honeyelle: Just saw the hottest athlete at the fitness centre and I’ve seen many hot athletes. Japan really be serving some looks this year.
@swimmer4lyfe: don’t be shy, share
@benburkett: yo, drop a pic?
@honeyelle: Back view only! [image attached]
@rugby_enthusiast7: those arms!!
@gymbo: dat shoulder-to-waist ratio...
@kat_sena: what sport he plays?
@luoma_loves_hockey: with those arms, maybe canoeing?
@thienfiend: or handball?
@honeyelle: Update: he’s with the volleyball players!
@honeyelle: Another pic, a sneaky side profile [image attached]
@abetya_rows: damn, I hope the japanese volleyball matches don’t conflict with mine…
@mattiamadness: OMW to the fitness centre now!
@honeyelle: Update: he’s NOT an athlete!! He’s the team’s trainer!!
@shuttler_nasyidah: LOL. eye-candy list has now expanded to include trainers
@rafael_engarde: DAMN, wish my trainer looks like that!!
@kat_sena: what the vball team be feeding their trainers with??
@hattierose: anyone know this guy? Link a girl up?
@ushijima_wakatoshi: He is taken.
@honeyelle: A loss for us today.
@koru_kova: truly a shame
The extravagant family quarrel concludes with Oikawa’s win.
When the scoreboard reads 3-2, with the last set at 15-13 in Argentina’s favour, Oikawa is bombarded by first and foremost, the shrill cry of a final whistle, then the bodies of his teammates all crowding in a group hug, with the rumbling cheers from the spectators resounding around them. He doesn’t even register what the commentators are saying, their energetic voices loud and clear but drowned out by the rush of emotions within him.
It’s not even a medal match, and there’s a chance they might even go back without a medal, but in this moment, Oikawa feels like he’s won. Because for him, a Japanese by blood playing for Argentina against the very people he’s challenged—and coming out victorious—this isn’t just a match, not by a long shot. He feels like he’s on top of the world, and on this world stage, who’s to say that he’s not?
The team is still high on adrenaline after shaking hands with the players at the net, and Oikawa is swept into the flurry of congratulatory back-slaps, vigorous head-pats and gripping handshakes as each one of them celebrate the win with one another, the coach and staff, and spectators eager to take pictures with the victors.
Oikawa is getting his hair enthusiastically messed by their opposite hitter, Damián Juárez, and is already breathless from laughing by the time he’s released with a pat on the back and then he finds his breath snatched away once more when he catches Iwaizumi’s eye from across the court, at the side-lines.
There’s a smile on his face, although Oikawa can tell he’s trying to hide it, and he lets his legs take him to the other end, to where he knows Iwaizumi will welcome him with pride and joy that stems from love more than sportsmanship.
His steps are halted by the sound of his name—“Oikawa-san!”—and Oikawa faces the person who has called him.
“Tobio-chan,” he returns, noticing that he’s accompanied by another player. “Ushiwaka.”
Kageyama stands a little straighter to say, “Um…it was a good game.”
“I believe it was one of the most fulfilling matches I’ve played,” Ushijima adds sincerely and while Oikawa didn’t expect to be approached, he figures there’s no better time for this than now.
They played their hardest till the end, giving it their all with determination and passion pushing them forward, taking a point back where they have lost and none of them can say that they should have tried harder.
“We may have lost, but I’m glad we could have this match Oikawa-san,” Kageyama tells him, his voice somehow clear over the din in the arena.
Oikawa smirks, “Nothing beats facing off your fated rival huh.”
“Yes, but you are also a senior I admire, and this match reminded me why.”
To be on the receiving end of such earnest words, from Kageyama Tobio no less, takes Oikawa aback. He’s again reminded that he’s not the only one who has changed. This match was a testament of that and if he sits down to catch up with them, he will realize just how much more they’ve each changed and grown.
“You’ve finally learnt how to use your words huh,” Oikawa comments with a light laugh, turning to regard Ushijima with none of the malice he felt all those years ago. “And what about you Ushiwaka? Any touching words for your high school nemesis?”
“No, except I’ve never seen you as a nemesis,” he tells him as-a-matter-of-factly. “And I am sure we will face each other again.”
“I’m sure we will too,” he agrees, smiling with determination. The blue of his uniform stands ready against them, always a challenge to the red of theirs. As suddenly as Kageyama had called him, Oikawa throws the boy a teasing look and jokes, “And Tobio-chan, why are you so stiff! Do you want my autograph or something?”
“Then relax! You look like a cardboard cut-out,” he says, and the atmosphere dissolves into one between friends and rivals alike. “And you too Ushiwaka. In fact, the both of you need to work on your press-ready persona. You can always come to me for tips. I happen to be very skilled at that.”
“That would be helpful.”
“I’ll do my best.”
There are spectators in the stands clamouring for Ushijima’s and Kageyama’s attention and Oikawa himself glances over to see that Iwaizumi is making his way over, so they part with a nod and the knowledge that this is not the last of them.
Eager to meet with Iwaizumi, Oikawa trots over to meet him halfway, falling into his open arms and hugging him—sweaty uniform and all—with unbridled happiness. Being embraced by Iwaizumi, no matter how quick it is, unleashes a fresh wave of euphoria in him.
“Iwa-chan,” he says breathlessly when they part, hands on each other’s arms.
“Hey,” Iwaizumi says back, taking in Oikawa’s beaming face, covered by a sheen of perspiration, and resists the urge to kiss him right then and there. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”
Laughing, Oikawa’s words fight with the rising exhilaration in his chest to be heard, “I’m so happy. Iwa-chan, this is—I’m just so—”
“I know,” he assures, relieving Oikawa of the need to say anything more when it seems he can’t work past the whirlwind of emotions to continue.
They stand there in the side-lines, simply soaking in each other’s presence amidst the cacophony of never-ending cheers. All Oikawa sees is Iwaizumi, the only one who’s stayed by his side for so long, an endless source of encouragement and love, the only one Oikawa has loved with every atom of his being, and now they’re here, a lifetime of pledges behind them and Oikawa wishes for a lifetime more.
“That’s another promise made good,” he eventually says once he finds his voice again.
“Yeah. Even though you won this time, don’t get too smug yet,” Iwaizumi grins. “You never know what kind of challenges we’ll spring on you.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he accepts. Oikawa already has a victory under his belt, he wonders what it would be like to have two. With a hopeful tinge in his voice, he adds, “And just waiting for you to fulfil the last one…you know, the one that got interrupted yesterday.”
There’s probably a camera somewhere that’s focused on them, given the sheer number of them there are, but Oikawa doesn’t mind.
“Oh,” Iwaizumi exhales, realizing what Oikawa is referring to. But there is a time and place for everything, and Oikawa will just have to wait. “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s one promise I intend to keep, whatever it takes.”
The setter doesn’t reply and instead stares back at Iwaizumi like he’s waiting for more. Iwaizumi thinks it’s rather amusing that he looks so quietly expectant against the backdrop of the celebrations, chestnut-coloured hair flattened against his sweat-slicked forehead and face still a little red from the five-set game. He feels himself being pulled in by Oikawa’s keenness.
“Tooru, you…you’re amazing,” he tells him, holding his gaze. “I can’t believe that the boy who lived two streets away from me in Sendai is now standing on the world stage and surprisingly not rubbing it in my face about the win. And I can’t believe I get to be by your side the whole way here.”
This is the proposal speech, Oikawa thinks, his entire mind going into overdrive and his heartbeat quickening. Oh god, he is not ready but at the same time, he’s been ready for the longest time.
“Of course Hajime. There’s no one else for me but you.”
Iwaizumi continues, unaware of the chaos he has stirred in Oikawa, “I want the best for you. I want you to have everything you deserve.”
“You’re everything I deserve,” he says hastily, eagerness written plainly on his face.
It makes Iwaizumi laugh, short and sweet, the corners of his eyes crinkling and Oikawa wants to say ‘yes’ already—
“Tooru!” someone interrupts from the side and before either of them can react, Simón Cardona, one of Argentina’s middle blockers, slaps Oikawa on his back and tells him excitedly in Spanish, “We’re taking pictures, come on!”
Elías Hernández, the other middle blocker and a more subdued character, puts up a hand at Iwaizumi and says in English, “Sorry Iwa-chan, we’re borrowing him for a bit.”
At the same time, Yaku calls for Iwaizumi from behind, “Iwaizumi! Think Gao needs a look-over.”
He nods his acknowledgement at Yaku, only to turn back to see Oikawa being dragged away by his teammates, sporting an exaggerated look of concern.
“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi tells him.
“I’ll see you tonight,” is the only reassurance he gives him before they return to their teams.
Iwaizumi and Oikawa make plans to meet at the outdoor seats near the main dining hall after dinner that night, not as crowded as inside but still occupied by a handful of people who prefer the open atmosphere. Having eaten with their own teams, they’re leaning against the planters of one of those large potted trees meant to provide colour and shade to the area.
“So are you guys staying?” Oikawa asks, an almost-empty juice box in his hands. He really hopes they are, but he knows how most athletes leave the Village after they’re done competing. But he wants to be as close as he can to Iwa-chan, for as long as he can. And he still has a proposal to say yes to, he can’t possibly leave now right?
“Yeah, Coach was saying it’s fine, it’s not like we’re going to start practice immediately after. Besides, there are only a few more days left, no harm letting them have the full Olympic Village experience,” Iwaizumi answers and Oikawa breathes a sigh of relief. “They know they have to be considerate of other athletes who still have games to play.”
All things considered, the team had taken the loss in their stride rather well. Granted, the immediate aftermath was solemn, with a few tears shed, but they will take this experience with gratitude and use it to polish their skills and for each and every one of the players, they know that this is scarcely the end.
“Great! I have another team meeting later, but I can go over after?” Oikawa suggests and puts his juice box away, standing up to face Iwaizumi and nudging his legs open so that he can stand in between.
“Fine,” he acquiesces.
“Oh, can you get more condoms? We ran out.”
“Already?” Iwaizumi asks, to which Oikawa nods innocently. He wants to be surprised, but then he thinks back on their rendezvous and figures yeah, it makes sense. “Yeah okay, I’ll get them.”
Oikawa prods his knee cheekily to taunt, “Told you I was right about victory sex being mine.”
“Like I said, you may have won, but don’t be too smug,” Iwaizumi returns without a moment’s hesitation. The devious gleam in his eyes and slight upward curl of his lips put ideas in Oikawa’s head that will require a change in rating.
“Ohhh, go easy on me, I still have games to play,” he counters playfully.
“You can take it.”
Oikawa raises a brow and tries to pretend that it doesn’t make him buzz in anticipation, continuing the banter, “Now I’m worried.”
“Have I ever given you a reason to be worried?” Iwaizumi asks, taking Oikawa’s hands to play with his fingers. And that’s the thing with Iwaizumi, despite his gruff exterior, he can say the gentlest things at the most casual of times and Oikawa has resigned himself to a fate where it never fails to make his chest squeeze pleasantly.
“No,” he admits but recalls something else a split second later. “Wait, yes—that one time we had a fight while you were still in Cali and you got yourself so wasted and drunk dialled me and told me you couldn’t do this anymore and you were a crying mess—”
“Okay yeah, I don’t need a reminder,” Iwaizumi cuts him off with a hand to his mouth. It’s a memory he’d rather not relive, one of his more unsavoury moments that picked at his insecurities and made the distance that separated them seemed more than the ocean between them. But Oikawa snickers, because they’re here now—still together. “And I didn’t mean it, at that time. I know people say we’re more honest when we’re drunk, but I don’t think I meant it. I was just scared.”
The amusement in Oikawa’s eyes soften into understanding. He runs his thumbs along the back of Iwaizumi’s hand and tells him with certainty, “If your younger self could see us now, he’d know that there isn’t anything to be afraid of.”
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi breathes, looking up from where he sits to lock eyes with Oikawa. It’s so surreal, to be holding hands in a quiet corner of the Olympic Village. Iwaizumi is proud that they’ve survived a long-distance relationship but for how long more? He doesn’t want to say goodnight to Oikawa’s mornings; he wants to ask him what they should have for dinner that night, he wants Oikawa’s toothbrush right next to his, he wants nothing in between them. With all the warmth that seems so ceaseless, he says, “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Oikawa answers with a smile, because he is the same.
“You know how much I want to go to bed with you at night and wake up next to you in the morning?”
“I do know. Because you’re not the only who feels that way.”
Oikawa hopes that Iwaizumi understands that when it comes to the two of them, they have always wanted the same things.
“Do you know I’d do anything for that?” he asks, voice dropping to a whisper and Oikawa finds himself following suit, like the trees are listening.
“Yeah? Like what?” he presses. There’s a familiar bubble of suspense forming in his chest and for the third time, he lets himself hope.
“You have no idea.”
“You’re so affectionately cryptic recently,” Oikawa dares to say, curling his fingers more tightly with Iwaizumi’s. “I feel like you have something you want to tell me.”
Oikawa holds his breath. This has to be it. Third time’s the charm right?
“What is it?”
Iwaizumi offers him a small smile and inhales.
“There you are! We were looking for you Toto,” someone shouts over in Spanish, effectively dashing Oikawa’s hopes for tonight.
“DIEGO!” Oikawa literally shrieks at the culprit, who turns out to be Argentina’s opposite hitter. The setter has a sort of deranged look in his eyes when he accuses, “Can’t you see we’re busy?!”
“Woah sorry, but Coach wants us for the team meeting,” he explains and gives Iwaizumi a wave, completely oblivious to the moment he’s destroyed. “Hi Iwa-chan!”
Iwaizumi greets him back, remembering Diego Solano as one of the youngest of the starting string, a sprightly character still beautifully protected from the harshness of the twenty-first century.
“I’ll be there! In. A. While!” Oikawa grits out and Iwaizumi is able to understand with the basic knowledge he picked up over the years.
“No can do. We’re all heading back now,” another one of Oikawa’s teammate, Elías, the middle blocker a year older than them, adds. “Hey Iwa-chan.”
Elías’ really cool, always maintains his composure and is the kind who knows where the bomb shelter is when there’s an earthquake. He’s also quietly considerate of Iwaizumi and switches to speaking in simple English whenever he’s around. And at this point, Iwaizumi doesn’t bother telling them that ‘Iwa-chan’ is not actually his real name.
“Figured you’d be here too. Maybe we should exchange numbers. Since you probably know where he is if we can’t find him,” Elías jokes, although he’s reaching into his pocket for his phone.
“Sorry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t run off too much,” Iwaizumi says, ignoring Oikawa’s appalled expression. He’s so dramatic.
“No no, it’s fine. He always seems to be in a better mood when he’s with you.”
“Can you not make it sound like I’m normally moping about,” Oikawa protests and pulls Iwaizumi away from taking Elías’ phone, merely out of petulance. “And there is no need to exchange numbers! We’ll be done in a bit, just go ahead first.”
No one seems to pay him any heed, especially Diego who exclaims, “I want Iwa-chan’s number too! I can send you lots of funny pictures of Toto.”
“You just want to ask him for tips. Like we don’t have our own trainer,” a new voice joins them, and Iwaizumi sees that it belongs to Damián, the extrovert who apparently throws the best parties.
He ambles over to them, flashing Diego a knowing smirk, to which the younger boy replies sheepishly, “Our Sebastian is a scary guy…”
“True,” he quips then turns to Iwaizumi to ask with a keen arch of his brow, “By the way Iwa-chan, I heard you can do a full ankle tape in under five minutes.”
“Oh and what brand of k-tape do you use?” Elías takes the opportunity to inquire, as if this has taken precedence over fetching Oikawa for their team meeting. “We always use Spartan, but I think my skin’s sensitive to it.”
“If you want something gentler on the skin, I’d suggest Kinseo Tex. It’s a little more expensive since it’s medical-grade, but I think your trainer could probably get a good deal in bulk,” Iwaizumi answers and regards Damián with a quirk of his lips, “And yeah, I can do an ankle tape in four minutes actually.”
Oikawa is flabbergasted over how his private time with Iwaizumi seems to fly out of his control. Did their national teams have a vendetta against him receiving the most long-awaited proposal of his life or something? What are these gremlins popping out of nowhere for and interrupting their most tender moments? Is this Tokyo Olympics or Fuck with Oikawa Olympics?
“…Are you guys done? Aren’t we going to be late?” he interjects, abandoning the possibility of a proposal now.
“We’ll just tell Coach you made us late. Don’t worry Iwa-chan, we won’t say he was with you,” he teases and winks at Iwaizumi.
As they head off with Oikawa in tow, waving goodbye to Iwaizumi, Diego shouts over to him in English, “We’ll return him after the meeting!” and switches to Spanish to laugh at Oikawa, “Don’t be upset Toto!”
“Diego…you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“We’re not even bunkmates!”
@naomi_vaults: OMG just saw the hot athletic trainer at the condom vending machine!!! @honeyelle
@bmxbaddie: I’M YELLING!!!
@pachrapa271: 55555 everyone is so crazy
@aim_ee: who is hitting that, leave some for the rest of us!
@ushijima_wakatoshi: I believe he is taken.
Later, at Block 905…
@triplethreativan: my neighbour is going at it again…
@triplethreativan: 100 likes and I’ll put the audio on tiktok
Day 13 of the Tokyo Olympics
Oikawa doesn’t have any games today, and frankly he’s been craving for something different from the food served at the main dining hall so here he is, strolling across the wooden bridge at the Seaside Mall at Decks in Odaiba with his boyfriend after a hearty meal.
He managed to get permission from the Coach and captain to leave the Olympic Village a few hours, promising to return in time for practice in the afternoon. They acceded with no questions asked, though Oikawa was more than ready to disclose that he’s got a lunch date with Japan’s athletic trainer.
And the date has been going so well. They had sushi, stolen a kiss behind the menus and linked their ankles under the table. He craves for the simple bliss of such dates and thanks for gods for allowing him this today.
“Iwa-chan, is that the Rainbow Bridge?” Oikawa asks excitedly, pointing at two distinguishable arches in the distance.
“Yeah, it is,” Iwaizumi tells him, noting how tiny the arches look from here. “Do you want to see it?”
“I want to!” the setter nods his head, feeling like a tourist (technically he is).
“Do you have time?” Iwaizumi wonders. Odaiba is pretty near Harumi, where the Olympic Village is, but it will still take a while to travel, and he has to ensure that Oikawa isn’t late for practice lest he loses his spot in Argentina’s good books. “We have go nearer if you want a better look.”
“Practice doesn’t start in another two hours, let’s go!”
He’s running off before Iwaizumi can get another word in, keen to get a closer look of the Rainbow Bridge even though it’s not as impressive as it is at night, when it’s illuminated in, that’s right, rainbow colours.
“Tooru, hang on,” Iwaizumi calls after him. When Oikawa realizes that he’s not being followed, he whirls around to see what the hold-up is.
Of all the things he could’ve guessed—a rock in his shoe, an incoming call, a seagull eating a French fry on the deck—Oikawa never expected to come face-to-face with Iwaizumi bending down on one knee and it plays in front of his eyes like a reel on slow-motion.
“Iwa-chan…” he whispers, shell-shocked.
He can’t believe it’s happening right fucking now, in the middle of the deck in public! This is perfect, they’re on a lovely date in sunny Odaiba, Iwaizumi’s dressed rather handsomely in fact, and they’re finally alone so none of their pesky teammates can interrupt them. Oikawa feels like ascending. Iwa-chan is always so full of surprises, like that time he snuck his favourite sweater into Oikawa’s luggage because he desperately wanted to bring something of Iwaizumi’s back, or that time he turned up at his apartment in Argentina as a birthday surprise. Iwa-chan is so romantic. He is—
—tying his shoelaces.
Iwaizumi Hajime is tying his fucking shoelaces.
One loop in…and done in a knot. He brushes some dust off his shoe and gets up to say, “Okay, let’s go,” before noticing Oikawa’s expression, an inscrutable one that is a strange mix of disbelief and astonishment and disappointment.
“What?” he has the nerve to ask and Oikawa feels himself deflate faster than a flat tire on I-4. He has also never hated Asics’ trainers so much before.
He rescinds his thanks from a few moments ago. Clearly the gods are having a field day with him.
Turning away before Iwaizumi catches how red he’s going from frustration and embarrassment, Oikawa stomps his way to the Rainbow Bridge.
Iwaizumi jogs after him, wondering what that’s about.
“Hey, wait, why are you walking so quickly??”
It’s a mess of grabby hands and greedy lips when they meet again that night. Oikawa can be very reckless when he’s hot and bothered like this.
“Fuck Tooru, did you call me out here just to jump me?” Iwaizumi breaks away from Oikawa’s hungry kiss to say. They’re hiding out at the secluded staircase in the corridor to the equipment rooms, exploiting the lateness of the night and emptiness of the training centre to make out like a couple of highly charged athletes.
“No, I called you out here because I thought we could visit the Olympic Beach later but you look really good in your dri-fit shirt so I got distracted.”
It is tight. And it shows off the lines of his pecs in a way that should be carved as the eleventh commandment in Moses’ stone tablet. Thou shalt not be this hot, or something.
“Shittykawa…” Iwaizumi warns, although he is also too far gone to stop now. His lover is a compelling force when he had taken his hand and led him through the training centre after practice to pin him against the wall.
“We can be quick,” he murmurs, flicking his eyes to Iwaizumi’s which are already dark with lust, and presses his body into his, lets him feel all the hardness of his body.
With no other route in sight (or mind), Iwaizumi gives in to the bloody tease and surges forward to kiss him hard, one hand coming up to cup the base of his skull. Oikawa tastes like sweat, his skin sticky with it, and it makes Iwaizumi want to do him dirty and rough.
“You’re gonna get us in trouble one of these days,” he still has the awareness to say, mouth nipping a line down the column of Oikawa’s neck. Rather hypocritical of him, when he yanks on his shirt to expose Oikawa’s shoulder and sucks a mark on his flesh that would be barely covered by his uniform.
“Maybe,” the setter grins, thrumming with satisfaction at how fervent Iwaizumi is, when he had been chiding at first. “For now, let’s keep those hands busy yeah?”
Iwaizumi indulges him by pushing himself off the wall to flip them over, and Oikawa lets out a surprised grunt when his back meets concrete.
“You drive me fucking crazy sometimes,” he tells him headily, pushing Oikawa’s legs apart so that he can fit a knee in between.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Iwaizumi curses as hands slip under his shirt to grip his hip, one of them sliding its way up to savour the defined muscles of his body. Oikawa might have been the one who instigated this rendezvous, but Iwaizumi will have equal blame to bear if they do get caught. “Do you even know what you do to me?”
He’s letting his desire do the talking for him by now, and so is Oikawa.
He makes a guttural sound of frustration at the back of his throat, taking Oikawa’s mouth again and kissing him between words, “Not sure if I wanna—wreck you—or take care of you.”
Their kisses are quick, wet, haphazard against the sensation of their hips pressed together. “I want all of you,” Iwaizumi says breathily. “Wanna make you mine.”
“What are you waiting for then?” Oikawa returns, the words coming out in pants. “You know how it goes. If you like it, put a ring on it.”
Even in his giddy desire, he hangs on to a promise he wants uttered.
“Yeah? You want that?” Iwaizumi smirks against his lips and Oikawa shudders.
He doesn’t care if they’re in some dark corner of the training centre. He doesn’t care if it’s done in the shadows. He wants to say ‘yes’ and then get railed as ex-boyfriend and fiancé. And even if they get caught, he’ll have a ring around his finger so who will be the real winner here?
“More than being taken right now?”
Oikawa can’t be certain if it’s the idea of it or the knee rubbing against his crotch that draws out a moan from him.
“Fuck, more than anything.”
“Impatient little shit,” Iwaizumi growls, but its intensity is diluted by the gentle exasperation in his voice. “I told you—”
“Tetsu—fuck!” a deep voice swears and someone stumbles out from the corner, seemingly tripping over his own feet in an attempt to walk while bending over something, or someone.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” Oikawa exclaims, turning his head so fast to glare daggers at their intruders that he almost knocks Iwaizumi’s forehead.
Their uninvited guest—or guests, now that they notice there’s also a shorter guy with light blue hair clinging onto the front of his shirt—stammers in embarrassment. He’s holding his companion by the shoulders, who if they were to hazard a guess, had also been distracted by teeth and tongue to notice that this staircase is already taken by one (1) raunchy couple.
“Oh shit, sorry—we were just—uhh…” he trails off, regarding Iwaizumi and Oikawa with one-part surprise and two-part awkwardness because if they were to take a good, hard look at the state they’re caught in, they’d discover that they’re all in the same boat.
Rumpled clothing, kiss-swollen lips, sneaking off to quiet corners for a tryst…that’s classic horny escapades right there. Oikawa’s too occupied with scowling at the other couple who obviously also couldn’t keep it in their pants to be mortified over the fact that he was caught in a scandalous situation. He also doesn’t notice that Iwaizumi had put a safe distance between them, having the decency of actually feel embarrassed about this.
“I told you we should wait till we’re back in the dorms Taiga-kun,” the blue-haired boy remarks, sounding a lot more insouciant than he should be. Offering a slight nod to his amorous peers, he adds, “Our apologies, we didn’t mean to interrupt. My husband got a bit too carried away.”
His husband, the sound of which Oikawa’s ears perked up at, a much taller red-head (taller than them in fact, maybe a basketball player?) who’s wearing a Team USA windbreaker, frowns at him, believing that he’s not entirely blameless either.
“Uhh no, it’s okay, we should be going anyway,” Iwaizumi says awkwardly, reaching out for Oikawa as an indication that it’s time for them to go, because being discovered in a similar state of disarray is laughably humiliating as it is.
But Oikawa doesn’t budge, merely stares inquisitively at the blue-haired boy, or rather, at the silver band around his ring finger. The same ring hangs around the taller boy’s neck in a chain. They’re Japanese, that much is clear, and the red-head, with the attire he’s got on, is evidently a representative of one of USA’s national teams. In a similar fashion, he peers right back at Oikawa, noting the Argentina practice shirt on him.
“Tooru? What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi asks, wondering what’s gotten him into a daze.
At the same time, the one called Taiga says, “Tetsuya?”
“It’s funny,” Tetsuya is the one who breaks the bewildering silence to offer Oikawa a mild-mannered smile. “How we’re caught in an awkward clandestine situation with representatives of a different country and yet, we are all Japanese.”
The only similarity Oikawa wants to share with them is the relationship status. This is all too ironic and the reality that Team USA is married to his Tokyo boy or wherever he’s from while he is not makes him suspect that someone up there is rubbing his unfortunate circumstances into his face. Oikawa’s pretty sure the gods are trying to tell him something, and it’s ‘fuck you’.
“I guess…it is a weird coincidence,” Iwaizumi answers on their behalf, rubbing his neck sheepishly.
Before the situation can exacerbate into something that makes him want to dig a hole to hide his face in, Tetsuya tugs on Taiga’s hand to lead them away.
“Well then, shall we go?” he says, meeting Oikawa’s eyes before departing, “Good luck on your games.”
“Same to you,” Iwaizumi politely returns.
In the end, Oikawa didn’t get laid or proposed to, so there is no real winner here tonight.
Day 14 of the Tokyo Olympics
Argentina loses to Brazil in the semi-finals in straight sets. The game with Brazil, world number one, was a tough match-up, but they put up an admirable fight and had every right to leave the court with their heads held high.
“So, bronze medal?” Iwaizumi says to Oikawa in the dining hall, understanding that this means Argentina’s qualified for the bronze medal match.
“That’s the plan,” Oikawa asserts, stabbing his fork into a piece of shiitake mushroom in his bibimbap. “I am not going back without a medal around my neck.”
This evening, the team had broken off into smaller groups to have their dinner and Oikawa took the opportunity to eat with Iwaizumi before he has to re-group with everyone for a meeting. His cheeks are puffed as he chews resolutely and Iwaizumi finds it both ridiculous and endearing. He had watched the match in the afternoon and he’s glad he can say that Oikawa’s more fired up if anything.
“I believe in you,” he tells him, wearing confidence plainly on his face.
“Thanks Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says as he offers him a grateful smile, the memory it evokes a treasured one. Shifting the conversation to a lighter note, he tilts his head at Iwaizumi and adds, “By the way, did you hear about what happened this morning? There was a proposal after the hockey match.”
He swears he’s not deliberately steering all their talks to centre on marriage, this is honestly something he wanted to ask Iwaizumi about, given the hype it created in the Olympic Village. Some news channels had even reported on the heart-warming incident. Besides, Oikawa’s familiar with the streak of misfortune he’s had with giving away his hand in marriage and he doesn’t actually believe Iwaizumi would do it now. Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t still hung up about it.
“Really?” Iwaizumi simply states, sounding sufficiently curious.
“Yeah, it’s the talk of the town,” the setter explains, studying Iwaizumi’s expression. “Germany won the bronze medal match and immediately after the game, one of the players ran to the stands and proposed to their partner there. It was very romantic.”
“Don’t you think it’s sweet?” Oikawa presses on, trying to get a reaction other than mild interest from Iwaizumi. “Such grand declarations of love on the world stage. I wouldn’t mind being proposed to during the Olympics.”
This—he is doing with all the deliberation of a Renaissance painter. Even if Iwaizumi isn’t planning on proposing now, Oikawa wants him to know that he can, and he will say yes in the blink of an eye. He says it nonchalantly out loud but in his mind, he is shaking Iwaizumi vehemently by the shoulders and yelling at him to take the fucking hint. But the trainer is either a bloody tease or a fucking rock.
“Is that so?”
“Even if it’s over bibimbap in the dining hall,” Oikawa sing-songs. He might as well go for broke.
Iwaizumi observes Oikawa for a brief moment, blatant eagerness staring right back at him, and exhales in an exasperated sigh.
“…You really want me to say it don’t you?”
“Say what?” Oikawa asks innocently, hopefully.
“Say that I—”
Oikawa slams a hand on the table and yells—practically begs, “LET HIM SPEAK.”
Several heads in the vicinity turn towards the sound of Oikawa’s sudden outburst, wondering what could have caused him to cry out like that. There is a beat of silence as attention falls on him, lips pursed and fingers clenched, not as mortified over the undignified moment as much as he is infuriated at having been interrupted for how many times he’s already lost count.
“are u ok?” Yaku asks as he carefully slides into a seat next to Iwaizumi, regarding Oikawa warily.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just peachy,” he clips, inhaling sharply before glowering at the unwanted addition: Miya, Yaku and Hoshiumi. Ah, Japan’s very own Mean Girls. Not caring to mask his annoyance, Oikawa questions, “What are you guys doing here anyway?”
“Rude,” Atsumu, public enemy number one tonight, retorts. “Just because we’re done with the games doesn’t mean we have ‘ta leave.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Oikawa clenches, seconds away from getting an aneurysm.
“We’re here to ask Iwaizumi out for drinks,” Hoshiumi answers from the trainer’s other side.
Cautious more than intrigued, Iwaizumi faces him to ask, “Where are you guys going?”
“The Annex!” Hoshiumi grins, and Iwaizumi recognizes it as an LGBTQ-friendly club.
“Isn’t that in Shinjuku?”
From Yaku’s left (do they all have to sit on his side?), Atsumu chimes in, “Aran’s driving!”
“So you’re going to make Aran your chaperone?” Iwaizumi asks levelly, already picturing how Aran will be hauling their drunk asses into his seven-seater Subaru. It won’t fit everyone, but they can probably throw Atsumu into the trunk if it comes down to it.
“He offered!” the blond setter argues. “Come on Hajime-kun, everyone’s going.”
“Fine,” Iwaizumi concedes after weighing it over.
“Awesome! We’ll meet you at the plaza in half an hour!” Yaku exclaims and they all prepare to leave, swinging a leg over the bench to stand.
So they disrupt their nice dinner, steal his boyfriend to visit a den of iniquity and just leave? The absolute audacity.
Before they head out, Atsumu flashes an impish smile at his fellow setter. “We’d love for you ‘ta join us Oikawa-kun, but we know yer busy.”
“It’s fine, I don’t think I’ll be missing out on much,” Oikawa counters with his own flippant smile. Iwaizumi thanks the deities every day that these two are on separate teams. When they finally leave them alone, Oikawa pins Iwaizumi with a pointed look, “Iwa-chan, I hope you know you’re walking into a lion’s den by agreeing to this.”
“I have to make sure they don’t tarnish our nation’s reputation,” Iwaizumi rationalizes and wishes he’s joking. Noticing Oikawa’s pout, he assures, “Relax, I won’t drink that much.”
He’ll need to be sober enough to strap a drunk Bokuto to the roof of the car anyway.
“So you say…” he mumbles, still miffed.
Chuckling, Iwaizumi stands to clear his tray, balancing it with one hand as he stops by Oikawa’s side to say softly, “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow yeah?”
He furtively runs a thumb along his cheek, and Oikawa hums appreciatively, feeling his skin tingle where Iwaizumi’s gentle touch lingered.
@marikaaa: hot japanese athletic trainer spotted in the dining hall! @honeyelle [image attached]
@honeyelle: Is that the guy he’s taken by?
@marikaaa: not too sure!
@judo_supremacy: I want to know his workout routine
@VjothiaV: I want to know if he’s free tonight
@marikaaa: edit: I bear witness to the truth. that’s the guy he’s taken by.
Later, at The Annex…
@tsumutsumu: come and get yer snacc [image attached]
@tsumutsumu: half an hour in and propositioned by 5 guys smh. it’s tough ‘ta be so good lookin.
@notyaku: don’t make it sound like it’s you
@sks_kym: it’s iwaizumi-san isn’t it
@tsumutsumu: 69 likes and i’ll post his dance video
@tsumutsumu: [video attached]
@sh0uy0u: iwaizumi-san can dance so well!
@kageyams: @kyouken @kinda1_ytr
@ace_koutarou: tsum tsum is making every one who loses to iwaizumi in arm wrestling buy us drinks!!!
@tsumutsumu: the undefeated champion. available for the next 3 hours at the annex. [image attached]
@tooru_0720: I HATE YOU GUYS. BRING HIM BACK RIGHT NOW.
@kourai_inthesky: SHOULDN’T YOU BE ASLEEP
@ushijima_wakatoshi: Miya, this makes me sound like a liar.
@tsumutsumu: what are ya talkin about
Day 15 of the Tokyo Olympics
“Arghhhh!” Damián exclaims, rattling the handles of the foosball table in frustration as he and Oikawa lose another game to Simón and their captain, Andrés Collado Segundo, opposite hitter and actual adult of the team who’s got his shit together.
The Argentine team is currently spending the evening in the games room of the Olympic Village’s recreation centre, a neat place filled with a variety of entertainment options, from billiards to video games. Damián refuses to let it go and demands for another challenge, except he suggests playing a different game and Andrés merely laughs obligingly.
Just then, at the machinations of The Powers That Be, the doors to the games room open to allow the Japanese volleyball national team to stream in.
“Yo, the Japanese team is here!” Simón says, pointing his chin towards to the entrance and Oikawa instantly twists around to look.
He spots Iwaizumi in no time among the other players he calls his frenemies and dashes over to him, calling out his name in pleasant surprise, “Iwa-chan!”
But he barely gets another word in, only tugging on his Team Japan windbreaker, before Yaku pops up at Iwaizumi’s side and pushes a shoulder in front of his chest to interrogate, “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing with our athletic trainer?”
“I should be asking what you’re doing with my boyfriend,” Oikawa sneers at the libero and Iwaizumi wonders why he can’t have one (1) peaceful day in the Olympic Village.
One after another, the players from the Land of the Rising Sun appear like a horizon next to Iwaizumi to offer Oikawa a range of answers, some more antagonistic than others.
“Oh I don’t know,” Atsumu starts, sounding flippant. “Long, hard stretches?”
“Having our injuries treated?” Kageyama supplies.
“Getting wrapped by k-tape,” Sakusa adds.
“Getting scolded!” Hinata pipes up.
A vein throbs in Oikawa’s forehead, the corner of his mouth twitching in poorly concealed irritation as he warns through gritted teeth, “I have a score to settle with you all.” It would be remiss to think that he’s forgotten about what had transpired at The Annex last night. But he remembers to add, “Except you Shouyou.”
“Oh yeah?” Yaku asks defiantly, a challenging glint in his eyes. “How about we settle it over a game of air hockey? Winner gets a massage from Iwaizumi.”
Iwaizumi sighs. He did not agree to this.
“Bring it on,” Oikawa accepts.
“I wanna team up with Iwa-Iwa!” Atsumu exclaims, as if anyone will let him call dibs just like that.
“No, obviously he’s going to be my partner!” Oikawa argues.
As the entire team and Oikawa engage in a juvenile squabble, Iwaizumi takes the opportunity to slink away from them and spend his time with people with functioning brain cells, like Elías who’s calling him over to the sofas by the PlayStation.
Twenty minutes later, which is all the peacetime the world accords to Iwaizumi today, Oikawa comes bounding over to the couch where Iwaizumi ended up participating in a civilized discussion with Argentina’s team captain and his wife, Leila, a frequent presence at their get-togethers and practices and who makes the best empanadas.
“Iwa-chan, I’m being bullied,” Oikawa complains, sidling up to him and making himself comfortable at Iwaizumi’s side, his chest pressing up against his bicep.
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the melodrama, but doesn’t shy away from Oikawa’s liberal display of public affection. With their experiences of living in countries with cultures way more open than Japan’s, it’s something they’ve grown accustomed to and learnt to love. And frankly, in the Olympic Village, anything goes.
“You’ll get over it,” he says flatly and Andrés and Leila observe the both of them with amusement.
“I’m hurt,” Oikawa fake-pouts, then switches to English to ask his new companions curiously, “What are you guys talking about?”
Andrés smiles at his wife before saying, “We were just telling Hajime about how we met and got married.”
“He was very curious!” Leila supplements and Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa jolt to attention. He can’t say he’s surprised but before he can begin to manage his expectations, the setter pushes himself away to stare at Iwaizumi with exaggerated optimism. At this point, Oikawa thinks he can’t be disappointed any further so he brazenly puts it out there. If he’s right, then 6 August 2021 will be the best day of his life. And if he’s wrong, at least he can tell himself he was just joking.
“Oh my, Iwa-chan…are you going to…?”
“Propose? No,” he shoots him down mercilessly. “Why would I propose to you in the recreation centre?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s because you’re so in love with me that you can’t help it anymore?” he guesses breezily. Even so, the sting in his chest is not a figment of his imagination. After all, what exactly is keeping Iwaizumi from taking the next step? Iwa-chan must want to be Oikawa Hajime as much as he wants to be Iwaizumi Tooru right?
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he shrugs.
“Or are you getting ideas?” Oikawa asks because he doesn’t know when to stop and by now, he’s dug six feet underground. All he’s missing is a coffin from Matsukawa’s workplace. Turning to his captain and Leila with interest, he asks, “Andrés, how did you propose? I don’t think I’ve heard the story.”
They’ve been married for a few years now, but recalling the event never fails to fill Andrés with a sense of satisfaction, “We went sky-diving and I got some people to form the words ‘will you marry me’ in the open field so that she’d see it when we were close enough.”
“I said yes a few thousand feet up in the air,” Leila adds, the smile on her face a picture of endearment.
Oikawa sucks in a breath and enthuses, “That’s so romantic!”—tugging on Iwaizumi’s sleeve to prattle off, “Iwa-chan, you don’t have to outdo that, I’ll be happy with—”
“Iwaizumi!” Bokuto’s voice travels from the air hockey table behind them, stopping him mid-sentence and Oikawa can’t even find it in himself to be riled up anymore. “We’re starting the air hockey friendly right now!”
Swinging an arm over Oikawa’s head to grip the back of the sofa, Iwaizumi faces him to ask quizzically, “I thought you guys were already having a competition?”
“Yeah, the competition was to determine who’d get to be your partner,” Bokuto explains.
“Right,” Iwaizumi says. Why did he even bother asking? He notes the striker in Bokuto’s hand, as well as how he looks ready to take on an opponent and supposes, “Are you my partner?”
Behind him, Sakusa steps out to coolly announce, “No, it’s me.”
For someone who needed Komori to drag him here, he really went all out.
What happens after is a vicious match of air hockey between the Iwaizumi-Sakusa pair and Simón and Oikawa, who insists on playing so that he can prove that there can only be one wavy-haired pretty boy with Iwaizumi and it’s him and more importantly, relieve some of that pent-up stress the national teams have inflicted on him. They play like air hockey is an Olympic sport, garnering quite an audience while Atsumu takes a video that captures Iwaizumi in the best possible angles.
@tsumutsumu: Don’t say I don’t share the good stuff [video attached]
@notyaku: my athletic trainer brings all the boys to the yard
@kourai_inthesky: and they’re like, he’s better than yours
@tsumutsumu: get a piece of this in the games room [image attached]
@sks_kym: we’ll have to charge
@ace_koutarou: 5 mins for $5!!
@weightliftingpixie_aisha: I thought he’s taken?
@tsumutsumu: Taken doesn’t mean married
@tooru_0720: DELETE THIS. I WILL DOX YOU.
@osamusamu: Please do not dox him. I will be implicated. And I have a business to run.
@eli_hernandez: @simonblocks @damianjr @dee_eh_go @acs_14 guys, I found iwa-chan’s profile! @hajime_0610
@simonblocks: hi iwa-chan!
@damianjr: iwa-chan, follow me back!
@hajime_0610: hi everyone
@dee_eh_go: your name is hajime???
Day 16 of the Tokyo Olympics
You know the feeling you get when you finally board a bus you were desperately trying not to miss? You can see it approaching but you’ve yet to reach the bus stop so you gotta run and you know you can’t stop because once you do, you’ll probably miss it and have to wait an awfully long time before the next one comes. But when you make it in time to board the bus, your shoulders drop in relief even though your heart is thrashing, and you can finally enjoy your Spotify playlist during the ride.
It feels like that when Argentina takes the winning point with a stuff block after a long rally—thirty seconds with six switches. They reached a five-set game, losing the first two only to win the next three, and Oikawa’s tired bones feel like they’re filled with cement by the end of it. The celebration goes like any other, except this time their elation comes with the certainty of a medal around their necks.
All around him are deafening shouts and the palpable energy from the team and their wild fans. It’s all-encompassing but amidst the revelry, a sudden round of applause rings distinct, accompanied by several loud whoops in staccato. Oikawa notices several of his teammates looking up where the giant TV screen hangs, and curiously, he does the same.
And what he sees steals all the breath from his lungs, as if he’s not already lacking, for it no longer shows an image of a filled Ariake Arena. Instead, in big, bold font, the words—unmistakable in all its simplicity—reads, ‘Will You Marry Me?’
Oikawa gasps, heart arresting in his chest and mind going blank at the realization that this is really it. That finally, Iwaizumi has taken the next step and stopped making him wait. Of course Iwa-chan would give him the grand proposal he deserves. And of course Iwa-chan would pop the question after a game he somehow was sure that Oikawa would emerge victorious from, knowing full well that he would love this sort of attention.
Delirium colouring his face, Oikawa swivels around to seek Iwaizumi out in the crowd. He finds him easily in the front row, where he had been watching the game.
But Iwaizumi is not looking at him.
For some inexplicable reason, he’s looking towards the stands, somewhere in the far left. Why is he not looking at him?
The next few seconds feel like a fever dream where cruel discovery and its ensuing dismay come rushing to Oikawa at once. Everyone seems to be focusing their attention on something in the distance but Oikawa can’t see what it is from where he stands on the court. He whips his head towards the giant screen, the four words now replaced by a scene of one of the spectators on a bent knee, presenting an opened velvet box to their partner who sports a misty-eyed mixture of shock and joy.
Oikawa’s heart drops to his stomach. He witnesses an unhesitating nod, a ‘yes’ being uttered, and the now engaged couple sharing a sweet kiss on-screen. The sea of people erupt into cheers and applause around them, yet Oikawa can’t help but imagine that they’re all laughing at him. It would only be fitting, when he’s made such a fool out of himself.
Did he say he can’t be disappointed any further? Well, it turns out he can.
He spares one more forlorn glance at Iwaizumi, who’s smiling at the display of love between two fans avid enough about volleyball to be engaged after an Olympics game, blissfully unaware of the abject disappointment that fills Oikawa’s chest.
Iwaizumi is so many things to Oikawa—his best friend, his pillar, his soulmate—why can’t he be his husband too?
Last day of the Tokyo Olympics
Today is supposed to be rapturous day. The world’s largest international sporting event comes to its conclusion and while some athletes will be returning to their countries without a medal, the experiences they’ve acquired and the friends they’ve made will leave them with warm smiles and fond memories. But for Oikawa, it’s a bittersweet episode; even with the bronze in his bag, he can’t fight off the misery of having to depart without a ring to seal their promise, despite all the signs indicating that he could have been fiancé of Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer.
The Closing Ceremony was an electrifying event and Oikawa tried his best to have a crazy time but he had been denied, disappointed, shot down time and time again throughout the last few days, with yesterday’s incident the last nail in the coffin, that he couldn’t truly let his hair down. Luckily, either his façade was believable enough or the team was having too much fun to notice the dip in his mood.
Now, as everyone comes piling back for one last night in the Olympic Village, Oikawa has to once again deal with the Japanese national team’s Iwaizumi-specific tomfoolery. Except this time, his own teammates are joining in the supposed fun, having developed some kind of friendship built on a haphazard mix of Spanish, Japanese and English with the Japanese players over super saiyan-level air hockey last night.
From the moment they ran into one another at the Village Plaza on the way to the dorms, he’s already heard them fight over Iwaizumi, with Damián bragging that Iwaizumi would absolutely love it in San Juan, and had to swat away some overly familiar hands from his boyfriend. He’s aware that they do this in good fun, because no one can resist Iwaizumi Hajime (he would know of all people) but the traces of sullenness in his system make their antics grate on Oikawa’s nerves just the slightest bit.
Not only does he have to live with the fact that he was this close to being proposed to during the Olympics, he still has to watch these guys blatantly flirt with Iwaizumi right in front of his salad? It’s like the gods are not done mocking him. They wouldn’t be able to take such liberties with Iwaizumi if he is actually engaged to be married. This is so unfair.
“Oh but did you get your sore muscles gently wrapped by your athletic trainer?” Yaku taunts from beside Atsumu, who currently has an arm slung casually around Iwaizumi’s shoulders. Diego seems ready to fire back, but Oikawa squeezes himself between Iwaizumi and Atsumu, shoving the other setter’s arm away.
“I’m warning you guys, stop hanging all over Iwa-chan like that!” he snaps and they can tell from the belligerent edge in his voice and sharp glare that this is not his usual petulance.
“Ohh, someone’s grouchy,” Atsumu quips, pulling back from Oikawa’s protective stance over Iwaizumi.
Shooting them with a final scowl, the Argentine setter drags Iwaizumi by the arm away from the troublesome players before anyone can tell him he’s overreacting or make him bust a spleen.
Iwaizumi matches his quick pace, truthfully a little taken aback by Oikawa’s unexpected flare of animosity because he should know that they’re joking—they always are—and no one ever really goes overboard. He tugs on him to slow down and says, “Hey, take it easy. You know the team’s just playing around.”
“I know that, but—” Oikawa starts, cutting his gaze to Iwaizumi’s and the evident confusion on his face reminds him all over again why he’s acting out in the first place. “Ugh, never mind.”
But Iwaizumi won’t let it go, not when Oikawa is clearly bothered, oblivious to how chasing this matter will set momentous events into motion. “What is it? Why are you so upset?”
“I’m not upset,” he denies, but the wave of indignation that threatens to break out of his chest proves otherwise. “I’m just—frustrated!”
“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi asks. If it’s about the team and their nonsense, he’ll talk to them about it. He’ll make sure Oikawa doesn’t have to worry about silly things like that anymore. But innocent Iwaizumi, he’s yet to understand that it’s not as simple as that. Not this time.
Oikawa meets Iwaizumi’s patient eyes, looks at him properly, and his heart squeezes with longing. He does not want to put the entire Pacific Ocean between them and have to look forward to the next time they meet months later. For all the waiting that he’s done, he thinks it’s high time he makes coffee for two in the mornings, that they invest in a bed that would fit them both comfortably. They deserve that much, he thinks.
“I—I just want you to be mine,” he presses, not quite the right words to describe the weight of his emotions.
“I am yours.”
“You don’t get it Iwa-chan!” Oikawa releases in a huff, too vexed at his inability to articulate the turmoil within him to care that their teammates have gathered to observe the escalating situation with vivid curiosity. “I want to call you mine in every sense of the word!”
“And you can,” Iwaizumi affirms, growing more bewildered by the second, but Oikawa shakes his head.
“I want us to be be together!”
“Why are you saying such strange things?”
“BECAUSE I WANT TO MARRY YOU.”
There’s a gasp from his right, it sounds like Hinata, and everyone has stopped in their tracks to seriously watch what follows after. But neither Iwaizumi nor Oikawa pay them any heed—it’s not like they can, since Oikawa practically blurted out the most stupefying words right in the centre of the Village Plaza.
“…What?” is the only thing a wide-eyed Iwaizumi can manage, his whole body riveted to the spot while Oikawa resolutely keeps their gazes locked, chest heaving from the wild thrashing of his heart.
There is no going back now. Oikawa doesn’t want to. He takes a breath to finally let the words he’s been keeping inside to tumble out of his traitorous mouth, desperate and aching.
“Because I’ve been waiting for you to propose to me all this time and I was so sure you were going to do it during the Olympics because you kept talking about the promise you made and about our future but every time I thought it was going to happen we were either interrupted or you weren’t about to propose at all!” he releases in a single breath, shaking his head and seeking Iwaizumi out with eyes filled with distress.
“And I literally cannot take this anymore Hajime,” Oikawa pleads, the suffering he went through for the past few days too much for his heart to bear. “I love you so much and I just want to be with you for the rest of our lives and you’ve made me wait long enough so won’t you marry me already?”
Oikawa is breathless by the time the words are all out in the open, acknowledged and left to be answered. The pounding in his ears prevent him from noticing that someone, it still sounds like Hinata, is murmuring rough translations excitedly to his teammates.
After what seems to be the longest few seconds, Iwaizumi eventually says, still stunned, “Are you seriously…proposing to me?”
“I—yes,” Oikawa says firmly, unwaveringly despite realizing how impulsive he’s been and how nerve-wrecking this is. But it doesn’t change anything. “I know it’s out of the blue, but I’m serious. I’ve never been surer about anything, about us. And this is one promise that I intend to keep as well.”
By now, their little scene has amassed a small crowd. Pockets of people have stopped to watch the situation unfold in the Village Plaza, putting their late-night party plans on hold for now to wonder with great interest why there are two representatives from Argentina and Japan with their hands linked, staring at each other like they don’t see anyone else.
“You idiot…” Iwaizumi exhales in fond exasperation. “I can’t believe you’re doing this right now.”
This changes everything and throws all his plans out the window. Only Oikawa Tooru can achieve a feat like that. Iwaizumi wants to hurl something at him. Iwaizumi wants to marry him.
“So is that a yes?” Oikawa asks hopefully.
Iwaizumi meets his expectant eyes with a love so fierce he feels it in his bones, forming words to a sentiment he already holds in his heart, “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
They at last notice the attention they’ve attracted when their teammates break out into hoots and hollers, and Iwaizumi laughs along with Oikawa, who looks so relieved with joy that he might cry.
“Where’s the ring?!” they hear Andrés shout over the din.
Oikawa panics, stumbling over his words to admit in a fluster, “I—I don’t have any rings. I didn’t think I was going to—”
“Boo!!!” someone actually teases, poking fun at the sheer spontaneity of Oikawa’s proposal.
“Not too late ‘ta say no!!” Atsumu yells.
“Don’t say yes until he gives you a ring!!” Simón adds.
“Shut up!!” Oikawa exclaims, throwing them all a dirty look before turning back to Iwaizumi with an apologetic expression. They’ll definitely buy the rings—gold ones, with their names engraved on the inside because he’s sentimental like that—
“Actually…” Iwaizumi begins, releasing Oikawa’s hands to reach into his pocket, inciting a puzzled stare from him. Slowly, he takes out a small velvet drawstring pouch, turns it upside-down so that a pair of rings each attached to a chain slips out onto his opened palm—gold ones, not yet engraved with their names on the inside but they can do that if Oikawa wants.
He holds them out with a smile—like saying ‘surprise?’—the gold rings bright and shiny and perfect. Another round of hollering ensues, someone curses, and Oikawa blubbers.
“Wh-wh-wh-wh-why do you have rings?!” he cries out, brown eyes round with complete and utter shock. The day just keeps getting crazier and he’s not sure he can handle it.
“I was going to propose—”
“Listen,” Iwaizumi cuts in, holding onto Oikawa because he looks just about to faint. “I was gonna travel up to Argentina next month, I already bought the tickets and I got everything planned, it was going to be a surprise. And I even got Elías’ number.”
“DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS?” Oikawa immediately snaps to the middle blocker to demand in Spanish.
“I didn’t! We just exchanged numbers!” Elías insists, hands up in a defensive pose.
“I didn’t tell him anything yet,” Iwaizumi explains, turning Oikawa by the line of his jaw to face him again. “But I already know where I wanted to propose and I was going to get some help.”
With that life-ending discovery, Oikawa wails like a dying animal and crumples to the ground—devastated, thoroughly destroyed, one hundred percent annihilated—he is never going to recover from this. In fact, he is already dead, and this is some bizarre combination of heaven and hell.
“I can’t believe I was robbed of a surprise proposal!” he bawls.
Sighing, Iwaizumi bends down on one knee to get to his level to say, “You wouldn’t be if you had just waited.”
“I did!! And it drove me crazy!!” Oikawa screams, close to tears. All the times he’s been interrupted and disappointed haunt him like war flashbacks.
Iwaizumi snorts. “Yeah, I know.”
The knowing tone in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Oikawa sniffles, “So you knew all along right? That I was waiting?”
“Yeah, you’re not exactly subtle,” he answers with a roll of his eyes.
“And yet you didn’t even throw me a bone,” Oikawa sulks.
“I did try to drop hints. But we somehow kept getting interrupted.”
It was almost comical how impeccable everyone’s timing was. Oikawa would beg to differ though. He lets out another agonized wail and Iwaizumi’s sure it’s loud enough to be carried to the Flags of Nations.
“I was robbed! ROBBED!” he yells, then points an accusing finger at both the Argentine and Japanese national team players. “And it’s all you people’s fault! I hate you all! NONE of you are invited to the wedding!”
He screams angrily at them, but they dissolve into laughter again because the pettiness in his voice and the absurdity of this situation are hilarious more than anything. They know it’s all empty threats anyway. Oikawa should be honoured to have them at the wedding. And they’ll find a way to crash the wedding if he dares to exclude them from the guest list.
“We kinda have to invite them,” Iwaizumi points out.
Oikawa purses his lips and relents, “Fine, but they can bring their own alcohol.”
It’s a humorous sight—Iwaizumi on one knee with the rings in his hand and Oikawa still on the ground, legs folded gracelessly underneath his body, making good on their promise after a reckless proposal in the Olympic Village Plaza. Someone better be getting this on video so that they can play it back at the wedding.
“You’re such a mess,” Iwaizumi tells him with infinite tenderness. “But I guess you’re my mess now, for the rest of our lives.”
Hearing the affectionate words from his ex-boyfriend, his fiancé, his husband-to-be, makes Oikawa’s heart soar.
“Hajime…Hajime…” he sniffs, crying now. There’s nothing else he can think to say, too overwhelmed with a dozen emotions—all of them good—to care about anything that isn’t Iwaizumi Hajime. Fortunately, Iwaizumi is collected enough for the both of them.
“Now do you want to put on the rings?” he asks with a smirk, putting out his hand.
Oikawa nods shakily and takes one of the gold rings from Iwaizumi’s palm, sucking in a trembling breath at the touch of the cool metal—he can’t believe this is happening—and slips the chain around his partner’s neck. Oikawa bows his head a little and Iwaizumi does the same, the ring hanging beautifully against his chest.
He looks down to study it in quiet awe, caressing the curve of the band with reverent fingers, indescribable pride and happiness flooding his heart.
He didn’t win a gold medal, but he still got gold.
Iwaizumi’s gentle voice makes him lift his head to see love, unwavering through the years, reflecting in the greens of his eyes and Oikawa can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.
“You know,” Iwaizumi says. “This is hardly the proposal I had in mind but…it’s perfect.”
When they meet in a kiss, half in a smile and sweeter than honey, Oikawa agrees. Around them, their teammates are cheering and hugging one another and Hinata looks like he’s about to cry. There are people they don’t recognize in the crowd, hooting and clapping for them, and they will only realize later that there is indeed video evidence of The Most Spontaneous Proposal of the Year.
For now, with their foreheads pressed together and beaming into what little space there is between them, Iwaizumi and Oikawa take pleasure in adding ‘husbands-to-be’ to the list of things they are to each other.
Oikawa may be going back with an Olympics medal, but it’s the gold around his neck that makes him feel like he’s truly won.
@jaybpolo: YO, the hot japanese athletic trainer got proposed to in the village plaza!!
@mattiamadness: ANYONE GOT A VIDEO OF IT?
@sailorsanna: [video attached]
@TT_saikou: [video attached]
@eunbibi: [video attached]
@zhou_shuren: so sweet!
@aim_ee: can somebody sub this?!?!
@isadoraixora: That’s gotta be one of the best proposals I’ve seen lmao you go argentina!
@marikaaa: Hot japanese athletic trainer is officially off the market!!
@arannn: Lol, you’re famous @hajime_0610
@hajime_0610: Wtf, why do so many people know who I am?
@divyadove: Perfect way to end the olympics, congratulations!
@noah_woods: Great proposal man, congrats
[cut for length]
@notyaku: YOU BETTER INVITE US TO THE WEDDING @tooru_0720
@sks_kym: pay for our plane tickets
@tooru_0720: no ♥
@triplethreativan: congrats neighbour, pls don’t check my tiktok
@olympicsfan98: Congratulations! Wishing you two all the best!
[cut for length]
@hajime_0610: Thanks everyone for the congratulatory messages. Turns out I’m the biggest winner of the Olympics.
@tooru_0720: HAJIME!!! ♥ ♥ ♥