Thread by @littleguanshans

#iwaoi my dress-up darling au | HS | pining/tension

"I have to take your measurements," there's a thinly concealed 'duh' on the tip of Iwaizumi's tongue as he chews his lip. Standing stifly, he fights to keep his gaze up - because of course Oikawa changed into his tightest

fit jeans and shirt to his parents' shop.

"Measurements?" His best friend squeaks, big brown eyes growing impossibly wider as he leaps back away from Iwa. "Can't you just...Do your thing?"

"Do my thing?" Iwa asks increduously from where he's stood by the sewing machine

as he toys with the tape measure coiled around his wrist. "Shittykawa I have to-" and there's a moment where his eyes accidentally trail down the thin curve of Oikawa's waist, over the sharp hipbones just visible through the tight cotton wrapping them. He gulps, before shooting

his eyes back up to Oikawa's face. Right. He needs to remember /where/ he is. He needs to be professional, just as he was taught. It was only measurements. It was only Oikawa.

"I can't make the dumb dress without knowing your size!"

Oikawa grumbles something that sounds

suspiciously like 'it's not dumb' which Iwa ignores as he awkwardl fiddles with the tape measure, almost dropping it in the process.

"Shirt off," Iwa chokes as he scrambles for his notepad and pen, cursing under his breath when his voice cracks. Christ, they've been friends

since before elementary. They were bathed together!

(But things changed. Ever since he realised the sick twist he felt in his stomach whenever the girls in school were fawning over Oikawa wasn't because he wanted to be a pretty boy who got all the girls.

No, he wishes he could

fawn over him like that too, and have the sentiment returned.)

(Since that realisation hit him like a bullet train, things became...Awkward. He doesn't know how to act around Oikawa anymore.

He's screwed.)

"Ask me out to dinner first at least, Iwa-chan,"

Oikawa smirks, wiggling his hips. Though as he goes to grab the hem of his shirt, his hands are shaking. Iwa doesn't look too much into it and instead counts the cracks in the floorboards by his feet.

"Just hurry up, don't be an ass about it."

"Charming," Oikawa quips, though

his voice is just as uncertain. "You know how to treat a girl," he says playfully, grinning as he tries to meet Iwa's eyes.

As he lifts his shirt, Iwa's exhale is deafeningly loud in the silence of the room and it makes Oikawa pause, the shirt halfway up his chest.

Beet red from the tips of his ears down to his neck, he makes eyecontact with Iwa before his best friend is quickly lifting his notepad up between them to pretend to read from it. Oikawa's laugh is...Different then. Melancholic.

"Didn't realise you found me that repulsive,

Iwa-chan," it's a joke, or at least, it's made to sound like one. The insecurity is laced between those words and most people would miss it. Iwaizumi Hajime isn't most people.

He wants to say: it's quite the opposite, actually

Instead, he fumbles over his words (brilliant!) and

says "Shut up, what's my opinion matter anyway when you get all the girls?" He tries to hide the jealously from his tone, he really does.

Oikawa just laughs, properly this time, and the moment is over.

What Iwa doesn't know is that he wants to say: if only you knew how much

your opinion matters to me.

And: what kind of guy who cosplays /lolita fashion/ likes girls anyway?

Instead, he laughs again, a little shaky, and removes his shirt. Doesn't say anything, because he suddenly feels so exposed and naked. Even though they bathed together.

Even though they've showered and changed a million times in the same room. This is different, different because when he receives confession letters and chocolates in his locker, he wishes they were from Iwa and not some girl he doesn't know the name of.

His hands weakly cover his chest and abs as he stands and waits for Iwa to finish fiddling with his notepad. Oikawa swears the temperature in the room just shot up a million degrees and he's sweating. Bright red in the face, hands shaking as he hops from one foot to the other.

Hoping Iwa doesn't notice. (He does, tries not to wonder /why/)

"Shittykawa," Iwa mumbles out around the pencil sticking between his teeth. "I can't measure your chest if you stand like that." He tries to sound impatient but his voice is small.

(Pull yourself together. Now.)

He practically has to pry Oikawa's hands from his chest, as much as it pains him to wrap his scarred, calloused fingers around his pretty, thin wrists. They're so different in every sense.

Iwa doesn't get self-conscious. He uses 3-in-1 shampoo (much to Oikawa's horror.

He argues it does just fine, thank you very much), splashes a bit of water on his face and sometimes gels his hair. He looks after his body and eats a balanced diet but that's for health reasons not...aesthetics. Oikawa has a 10-step skincare routine that Iwa teases him for.

To which Oikawa simply responds that when they're 30, who's still going to look 18?

But as he releases that perfect wrist as if burned, he stares at the fingers that dared touch him.

His nails are bitten down, the skin cracked and dry. (Maybe he should steal some of Oikawa's

hand cream?) There's white scarring over his hands and callouses on the pads of his fingers. He stares at his hands for a few seconds too long because when he looks back up to a boy way out of his league, Oikawa is staring at him nervously with his arms in the air as he chews

his lip.

"Stop that," Iwa chides through the pencil between his lips as he reaches back for the tape measure to coil it around that sinful waist. "You'll bleed."

Oikawa immediately stops, freezing just as he feels the ghost of a touch from those big, strong hands.

Hands that feel like home. Hands with scars that prove he's lived a life. Oikawa wants him to grip his waist with those hands. Squeeze and not let go.

Shivering, he squirms a little when the tape measure is wrapped around his body and Iwa makes a quick line on the tape.

"That tickles, Iwa-chan," he giggles a little breathily. Iwa grunts a response, his forehead creased and his tongue jutting out between dry lips as he does when he's concentrating on a task. It's endearing. Oikawa is a little disappointed when he lets go,

when he doesn't grab the ends of the tape measure and pull him into his chest with it for a deep kiss.

He's disappointed that this is just...his best friend helping him out. Disappointed it'll never be anything more.

"Hips," Iwa says suddenly, pulling Oikawa from his thoughts.

"I need to uh- measure your hips and chest. Hips first." Stop rambling. Right now. "The jeans, uh."

"Do you have to?" Oikawa asks nervously, eyes flitting around Iwa's parents studio.

"How do you think I can make this dress?" Iwa huffs. "Just- pull them down to your thighs-"

(tweet limit! gimme a few to post the rest!!!!)

(cw body image issues. light angst)

Oikawa, who's supposed to be the confident, showy one who has never been shy about stripping down in his life, hesitates before undoing the button on his jeans. It takes him a few times and Iwa lets out an audible huff as he taps his foot.

"Do you need me to undress you too, babykawa?"

Oikawa lifts a brow at the name, before laughing and undoing his jeans. "Sounds like you just want to undress me," he comments, trying not to sound hopeful.

Iwa has his back turned as he checks something on his phone. "You wish,"

he retorts, trying to will his hands to stop shaking.

Oikawa is silent after that, eerily so. When Iwa turns back around he's standing with his jeans around his thighs, his tight boxers hugging soft skin. He's looking a little off to the side, hands covering his hips.

"Since when do you get shy about anything," Iwa dares to grumble as he sticks the pencil back in his mouth, stepping back to Oikawa to wrap the tape measure around his hips. "Move your hands."

"Fine-" He knows Oikawa. Knows his soul. He can tell just by the sound of his footstep

if he's happy or sad. Knows things nobody else knows.

He knows when Oikawa is scared. He gets snippy, short. The 'fine' is defensive. He does this to shut people out, protect himself.

It doesnt work on Iwa.

"Move your hands,"

Iwa's voice is uncharacteristically soft this time and when Oikawa finally puts his arms by his sides, Iwa sets to work. Doesn't think anything of it, doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He stares, because he can't help it. Because it's /Oikawa/.

That's when he snaps.

Iwa's pushed back. Not enough to hurt, and his first instinct is to shove Oikawa back, ask him what his problem is.

"I told you not to stare," he says, trying to sound angry. Instead, he sounds small.

Iwa thinks he's been caught out, thinks he's made Oikawa uncomfortable

and he opens his mouth to utter out an apology and to leave until Oikawa continues.

"They came up a few months ago and no matter what I do, they won't go away."

Dumbly, Iwa stares back at him until his eyes trail back to the raised red and purple stretch marks on his hips.

He sighs, bends back down to mark on the tape measure again.

"Idiotkawa, you're an athlete," he grumbles as he marks on the tape. "Everyone has them, who gives a shit?"

Oikawa says nothing, just stares at Iwa's concentrated face with a fondness he's glad Iwa misses

"I've got a shitload of them," Iwa continues as he steps back, missing the warmth from Oikawa's body as he walks across the studio to his notepad. "Am I ugly as well?"

"The ugliest," Oikawa laughs, yelping and ducking as a ball of yarn is tossed in his direction, just skimming

his head. "Don't attack me for the truth!" He lies. It might be the biggest lie he's ever told and he wants to take it back, but he can't.

Iwa just throws another ball of yarn in his direction as he makes his way back across the studio to Oikawa. His chest. He can survive this.

(He does, but only just)

He cringes, pulls back whenever his fingers sweep across Oikawa's pec by accident. Oikawa yelps and jumps when he pulls the tape measure around his back. When Iwa leans in close to look at the number on the tape, breath tickling just below Oikawa's

collarbone, Oikawa shivers, stares right at him. At the familiar crease in his brow, at the faint freckles across his cheeks from the summer sun. At the individual dark eyelashes protecting even darker eyes. As the sunset casts a warm glow through the open window,

he thinks Iwa is more than handsome. He's beautiuful.

He wants to tell him, it's an urge that's almost impossible to resist.

Opening his mouth to say something, anything, he stares at the dry lips and the soft reddness of them. There's a tiny cut with speckles of dried blood

from where he's chewed his lip and Oikawa laughs. He told him off for the same.

Iwa ignores his laughter as he marks on the tape measure and seconds before Iwa pulls away, Oikawa's breath hitches.

"Hajime-" he doesn't remember the last time he called him that.

Isn't sure if he ever has. The syllables are foreign on his tongue, but it feels right. Feels right to say. He wants to stand in the mirror and rehearse saying them, whisper them into his pillow at night.

"I- I want to-"

"I'm done," Iwa clears his throat, backing away from

Oikawa as if he knows what he's going to say. As if he's afraid of it.

"Shoulders, then we're done for the day." He says gruffly, meeting Oikawa's gaze with a hardened expression.

The next several minutes are awkward, they barely speak unless it's Iwa giving him an instruction

and it's painful.

When they're done and Oikawa is dressed with Iwa leading him out the front door to walk him home, the spell is broken and they talk (well, it's mostly Oikawa nervously chattering away as they walk side by side) and they don't mention what almost - what didn't

happen. Iwa responds with grunts and the occasional one-word response, still nervous, though grounded by Oikawa's nervous talking.

When they're at Oikawa's front gate they stop, facing each other. The awkwardness is thick in the air and Iwa almost chokes on it as he waits for

god-knows-what.

"Two weeks." He finally says, becoming antsy. He hates this. Hates the way he doesn't know how to act around Oikawa anymore. "It'll be done and you can try it on."

Oikawa nods, gulping as he stares at the asphalt between their feet.

He doesn't know what overcomes him, doesn't think, but he grabs Iwa's hand suddenly. The hand that tightened the tape around his waist and skimmed over his hips. The hand that made him tremble when it brushed against his collarbone by mistake.

He has it between his fingers,

counting the scars and callouses as he marvels at it, handling it so carefully as if he might break. Oikawa laughs to himself at that because Iwa is the strong one, always has, always will be. It's Oikawa who's made of glass, empty and hollow inside if smashed.

Iwa wouldn't - couldn't ruin him if he tried. He's already done that to himself, this forgotten fallow field.

"Thank you," he chokes out in a voice that shocks Iwa into staring right back at him. He doesn't pull his hand away, watches as Oikawa plays with his fingers.

"I can't wait to see it, you know baby blue /is/ my colour," he tries to keep it lighthearted but he's choking on butterflies - they both are.

"You'll look good in it," Iwa confesses, hardly caring that now the words dangle between them, he can't swallow them back down.

There's several beats of silence as Iwa's heart impossibly fast in his ears.

He thinks this is the moment, thinks it's time. Oikawa's still holding his hand and he's squeezing his back. He should kiss him.

He should kiss him.

He doesn't and eventually they pull away, Oikawa coughing and giving him a weak smile and Iwa frowning, frozen to the spot.

Instead, like an idiot, he watches Oikawa turn and walk inside his house without saying goodbye.

Iwa stands there, like an idiot, until he sees Oikawa's

bedroom light turn on, then off again and the only light is from the flickering streetlamp across the road.

He leaves.

He screams into his pillow when he gets home and doesn't fall asleep until past 1am.

At 3am, he gets a text message from Oikawa and the custom message alert

wakes him.

'I can't sleep'

is all it says.

Any other day, he'd have told Oikawa to just listen to whale sounds or read or whatever the hell people do and leave him to rest but he doesn't. He knows Oikawa, knows his soul. Knows he's spiralling. Over what? He thinks he knows now

He texts him to say get dressed and to look out for Iwa from his window.

He doesn't tell Oikawa where they're going, he'll know.

When Iwa kisses him in the park where they used to catch frogs and butterflies, he knows. They both do.

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