For someone so loud, Oikawa's online presence was...quiet. It made it easy, in a disconcerting way, to not check on him. Even Kindaichi posted more often than he did and Oikawa was the one on another continent, the one with the crazy stories about getting lost in the streets of Argentina and playing beach volleyball till midnight.
So when Iwaizumi glances at his phone in the middle of an anatomy study session, he doesn't expect to see a story up on Oikawa's page. He clicks on it idly.
It's a shot of Oikawa's hands, his fingers forming a heart. Iwaizumi knows they're his the way he'd know his own. Slender fingered setter hands, strong from volleyball. He'd taped those hands a thousand times over.
No way, he thinks, blood roaring in his ears, hands trembling so badly he almost drops his phone onto his study table.
He's never once known Oikawa to wear rings.
Logically, he knows that something isn't right. Logically, he knows they're barely out of high school, fresh into their twenties. But it's not so impossible when he thinks about how Oikawa looks during a sunset, the kind of beautiful that people covet. It's not impossible to think someone would want to keep him for always.
He dials Oikawa immediately, uncaring of the time difference, because if he was awake enough to post online then he was awake enough to answer all of his questions.
There's no way he got engaged, Iwaizumi thinks, mouth dry as he stares at the damning ring, the diamond cut into an oval, and he knows Oikawa had dated a little, but surely nothing so serious as this, surely nothing so permanent. It makes his chest hurt just thinking about it.
"You didn't seriously get engaged, did you?", he says the instant the call connects, and it occurs to him that they haven't talked in weeks, that these are his first words after a long separation, and they're tinged with bitterness, with betrayal.
Tell me you're not an ocean and a lifetime away from me, tell me you haven't found a way to move on because I've looked for years and all I keep finding is my way back to you.
"Because you never told me you were seeing someone, or that it was this serious, or that-"
He cuts himself off, swallowing down the words.
Or that you weren't mine anymore.
"What?" Oikawa sounds flabbergasted, "Engaged? What are you talking about?"
"Your story", Iwaizumi frowns, "I saw you wearing an engagement ring"
"That was my teammate's", Oikawa says, his voice soft, too soft, "he asked for my help picking out something to propose with. I was his hand model"
He kind of wants to throw his phone out of his window.
Too much. He'd said way too much.
Oikawa knows, then. He has to. If Iwaizumi could recognize Oikawa's fine boned hands through slightly grainy pictures, Oikawa could recognize the tremors in his voice over staticky phone calls.
"It was nice hearing your voice again, Iwa-chan", Oikawa says, and then a little hesitantly, "call me soon, ok? We need to talk, I think. Really talk"
"I-yeah. Yeah, we will. Bye"
He doesn't know how he manages to control his tone. But he does.
Iwaizumi forces himself to take even breaths, flipping through his anatomy notes till his brain slowly immerses itself back in studying. Till the next time they talk, he can bask in the feeling of still having Oikawa all to himself.
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