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Stuck in Gravity an Iwaoi scifi fic
In a time yet to come, on the far reaches of the galaxy, Oikawa comes face-to-face with Iwaizumi, his childhood friend turned intergalactic criminal. Iwaizumi claims he is innocent, and Oikawa is forced to make a choice that will change his life forever.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Inside the pod was a human man. It was hard to tell his age when he looked to be resting so peacefully. Oikawa wondered if his face would still be peaceful when he woke up, or if his skin would still be so fair without the flecks of frost that coated it inside the pod. He did not look familiar in any way, a stranger frozen on ice, a stranger so important to Iwaizumi that he would risk everything.
“Who is he?” Oikawa asked. Iwaizumi remained silent. Oikawa’s frustration began to fester. “Tell me who he is!”
“If I tell you,” Iwaizumi warned, “it changes everything. You can’t go back. You can’t run away.”
“You think I can’t handle it?”
“No. I just don’t want you to have to handle it.”
“You promised that you would tell me everything. Tell me right now, or so help me, I will never talk to you again.”
Iwaizumi studied him as if he was trying to figure out if Oikawa really meant that. Oikawa did not think he would come to the right conclusion because there was no right conclusion. Oikawa himself did not know if he meant that.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Ushijima always was sensitive to medications. Even as a child, the cold medicine his father gave him would put him straight to sleep. Stronger medication, such as the pain medication given to him after his accident and surgery, made him somewhat delirious. His mind was fuzzy in a way he found unpleasant, and all he could think about was why Oikawa would choose to take such things willingly. Ushijima did not understand how this muggy fog in his mind was appealing. He stopped thinking, the world slowing, and he found himself disoriented.
Perhaps, he thought, that was what Oikawa had wanted when he took these substances.
There was the sound of knuckles tapping on the door and Ushijima’s head turned to look. He wondered how far the fog in his mind had spread when he saw Oikawa strolling into his room to sit in a chair next to his bed. When Oikawa smiled at him, with no ulterior motive, with no hidden hate, he was certain that he was hallucinating. Oikawa had not smiled at him like that since their first year at Apollo Academy when they were strangers meeting for the first time.
“Hey there, Wakatoshi,” Oikawa said with a smile that was usually reserved for everyone but Ushijima. “How are you feeling?”
Ushijima asked, “Are you high? Am I high?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Iwaizumi stood, approaching him, and Oikawa hurried back into his living room.
“Akira, why didn’t you call security?” Oikawa asked. He wished he kept a weapon in his quarters. “Why did you even let him into my room?”
“He needs your help,” Akira said.
“I am not helping a terrorist,” Oikawa said. He turned to Iwaizumi and pointed to his door. “Get out. Now.”
“That hurts, you know,” Iwaizumi said, no hurt in his voice. "I'm still me, Tooru."
“I’m not kidding, Iwaizumi. Get out of my quarters, or I’ll call security myself.”
Iwaizumi made no effort to leave.
“I’m not asking you to help me,” Iwaizumi said. “I’m asking you to help Tendou.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Akira?”
Akira responded immediately. “How was dinner?”
“Salty.” Kindaichi did not have a way with words like Akira; he did not even know as many words as Akira, who surely had databases of every word ever spoken in every language ever heard. He said, “It made me think of the ocean. When I lived on Earth, I lived near forests, but my family went to the ocean once. The sand was rough and scratchy, and it got into places you don’t want sand, but the air smelled like salt. I’ve never smelled air like that since. The food tasted like the air smelled that day.”
He immediately regretted his words. He felt embarrassed and vulnerable in a way he didn’t like. Kindaichi knew he was good at a lot of things and he made a point not to do things he was bad at. Failure made him feel frustrated and raw. Akira was blunt. If Kindaichi said something stupid, he wouldn’t hold back, so Kindaichi braced himself.
“I’ve been to the ocean,” Akira said. “I can see it. I can feel it. The sun is warm, but I don’t know the temperature. How can I feel warmth without knowing the temperature?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Iwaizumi stepped forward, agitated, perhaps the first sign of emotion he had shown since they made it to Oikawa’s quarters. He had been so composed and detached when talking about the Hyperion Project. Oikawa wondered if that was the soldier or the man talking. Without a doubt, right now he was looking at the man Iwaizumi Hajime, not a soldier.
“I already told you, I don’t want anyone else wrapped up in this. I know you can handle this, but I don’t want you to. I don’t want another innocent person being labeled a criminal.”
Oikawa lifted his head, chin high. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”
“You’re as stubborn as ever.”
“And you’re as stupid as ever.”
Iwaizumi sighed. He dropped to a knee in front of Oikawa. He did not reach out to touch him, but Oikawa did not think he would mind if he had.
“I won’t let any harm come to you,” Iwaizumi said. “If you want to help, I know that nothing in this universe will stop you. But I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Just promise me that if I ask you to stop being involved, you’ll listen.”
“I don’t like being told what to do.”
“It’s for your own safety. My own father wants me dead because I betrayed him, because I knew too much and wouldn't sit by and let it happen. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. Especially you.”
When Iwaizumi kissed him, it was every star he would never see imploding into the oily black of space. It was every high he ever had that he so desperately wanted back and more. It was Iwaizumi’s hand on the curve of his jaw and Oikawa’s fingers curling into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt. It was Iwaizumi having to stop to catch his breath, and Oikawa not giving him the chance.
“I’ve never been good at stopping when I should,” Oikawa said, wondering if Iwaizumi could even hear his voice over the pounding of his heart.
“Neither have I,” Iwaizumi said.
“Not like me,” Oikawa whispered, so close his lips dragged against Iwaizumi’s, the perfect mix of soft and rough.
Iwaizumi watched him, eyes careful and searching. “Do you want to stop?”
He wanted to let this consume him, the way he let everything in his life consume him. It had been volleyball years ago, then the drugs, and now his work. He wanted to be unable to think of anything else. He already couldn’t think of anything else. Oikawa lived his life always wanting something, but he had never wanted something more than this.
“No, I don’t want to stop.”
Yet Oikawa pulled back because he had to. Because he had never been good at knowing when enough was enough. Because he would not let himself be consumed again.
(From my scifi wip, Stuck in Gravity)
reunion ft. Matsukawa mocking the most wanted man in the galaxy
They eventually found themselves in a larger room, no less barren than the hallways, the panels stripped from the walls to expose cables and wires. There were more men than the two that had led them there. Oikawa quickly counted them, noting which had weapons within reach and which did not. He had not held a gun in years, and this was the first time he had missed carrying one. He was the best marksman to ever go through Apollo Academy. He could out shoot all of these men, but that didn’t matter if he didn’t have a gun.
Oikawa and the rest were lined up side by side in front of the man they came all this way for. The Dreadnaught was a familiar child grown into an unfamiliar man. Oikawa thought it similar to watching a tree grow from a sapling to an unbending oak. The bark was the same color, the species the same, but the frame and power had grown immeasurably. Iwaizumi’s eyes roomed over them, taking them in, unpausing and unflinching. Then, his corpse-cold eyes landed on him.
“Tooru?” he asked. There was warmth in his voice and it was so hard for Oikawa to remain cold.
“Iwaizumi,” Oikawa said, his chin tilted up.
“Not Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi said. He wore a strange expression. Or, perhaps it wasn’t strange. Oikawa could no longer remember what was strange for Iwaizumi and what was not.
“Iwa-chan?” the dark-haired man from earlier snorted.
Ushijima turned to Oikawa and asked, “You know him?”
“I used to,” Oikawa said. “When we were children.”
Oikawa did not look away from Iwaizumi. He watched as the warmth slowly left his face, snapped away by whatever frozen ice had taken it in the first place. Iwaizumi looked over his shoulder and glared at the dark-haired man that mocked him for the silly childhood nickname.
