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“Is this part of the plan, then?”
Iwaizumi frowns. “What?”
Oikawa shakes the bottle in his hands. “Getting me drunk,” he drawls. “Is this part of the plan?”
Iwaizumi’s gaze drops. The cave they’re in is dimly lit, with only a small fire flickering between them, and it makes Oikawa’s expression unreadable.
“No,” he finally murmurs. “I just thought—it would be like old times, right?”
Oikawa scoffs. “Right. And you just happened to show up with alcohol the night before a planned invasion.”
“You know about it, then?”
“I have my information.”
“That’s good,” Iwaizumi says. “You’re prepared, then.”
“Do we have any other choice?”
“You’ve always had a choice, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says quietly, and Oikawa looks away. After a moment of silence, he pops open the bottle in his hand and takes a swig before passing it to Iwaizumi. Their fingers brush for less than a moment during the exchange, and Iwaizumi wonders when such brief contact was all that remained between them.
The two had never often indulged in drinking back then—the few times they had were disastrous enough to linger in Iwaizumi’s memory, and now, as he takes a drink from the bottle himself, he watches Oikawa carefully for any sign of immediate intoxication. When Oikawa’s expression remains straight, something in Iwaizumi twists. All these years have changed Oikawa, then.
“What are you doing here, Iwaizumi?”
Iwaizumi feels his hand twitch at the name. “I don’t know,” he admits honestly. “I just wanted to see you again.”
“We’d see each other tomorrow, anyway,” Oikawa points out.
“Not—not like that.”
He passes the bottle. Another brush of fingers that lasts too short a time for Iwaizumi to commit it to memory.
“I just wanted to talk,” Iwaizumi continues. “Without the outside, without the reminders, without the noise—” He cuts himself off. “I don’t know how tomorrow will end, but… you’re the greatest partner I’ve ever had. You know that, right?”
The light from the flame flickers on Oikawa’s face long enough for Iwaizumi to catch the bitterness in his eyes. “I’m surprised you think that’s still true.” He takes another swig from the bottle. “After all, you left.”
“I would have come back,” Iwaizumi murmurs. “You know I would have, Oikawa.”
Oikawa hums. The only reason Iwaizumi can tell the alcohol is starting to settle in his system is in the way his fingers linger a little longer on Iwaizumi’s when he passes the flask back. “But you didn’t.”
“And you know why.”
Oikawa’s eyebrows lift. “Enlighten me.”
Iwaizumi exhales slowly. “You changed. After that one rescue mission, you changed, and I couldn’t stop you.” He shakes his head as he continues staring into the center of the flame between them. “It stopped being about saving them, and it started being about killing the others.” He pulls his eyes to Oikawa’s. “That wasn’t the Oikawa I knew.”
“Guess you didn’t know me that well, then,” Oikawa says blithely as he takes the bottle from Iwaizumi again. “Guess I didn’t know you that well, either. All of a sudden, the violence was too much? All of a sudden, it wasn’t righteous?” He takes a long drink. “All of a sudden, it wasn’t justice?”
“All of a sudden, it was genocide,” Iwaizumi responds, and Oikawa laughs, a discordant sound that echoes off the walls of the cave.
“When it’s them,” Oikawa starts, gesturing to Iwaizumi, “it’s genocide. When it’s us,” he gestures to himself, “it’s purification.” He laughs again, a tipsy giggle. “Ahh,” he sighs. “I guess in the end, you had to choose them.”
“I wanted to choose you,” Iwaizumi blurts out. “Fuck, Oikawa, do you think I like it like this? With an us and them and—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. “I never wanted it to be like this.”
“What did you expect this conversation to be, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, his eyes sharp and his voice sharper. “Some sort of closure? Did you want me to forgive you, Iwa-chan?” At Iwaizumi’s silence, his eyes slip closed. His shoulders drop. “I loved you,” he murmurs. “You know that, right, Iwa-chan?”
Iwaizumi’s fingers curl into his palm. “Yeah.”
“I loved you, and you knew,” Oikawa repeats, and now, his voice is starting to rise. “Then tell me why—”
“I couldn’t see you destroy yourself,” Iwaizumi blurts out. “I couldn’t bear to see what you were becoming, what you were turning into—”
“A monster,” Oikawa interrupts quietly. “Isn’t that right?”
“You weren’t listening to reason,” Iwaizumi says weakly. “You weren’t listening to me.”
Oikawa hums. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he begins. “In the beginning. When we first met, I told you to leave. To run.” He wraps his arms around himself with a quiet laugh. “That would have been less painful than this, huh?”
“I don’t regret it,” Iwaizumi answers instantly. “I don’t regret any of it.”
Something like surprise flickers in Oikawa’s eyes when he looks up, but it’s quickly subdued. “How fortuitous for you,” he murmurs. “You’ll be able to die without regrets tomorrow.”
“Only if it’s by your hand.”
Iwaizumi hears Oikawa’s breath stutter before the other lets out a quiet exhale. “You haven’t changed, Iwa-chan.”
“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi feels the need to say, and before he can open his mouth to say more, Oikawa’s tossed the flask aside. It clatters harshly against the floor, but the sound is drowned out by Oikawa’s steps against the stone floor—one, two, three, and then he’s standing over Iwaizumi, and then he’s leaning down, and then he’s capturing Iwaizumi’s lips in his in a soft embrace entirely unlike the rough words they had just aimed at each other.
When Oikawa pulls away, Iwaizumi can smell the alcohol from the breath ghosting on his skin. “I’m sorry, too,” Oikawa murmurs, pressing his lips softly against Iwaizumi’s again before pulling away completely. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Iwa-chan.”
Oikawa takes one step back, then another, then another. Finally, he tears his eyes away from Iwaizumi and disappears in a swirl of cloth and light.
The flame flickers out.