the first time

5 years ago, Miyagi Prefecture

Three weeks before the party, we were just childhood friends. There was always a deep care between Oikawa and I, but it never grew into a love, not even a strong like. Before that night, we were truly nothing more than just friends, but something changed, and I could never tell you if it ensued in my life as a regret or as an inevitable occurrence. A mix of both, maybe.

For his birthday, our parents let us take the overnight bus to Tokyo. It wasn't anything fancy. We found a room in a cheap ryokan called the Jaybird Inn. For less than 2,000 yen, it was perfect: our own little abode in the middle of Tokyo. Everything felt exhilarating. Perhaps, our first taste of freedom turned the world into a kingdom of grand possibilities.

Oikawa pulled out two cards from his pockets. Fake IDs. They looked real, scannable too.

"Mad Dog got them for me. He said we can't go to Tokyo without sake bombs." Oikawa handed me my card. I must admit, it looked a bit too real. "Apparently Mad Dog knows this guy who deals, and he knows another guy who prints fakes. Why am I even acting surprised?"

"God bless you, Not-So-Shitty-Kawa." I nudged his shoulders as we waited for the Yamanote line, the green train rippling in our direction. In Tokyo, everything was swift and colorful. It was nothing like the lazy stretch of time and space in Miyagi.

After dusk and a big pork cutlet dinner, we wandered Shinjuku Golden Gai's narrow passageways. Hole-in-the-wall bars, record shops, and basement clubs stuffed the tight alleys. 80s rock and 90s punk crammed the spaces even more, and we were swarming in a lively frenzy. Drunken couples, groups of college kids, and pockets of intimidating artists surrounded us, but we didn't feel out of place.

Oikawa chose a bar with red lamps and low chandeliers.

We handed our IDs to the bartender. "Two sake bombs, two plum tequilas, and two bitter oranges, please." He turned to me. "My birthday, my treat."

"No! I'll treat you."

"For real, don't worry about it, Iwa-Chan."

Showa-era sounds played in the back as loud chatter filled the air. No one seemed to care that we looked younger than the regulars who frequent this bar. Yet, I felt a bit jittery just being in the city for the first time without our families.

No parental supervision, and we pulled up in the bars!? My mother would be fuming if she found out. However, the sake bombs helped ease my jitters away.

"ICHI."

"NI!"

"SAN!"

"SAKE BOMB," we both shouted, slamming our fists onto the table and chugging the beer until it fizzed in our stomachs. I noticed that our fingers were still wrapped in white tape. I wondered if anyone in this room cared about volleyball. I looked around: rainbow-haired college kids, old rock junkies, and a sprinkle of European tourists. No, nobody here cared about volleyball... For the first time, it was nice being away from the interviewers and sports fans. It was nice just being with Oikawa.

We drank through many "KANPAI!" cheers and shared endless plates of Takoyaki (the best fried street food in Japan). Oikawa found a windowsill to lean on, and he rested his face against my chest. I held him, brushing my fingers through his tousled hair.

"How you feelin', Tipsykawa?"

The technicolor lanterns of the alleyways shimmered in his brown eyes. "Hmm?"

"Please, for the love of God and Tokyo, don't make me carry you all the way home."

"Don't worry. I don't feel drunk anymore, but I am on the verge of falling asleep."

I laughed. "We're not made for the city. Your body is still on 6:00 AM practice time. I'll catch a taxi for us."

Oikawa fell asleep in my arms as we headed back to the ryokan. From time to time, I would catch the driver staring at us with a menacing glare. I ignored him and stared out at the glowing city lights of Tokyo. I took it all in: the flickering colors, beaming signs, and Oikawa's sleepy murmurs. We finally returned to our weekend home, and I thought I would have to drag him all the way upstairs.

But then: his face lit up after his car-ride nap, beaming with a mix of lingering sake and drowsiness. We tiptoed into our room, pushed our futons together, and slipped beneath the thick blankets. Oikawa inched closer and closer to me, and I inched closer and closer to him until our arms were wrapped around each other's bodies. We both didn't know what we were doing, but it felt as if we both knew the night would lead up to this.

"Are you okay with this?" I whispered.

"This, Iwaizumi... is what I would dream about." He traced his hand down the nape of my neck. "Are you okay with this?"

"Yes." I nodded, and we kissed.

Oikawa slid his fingers into my hair, and I held on to his arms to stay steady as we pressed together like two swords in a Catch-22.

Kissing Oikawa felt good. It felt right, so we did it again and again. All night. In the morning. Throughout the weekend. In the dimness of those bar-filled alleyways. We kissed and kissed, and it felt so natural, so easy while we were still in Tokyo.

Then, we were back in the Miyagi Prefecture. The colorful city lights disappeared, and we were back in the rural slump of our mundane realities. Our truths felt like a giant blotch in our lives... it was rattling... it festered like a dirty secret we weren't even able to share with each other. I wished we could've left it behind in Tokyo, but memories never worked that way.

Then, we were back to kissing girls at parties, and sometimes, our eyes would catch each other. We would always look away. It stung like revenge.

I could never explain why this happened. Perhaps, our reckless immaturity got the best of us.

I just wished it never happened. At least, not yet. Not then.