his secret library

8:30 PM, and my phone wouldn't stop buzzing. A stream of messages flooded my screen with blue text bubbles:

IWA. IWA. I'm waiting.

Hi.

Hi.

Hi.Hi.Hi. When are you coming?

I'm in the lobby, and I'M READY FOR YOU TO BE HERE!!!

BORED and LONELY. PLS COME. :'-)

I hope you still have your old number. If not, I sincerely apologize to whoever is receiving these messages. Have a nice day.

BUT, if it is you, COME. NOW. PLS.

I rolled my eyes and began typing.

BE PATIENT, STUPID CHILD. Hahaha. Jk. I'll be there in a few minutes. God, it's only 8:35. Let me finish getting ready! Bye now!

From my window, the lobby interior glowed through the tower's pristine glass panels. It was a space designed for robots, metallic and icy, like something out of a sci-fi show. On the corner of the curved, white couch, Oikawa was slouched over and staring at his watch, phone in his other hand.

┌( ಠ_ಠ)┘see you soon, Iwa. xx.

I threw on my "faux-fancy" clothes. Security looked scary. It was the type of intimidating that would throw me out of a building. My dress shirt and oxford shoes made me feel a bit more confident. Oikawa had a way of always looking put-together, and here I was, trying a bit too hard. This was stupid, really stupid. Oikawa and I lived in different worlds, we both knew that, but I was still trying my best to fit into his. At least for the night.

I rang the guest doorbell.

On the other side of the glass, Oikawa seized the receptionist's microphone. She looked up in disgust, like she was used to his childish insanity. Her glare was screaming, I'm fed up with this grown ass child; fuck this man! I couldn't blame her.

"Iwaizumi, how may I help you?" Oikawa leaned against the desk. The receptionist stared him down, poker-faced to the max. "Oh, you want to be let in? Is that so? What's the magic word?"

I pressed the speaker button. "Fuck you, let me in." The security guards shot me a dirty look, and middle-aged women turned to me with their botox frowns. "I mean, please let me in. Thanks."

"The magic word was actually 'Oikawa is amazing and wonderful, and I'm so glad to be back in his life, and he is so glad that I'm spending time with him!', but that was close enough."

The receptionist pushed Oikawa away, with just the perfect amount of aggression (a lot), and I caught him mouthing a dramatic "Ouch! That hurt!" from far away. The glass doors slid open, and there he was: jumping around the lobby with his mint-green, satin pajama set. Suddenly, I felt stupid for putting endless effort into my clothing. Just coming here. Just being associated with Oikawa was pure ridiculousness.

"You look nice," he remarked. It was sincere.

"I feel like a museum statue. I should've pulled up in my pajamas."

"From now on, you're only ever allowed over in your pajamas. Sorry, I didn't make the rules."

The elevators shot up to the highest apartments in a matter of seconds. In my building, it took minutes just to reach the fourth floor.

Oikawa's apartment wasn't an apartment. It was a flat, a penthouse. As we roamed the polished, picture-perfect spaces, Oikawa slung his arms and hands in gaudy, ornate motions. He was an awkward tour guide, trying to encapsulate his new life... one that was so utopian that it was slowly inching closer toward a dystopia.

He led me through the white marble kitchen, wine cellar, and champagne lounge. We took a quick peek into the pool room and theater. He called the karaoke bar his "man cave", but I couldn't imagine Oikawa in anything associated with that label. No beer cans or dirty husbands who holler like pigs, nothing like that at least.

The more we spent time floating through what appeared to be untouched rooms, the more his face turned rigid and cold. He was giving a tour that was burning him out, a performance that has been presented for too many nameless guests. A monologue he had to memorize and recite.

"Finally," he said, this time with lifted shoulders and an excited look on his face, "what we are about to enter is my library room, but not much work or studying really happens in there. Though, I do feel safe whenever I'm in this room."

He opened the engraved, cherry oak door for me. My feet stepped off of the cold, granite floor and onto a fuzzy rug. He tumbled into the giant beanbag, sinking into it like a child in a ball pit. Then, a big German Shepherd perked up from the armchair and raced toward Oikawa.

"Oh, hey girl! I'm back! I'm back! Sit... sit..." Oikawa turned to me. "This is Eevee, and before you ask, yes, I named her after the pokemon."

This room, with the colors and light-hearted ambiance, was different from the rest of the house. It was the Oikawa I remembered. There was color. So much of it.

His eyebrows shot up. "You know, now that I think about it, you're the first person I've ever brought into this room. Even Ainu doesn't spend much time here. She despises this beanbag I got from some random college kid's garage sale."

"Yeah?"

"Ainu thinks this space is tacky, so guests aren't allowed, but whaddya think? Honest opinions only."

Hayao Miyazaki, Yasujirō Ozu, and Akira Kurosawa movie posters covered the walls and ceilings. Old, cut-out photographs of his grandmother were pasted onto his desk and bookshelves. Oikawa kept stacks of his favorite novels around the floor: copies of Hemingways, Murakamis, and Nerudas. A volleyball covered in famous signatures. Thrift-store beanbags, rugs, pillows, and lava lamps brought a tackiness I had never seen before. On the door, he had hung a million polaroids of Eevee. Especially when compared to the mechanical perfection of his penthouse, this room was chaotically cursed, but Oikawa looked happy in it... It could've been the only place he truly belonged in.

"Can't lie. This is truly an interior designer's worst nightmare," I smirked, "but I like it."

Oikawa smiled. Then, he reached into the chest beside him — one that belonged in an 1980s pirate-themed amusement park — and threw a Jurassic Park t-shirt and some sweatpants into my lap. "Please change into this. I know you dressed up, but you look like you're going to suffocate in those pants. Your poor butt cheeks. Let them breathe."

I walked to the corner and threw off my silk shirt and tight trousers.

"Oh... MY GOD!" Oikawa screamed, then imitating me, "Go change in the bathroom. We're not sixteen-year-olds anymore, and my private library nook is not a locker room. How dare you disrupt my study! I am appalled... Just kidding. I'm not a prude. You can change wherever."

I bundled up my clothes and threw it at his face. "Oh, shut up. Like you ever studied anyway."

"Hey, watch who you're talking to! I was in Aoba Johsai's math club for all four years of high school!"

I sat on the rug, across from Oikawa. He turned on the speakers. Surround sound. Of course. The song that played next was one by Mitsume, the band we discovered together back in high school.

"Hey," I laughed. "You still listen to them?"

"How could I not? Reminds me of the good ol' days, as they say in those American movies."

"It's a pick-me-up song, indeed. Brings me back to all of those morning commutes. Shared earphones before wireless headphones became a thing. Timeless."

"I got two tickets a few months ago, but no one wanted to go with me." For a moment, Oikawa looked genuinely sad. Did he, even if it was for a momentary second, think about us when he found out that Mitsume was playing in town? How was he going to get there amidst all of the drowning commitments in his life? Who did he invite? Then: "BUT NOW, I HAVE YOU TO DRAG ALONG WITH ME!"

I looked away, not wanting him to see me smile. "Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

"Fuck you, Iwaizumi! You will go with me, and I know you'll enjoy the hell out of it!"

"Hm, I suppose."

_____

Oikawa and I stayed up all night, chatting until our eyes grew too weary to open. We never revealed the details of our lives, but we talked a lot about movies, video games, and how our mothers were doing. We talked about record shops, the new ramen place down the street, and how we never ran into each other despite going there nearly Tuesday. We talked about Shibuya bars, but I didn't tell him about my job. We talked about recent volleyball news, but not once did we discuss his departure from the sport.

& we fell asleep without noticing the time. The dim fairy lights and lava lamps blurred out of my vision. I simply remembered Oikawa, curled in his beanbag. I was sprawled on his floor. Eevee rested her snout on my stomach, letting out her doggy snores into my ear.

Yeah, this was a nice night. I wondered if Oikawa thought so too.