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Description
{Iwaizumi Hajime} secret santa for DeeNotMe ♡
word count: 1300+
warnings: none.
gender: neutral.
au: none.

encore -
/ˈänkôr/
1. again
origin: french

He nearly forgot. The day he met you, the only day he ever saw you—Iwaizumi had nearly forgotten it.

But standing there, on that chilly day smothered in low hanging clouds, he was sure there was something wrong with him. Because he remembered it and in his head, everything was still bathed in a veneer of light gold—like the color of dandelions. And on the banks of the slow moving river where he sat, there was a chorus of chirping frogs. Even though he knew they were hiding in the shallows, the sound seemed so close to his ears that Iwaizumi felt like he could’ve run his fingers through the grass, still slightly damp from morning dew, and come up with a symphony of the penny-sized creatures in his hands.

“Whatcha doin’?” You wondered, appearing at his side. He had been staring at the bare grass awfully intensely.

His head snapped up in surprise to look at you.

“Uh,” Iwaizumi replied smoothly, “nothing.”

He inwardly cursed at himself for not being able to spit out anything more coherent, but there was no way in hell he would’ve said ‘frog searching.’

You hummed skeptically and plopped down next to him. He cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you just randomly strike up conversations with strangers for fun?”

You glanced at him. “Why not?”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

You tilted your head, thinking for a second before looking back at him.

“Are you dangerous?”

He froze, a bit surprised by your sudden question.

“O-of course not!” Iwaizumi responded, maybe a little louder than intended.

He heard you chuckle. “Then it’s fine, isn’t it?”

It most definitely was not fine. But you had this kind of crooked, smug smile on your face, and he snorted.

“Whatever.”

He glanced at you curiously as you shifted to pick a dandelion, and then another, weaving the stems together as you added onto the chain. Iwaizumi glared at your hands. He had no idea how you were doing it.

You laughed, leaned back and let this carefree sound lift up into the sky at the sight of the expression on his face.

“It’s not that difficult, really,” you said, handing it to him. “I’ll show you.”

Iwaizumi tried, he really did, but he sure as hell was no good with meticulous things. And your hands were so surprisingly warm and gentle on his calloused fingers, your touch so inconceivably soft, that, for a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure if you actually existed. Iwaizumi thought that maybe if he blinked, if he looked away for just a little too long, you’d disappear. He’d wake up in the grass on the riverbank from a strangely inviting dream that he couldn’t quite remember, and the lingering feeling of your fingers on his would just be blamed on a wandering summer wind. But through the dandelion stems that were awkwardly sticking out here and there, Iwaizumi could see your hands, nails trimmed immaculately short, and a bandage that ran, wrapped around your arm, from your wrist all the way up to your elbow and into your sleeve. He didn’t register it then. His eyes skimmed over that telling detail and thought nothing—even afterwards he couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was because of how warm your palms were on the back of his hands, or how you were grinning a little at the mess of dandelions in his grasp, or how Iwaizumi really couldn’t tell if any of this was just a dream—a once-in-a-lifetime kind of dream—anymore.

“There,” you said, tying the last two stems together, “finished.”

Iwaizumi stared at the woven dandelions in his hands. “I still have no idea how you did that.”

“That’s no good.” You laughed an airy kind of laugh and smiled at the slightly mangled mess he was holding gingerly, as if any movement would flake it to pieces. “That’s no good. I won’t always be here to make you flower crowns.”

He didn’t notice then, didn’t even think about it—but looking back, your words might’ve been just a little bit sad, just a little bit regretful. As if saying “this will be the last time.” But before he could ask what you meant, someone called for you.

“[Name],” the woman said, approaching the two of you with the aura of an attendant of sorts. Iwaizumi froze. That was a nurse. “We have to head back. It’s time for your noonday checkup.”

You sighed, smiling wistfully. “Guess we’ll have to part ways here.”

His breath caught. The whole scenario was becoming so much more and more like a strange dream by the second that, without thinking, he raised his hands and placed the dandelion crown on your head. He didn’t know why, but Iwaizumi felt like it was something he had to do.

“F-for you,” he stammered.

You gave him a look of surprise, then paused for a moment before smiling, letting this grin that exuded unadulterated warmth melt across your face.

“What’s your name?” you asked out of the blue.

He balked for a second before coughing awkwardly. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Well then, Iwaizumi-san,” you said, “I’m [Full Name]. Thank you for the flower crown—thank you for everything today. I really enjoyed it. Let’s meet again. I’ll even invite you to my funeral!”

He gawked, utterly speechless. What did you just—

“See you later,” you called, your smile changing into something just a little bit sadder. “See you later, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he replied in a daze, watching while you left with the nurse, as if you hadn’t just dropped a giant load on his head. “See you later.”

He stared at the empty road as if he’d just seen a ghost. But he knew you weren’t one—he had felt the warmth of your hands.

So on that cloudy day in the city, when Iwaizumi had suddenly felt that strange, indescribable feeling in his gut tug him off his usual path, he finally found out that you hadn’t been able to invite him to your funeral after all.

A kind of murky, grey feeling swirled inside of him while he stared at your simple, black tombstone. It ghosted in a wistful sort of whisper, one that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t regret or remorse, but rather something that fell only partway there. Saying ‘if only’, forever repeating that lonely, hushed ‘if only’. If only we had been born just a little bit different, if only I hadn’t died. If only our lives had crossed in a different universe, in a different place where the first time we met didn’t have to be the last—maybe we could’ve been friends. Maybe we could’ve even loved, who knows. (Not us, of course. Not the sad, lonesome us.) If only, the swampy feeling said, if only.

Iwaizumi had had enough with if only’s.

On that day from not-so-long-ago, nothing had happened. There had been no miracles, no budding love stories, no sudden soulmate revelations—the world wasn’t that merciful. So he took a deep breath, watching as the grass waved rhythmically around your tombstone. Green, just like it had been on the banks of that familiar river—green, just like it had been in plenty of places around the world. There was nothing romantic about a dead person he’d only met once. This was no place for a love story. But it could’ve been.

“One—” Iwaizumi whispered shakily, “—one more time.”

He shoved his hands further down into his jacket pockets as a gust of wind blew through the cemetery. The cold was coming early this autumn.

He swallowed.

“Someday,” Iwaizumi continued, “let’s meet again. I have no idea how it works but...somehow, let’s do it. I think I’d like to meet you one more time. I think—I think I’d like to be friends with you. I think I’d like to love you. So let’s—let’s meet again.”

He smiled a little, liking the way that word rolled off his tongue.

“Again.”

❀

Description
{Iwaizumi Hajime} secret santa for DeeNotMe ♡
word count: 1300+
warnings: none.
gender: neutral.
au: none.

encore -
/ˈänkôr/
1. again
origin: french

He nearly forgot. The day he met you, the only day he ever saw you—Iwaizumi had nearly forgotten it.

But standing there, on that chilly day smothered in low hanging clouds, he was sure there was something wrong with him. Because he remembered it and in his head, everything was still bathed in a veneer of light gold—like the color of dandelions. And on the banks of the slow moving river where he sat, there was a chorus of chirping frogs. Even though he knew they were hiding in the shallows, the sound seemed so close to his ears that Iwaizumi felt like he could’ve run his fingers through the grass, still slightly damp from morning dew, and come up with a symphony of the penny-sized creatures in his hands.

“Whatcha doin’?” You wondered, appearing at his side. He had been staring at the bare grass awfully intensely.

His head snapped up in surprise to look at you.

“Uh,” Iwaizumi replied smoothly, “nothing.”

He inwardly cursed at himself for not being able to spit out anything more coherent, but there was no way in hell he would’ve said ‘frog searching.’

You hummed skeptically and plopped down next to him. He cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you just randomly strike up conversations with strangers for fun?”

You glanced at him. “Why not?”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

You tilted your head, thinking for a second before looking back at him.

“Are you dangerous?”

He froze, a bit surprised by your sudden question.

“O-of course not!” Iwaizumi responded, maybe a little louder than intended.

He heard you chuckle. “Then it’s fine, isn’t it?”

It most definitely was not fine. But you had this kind of crooked, smug smile on your face, and he snorted.

“Whatever.”

He glanced at you curiously as you shifted to pick a dandelion, and then another, weaving the stems together as you added onto the chain. Iwaizumi glared at your hands. He had no idea how you were doing it.

You laughed, leaned back and let this carefree sound lift up into the sky at the sight of the expression on his face.

“It’s not that difficult, really,” you said, handing it to him. “I’ll show you.”

Iwaizumi tried, he really did, but he sure as hell was no good with meticulous things. And your hands were so surprisingly warm and gentle on his calloused fingers, your touch so inconceivably soft, that, for a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure if you actually existed. Iwaizumi thought that maybe if he blinked, if he looked away for just a little too long, you’d disappear. He’d wake up in the grass on the riverbank from a strangely inviting dream that he couldn’t quite remember, and the lingering feeling of your fingers on his would just be blamed on a wandering summer wind. But through the dandelion stems that were awkwardly sticking out here and there, Iwaizumi could see your hands, nails trimmed immaculately short, and a bandage that ran, wrapped around your arm, from your wrist all the way up to your elbow and into your sleeve. He didn’t register it then. His eyes skimmed over that telling detail and thought nothing—even afterwards he couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was because of how warm your palms were on the back of his hands, or how you were grinning a little at the mess of dandelions in his grasp, or how Iwaizumi really couldn’t tell if any of this was just a dream—a once-in-a-lifetime kind of dream—anymore.

“There,” you said, tying the last two stems together, “finished.”

Iwaizumi stared at the woven dandelions in his hands. “I still have no idea how you did that.”

“That’s no good.” You laughed an airy kind of laugh and smiled at the slightly mangled mess he was holding gingerly, as if any movement would flake it to pieces. “That’s no good. I won’t always be here to make you flower crowns.”

He didn’t notice then, didn’t even think about it—but looking back, your words might’ve been just a little bit sad, just a little bit regretful. As if saying “this will be the last time.” But before he could ask what you meant, someone called for you.

“[Name],” the woman said, approaching the two of you with the aura of an attendant of sorts. Iwaizumi froze. That was a nurse. “We have to head back. It’s time for your noonday checkup.”

You sighed, smiling wistfully. “Guess we’ll have to part ways here.”

His breath caught. The whole scenario was becoming so much more and more like a strange dream by the second that, without thinking, he raised his hands and placed the dandelion crown on your head. He didn’t know why, but Iwaizumi felt like it was something he had to do.

“F-for you,” he stammered.

You gave him a look of surprise, then paused for a moment before smiling, letting this grin that exuded unadulterated warmth melt across your face.

“What’s your name?” you asked out of the blue.

He balked for a second before coughing awkwardly. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Well then, Iwaizumi-san,” you said, “I’m [Full Name]. Thank you for the flower crown—thank you for everything today. I really enjoyed it. Let’s meet again. I’ll even invite you to my funeral!”

He gawked, utterly speechless. What did you just—

“See you later,” you called, your smile changing into something just a little bit sadder. “See you later, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he replied in a daze, watching while you left with the nurse, as if you hadn’t just dropped a giant load on his head. “See you later.”

He stared at the empty road as if he’d just seen a ghost. But he knew you weren’t one—he had felt the warmth of your hands.

So on that cloudy day in the city, when Iwaizumi had suddenly felt that strange, indescribable feeling in his gut tug him off his usual path, he finally found out that you hadn’t been able to invite him to your funeral after all.

A kind of murky, grey feeling swirled inside of him while he stared at your simple, black tombstone. It ghosted in a wistful sort of whisper, one that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t regret or remorse, but rather something that fell only partway there. Saying ‘if only’, forever repeating that lonely, hushed ‘if only’. If only we had been born just a little bit different, if only I hadn’t died. If only our lives had crossed in a different universe, in a different place where the first time we met didn’t have to be the last—maybe we could’ve been friends. Maybe we could’ve even loved, who knows. (Not us, of course. Not the sad, lonesome us.) If only, the swampy feeling said, if only.

Iwaizumi had had enough with if only’s.

On that day from not-so-long-ago, nothing had happened. There had been no miracles, no budding love stories, no sudden soulmate revelations—the world wasn’t that merciful. So he took a deep breath, watching as the grass waved rhythmically around your tombstone. Green, just like it had been on the banks of that familiar river—green, just like it had been in plenty of places around the world. There was nothing romantic about a dead person he’d only met once. This was no place for a love story. But it could’ve been.

“One—” Iwaizumi whispered shakily, “—one more time.”

He shoved his hands further down into his jacket pockets as a gust of wind blew through the cemetery. The cold was coming early this autumn.

He swallowed.

“Someday,” Iwaizumi continued, “let’s meet again. I have no idea how it works but...somehow, let’s do it. I think I’d like to meet you one more time. I think—I think I’d like to be friends with you. I think I’d like to love you. So let’s—let’s meet again.”

He smiled a little, liking the way that word rolled off his tongue.

“Again.”

❀