It was dark when Oikawa blinked open his eyes, feeling as if a hundred tons of weight had suddenly dropped upon his chest. His head throbbed, sending pounding rhythms of pain reverberating through his skull.
Instinctively, he twisted his head to the right, ignoring the sharp pain that tore up his neck, trying to see past the twisted metal and broken glass that now separated him from Iwaizumi.
“Iwa-chan?” He croaked out loud.
Oikawa dragged his left arm upwards and pushed it underneath him, trying to shove himself upwards in order to catch a better look. He stopped when the weight on his chest only increased, the sudden change aggravating something in his sternum and sending a ragged cough tearing through his body.
Oikawa’s arm gave out as his head dropped down, the coughs subsiding slowly. Blood pooled in his mouth, and he turned his head to the side, spitting it out. It spattered in dense drops against a large piece of the shattered windshield.
“Iwaizumi,” he called out again, remembering the look of terror that had eclipsed the other man’s face seconds before the trunk had slammed into their car.
The car had completely flipped. Oikawa struggled, left arm pushing uselessly against the large piece of metal that was pinning him flat on the ground. His back scraped against cracked pieces of glass, and he could feel some of the larger shards digging into his flesh as he tried to move the metal off his chest. To his left, the car door seemed to be torn off, and Oikawa shivered as the cool night air brushed against his bruised skin. His right arm was completely unresponsive, lying limply next to him. Pain shot through his legs as he moved them weakly, kicking against the contorted interior of the car, and his sternum was a ball of pure agony.
“Iwa-chan!” He hissed, becoming increasingly desperate. “Answer me!”
The voice came from outside the car, through the opening where the car door had been. A pair of shoes appeared in Oikawa’s view, followed by a set of legs.
Iwaizumi bent down so he could stare into the car, face impassive. “Shittykawa, don’t move.”
Oikawa let his arm drop, instead craning his neck so he could see Iwaizumi’s face better. “You’re okay,” he breathed, acutely aware of how the other man’s skin was pale and unblemished, as if he hadn’t just been driving a car that was hit by a truck. “You got out?”
Iwaizumi paused. “Yea. Yes, Oikawa, I did.”
His head was fuzzy, making Iwaizumi’s words sound distorted and warped. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear the distracting feeling. His eyelids slid shut, too tired to stay open.
“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi’s tone had changed, sounding desperate and terrified. “Open your damn eyes.”
Oikawa grimaced, forcing them open anyway. The simple task seemed far too tedious.
“That’s it,” Iwaizumi breathed. “Keep them open, okay?”
“Why,” Oikawa grumbled, his breath coming short. “Not like there’s anything to see anyway.”
Iwaizumi’s smile was strained as he knelt closer, a hand coming to hover over Oikawa’s. “What? You don’t want to see me? You’re always boasting about how beautiful your fiancé is.”
He seemed to take a deep breath before letting his hand fall, fingers curling around Oikawa’s.
“You are pretty,” Oikawa rasped. “I’m just tired.”
“I know,” Iwaizumi said. His head dipped up and out of sight before coming back into Oikawa’s view, eyebrows furrowed in obvious fear and frustration. “Where are they?” He murmured softly.
“What?” Oikawa asked, unsure if his exhausted brain had just hallucinated his fiancé saying a full sentence.
Iwaizumi shook his head. “Nothing. Seriously, Oikawa, you can’t go to sleep. Not yet.”
“You say that every morning,” Oikawa mumbled.
“Because you never get up. You sleep until you’re nearly late for work, with your stupid alien pajamas and stupid stuffed toys.” Iwaizumi stopped, huffing out a quiet chuckle.
“I love you so much,” he said, lacing his fingers in between Oikawa’s. Oikawa frowned. Iwaizumi’s touch was feather-light, like soft wind ruffling the leaves in an abandoned cemetery. Were Oikawa’s nerves that messed up?
“Wha’ about- the driver? Truck?” Oikawa asked, gradually becoming aware that his words were making less and less sense. “Is he-?”
“I think he’s dead,” Iwaizumi supplied. “He hit us pretty hard.”
“H’ was on his phone. I, I saw.”
“Trust you to notice something like that in the middle of a crash.”
“I’m ob’er’van,” Oikawa slurred. The pounding in his head had gotten worse, and there was an uncomfortable lump trying to slide its way up his throat. He swallowed, pushing it back down. “One o’ my best' trai’s.”
Iwaizumi hummed distractedly, eyes tracing worried circles over Oikawa’s face. “It sure is,” he said.
Oikawa glowered. “Is ‘verything, okay? You… nev’r agree with me.”
That seemed to give Iwaizumi a pause. “It’s fine, Shittykawa. Trust me.”
“I tr’st you,” Oikawa said, watching the dark spots dance farther across his vision. The pain in his chest and legs had mostly faded away into a dull ache. A sudden thought occurred to him.
“No,” Iwaizumi said firmly. “Absolutely not. You have to live, Oikawa. Think of your parents, and Makki and Mattsun. Takeru. Kageyama and Hinata would be destroyed too."
“I’d be devastated,” Iwaizumi said, staring down at him.
A lazy smile spread across Oikawa’s face. “Good th’ng I’m not dy’ing th’n.”
He coughed, the lump in his throat finally winning the battle and sliding into his mouth, turning into a pool of blood that dripped from the corners of his mouth. Each cough wracked his body, sending new jars of pain through his chest and legs.
Oikawa’s eyes floated shut again, and he let them, too tired to care. His hearing started to blur out, static drowning out the panicky tones of Iwaizumi’s voice.
He jolted back into existence at the feel of an absolutely freezing hand smacking against his cheek.
“Stay awake,” Iwaizumi growled.
Oikawa groaned. “Wh’y ar’e you so cold?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Iwaizumi retorted hotly. “You can’t sleep yet.”
“M’kay. Not yet. You’re so’ nice t’day, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi opened his mouth to say something, but before he could make a sound, his head snapped upwards. New sounds filled the air - not Oikawa’s ragged breathing or Iwaizumi’s rapid shuffling, but loud, wailing sirens accompanied by harried shouts and flashing lights. Oikawa grimaced. Too loud and too bright.
“They’re here,” Iwaizumi breathed. “You’ll be okay, Shittykawa.” He was grinning, and not the sly ones he saved for when he hassled Oikawa, but a real, genuine one that Oikawa had only seen a dozen times throughout his life.
“Love y’ou,” Oikawa said around a mouthful of blood.
“I love you too,” Iwaizumi replied. He dipped down, pressing a soft kiss to Oikawa’s forehead. “Live a good life for me, alright?”
“F’or you?” Oikawa asked feebly. One of his hands reached upwards, trying to catch the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt as the man pulled himself to his feet. “W’here y’ou goi’ng?”
“It’ll be okay,” Iwaizumi said. He smiled that genuine smile again. “I love you, Oikawa.”
And then the strange men and women were here, surrounding Oikawa. They yelled at each other, bringing long tubes and strange metal contraptions that wrapped around the gnarled car. But Oikawa only had eyes for Iwaizumi’s retreating form. Then he blinked, and Iwaizumi was gone.
The exhaustion became too much to bear, and the dark spots that had been slowly sliding into his view flared up, enfolding his whole world into black.
“I think he’s waking up,” a familiar voice whispered, strangely subdued.
“I’ll get the doctor,” a second person said. There was the sound of rustling fabric and scraping chairs, and then more silence.
Oikawa groaned, eyelids sliding open. His blurry vision showed a drab ceiling, a dark mass sitting in the center of his line of sight.
He blinked, and the shape sharpened into the face of a man.
“Oikawa?” Hanamaki asked, leaning cautiously over his head. His eyes were red, the areas underneath puffy and maroon colored, as if his friend hadn’t slept properly for days. The corner of his mouth wobbled slightly.
Oikawa struggled upwards, startling when Hanamaki set a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Stay still,” he said, looking insanely worried. “Don’t rip anything out.”
It was then that Oikawa noticed the clear tubes that disappeared into his arms, attached to beeping machines that surrounded the white sheeted-hospital bed. Hospital. He was in the hospital.
Oikawa coughed once. “What happened?”
His voice was raspy, the simple act of talking making his throat hurt.
“It’ll be okay,” Hanamaki said, his tone reminding Oikawa of a very different scene, of Iwaizumi repeating the same words before disappearing into the swarm of paramedics.
Oikawa tore the top of the sheets away from his body with the arm that wasn’t in a cast, forcing Hanamaki to grasp his shoulders in order to press him back to the bed.
“Don’t move,” Hanamaki said again, teeth clenched.
“Iwaizuimi,” Oikawa said, struggling against his friend’s grip. “We- we were in the car - the truck - where’s Iwaizumi?”
Hanamaki wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Matsukawa’s coming back soon, with the doctor, and your parents are in the cafeteria.”
“Makki,” Oikawa hissed, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles as he tried to sit up. “Tell me.”
The door to the hospital room burst open again. A tall, thin woman walked through briskly, dressed in a long white coat, spectacles perched upon the tip of her nose and sleek shiny hair pulled back into a ponytail. Dark circles were ingrained underneath her eyes, clear signs of a shift that had gone on for too long. Matsukawa trailed after, clearly unsure of what he should be doing, gaze darting lightly over the room.
“Oikawa Tooru,” the doctor said, glancing at the clipboard she held in her hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Oikawa replied. “But Iwa-ch-”
“You were brought in for injuries sustained in a car accident,” she interrupted. “Five broken ribs, internal bleeding to your abdomen, a fractured arm and leg, as well as a concussion. Now, Oikawa-san, I hear you’re a volleyball player. You may be able to play again, after extensive physical therapy. The fracture in your legs will heal without incident, but I am concerned that your broken arm will interfere with your ability to play.”
The thought of not being able to play volleyball was like a physical blow to his stomach. This panic, however, was quickly swamped over with a rush of trepidation as the doctor spoke again.
“The man in the car with you passed away.”
Matsukawa lowered himself into one of the chairs next to Oikawa’s bed. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
“Iwaizumi’s dead, Oikawa.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the doctor offered softly. “If it’s any consolation, he died on impact. He felt no pain.”
Oikawa stared blankly at her. “He can’t be dead,” he insisted, voice gaining traction. “I saw him after-he was fine-”
“You were most likely experiencing the effects of blood loss,” the doctor said, gently.
“No!” Oikawa shook his head, adamant. “You don’t understand! I saw him after- he wasn’t hurt at all-he kept telling me to hold on and stay awake-I-”
He choked on the sudden onslaught of tears that rose up his throat, bracing his hands against the bed. “I saw him. Dead people can’t look like that-they can’t talk-they can’t smile-,” he whispered, remembering the grin on Iwaizumi’s face.
The doctor looked at Hanamaki and Matsukawa helplessly. “I’m truly sorry, Oikawa-san. Denial is common for-”
“There’s nothing to deny!” Oikawa snapped, suddenly furious. “There’s nothing to deny, because Iwa-chan can’t be dead-”
Hanamaki slid a comforting hand over the back of Oikawa’s palm, and Oikawa sobbed. “He was there,” he murmured, voice wavering.
“I know,” Matsukawa said, forcing a strained smile onto his face, even as clear tears left tracks down his cheeks. “It’ll be alright, Oikawa. ‘Maki and I are here for you.”
Oikawa met Matsukawa's eyes. They were dewy, the anguish of losing a friend clear to see.
“He told me to live for him.”
Oikawa breathed in, long and deep, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of spring flowers. He stood in the center of the green grass, surrounded on all sides by tall stone pedestals.
He let his fingers loosen, a single white lily drooping from his grasp to land on the top of one of the pedestals. Oikawa knelt slowly, folding his knees under him.
Iwaizumi Hajime, the words engraved in the stone said. 20xx ~ 20xx.
Oikawa cleared his throat. “Hey, Iwa-chan. It’s your birthday today, you know?”
The grave did not respond. Oikawa was silent, listening to the leaves rustling in the wind, accompanied by the chirps of lonesome birds sitting in the newly blossoming trees.
“I talked with your mother this morning. She’s doing well, as is your father.”
Oikawa chuckled, absentmindedly pulling at the cuff of his shirt.
“Hanamaki and Matsukawa finally got married. They’ve been pining after each other since 6th year.”
Oikawa sighed. “I never told anyone this, but I know you were there that night. I don’t know how, if you somehow managed to stay as a- a ghost or something until the paramedics came or if you just refused to die like the stubborn person you were, but I know I didn’t hallucinate you.”
“You were there,” he repeated. “Somehow, you saved me. I never got to thank you for that.”
“I miss you,” he told the headstone. “But don’t worry. I’m still playing volleyball. Japan won the Olympics this year. Chibi-chan and Tobio-kun annoy me everyday. ‘Maki and ‘Matsu invite me over every Sunday for a movie night. I’m doing well.”
He pressed two fingers to his lips, then lowered them until they rested gently against Iwaizumi’s carved name.
“Fear not, Iwa-chan,” he said, smiling as obnoxiously as he could.
“‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”
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