sync.

"whichever way we get it, a point is a point."

[iwaizumii]

ᴘʀɪᴍᴇ [ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ: ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ]

[grandkinged-blog]

     His karma catches up to him - thirty one times, one shot after another. 

     Oikawa Tooru lies on the ground, staring up at the ceiling and swearing that he can feel the bruises blossom on his skin. Dark purple - red and blue on the edges, broken skin and aching insides. His ribs feel brittle and his breathing is shallow as he reflects on the past five minutes — the past few days, if all the details are included.

     He builds his own disasters and downfalls - self destructive tendencies be damned, there are moments ( much like these ) where he realizes he can’t help himself, while still wishing that he could help himself. The chaotic nature of his surroundings burrows in - acts like a virus and tricks him into being sick so that he plays right into the way the moment demands him to.

     In a way, in a very literal way, he suffers for it.

     A foot suddenly makes contact with his side and he yelps from the impact— his face scrunching in discomfort, and the pain ebbing away slowly. And when he peeks up to see who, he blinks at the sight of Iwaizumi, who crouches and jabs a finger against his forehead. 

     ”Ow! Iwa-chan—,” but he falls silent. A tiny frown stuck in place for another two seconds before dropping into a pained look, dramatics plastering themselves into the spaces and creases of his expression. He’s thinking ‘why not’ when he makes his tone weaker— faker, breakable, turning his face away from Iwaizumi, the side pressed against cool tile as he rasps out, "I- Iwa-chan… I think I’m… really hurt…"

[iwaizumii]

Iwaizumi registers the calculated change in tone, a shift to the dramatic, and finds himself responding automatically as he processes it. "Do you?" he asks, voice level and neutral, neither sympathetic nor dismissive. He's not particularly listening for an answer or even wanting one, the words simply tumbling out of his mouth on autopilot, but his eyes travel across Oikawa's body nonetheless, judging for himself whether there was a grain of truth to Oikawa's complaint.

He can't be that hurt if he's resorting to dramatics, Iwaizumi decides as he rubs his thumb against Oikawa's cheek, hard, wiping off a streak of paint. Besides, the idiot already gave himself with his first words. If he'd laughed weirdly to himself instead or, worse, had stayed silent (the kind of heavy silence that traps Oikawa in his mind and sinks him, dragging him down, bogged down by his own thoughts) Iwaizumi would have cause to worry. As it stood, Oikawa laying on the ground with the side of his face plastered to the ground, weakly moaning about how he thought was he hurt was nothing, really.

Routine, even.

"Why are you acting like somebody shot you in the ass?" Iwaizumi scoffs, flicking Oikawa's forehead again before finishing off by muttering "Idiot" under his breath.

[iwaizumii]

ᴘʀɪᴍᴇ [ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ: ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ]

Iwaizumi Hajime has been holed up in the library for approximately five days, three hours, twenty minutes, and forty-five seconds but who's counting?

He really needs to pass his next math exam.

Really.

(Forget the fact that he did not, in fact, fail his last exam and only did slightly worse than the average.)

Five days may seem like going a tad bit overboard, but Iwaizumi walked into the library a prepared man, with enough supplies to last him at least a week pouring over tear-stained calculus textbooks because, dear God, he was not going to just barely pass this class. However, one thing that he did not account for was the amount of mental strain a week-long stint in the library would bring about and this consequently lead to many nap breaks and some rather unfortunate attempts to play volleyball by himself.

When he finds he can no longer stand it, any of it, and starts writing The Second Fundamental Theorem of Calculus can go FUCK itself in the margins of his notebook, he cuts his losses and steps back into the outside world to find—

Chaos.

No, seriously, absolute chaos. You check out for a few days and come back to find the entire school embroiled in some kind of juvenile paintball war and see how you feel.

Iwaizumi's first action is to grab the first screaming person wielding a paintball gun and force the reason behind this madness out of them. He hears something about the Law class and passing and last team standing before they wrest themselves out of his grasp and land three shots on the person around the corner, letting lose some sort of battle cry that Iwaizumi has no intention of hearing ever again.

His second action is to see what's become of Oikawa in this mess and with every passing moment he grows increasingly suspicious of Oikawa's absence in the halls as well as irritated at having to dodge flying paint every three seconds when he's not even in Law, goddammit.

After grumbling under his breath for twenty minutes, Iwaizumi runs into Oikawa entirely by accident when he turns a corner to take a break from the second item on his list. "Runs into," in this case, is entirely accurate and correct as Iwaizumi only noticed his childhood friend lying on the ground, after unintentionally (this time) hitting Oikawa with his shoe.

He considers asking Oikawa if he's still alive, but given that he's still breathing and making what Iwaizumi supposes Oikawa thinks are pitiful noises, Iwaizumi figures that it's a moot point. Instead, he crouches down next to Oikawa and jabs him in the forehead, hard. "Dumbass," he says, jabbing Oikawa again. 

"You're not even in Law. What the hell are you doing??"

Looks at the amount of paint covering Oikawa's body and decides that a change in tense is needed. "What the hell were you doing?"