hurts you like youre that moldy cheese from diary of a wimpy kid
five times our muses almost hold hands, and the one time they do
v. they don’t hold hands because they’re too busy holding everything else. their luggage, too-warm (cold) limbs, the curve of their spines (iwa-chan’s shoulders)–are ambitious surfaces for even two pairs of hands to memorize.
“call me when you get there,” iwa-chan says, “shittykawa, and make sure you unpack before you start bothering the whole campus.“
tooru knows (iwa-chan knows) it’s likely they’ll both be quiet, for a while. that they need to wait for the silence to fit itself to their shapes.
“tch. oikawa, are you zoning out on me now?”
but slowly,
they will
grow up. and that’s
“ahhh? maybe you should stop giving me weird nicknames and find out!”
terrifying, wonderful–he’s here, and he decides to trust in that.
vi. it’s raining the day of the entrance examinations, and iwa-chan looks a mix of frumpy and intimidating under his impromptu umbrella of his biology textbook. the pages are sopping wet, and judging from the look of disgust iwa-chan shoots at the thing, he’s well aware it’s a lost cause.
“i don’t see why they can’t just reschedule,” he says. “sleet. sleet and hail. this is ridiculous.”
tooru takes advantage of his distraction to slip the hot chocolate from iwa-chan’s hands and down the rest of the cup’s contents. “you’re so generous,” he says. “i guess some things aren’t–hey!”
iwa-chan starts laughing. as the ice he shoved into tooru’s shirt slides down, his stomach goes with it. all around them is the rain and the ice. without his glasses or contacts, the pavement glitters oddly, like stars. so when iwa-chan turns to cross the road (maybe he sees it too) without looking, it’s with a jolt of surprise that tooru finds himself gripping iwa-chan’s wrist. behind them, angry honking.
before them–
tooru is slow to let go.
iii. but that’s okay, he reasons out.
ii. so is iwa-chan. they roam around the park like children who’ve woken up in bodies too big for them. tooru sits on the swings and pushes off, heels scraping up mulch and dandelion petals as he goes. as he’s wondering how many bugs are in the grass–the mid-spring crickets are relentless–iwa-chan lunges forward and comes up holding a gigantic grasshopper in his hands.
“that’s gross,” tooru says.
“like you,” iwa-chan responds. he’s not really looking anywhere but that includes the crickets, too. for once, he’s beyond reading. “just so you know, that was a good game.”
they walk around like it’s over when it’s… not.
“iwa-chan, tell me something i don’t know.”
a snort. “you’re an asshole.”
“i said something i don’t know–not a lie~” when he jumps from the swing, iwa-chan is waiting, legs braced, hands outstretched to settle on either side of tooru’s shoulders.
i. but at eight, nationals looked so much better and closer than university. at age eight, the days stretched into each other. at seventeen, it’s the nights that transform, spanning days, lightyears, eons. this is enough.
iwa-chan falls asleep tucked around tooru, their fingers interlaced.
that gets him to jerk his head around, a serious frown plastered to his lips. he finds that, even if oikawa is complimenting, somehow the tone of voice he uses never connects well. it doesn’t feel sincere that way; it sounds like he’s teasing, taking iwaizumi for a fool because he assumes that oikawa is being honest with him.
the volleyball in his hands feels heavier, and if he were really frustrated for being called single-minded ( something he almost, in fact, had mistaken with simple-minded ), he might’ve thrown it into the back of oikawa’s head.
❛ what are you asking for ? ❜ he figures that, instead, might be a better response. he’s not hurting anyone, and if he needed clarification, then he’d already requested it.
( stop going at it sideways. )
because iwa-chan has never appreciated
the implicit. tooru wonders if he knows that
this, too, is a form of openness--the kind
that crooked people like to adopt--a safe,
not-quite-miserable sort of thing. he
supposes not. iwa-chan wouldn’t ask if he
knew.
( this is all just a little redundant. )
“curiosity,” tooru sing-songs. and a yawn
later, “i was wondering what you thought
of it.”
In all retrospect it wasn’t the best of ideas now that he thought about it . seijou’s coach had managed to get shiratorizawa to play another practice match with them ( they were the winners , unsurprisingly ) . with the 3rd match finished , they finally decided to call it a day && asked ushijima to help clear away . he didn’t mind , he was the captain after all .
Carrying the net over his shoulder , he noticed the familiar teal && white uniform with the number 1 plastered on it . choosing to stay silent , he placed the net on the rack before hearing a loud click come from the door . he frowned before walking towards the door , footsteps echoing . tugging on the handle several times without any movement lead to only one thing .
Someone had locked the door .
❝ Oikawa – san i know you are in here . i would like to let you know that the door has been locked so we will be unable to get out until someone notices . ❞
in retrospect, tooru probably shouldn’t have
pretended not to notice the door opening--
not even when he immediately placed the flash
of purple in his peripheral vision as a
shiratorizawa uniform. it’s childish, when this
practice game is supposed to be about good
sportsmanship. mutual respect for each others’
talents and all that.
but in retrospect, that’s probably what has him
on edge. there’s something demeaning about
being coerced into making nice like this--as if
niceties have ever done anything but leave
behind half-moon marks on his palms, the place
he uses to serve, where his finger tips rest as he
curls them, inward.
( but next month, next year if they have to-- )
stewing about it on his own won’t do anything.
he stretches his arms above his head, as if to
yawn, before he sidesteps ushiwaka and slips
to the door. and just as he’s about to
congratulate himself on getting out of there
without punching that cow--
“ushiwaka-chan, why do bad things always
seem to happen around you?”
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic
romaincrisis
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
