THERE’S PAIN . SEARING PAIN . PAIN OF A MAN swallowed whole by the hot flames of hell itself , nerves enveloped in heat like a thrifty fur coat ; like it’s burning him alive , like he’s dying , like this INFERNAL NIGHTMARE will devour him right down to the seedy core and spit him out like a hunk of old food finally freed from the confines of two front teeth .
... so all that , but on his foot . and pretty much only on his foot .
he screams about ten or thirty gratuitous obscenities into the air of an empty apartment , collapsing back onto his bed and gripping his ankle in that deep , deep HELL PAIN or whatever the fuck he was just monologuing about . and while all that’s going down, he thinks to himself : i’m dying . and then he rationalizes a bit , and thinks : i’ll never be able to play volleyball ever ever again . and then a sudden , even worse realization supplies : tsukki won’t be able to come to my birthday party in september if i go into a coma now .
AND SINCE THERE’S NO HEAT LIKE A FATHER’S LOVE , not even that of the portable grill he just barbecued his fucking foot on , bokuto’s newly - inspired sense of self - preservation has him fumbling for the phone left charging on his nightstand . unfortunately , his emergency contact list is as long as his normal contact list , given that he automatically adds every new contact to his list of emergency contacts , but it’s no trouble at all when there’s only one person in the entire world known to act cool under immense pressure , and that person is ...
❛ ---------- AZUMANEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ! ! CALL TSUKKI TO TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAAAAAAAAAAL ! ! ! ❜
