Chapter Text
While Oikawa slumps down against the telephone booth, Iwa is sorting tapes in the backroom. He didn’t hear the phone ring, didn’t hear when it was answered. Now, as he stacks the videos in alphabetical order, he tries not to let the disgust get to him, especially when he sees the ones with Oikawa’s name on them.
Sometimes, most of the time, he feels terrible about working here. He’s not a good person. Oikawa would disagree, so adamantly. If anyone ever spoke bad about Iwa, well then there was hell to pay. But Iwa would say it himself, he’s not a good person. He’s not really a bad one either, he’s just guilty. (In two hours, he’ll feel even guiltier, but he doesn’t know that right now.)
Ito had banished him to the backroom, a half hour ago. Iwa doesn’t really mind, especially since Ito’s friend is over. Uncle, Iwa thinks bitterly, wishes he knew the man’s name, instead of having to refer to him by that stupid, perverted nickname.
Iwa hates all the men who have hurt Oikawa. But some days he thinks he hates Uncle the most. It might be because Iwa didn’t know about him at first (or maybe for something much more selfish, that Iwa hates to think about). Apparently, Uncle had been introduced to Oikawa by Sakai, the day after Oikawa’s tenth birthday.
But Oikawa, who all too willingly spilt details about him and Sakai’s disturbing relationship, never mentioned him.
Iwa had been happy when Oikawa had come to him, a few months after their tenth birthdays, crying that Sakai was leaving. They would be okay, he’d thought, their friendship would return to normal and Iwa wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
But that hadn’t been the case. Instead, Oikawa lied and Sakai helped him. Iwa had been invited to what was the last dinner party of the summer, also being hosted as a joint send-off for Sakai.
Iwa remembers sitting on the stairwell, outside of the living room. He had been hyper-alert, watching as Oikawa and Sakai went in, hand in hand, to talk to Oikawa’s mother.
Iwa listened, ears strained, as he heard Sakai say something about schoolwork and a tutor and rides into the city.
Oikawa had popped his head out into the hallway and waved at Iwa, “Go to bed, Hajime”, he’d sounded so adult, not ten years old at all, “I’ll be up in a little while.”
Iwa had trudged, slowly up the stairs, as Oikawa watched. Later when Oikawa returned and changed into his pajamas in the dim light, Iwa could see bruises all over him and tear streaks on his face.
The next morning, Oikawa’s mother had announced that one of Sakai’s friends had offered to tutor Oikawa for free because he saw something in the boy.
Iwa hadn’t really thought that much of it just smiled wanly and kept silent.
When fifth grade started, Iwa thought he’d got his wish. And he did for about a week. They’d been seated next to each other in almost every class and played with the older boys’ volleyball team. They would stay late after school, practicing, then go home to whoever’s house they felt like, to sneak cookies and watch cartoons. Oikawa didn’t kiss Iwa anymore and he didn’t mention Sakai.
But after that first week of bliss, Oikawa’s tutor showed up. They’d just finished volleyball practice and Iwa had been eager for more, wanting to stay behind on the deserted court like they did last week.
But Oikawa said no immediately, explained that the tutor was coming to get him. Iwa waited with Oikawa, outside of the front gates. He had been shocked by the car that pulled up, run-down and old, red paint chipping, license plate half off. The man behind the wheel looked like a gangster from one of those trashy movies that were always on after school.
“Is that him?” Iwa had asked, grabbing hold of Oikawa’s wrist.
“Yep.” Oikawa had tried to pull away but Iwa didn’t let him.
“He looks sketchy. Did your parents even meet him?”
Oikawa had blinked and cocked his head, “Why would they have to? He’s Sakai’s friend.”
“Well, he’s supposed to be tutoring you. Wouldn’t they want to know what he’s like? He looks like a criminal.”
Oikawa had successfully freed himself and laughed. “I thought out of everyone you’d be smart enough to figure it out.”
It had been Iwa’s turn to blink, “What, Tooru?”
“He’s not actually a tutor, silly. That was just a lie.”
“Then what is he?” Iwa had asked, but Oikawa was already skipping towards the car, leaning into the driver's window.
Iwa saw him kiss the guy on the cheek and it all became painfully clear.
Oikawa was turning around though, waving to Iwa, “Uncle says he can give you a ride! You don’t live far from him.”
Iwa still doesn’t know why he got in that car. Maybe it was because the sun was setting, because it was getting cold, because he had promised his dad he would get a ride from Oikawa’s driver. Whatever the reason, he’ll never forgive himself. Not ever.
Oikawa sat in the front, a big hand on his thigh. Uncle had pulled the car into a supermarket parking lot, handed Oikawa a list and some money.
“Run in and get these things, angel.” He’d said, “and get as many treats as you want.”
Oikawa hadn’t even hesitated. Iwa still doesn’t know why he stayed in the car. Perhaps it was because he was so tired from playing volleyball, because Oikawa didn’t ask him to go, because he was tired and he was lazy and he was stupid. Whatever the reason, he'll never forgive himself.
His body was heavy and the car doors were locked. When Uncle started to drive, all the way across the parking lot. Iwa didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t even move or make a noise.
He doesn’t remember really, or at least he tells himself he doesn’t.
But it felt like forever and it felt like no time at all, before Uncle was in the driver's seat again.
And Oikawa was running up to the car, breathless and rosy cheeked, whining, “Why did you move the car? It took forever to find you.”
Iwa didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t even move or make a noise.
When they pulled up to Iwa’s apartment complex, Makki and his mother’s boyfriend were outside. Makki had his left arm in a sling, and a bandaid on his cheek. The boyfriend was gripping Makki’s right shoulder and talking to him roughly.
When he saw the car, a smile flashed on his face and he stepped away from the boy.
Iwa still couldn’t move, even when Uncle rolled down his window to talk to the boyfriend, even when Oikawa poked him and said “Haji, you’re home.”
He didn’t get out until Makki opened the door and yanked him out.
“What are you doing?” Makki had hissed “Why were you and your friend in that man’s car?”
“I don’t know.” Iwa whispered, “I-I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t go near him,” Makki said, then he looked Iwa up and down, pointedly. “Your fly is down.”
Iwa had run then, tears pricking in his eyes, up two flights of stairs, into his apartment.
“Hajime?” His dad had said, “Are you alright? Your shirt is all stained.”
Iwa had just slammed his door and cried.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Iwa tried to understand what happened to him.
Oikawa was sleeping over, and they were cuddled on the couch, half-watching a movie. It was hard to pay attention though, because all Oikawa wanted to talk about was Uncle.
Iwa finally worked up the courage to interrupt, “Tooru?”
“Mmmh?”
“Does he do things to you?” Iwa had whispered. Oikawa had run his fingers through Iwa’s hair and giggled.
“Well, yeah. Of course. He’s basically my boyfriend.”
“B-but does he touch your..” Iwa hadn’t been able to finish his sentence, he tried to start with something else, “Does he make you touch his?”
Oikawa had smiled, “Hajime, we have sex. Obviously, we do all that stuff.”
“It’s not weird?”
“Nah, Sakai said it was normal, Uncle says so too.” Oikawa shrugged, turned his attention back to the movie, “Look Iwa-Chan! This is my favorite part!”
Two hot tears fall on the VHS tape Iwa is holding, smudging the handwritten label. He hadn’t realized he was crying, but now it doesn’t matter because he can’t breathe. He doubles over, trying to take a deep breath, trying to at least inhale. He used to get like this a lot right after it happened.
His dad would crouch down next to him, saying “Hajime, what’s the matter?” and Iwa would always sob out “I don’t know”. He thought he’d outgrown this, but he sobs loud, guttural, anyone could hear, if the shop wasn’t now empty.
Back by the phone booth, Oikawa is seriously out of it. He’s listless, boneless, head lolling to one side, eyes rolling.
He doesn’t expect it when the car pulls up, that red rusty car, with the license plate still hanging on by a thread.
“Uncle?” he slurs out, quietly. But, it’s Ito getting out of the passenger seat, towering over Oikawa’s pliable body.
“Oh poor baby,” Ito croons mockingly, “You poor thing.”
“H-help m-me,” Oikawa manages, flinching slightly as Ito manhandles his frail body until he’s half standing, half being dragged to the car. And Uncle is there ! In the driver's seat, just like old times, Oikawa hasn’t seen him, really seen him in almost four years. He’s too high to figure out if it’s a good or bad thing.
Ito helps in the back, lays him out on the seat, hands ghosting where they shouldn’t.
“Ito,” Oikawa kind of giggles, “Don’t.”
“Tell him to shut the fuck up,” Uncle’s voice is gruff, reminding Oikawa of the terms they parted on.
“Shut the fuck up!” a new voice laughs, sounding significantly younger.
Oikawa steadies his spinning head, focuses his eyes as best he can. There’s a boy sitting in the front, squished in the jumpseat between Uncle and Ito. He’s got fiery orange hair, but his eyes are empty, with that drugged-out look.
I know you , Oikawa wants to say, I lived you. Instead, he whimpers out a pathetic ‘sorry’.
Uncle mumbles something, Ito smirks and the car jerks forward. Oikawa nearly rolls off the seat.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been driving for before he realizes how hot the car is. They’ve got to have the heat on or something, even though it’s warm out.
“C-can you roll down the windows?” his voice sounds pathetic, babyish. He gets no answer and the heat gets worse. This is bad, he can’t breathe, he feels like he might have a heart attack. He sits up as best he can, freeing himself from his light jacket. He collapses before he can get his t-shirt all the way off, falling back on the seat, tangled up with it half on.
When he glances to the front seat, Ito is turned around, watching him. That telltale-hungry look is in his eyes and Oikawa flinches under his gaze.
“Stop,” he whines, “Don’t look at me.”
“But you’re being such a slut, Tooru-kun. Taking off your clothes, looking at me with those baby doll eyes.”
“M’not,” Oikawa tries to put his shirt back on, but only ends up getting more tangled, “Don’t fucking look at me.”
Something changes in Ito’s eyes and he snaps at Uncle, “Pull over.”
“No,” Oikawa pleads, “Just drive.”
“Pull over,” Ito says again and Uncle already is.
“You better keep him quiet,” Uncle says as Ito gets out of the passenger seat, “I don’t want to hear his disgusting whore sounds.”
Ito is smiling cruelly when he opens the back door.
“No,” Oikawa says, but he isn’t sure his mouth is working, his eyes aren’t and the rest of his body isn’t either.
He thrashes pathetically, arms still stuck in his shirt, as Ito flips him over and drags his pants down.
“Someone fucked you today.” It’s not a question. Oikawa stays silent.
“I told you,” Uncle laughs, starting to drive again, “Damaged goods. You’ll probably get some disease from him.”
Oikawa bucks his hips unsuccessfully, nails digging into the peeling seats, as Ito thrusts into him.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ito grunts, “He gets me off, even if he’s loose. I just think about my first time with him, when he wasn’t so willing.”
I’m not willing, Oikawa wants to scream, I want you to stop .
Iwa calms himself down, abandons sorting tapes. When he steps out into the front of the store, it seems like no one is there. So, when he goes to duck under the counter, he’s surprised to see someone.
It’s that green-haired kid that Ito’s been keeping around, skinny legs covered with a thin white dress, chin resting on knobby knees. Freckle faced and wide eyed, staring listlessly ahead, until he notices Iwa.
“Oh,” the kid blinks, standing slowly, “You work here, right?”
“Yeah,” Iwa steps back, shifts awkwardly, “Where’s Ito?”
“Him and Uncle went out. Took the car and everything.”
“Oh.” Iwa pauses, “Do you know why?”
“Someone called. I think Ito called him Tooru. I guess he needed to be picked up.”
Iwa’s heart sinks, down deep, until he can’t feel it beating. “How long ago was that?”
“Maybe an hour, maybe two,” the kid shrugs, “I’m not so good with time.”
Iwa’s fists clench, when he used to have his episodes he’d lose track of time. He must’ve spent a long time on the floor of the backroom, just trying to breathe.
He’s about to ask the kid if he knows when they’ll be back, but then there’s headlights coming in the window, an engine shutting off.
Iwa is going out the door as Uncle’s coming in. Iwa stumbles back, freezes in his tracks, eyes widening in fear. Uncle pushes right past Iwa, looks right through him, no sign of recognition in his cold eyes.
Ito is next, orange-haired kid in tow. Ito smiles, a cruel smile, leans close to Iwa, saying “He’s all yours.”
Oikawa is out of it, splayed on the backseat, pants pulled up in a rush.
Yet he smiles when Iwa lifts him, circles his arms tight around Iwa’s neck.
“Oh, Hajime.” he whispers, all slurred and breathy, “I want you to kill me.”
“Please, Tooru,” Iwa whispers, hot tears welling, “Please don’t say that.”
“I want you to kill me,” clearer, more demanding, “Put me on camera and make me remembered.”
Two big tears roll down Iwa’s cheek, drop onto Oikawa’s collarbone, “I couldn’t, Tooru. You know I couldn't”
“But I want to die. Why won’t you do it?”
“Stop asking me.” Iwa really starts crying, beginning to walk, “Please hold tight. I’m bringing you home.”
“I want to die,” Oikawa says again, softer, “Why won’t you do it? Why won’t you do it?”
Like a broken record, he repeats this. Iwa cries harder, holds tighter, walks faster.
You are guilty. Why won’t you do it?