Chapter Text
Say isn't it strange?
Isn't it strange?
I am still me
You are still you
In the same place
Isn't it strange?
How people can change
From strangers to friends
Friends into lovers
And strangers again
And the last time Oikawa loves him is now.
The back yard is the same, there are still stars burning light years away above them, the ice in their glasses hasn’t melted yet.
The emotions stirring in his chest are the same.
But Oikawa is a liar.
So he shrugs Iwaizumi’s arm off and stands, stretching. “I’m fine, you mother hen. So, are you gonna tell me you’re dating someone or should I subtly let you know I’ve noticed?”
“To hell with you and your damn perceptiveness.” Iwaizumi grumbles. “How’d you even figure it out?”
There’s a flush to Iwaizumi’s cheeks that goes deeper than physical exertion, a sated sort of smile on his face, something settled in his eyes.
Oikawa thinks, selfishly, how he’d love to wipe the expression of his face. Iwaizumi looks bad when he’s content.
Oikawa wants him to be exhilarated, to be bursting with tension and emotion, overflowing with affection and the sensation of being loved fully, thoroughly, wildly. And all because of him.
The monster he is, Oikawa doesn’t want Iwaizumi to be so perfectly happy. Not without him, at least.
“You got a text a little while ago.” He explains nonchalantly. “And you stopped playing to go check your phone.”
The silence between them is tense with unresolved history. Oikawa is the one to take one final step back and snap the tether. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t dwell on how Iwaizumi looks almost disappointed, doesn’t care that his heart is aching so badly he feels like he can’t breathe properly.
“I should get going.” Iwaizumi stands up as well.
“Okay.” Oikawa nods, summoning the smile of a star to his face, blinding, lethal, pretty. Fake. He knows Iwaizumi can tell it’s fake. “See you tomorrow?” He asks, and feels the sting of a tone of voice he knows too well, the tone of a liar as Iwaizumi nods and says, “Sure.”
“Goodbye, Iwa-chan.” He says when Iwaizumi’s already gone back in and disappeared through the front door.
The light in his mother’s room has long since turned off.
Oikawa walks into the silent house with no one waiting for him. He climbs into bed with no one to curl his arms around.
And he cries and feels sorry for himself like a true self-pitying star, with no one to tell him he isn’t, really. That he’s just a college kid, just Tooru, with a fucked up knee and stupid hair, an ambition that swallows like a black hole but a heart that adores viciously and bright like a sun to counter the darkness. No one to remind him of his name and his unimportance.
In the end, just like a star, Oikawa is left to implode and flicker out all alone. And if the universe is endless and the earth is light years away, maybe in a million years the beautiful horror of his death will reach a scientist who’ll make a mark of it in a notebook in some lab and then all of this will mean something.
Until then, the supernova will learn to accept the loneliness of its vibrant demise.