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There's an emptiness that comes after crying.
It's almost comical, in its own, twisted way.
You're so full, bursting with emotion, and then it's all just... gone.
And you wonder what the point was in the first place.
~
Most of the time, it just starts with an off day.
He can't concentrate on the lectures; finds himself staring at the dreary sky and twirling his pen, listening but not hearing.
His spikes don't quite go through.
Practice is a blur of going through the motions, it becomes just a thing he does rather than an activity he enjoys, a club he picked for the love of the sport.
He leaves it feeling small. Exhausted. It's easy to blame it on the exercise. There are just days like this.
Until these days bleed into weeks. Everything is gray.
He laughs at his friend's jokes, but they don't seem real, tangible, there.
Oikawa hangs off his arm on the way home, like he does sometimes when he desperately wants Hajime's attention. Hajime just sighs, feeling the fatigue in every muscle.
"You okay?" Oikawa asks, brow furrowing in concern.
Hajime shrugs.
The next step is realizing something is wrong.
Everything gets heavier. Getting up is harder, and faking laughter is, too.
There's a sadness growing behind his closed eyes, and every second he's alone, it expands.
He feels the thoughts now, too, and knows that if he lets them, they'll consume him.
The fighting begins.
He distracts himself with studying, video games, books, more volleyball - but it's hard, when you feel like nothing matters.
He goes to the first screening of a new sci-fi movie with Oikawa, who is ecstatic (always, about these things) and excitable, dragging Hajime by the arm, as usual.
The skin where Oikawa's fingers dig into his arm feels like it's on fire.
"You sure you're okay?" Oikawa says.
"Huh?"
"Well - you've been kind of... weird, lately."
I know.
"S'ok. Guess I just had a bad day - I'm kinda tired." So, so tired. Exhausted. I want to go home.
"...you know, we can watch this movie some other time."
A shake of his head; "don't be stupid, I know you specifically need to see movies on opening night. It's okay."
He can't run from it.
He's focusing on the screen, but he hears no words. The story blurs, and his mind refuses the distraction. It's too late. It's too late, it's here, and shit, shit, there's nowhere he can go-
He's going to break in front of all these people, he's going to fall and he knows once it starts, he can't stop it.
God, please, not now.
Take me home, take me home, home where I can break in peace-
"Iwa-chan."
Oikawa's half-alarmed voice reaches his ears, but it almost sounds like he's under water. So far away. Blurry.
No, that's the tears.
Shit.
"We're leaving," Oikawa says. "Now."
Home?
Oikawa gets to his feet and pulls Hajime up with him, to a resounding chorus of dissent from the rows behind him.
Or maybe it's not echoing. Maybe that's just him.
"Sorry," Oikawa hisses, but he doesn't sound sorry at all, and his grip on Hajime's hand is like a vice.
"T- Toor-"
But he can't.
It's too hard. It's too heavy.
Please- Home-
"Hajime."
The name sounds warm in Oikawa's voice, even if he's panicked. Worried.
Don't be
I'm fi-
A door, and then silence. Murky lights. The hallway.
He slumps, walking is hard, against a wall that's mercifully there to prevent him from falling completely. Oikawa chases after him, kneeling down where he's sitting now, shaking, shaking, oh-
"Are you okay? Hajime-"
"Of course," Hajime says.
Or he doesn't. Because he opens his mouth but all that comes out is a tiny choked sob, and oh, oh, that's a lot of tears.
"Hajime?"
I'm... not okay.
And that's the cue.
You admit it, and you fall. Because he's not okay. He's not.
And then there's sadness, waves upon endless waves of it, sloshing over him like he's a pebble at the seashore and it's slowly pulling him deeper with every wave, pushing him out and then dragging him down.
Down, down, down.
Oikawa's hands are clutching his arms and Hajime knows he must look really bad, judging by what he can make out from his face, but his tears are so heavy and so many-
He barely manages to draw breaths in between, air hitching on sobs-
Oikawa's fingers are suddenly prying his apart, and Hajime thinks he hears him gasp, but he doesn't have the words to ask why or the strength to look down.
"Hajime," Oikawa says, and Hajime can't read his voice anymore, can't tell what he's feeling, can't look at his face because there's so many tears-
And then Oikawa's arms are around him. He's suddenly close, weight in his lap, knees resting on either side of Hajime's hips as he embraces him, as tightly as he can.
Home.
Hajime just cries harder.
~
There's an emptiness that comes after crying.
Slowly, you start to feel your limbs again.
You get back on your feet.
You look for purpose.
~
Hajime doesn't know how much time passes before he is able to move again.
Oikawa is wrapped around him, grip fierce, holding him, holding him, and it's the only thing that feels real.
Gently, Hajime pulls back.
Oikawa's eyes are red, too.
"...I'm okay," Hajime whispers.
Oikawa bites his lip, disbelieving, small, worried.
"Please," Hajime says. "Take me home."
A nod in return, and the smallest hint of a smile.
I'm here.
They take a cab home, and Hajime buries his head in Oikawa's shoulder.
Oikawa's fingers are in his hair, and holding his hand in his lap. It feels like the only sanctuary in a world of hurt, and Hajime is crying again.
Soft tears this time. Grateful ones.
Oikawa pulls him closer.
Hajime isn't sure how he walks into their apartment. Oikawa is steadying him, holding him up - but it's like Hajime is losing parts of the journey, up the stairs, through the door-
Oikawa sets him down on the sofa and then there's the sound of the electric kettle and a blanket and Oikawa's lips against his forehead; "just a second, love, hold on-"
Hajime closes his eyes, and exhaustion is heavy, but it's not heavy like the sadness.
That's still there, but it's fading now.
The microwave dings as he hears water start to boil, bubbling loudly in the silence of the apartment. Moments later, something warm is slipped into his arms.
"Tea in a second," Oikawa says, leaving him with the warm water bottle as he goes to fetch the mugs he's prepared.
Hajime curls in over the warmth inadvertently, concentrating on it, feeling his tired muscles slowly unclench.
Finally, finally there's the soft click of two mugs being set down on the table, and the couch shifts as Oikawa sits down beside him.
He's brought bandages for his hand, where nails have pierced skin. Later.
Hajime slumps into him, but it's not hopeless anymore. Just exhausted.
Oikawa brings his arms up around him, pulling him in and over his lap, legs off to the side, head resting against Oikawa's chest.
"...okay?" he asks. It's soft. Safe.
Oh, what would I do without you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
"I love you," Hajime says instead.
It's small, so much smaller than he'd like.
He's given all he can.
Oikawa squeezes him, hand tangling in his hair.
He understands.
"I love you too, Hajime. So, so much."
~
Slowly, slowly, you remember how to breathe.
How to love.
How to hope.
You keep moving.