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“I-Iwa-chan....” Oikawa trembled, eyes open too wide.
Iwaizumi shook his head, stumbling back, then forward. He tripped over the mans calf. Landed hard his knees next to Oikawa. Reached over silently, grubby fingers leaving too-dark mud behind as he touched the bruises on Oikawa’s face, his shoulder, collarbone.
“Fuck.”
He swore and Oikawa laughed, because it was a bad word and they would get in trouble and they were going to get in trouble and they were in big, big trouble and he had to laugh, and he couldn’t stop, and now he was screaming with his eyes closed tight and Iwaizumi had dropped the rock to cover his mouth with both hands and he tasted iron and salt.
“Oikawa, Oikawa, Stupid-kawa shut up we- you- we need to be quiet and we need to go -“
Iwaizumi dragged him up by his ripped t-shirt and shoved him towards the fallen log. Oikawa wasn’t screaming anymore, but there was no blood in his face except for the prints of Iwaizumi’s palms over his mouth.
Iwaizumi looked around, dizzy, the green-brown-red-red-red- grey, grey and red, the rock, he needed to get rid of that. He grabbed it. It was heavy, too heavy, there was no way he had picked this up and brought it down as hard as he did. He stumbled, and Oikawa was by his side and helping. He could feel him shaking. Like an earthquake. Like he shouldn’t be able to stand. But his hands were steady, and together they splashed into the middle of the stream and let it go.
He wanted to watch the blood float up and away on the small current but Oikawa was grabbing his hands and dragging them under water, shaking them back and forth and stirring up dirt and blood and leaves and blood and sticks and then Oikawa was crouching down and shoving his own face underwater, scrubbing away the marks on his cheeks and then they were running, running and Iwaizumi hadn’t known that footsteps in wet sneakers sounded a lot like bits of a skull squishing into brain matter but he did now and they ran faster.
No one was home at Iwaizumi’s house. No was was ever home. So they went there. Oikawa grabbed him at the edge of the woods, pulling him behind a tree and helping him strip out of his shirt and shorts, his favorite shorts, with big pockets, and then he took off his own and they wrapped them up and ran across Iwaizumi’s backyard in their underwear.
Iwaizumi had a box under his bed. He took out three dead beetles and placed them on his chair and they stuffed their clothes inside and hid it deeper underneath.
Oikawa was still shaking. Iwaizumi held his hand and took him to the bathroom. They showered. Oikawa was still shaking. They took the box out, added their underwear, and hid it again. Oikawa was still shaking.
They went downstairs and looked at their shoes. Oikawa’s feet were too small to borrow Iwaizumi’s, so they left them alone to dry.
Iwaizumi made them scrambled eggs. He added ketchup the way Oikawa liked. Oikawa threw up.
They showered again. They didn’t eat.
“He’s dead.” Oikawa said that night, voice quiet and made quieter by the blanket over both their heads. Iwaizumi wasn’t sleeping. He nodded. He knew Oikawa could feel it. Oikawa was shaking again, so he pulled him closer and hid his face in his back and cried.