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It was over.
Tooru was frozen in his receiving position, forearms buzzing with the impact of Hinata’s spike. He botched the receive. He lost the game.
He didn’t feel like his team had lost, no. His team worked hard until the very end, never slowing down and never stopping. It was his move, his incorrect arm positioning and late approach that caused the ball to spin off his arms and fly off into the wall behind him, just narrowly missing their schools banner. It was his loss.
Karasuno exploded into cheers from behind him. His eyes were still glued onto the ball, dribbling weakly on the floor and rolling aimlessly to the side. Hanamaki and Watari both collapsed onto the ground beside him, exhaustion and defeat evident in the way they gasped for air. Tooru was still frozen.
26-24.
Tooru couldn’t even find it in himself to turn to face the most likely smug Kageyama Tobio across the net, to see his excitement and know that he lost his very last chance to go to Spring Nationals to his childhood rival. A genius, a prodigy, everything Tooru wasn’t. His knees crumpled at the thought and he found himself on the ground next to his teammates, forehead pressed to the hardwood.
It was his fault.
“Oi. Shittykawa, let’s go. We have to line up.”
Tooru didn’t react to the voice other than to clench his fists into his hair, pulling hard to try to escape the welling emotions inside of him. The voice repeated itself and was once again ignored. He couldn’t even recognize it. He felt like he wasn’t in his own body. He lost.
Strong familiar hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled them away from his hair. He was manhandled into standing, taking gasping breaths as he did so. He frantically looked back to see Iwaizumi holding him up, his eyes hard but concerned. Defeated.
“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi repeated and Tooru nodded, slipping out of the tight grip his friend had on his arms. He couldn’t break down here, not in front of his team, in front of Karasuno, in front of everybody watching. He plastered a smirk on his otherwise numb face and walked off to the end of the court, joining the rest of the team.
“Thank you for the game!”
Each team yelled and bowed in return, but Tooru’s throat was dry and nothing came out. He mouthed the words regardless.
Everything became blurry after that. They bowed and thanked their school’s audience in the stands and stood in a huddle with their coach, but Tooru couldn’t register anything other than the occasional pity slap to his shoulder or back whenever his teammates passed by.
It was only in the bus on the way back home he snapped back into focus, gasping out a shaky breath as he sat down. His breaths felt shallow, like they didn’t truly reach his lungs and it caused him to panic more. He had just ruined his team’s chance at going to Nationals, had ruined all of the third years’ last chance to ever go to Nationals. What right did he have to call himself a captain?
He gripped his chest with a shaky fist, attempting to suck in breaths that just weren’t coming. Tears began to stream down his cheeks without his permission and he cursed himself in his head. He couldn’t let his team see him cry. He was supposed to be strong for them. If he couldn’t win for them the least he could be is the strong, dependable captain he had promised them he would be. What was he now but a blubbering loser that ruined their season two qualifiers in a row?
He hadn’t registered the bus seat next to him being taken until there were strong arms being wrapped around his body, enveloping him in a warmth that he didn’t deserve. He fought back a pathetic sob and tried to pull away, fighting against the hold.
“Tooru, stop,” Iwaizumi whispered from above him and Tooru blinked into awareness, looking up. Iwaizumi was crying too, though not as hard as Tooru was. He looked pretty and Tooru said as much, causing his friend to break into a shaky laugh.
“I lost,” Tooru whined after Iwaizumi’s laugh trailed off, hands coming up to fist in the front of Iwaizumi’s jersey. “I lost, my fault, my fault my fault myfaultmyfault...” He broke off into another fit of sobs, leaning forward and muffling it into the other’s chest.
“Are you stupid?” Iwaizumi muttered, arms wrapping even tighter around the other boy. He pulled him closer until he was half in his lap, curled up against his chest. “Dumbass. Stupidkawa. It’s nobody’s fault. The spike caught Kyotani’s block, there was no way you alone could have saved that. Stop blaming yourself.”
Tooru had wondered earlier if his zoning out was due to his regression. He often found himself feeling small after losses or mistakes like he had made today, but his brain had refused to allow him to regress in front of the entire gym like that. He was teetering now, torn between staying big for his team and dropping to deal with the waves of emotions piling up inside of him.
Being pulled onto Iwaizumi’s lap decided it for him; he let out a shaky breath as he pulled his thumb up to his mouth for comfort. “H-Haji, can’t be small,” he whined, squeezing his eyes shut and letting more salty tears fall down his cheeks.
“Yes you can, baby,” Iwaizumi sighed softly, dropping his head and pressing his lips firmly to his head. “It’s okay. I know. Just let it out.”
Tooru was grateful they usually chose a seat at the back of the bus. He was completely regressed now, sobbing openly around his thumb and feeling smaller than he had ever felt before. Iwaizumi just held him through it, rocking him as well as he could while confined to a school bus seat.
“Nobody blames you,” Iwaizumi whispered in his ear after a few minutes, surprising Tooru enough that he jumped, top of his head bumping his caregiver’s chin. Iwaizumi rubbed it gently in an apology. “It’s okay, ‘Ru. You did so good. I’m so proud of you, you know that?”
Tooru shook his head weakly. How could he be proud of him for losing the game for them like that?
Iwaizumi took Tooru’s hand - the one not currently in his mouth - and held it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “I am so, so proud of you little one. I don’t care that we didn’t make it to Nationals. I’m just glad I got to play with you.” Iwaizumi was crying again, tears dripping onto Tooru’s hand.
The little glanced up at the feeling on his hand, whimpering at the sight of his caregiver crying. He reached up with both hands and began frantically wiping at his cheeks. “N’cry, Haji,” Tooru sniffled. “‘S ‘kay, ‘s ‘kay, no cry.”
Iwaizumi laughed wetly and nodded, gathering Tooru into another tight hug. “You’re right, it is okay.” They were a few minutes from home now based on what he could see from the bus window and he swallowed his tears. “Almost home, little one. I think you might be too small to be alone today, huh?”
Tooru wanted to protest but he wasn’t even sure he was able to walk right now. He felt shaky and small and he still couldn’t stop crying despite how he had been encouraging Iwaizumi to not cry seconds earlier. He nodded with a defeated sniffle, tucking his now tear-wet thumb back into his mouth.
Tooru staying over at Iwaizumi’s home wasn't a new development. They only lived a few houses apart and the two were often found with each other rather than apart. Iwaizumi texted Tooru’s mother with one hand, the other wrapped around Tooru’s waist, keeping the boy from slipping off of his lap. He was half asleep, exhausted from crying and from the three set long game they had just played. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a few moments. Just until they got back to school, and then he would wake up and force himself to be big so he could get home safely and not bother Iwaizumi with his regression.
The ceiling was covered in movie posters. That was the first thing he registered when he opened his eyes, blinking through sleep-heavy eyelids to see a Godzilla poster hanging above his head where glow in the dark stars should be.
He was in Iwaizumi’s room. How did he get here?
He tried to sit up but there was an arm wrapped around his waist and he had little control over his limbs anyways, his regressed state still intact despite his impromptu nap. He whined softly but rolled over to find Iwaizumi blinking awake next to him, Aoba Johsai jersey gone and replaced with a soft grey cotton t-shirt. He reached out to childishly tangle his fingers in the soft fabric just as Iwaizumi opened his eyes completely, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.
Tooru giggled, waving his hand back and forth, stretching out the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt. He leaned forward to put the shirt in his mouth but the caregiver reached over and stopped him, wrapping his fingers around his hand.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Tooru giggled at Iwaizumi’s sleep-heavy voice, wiggling closer. “Are you still my small boy?”
Tooru opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a soft noise of agreement, much to his frustration. He had been big enough to talk - even slurred and babyish as it was - earlier on the bus but it seemed that he had regressed even younger since falling asleep. He didn’t regress this young very often; he had only gone nonverbal once before but his caregiver automatically took it in stride.
Iwaizumi reached behind him and retrieved something from his bedside table. Tooru watched with a lazy gaze as he pulled his stuffed alien plush seemingly out of nowhere, gasping and throwing out his arms to reach for it. Iwaizumi laughed and handed him the plush, watching as the little cuddled the plush tightly to his chest, burying his face in its bright green fabric.
“There you go,” Iwaizumi murmured, laying his head back down on the pillow. “Do you feel better after your nap?”
Tooru just whined and Iwaizumi nodded sympathetically, leaning forward to pull the boy against his chest again. “I know,” he sighed, hand rubbing rhythmically up and down his back. “I meant what I said, Tooru. It’s not your fault.”
Tooru wanted to argue but he couldn’t speak so he just whined again, kicking his socked feet against Iwaizumi’s shins. The caregiver continued as if he hadn’t even noticed it.
“It’s not your fault, baby. You did so good today, and everybody was so proud of you. They still are, you know that?” Iwaizumi’s voice was soft but earnest and Tooru peeked out from his alien to look up at him.
There was no way they would be proud of him after what happened today. They should be angry at him. He was angry at himself.
“They are,” Iwaizumi spoke again, voice still soft but stern now. “Mattsun and Makki helped me take you home, baby, and they wanted me to tell you how much they loved playing with you. Even Kyotani texted me saying that you did a great job today, can you believe that?”
Tooru shook his head even as a shy smile spread across his lips. Kyotani didn’t like him all that much but they were both age regressors; they had bonded over the last few months and he was surprised to hear his underclassman complimenting him so openly.
Iwaizumi laughed. “He told me not to tell you, actually. You know how Kyo is.” Tooru giggled in response, rubbing his alien over his nose. “Nobody blames you for the loss. It just happened, okay?” The caregiver’s hand traveled up from his back to his hair, further messing up the sleep-ruffled strands. “I’m so proud of you. I always am. You’re amazing, Tooru.”
As much as Tooru secretly enjoyed hearing how his team forgave him for his mistake and that they still thought of him as a good player, it mattered so much more to him that Iwaizumi still believed in him.
Tooru sniffled, tears quickly beginning to fall from his eyes at his caregiver’s words. Iwaizumi laughed softly and wiped at his face, shaking his head softly. “Haven’t you cried yourself out, little one?” Tooru whimpered in response, lower lip wobbling as his tears were wiped from his cheeks.
“...’ji,” Tooru attempted, causing Iwaziumi to smile brightly at him.
“I’m here,” He murmured, laying flat on his back and gathering the boy onto his chest. “I’ve got you. Let’s go back to sleep. We’ve had a long day.” Tooru, usually an adamant anti-bedtime little, didn’t even consider denying the request. He laid his head on his caregiver’s sternum with his alien plush held against his cheek, quickly falling asleep to the rhythm of Iwaizumi’s chest rising and falling in time with his own.