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You crafted me into who I am, it's me, I was your little pet project. You wanted to hide me away from the world, and when I flourished, I knew that in your heart, you had a slight sense of pride, you made me become who I am, you were my greatest influence.
And now I know—
I'm also one of your influences, aren’t I? But I was to never know that, was I, Oikawa?
In another life, I’d hope I would have the honour of calling you Toorū, but I see now that it is not proper. We were never meant to be, you and I. We were too broken.
When a vase has a chip, a crack finding its way onto the surface, you can cover it for the time being. The vase of our relationship hasn’t smashed yet—it’s teetering on the edge of the coffee table, waiting for one last push. Say, Oikawa, isn’t it time? We’re too old for this.
There comes a time when something is beyond mending; beyond repair. We’re hopeless. We’re not filled with despair, it’s something much more empty and distant and subtle.
I understand now—back then you harboured some unknown emotion against me. It wasn’t hatred, no, it was something that I am unable to describe, even now. You were always so complicated, accusing me of being complicated when I wouldn’t understand you and your own contradictions. I guess we're both complicated. Huh. Maybe we’re kindred spirits, parallel to each other, but destined to never meet.
Do you feel accomplished, I wonder? I can’t tell if you are happy with yourself, with what you’ve achieved—I don’t think I’ve ever been able to. You’ve forever been hungry for something unreachable, same as I. We’re so similar that it’s scary.
We’re parallel again—physically this time, standing on opposite ends of the same court. A different shade blue is what you’re clad in. Blue belonged to you, I think—it’s always been your signature brand since the day I met you, since before I met you, probably. I had hoped I could belong to you too, but that is a broken dream, only ever reeled to the forefront of my mind on the loneliest of nights, with my bedsheets so sickeningly chilly on my back.
You with your team, I with mine. The competition awaits. Our stage is set.
Parallels. You’re on the other side of the net, rejoicing in a point scored. The smiles that crinkle the skin around your eyes seem so happy. Never in my life had I ever thought to associate your smile with sincerity.
You win. And I’m not sad.
You deserved it— a win you’d been scrambling for nearly your entire life. I like to think that my existence was your highest motivation but I’d say I’m unworthy of holding that title—you were a setter before me, and you’ll continue being a setter after me.
And even though I was a setter before I’d even heard of you, your existence only awakened my desire to perform on the same stage as you. You saw me as mere competition and I only saw you as a godly untouchable inspiration.
I stare from the other side of the net, my teammates clouded in defeat, while you are in blissful rejoicing, basking in the aftershocks of your win. The depths of your big brown eyes were noticeable even from my end. Your lips stretch into a wide grin once more, and again, it’s a real one, and you are a sight of pure unadulterated happiness.
Staring at your damned face seems like an eternal thing, until it’s only you and I present, the rest of the world moving past, half forgotten, until a firm commiserative pat is placed on my back and I turn to find it’s from Ushijima. I see him nod his head at you and my neck turns to you once again and that is when I shatter completely.
He kisses you—that number 17 (Romero, I believe). He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him back.
The vase of us has smashed—its pieces lie sadly on the bare hardwood floor. The few hopeful fragments of our resentful past have smashed. My heart is smashed entirely. Another pause of forever stretches past until,
“Tobio-chan! It’s been forever!” you say, with a playful smile adorned on your face. I wish it had been forever and more, I think.
“Romero and I were going to get some drinks tonight and I’m inviting you to join!” Your tone is so light-hearted and carefree, it sickens me. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me; or maybe you do, and you, the ever-sadistic bastard, have been taunting me and my feelings all this time. It’s not improbable.
I decline. You frown. I leave.
The deadline for redemption has passed.
But I am a better person than that so in my head I thank you. Thank you for getting me here. Thank you for being my better person. Thank you for everything. Thank you, truly.
I’d be lying if it hadn’t become a little more painful to fall asleep at night since then. Although abandonment and loneliness seem like recurring themes in my life even without you. And just know that now, my Olympic silver only served to remind me that I was only ever your second choice.
Perhaps fate had always intended this to be our end.
Goodbye.