Work Text:
Just 20 more.
The ball cleared the net, hitting the center of a hula hoop taped onto the floor. Three more balls came flying in quick succession, each landing solidly within different hoops with loud smacks.
17 more.
Tooru picked up another ball and spun it once, twice, three times in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he tossed the ball up and ran forward, gracefully jumping and sending it streaking over the net. It hit the hoop itself and ricocheted off.
"Shit," Tooru muttered, wiping sweat from his face with his shirt. Off the mark. Back to 20 more.
He resumed his position and got through 8 flawlessly executed jump serves before missing again. The ball landed quite far outside the hoop this time.
Back to 20 more. It's just 20, dammit, you can do -
His right knee buckled. He swore, grabbing the volleyball cart before he collapsed.
Alright, maybe 15.
He waited for the shooting pain in his knee to recede somewhat, and cautiously resumed his practice. But every time his foot made contact with the floor, the pain intensified until his knee was throbbing.
Just five more.
The ball slammed into a hoop with so much force that the tape holding it down peeled up slightly.
Four more.
The next was just barely inside. He pushed his hair out of his eyes.
Three.
It hit the hoop dead-center. His sweat dripped relentlessly onto the floor.
Two.
The next ball flew closer to the net than he'd intended for it to. His every breath tore through his throat, and his entire right leg felt uncomfortably hot.
One.
His legs were trembling with the effort it took to remain upright, but he took his position behind the inline once more. Holding the ball out before him, he closed his eyes and gathered his focus.
Inhale.
Exhale.
He opened his eyes,
tossed the ball up.
A step forward, then another, and another, until he'd gained momentum.
Here.
Step, bend, ju -
He let out a yell as pain suddenly ripped through his knee, causing his leg to give out beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor and the ball dropped beside him, bouncing three times with pathetic thumps before rolling away.
Tooru sat upright and frustratedly blinked away the wetness in his eyes. Wincing, he pulled the supporter away from his swollen, fevered knee.
He laughed bitterly to himself. "I might have gone too far this time," he remarked aloud.
"Yeah, no shit."
Tooru started as an ice pack was dropped in front of him. Turning around, he was met with a scowling face and a thump to the forehead.
"Oww, that hurt, Iwa-chan!" he whined, rubbing his forehead.
"Shut up, idiot," Iwaizumi growled. "You expect me to believe that hurt while I'm looking at your fucked up knee?" He waved contemptuously toward it. "You can't even stand, can you?"
Tooru waved him away. "You're overreacting," he said airily. "I can stand just fine." To prove it, he started to get up, but Iwaizumi shoved him back down.
"Don't even think about it," he hissed. "And use that fucking ice, I didn't bring it so you could let it melt on the floor."
"I can't tell if you're being mean or nice," Tooru complained. Nevertheless, he picked up the ice pack and gingerly pressed it to his knee.
Iwaizumi remained standing behind him.
Tooru could feel his glare burning holes into the back of his head. He willed himself not to say anything.
Iwaizumi remained.
The silence grew to be too much for Tooru.
"Iwa-chan, didn't your parents ever tell you it's rude to stare?" Tooru said, leaning backwards to smile charmingly up at him.
Iwaizumi didn't respond. He simply looked down at Tooru, still frowning deeply.
Tooru didn't let his smile falter. "What, is there something on my face?"
"What are you doing, Oikawa?" Iwaizumi asked, ignoring his question. His voice was much softer than Tooru had expected it to be.
Tooru raised his brow. "Um, icing my knee like you told me to?"
"No, idiot, I mean…" Iwaizumi sighed heavily and walked around him until he was facing him properly. He crouched down. "What are you doing?"
Tooru shook his head. "Just repeating the question doesn't make it any easier to understand, you know."
"Our high school run is over," Iwaizumi said quietly. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
Tooru's smile faded. He stared into Iwaizumi's face. The anger was still there, but there was something else too, something that made Tooru uncomfortable.
He looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Like fuck you don't," Iwaizumi said.
"Language, Iwa-chan," Tooru sang. He hitched a smile back on, not quite meeting Iwaizumi's eyes.
"Cut the crap, Oikawa." Iwaizumi's gruff voice, normally so harsh and full of anger, now had that sickening something that made Tooru's skin crawl.
He felt nauseous when he realized what it was.
Pity.
"I'm serious," he snapped, suddenly angry. He shut his eyes and ground the ice pack into his knee. "You always speak so crassly, Iwa-chan. It gets on my nerves."
I don't need your pity.
"Tooru."
His eyes snapped up to meet Iwaizumi's against his will.
His breathing grew shallow.
Iwaizumi's gaze was fierce, and furious, and caring, and gentle. It seemed to gather up all of Tooru's sorrow, his anger and regret and pain, and it burned through all of it, burned through him.
Tooru knew that look, had fallen in love with it countless times, and despised it just as many.
Right now, he could barely stand to see it.
"What?" Tooru spat out. "What do you want me to say? What can I tell you that you don't already know?" He tightened his grip on the ice pack. Condensation dripped from it and down his leg.
"Anything, I guess," Iwaizumi replied simply. He sat down, entirely ungracefully, and crossed his legs. "Well, just not anything that isn't true."
"I hate you." The words tumbled out of Tooru's mouth, and regret seared through him like a hot knife. His stomach immediately clenched with guilt, but he didn't take it back.
Iwaizumi shrugged. "What else?"
"I want you to leave me alone," Tooru said, gritting his teeth.
"And?"
"You're wasting your time."
"Yeah?"
"I hate you."
Iwaizumi nodded. "My turn."
Tooru looked away once more.
"I don't hate myself."
Iwaizumi's voice was clear and steady. "I thought I did, you know. I'm angry, and kind of regretful, but... I don't hate myself. I wanted to win, but we didn't. I still don't feel like I wasted my time. And I don't hate you."
Tooru laughed scathingly. "You should," he said. "You should hate me."
Iwaizumi stayed silent, just looked at him. Tooru gave in.
"You should hate me," he repeated quietly, his voice cracking. "I lost us that last match, I lost us our chance at nationals, I lost us the interhigh and the spring tournament, I lost us three years of practice and effort, and-- I wasted so much damn time. I wasted your time, I wasted our team's time. God, I wasted…"
He wiped angrily at his eyes.
"So much…"
"You never wasted our time."
Tooru looked up. Iwaizumi's jaw was set, his eyes burning as fiercely as they did during a match.
It was like being on the court all over again, surrounded by screaming voices, bright lights, an endlessly high ceiling. Like having hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, watching him, cheering him on and scorning him in equal and indistinguishable parts.
The only voice that mattered was the one speaking to him. The only lights that mattered were the ones lighting his-- their court.
The only eyes that mattered were the ones right in front of him.
"Yeah, we lost," Iwaizumi continued. "But you didn't lose it for us, dumbass. You've been playing volleyball since elementary school and you still haven't gotten it through your thick skull that there are six players on the court."
Tooru stared at him in disbelief. "But I missed that last spike," Tooru insisted desperately, his voice thick and unsteady. He needed him to understand. "I saw where it was going and I still fumbled the receive. I lost us the final point."
Iwaizumi snorted. "Yeah, and that wouldn't have mattered if I'd gotten a point with my last hit. You're not the only one who feels like that. I was so fucking sure you guys would blame me, but you didn't. And not a single one of us blames you. Get it?"
Tooru's twisted his shaking fingers together. "But I'm the captain." His voice swayed. "I was supposed to lead you guys."
"Yeah, and you did," Iwaizumi pointed out. "All the way up through the interhigh prelims and spring regional semis. Do you even understand how fucking incredible that is? Think about the teams that never made it that far. You know what some of them would have given to have a captain like you?"
Tooru heard a pathetic hiccup escape his own throat, and Iwaizumi's brow furrowed. "But you all deserved better," Tooru whispered, his shoulders shaking. He dragged the back of his hand across his face. It came away wet. "You deserved more than what I could give you. You should have had someone like Ushijima, or Tobio, someone who was meant to win, someone better than--"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Iwaizumi snarled, grabbing the collar of Tooru's shirt. "I can't believe you still fucking--"
"But it's true!" Tooru shouted, his face twisting. He could feel tears dripping onto his swollen knee. "You know it is, we both know it! They're better than me, I wasn't good enough, I'm just a failu--"
"Stop," Iwaizumi said. "Please, stop."
Tooru stopped. Time seemed to slow around them.
Iwaizumi's hands released Tooru's collar and slowly, gently moved to his shaking shoulders. Tooru could feel their heat spreading through him as Iwaizumi's grip tightened.
"I never want to hear you call yourself that," Iwaizumi said, squeezing Tooru's shoulders even more tightly. Tooru hated how pained he sounded. "Never, you got me? I'll hit you, I swear I will." His eyes were shining, boring into Tooru's.
Tooru's own eyes flickered back and forth between Iwaizumi's. "But--"
"Never," Iwaizumi repeated quietly. His warm, rough hands moved to brushing Tooru's hair from his sweaty, teary face. "I told you not to tell me anything that isn't true."
Screaming voices, and bright lights. An endlessly high ceiling. Hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, indistinguishable but not insignificant.
People whose futures were far from his own, but connected to his in the tangential moments that their feet stood on the same court, and parting again with a single bounce of the ball.
Screaming his voice hoarse in celebration. Wiping his tears in frustration. The sound of sneakers on hardwood and the smell of the gym in the morning, the feeling of rising and the feeling of falling. The electricity between the stands and the court, between the opposing team and his, between his teammates and himself, between his fingertips and the ball. Seconds slowing to years, years of practice and years to come, of a past and present and future somehow both as new and familiar as the first time he had realized, yes, he loved volleyball.
And every time, just like the first.
Landing, and breathing, opening his eyes and seeing Hajime there.
Tooru could feel his chest tightening and his breath raking up the inside of his throat, almost as if the act of breathing itself was suffocating him. He helplessly pressed his hand against his mouth as he began to cry once more.
"I'm sorry," Tooru sobbed, looking down at the bit of floor between them. "I'm sorry, Hajime, I'm so sorry."
"Stupid," Hajime said gruffly, reaching out to wipe Tooru's face for him. "I don't need an apology from you."
Tooru laughed and shook his head, hiccuping wetly. "You say such nice things in such mean-sounding ways," he mumbled, his voice hoarse from crying.
Hajime sighed. "I can barely understand you through all that snot," he replied lightly, earning another watery laugh from Tooru.
He tucked Tooru's hair behind his ear then slid his hand down, warm and steady against Tooru's cheek. Tooru leaned into his palm. "Just… promise me you won't say things like that about yourself. Don't even think them."
Tooru sniffed and chuckled, placing his own hand softly on Hajime's. "I don't know if I can manage the second thing," he admitted, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Hajime's.
Hajime let him. "Try anyway," he replied, rubbing Tooru's cheek with his thumb.
Tooru let out another hiccup-y half-chuckle. His chest felt a little warmer, a little brighter, somehow, enough to make him want to cry again. He swallowed thickly and inhaled deeply to steady himself. Hajime stopped rubbing his cheek.
"Iwa-chan," Tooru began, pulling away slightly and finally managing to look properly at Hajime. His own eyes flickered back and forth between Hajime's, those fierce, furious, caring, gentle eyes that burned through Tooru's pain and sadness and weakness, burned through him. Tooru wanted to breathe in the flame and stars and soft warmth he saw inside of them, wanted to fill himself with whatever Hajime seemed to see in him.
"Do you pity me?"
The question tumbled out before he could stop it. He kept his gaze firmly locked on Hajime's.
Hajime scrunched his brows together, and Tooru had the strangest urge to laugh at the little 'w' that formed between them.
"No way," Hajime scoffed, looking mildly disgusted by the idea. "What the hell do I have to pity you for, dumbass?"
Tooru blinked.
He looked at Hajime, stupid, beautiful Hajime who didn't pity him, didn't believe either of them had ever wasted their time, and he couldn't help it. He began giggling, and at the sight of Hajime's bewildered expression, fully laughing. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Hajime's again, and laughed until his stomach hurt more than his knee, until his chest felt clear, until his fingers were firmly laced with Hajime's, until Hajime started laughing with him.
And just when it seemed as though they'd finally managed to stop laughing, they started right back up as they awkwardly bumped foreheads, then noses, and even then they continued to giggle helplessly against each other's smiles.
(And when they really did stop laughing, the silence seemed to echo with cheers-- for them, their small victories, and their brilliantly shining futures.)
---
"Iwa-chan, you're so chivalrous," Tooru snickered behind Hajime's ear.
"Shut the hell up, asshole," Hajime snapped. Tooru imagined his face turning pink, though it was far too dark outside for him to see. "Like I'm letting you walk home on that knee. Speaking of which, you're going to see a doctor tomorrow. I'll drag you myself if I have to."
Tooru groaned. "But orthopedists never even do anything," he whined. "They play around with my knee and then tell me not to walk for half a year. I'm pretty sure my knee got worse last time I visited one. What good does that even do?"
"I don't care if they make you dance the macarena just to get into the office, you're going anyway," Hajime retorted.
"Isn't it a bad idea to make someone with a leg injury dance the macarena?" Tooru pointed out, smirking.
"You know what I mean," Hajime sighed, readjusting his grip on Tooru's legs and shifting his bag to the side. "You're not getting out of going."
"You're no fun," Tooru pouted, burying his face in Hajime's shoulder. "Not only are you making me see a doctor, you're not even going to try to put your hands any higher than that? You really are my mom."
"What are you-- what!?" Hajime spluttered indignantly, and Tooru stifled a laugh in Hajime's shoulder. This time, he could actually feel the back of Hajime's neck heating up as he stumbled over half-formed swears.
"You're a pervert and I hate you," Hajime grumbled over Tooru's muffled snickering. "And you're a dumbass. What makes you think I could even manage to put my hands any further up your damn legs? I'd break my arms trying."
Tooru looked up and waggled his eyebrows, even though he knew Hajime couldn't see it. "Oh, so you would try if you were holding me differently? You wanna carry me fireman's style instead? Then you could really feel up my a--"
"Okay, stop! Shut up!" Hajime exclaimed, sounding rather endearingly flustered, and Tooru thought it was a shame he couldn't see his face turning red. "I'll seriously drop you if you keep that up."
"You wouldn't drop an injured person," Tooru sang.
"Try me," Hajime growled.
"Speaking of which, how far are you planning on carrying me?" Tooru asked curiously. "Just to the train station?"
Hajime seemed to think for a moment. "Depends."
"On what?"
"How quiet you are for the rest of the way there."
"How am I doing so far?"
"You're not even going to last this block."
Tooru fell silent, and Hajime seemed to be relieved. Then, a few moments later:
"Alright, how about now?"
Hajime groaned. "Shittykawa, I swear to god I'll drop you on your ass right here and leave."
"Just tell me how far you're going to carry me!" Tooru whined.
Hajime let out a very weary sigh. "I don't know, it depends on how bad your knee is. And, again, how quiet you are."
"What if there are no seats on the train?" Tooru asked, smushing his cheek against the side of Hajime's neck.
Hajime made an irritated sound. "If you're quiet."
"To my house?"
"If. You. Are. Quiet."
"Inside?"
Hajime thought. "If you're quiet and your parents aren't home yet."
"To my room?"
"You can get to your room by yourself," Hajime said, purposely adjusting Tooru quite roughly on his back.
Tooru stuck out his lower lip and tried to lean forward enough to be within Hajime's peripheral. Hajime turned away, his eye twitching. "But Iwa-chan, my room is upstairs," Tooru whimpered, throwing in a huge fake sniff. "What if my knee gives out and I fall while I'm trying to go up?"
"We'll see," Hajime replied noncommittally.
Tooru grinned. "So will you carry me to my bed too?"
"I said, we'll-- what?"
"And then get in with me?" Tooru finally asked, barely able to finish the question before breaking down in laughter.
Hajime was silent. He suddenly stopped in place, surprising Tooru, crouched down, and let go of Tooru's legs, causing him to topple backwards onto his own bag with an ungraceful yelp. He then stood up and continued walking as Tooru fell into another fit of laughter on the ground.
"Iwa-chan," Tooru giggled, reaching out to his receding figure with one hand and clutching his stomach with the other. "Oh my god, Iwa-chan, come back, I'm sorry! Iwa-chaaan!"
Hajime didn't reply.
"Iwa-chaaaan," Tooru moaned plaintively after him, still grinning widely. "My knee hurts soooo much. Oh, how am I going to get home now? I guess I'm going to have to lie here until someone finds me. Maybe I'll starve and die." He threw his arm dramatically over his eyes and waited.
He heard footsteps come to a stop in front of him, and then a defeated sigh and some shifting clothing. He uncovered his eyes to see Hajime crouched in front of him with his back to him. Tooru happily scrambled onto his back once more, and Hajime stood up and began walking again as if nothing had happened.
"I knew you'd come back for me," Tooru sang. "You always do."
Hajime grunted. Tooru smiled and closed his eyes, resting his head against Hajime's shoulder.
"Iwa-chan?"
"What."
Tooru leaned in closer to Hajime's back.
"...Thank you."
Hajime was silent for a moment, but Tooru felt him give his leg a small squeeze.
"Yeah."