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Oikawa Tooru is nothing short of a king whenever he steps into the court.
It is late at night and still the gym’s lights shine brighter than ever. Oikawa picks up a ball. He bounces the ball against the floor one, two times. Deep breath. Toss. Two long strides. Jump.
Strike.
The ball hits the other side of the court, hard. Oikawa lets out a groan. It was out.
Oikawa keeps at it, each serve as violent as the last yet still not enough. The ball keeps falling just outside the court or hits the net or even flies to the stands. Though that only happened once. It is always too high. Too low. Too weak. Not fast enough. Oikawa’s groans grow louder each time he misses. Oikawa passes a hand through his hair, drenched in sweat. He has to see this from another perspective. Everytime he misses here, the probability he’ll miss in an actual game increases. No. He certainly can’t have that.
His eyes focus, his breath evens and he can feel the muscles in his arms, back and chest tense with unrivaled power. Toss. Oikawa loves volleyball so much that sometimes he crosses that one fine line between love and hatred, particularly in moments like this one. Moments when he takes one step and next thing he knows he is on the ground.
Oikawa Tooru is nothing short of a king when it comes to playing volleyball. The way he can lose himself in the game and forget everything else but the ball that is right in front of him and his mission not to let it fall to the ground—he craves for nothing more. Yet, at times, he must bow to the fickleness of his own flesh. Oikawa loves volleyball, but lately, he fears volleyball doesn’t love him back.
On the ground, he clasps his hands over his right knee, biting his lip so hard he wouldn’t be surprised to find blood. It is a special kind of betrayal, to have one’s body turn against you and your dreams. Oikawa looks around but everyone is long gone, at least. Outside, the moonless sky is silent—there are no birds chirping, no gusting of the wind. Alone, he presses his forehead against the sweat-stained floor and finally lets out a scream.
Everyone might think him a great king, but Oikawa learned a long time ago that there is such a thing as gods.
Next year. Next year Oikawa Tooru will reach for the sun.
The screen goes black and the credits roll.
“Well, that was a bust.” Oikawa stifles a yawn as they exit the movie theater. Iwaizumi shrugs.
“It was okay.”
The movie had been plain awful, a bunch of drama and no action at all. Too many tears and grand speeches that seemed to make no impact whatsoever. Oikawa couldn’t be paid to watch it again.
“Seriously?” He asks and all he gets is another shrug. Oikawa doesn't believe a word that comes out of Iwaizumi. Not that he is saying much for starters. On the other hand if Iwaizumi hadn’t liked it, Oikawa would be hearing all about it. Huh, maybe the movie wasn’t so bad after all. The lead protagonist was kinda cute, too. Maybe he needs to watch it again, perhaps he missed something important.
“Fine. But I’m not holding my breath for a sequel.”
Oikawa slurps on his soda as he evades a stream of laughing children with a very tired looking teen running behind them. Only at the movies does he indulge himself this way, with sugary drinks and popcorn all but dripping in butter.
“By the way, are you up for a run tomorrow morning?”
Iwaizumi huffs. “Don’t you ever get tired? It’s not wrong to take a break every once in a while.”
“Iwa-chan don't think I can’t tell you sneaked up a workout before coming to the movies.” Oikawa scrunches his nose and waves his hand. “ I can smell you from right here. ”
“Jackass.” A pause. “I showered.”
“Could have fooled me. As a long-time sports player you should know better. Deodorant just won’t do, mister.”
“That’s it, I’m kicking your ass, come here.” Iwaizumi reaches for Oikawa, but he is no amateur in the art of pissing off Iwaizumi—a decade of friendship will do that to you. Oikawa knows how hard he can push Iwaizumi’s buttons before he has to face the consequences and so Oikawa is already several feet away by the time Iwaizumi even thinks about payback.
No distance, however, is enough for a determined Iwaizumi with his pride hurt.
“Not the hair!”
After Oikawa tries, and fails, to defend his honour, he calls for a truce—which naturally comes with a price, a hefty one. A few minutes later Oikawa is staring at his empty wallet while Iwaizumi smirks, licking his lemon popsicle sitting outside a convenience store just around the corner.
Oikawa asks for half, but Iwaizumi swiftly shakes his head and bites into the ice. “Iwa-chan, not fair!”
“That’s on you for losing.”
“C’mon, no one on the team can beat you when it comes to raw strength,” Oikawa complains. It hadn’t been for lack of trying, but not even Hanamaki was able to defeat the star spiker at arm wrestling. Not to mention Iwaizumi was also fast as hell.
“Whatever you say, loser.”
“Big talk coming from our fun size ace,” Oikawa mutters, but evidently not low enough.
If looks could kill, Oikawa would already be three feet under. Iwaizumi asks, slowly as if making sure Oikawa is really that reckless. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing!” But it is too late. “Iwa-chan~” Oikawa laughs nervously as Iwaizumi rises and takes a first step towards him. “Hold on. I don’t have any more money, okay?!”
Oikawa bursts into a sprint down the street as Iwaizumi yells curses at him, following close behind. Oikawa can’t help but let out an almost manic holler, heart racing out of his chest. It is a couple of blocks before Iwaizumi gives up and a couple more before Oikawa finally slows down. The sun shines bright above his head and the cool breeze fills his lungs with air. Even his knee is behaving today. Summer is almost over, and even though next year will set the pace for the rest of his life, Oikawa can’t help but be thankful for ordinary, uneventful days like today.
The first time his mortality truly sinked in was back in middle school when he met Kageyama Tobio. Oh, how he hated him. To this day, Oikawa can’t really say he can stand the guy. Iwaizumi had tolerated many a day when Oikawa would rant non-stop about the little genius —until Iwaizumi would get sick of it, call him simply jealous and dare him to step up his game. But no matter how much he tries, hard work can never turn into talent. And thus, there is a whole other realm far beyond Oikawa’s reach. The past two years have all but proved this to him.
His only hope: that this time is different. Oikawa is finally Captain and he won’t let his last high school year be in vain.
With his mind full with this thought, Oikawa heads home. He goes to sleep tonight, at 9 o’clock at night, and does not dream at all.
His driving has improved. Or at least Oikawa thinks so as the scoreboard comes up in front of him.
It’s early evening on a Friday, and with the volleyball season just around the corner, their afternoons and weekends will soon fill up with practice matches, concentrations and prepping for their official matches against the best schools in the prefecture, some of the best in the country, even. Not to mention class starts again tomorrow, and if he wants to stay on as team captain he needs to ace everything or else face the wrath at the hands of the coach. Just thinking about it sends a shiver down Oikawa’s spine. For such a tranquil man he sure can get scary surprisingly fast.
“Kicked your ass,” Iwaizumi says as he snaps a picture of his best score yet. Oikawa is great at many things, but racing games at the arcade are not one of them. “At least you didn’t get stuck in a ditch again.”
“It just so happens that I’m bored out of my mind,” Oikawa stretches his arms over his head. “Let’s try something else. We could play some guitar hero… ” His voice fades as Iwaizumi checks his phone.
“Sorry, I have to get home early today. Or did you forget you asked the whole team to meet at the gym an hour before class.” Iwaizumi stares at him and at the puppy eyes Oikawa is currently making. “Fine. One song, then I’m out.”
“I’ll even let you pick it out. As long as you grace us with your beautiful voice—” Iwaizumi pats Oikawa’s back just a little bit too hard. “~kay! Guitar and drums it is.”
They end up staying longer than expected, orange and purple seep through the sky by the time they step out of the arcade. Iwaizumi looks at the time and curses Oikawa for being a bad influence. He can’t really disagree. They take off hurriedly and once at the bus station, Iwaizumi waves goodbye just as a bus arrives.
“Say hi to Takeru for me. Don’t stay up late watching videos of past games again. Sleep , for once.”
Oikawa sticks out his tongue in response, to which Iwaizumi squints his eyes. Before he can retaliate, Oikawa turns and disappears into the crowd just as the bus doors close behind with a screaming Iwaizumi inside.
On his way to the sports center, Oikawa stops by the store and purchases a bag-full of popsicles. His nephew and the rest of the team he coaches have a meet tonight before their own season starts, and he has been charged with the utmost important task: bringing the snacks. Apparently there had been a vote, and the decision had been unanimous—a first for the club. Oikawa, of course, had not been invited to that meeting. Oikawa sighs under his breath as he sorts through the store’s cooler hoping to find Takeru’s favourite mango flavour. He is lost in his thoughts—earphones on, music blasting—that he doesn’t notice the girl smiling at him from behind the counter until he is at the register, ready to pay.
“Good evening. Did you find everything you were looking for?” She asks sweetly as she puts a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.
Oikawa nods. “Yeah, thanks.”
Oikawa is usually way more charming than this. However, his last relationship didn’t turn out so great. It is fun to irritate Iwaizumi and the rest of his teammates with his ever increasing popularity with the female student body, but truth be told he’d never actually follow up on any of it, not anymore. As it turns out, he has yet to meet one person that could understand his passion for volleyball, see his borderline obsession with the game as something other than excessive, and actually stay. So he bids goodnight to the nice pretty girl and walks away, earphones still on, humming to the beat of the song.
School finally starts and so the gym opens its doors full time once more. However late at night or so early in the morning there doesn't seem to be a difference, he can walk into the gym he has called home for the last two years like he owns the place. Oikawa resumes with his daily training routine, which some might qualify as hell itself. He says hi to the familiar wooden floors and high ceiling that echoes every one of his spikes as if cheering.He says hi to the rows and rows of seats for the eager spectators, friends and family that always come to wish them good luck.
He says hi and welcomes his team and coach, one more time, for the last time.
Oikawa whispers curses under his breath. His hand stings, covered entirely by grainy little red dots all over his palm. Even his calluses feel sensitive to the touch.
Another serve, another miss. Oikawa hears footsteps behind and turns around only to find Iwaizumi, bag in hand, waiting for him at the exit of the gym. It is only the first day back, but Oikawa is far from done for the night. Iwaizumi nods towards the exit, but Oikawa shakes his head. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, he too is familiar with this situation. Oikawa resumes his practice and after a while he hears the doors close. He doesn’t need to turn around to know he is now alone.
Bounce one, two, three times. Toss. Two long strides. Jump. Strike.
Repeat.
Repeat.
“Oikawa, take a break.” Coach nods towards the bench. Oikawa freezes in place. “Better yet, go to the nurse’s office.”
Oikawa opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Iwaizumi elbows him in the ribs. His knee had been bothering for the last couple of days and he knows he has to go get it checked out. Yet, to be benched like this right in the middle of their first practice match of the season… how could he be of help to his team like this.
Oikawa bangs his hand against the wall and it helps with the pain a little. The infirmary always smells like antiseptic and cheap lavender air freshener. He hates it. Oikawa has no other choice though, and slowly but surely he makes his way down the hallway.
Oikawa extends a hand and grabs the pommel of the door but stops before turning it. The soft chatter of the nurses leaks from behind the closed door and he already knows what they'll say next. Oikawa isn’t really in the mood to hear any of it today, so he leans against the wall and stays like that for who knows how long. Oikawa isn't sure he didn’t fall asleep when suddenly a hand grabs him by the shoulder and jerks him awake.
“What are you doing standing there.”
It wasn't a question, though.
“Iwa-chan.”
His best friend rolls his eyes and not-so-kindly pushes him the rest of the way to the infirmary.
“I knew you wouldn’t go in by your own free will. You're such a pain in the ass.”
Oikawa chuckles, the tension resting over his chest easing just a little bit.
“Now Iwa-chan~ I’ll blush if you keep talking sweet like that.”
“Just get that checked out Brattykawa.” Then, more softly, “Better miss this practice match and be in tip-top shape for when we face him .”
Iwaizumi is right. In order to beat Shiratorizawa—no, to beat Ushijima—he will need every ounce of strength, ability and even raw talent he could possibly muster. Nothing less than perfect will do, and even then, Oikawa hates to admit that it might not be enough either.
With a flip of his hair and a nice, plastic smile on his face, he goes inside his most dreaded place in the entire school.
Oikawa sits on an uncomfortable chair in the middle of the whitest room he has ever set foot in and fights not to get up and run. Sadly, he knows this room all too well. Honestly, Oikawa would rather be anywhere else. What is worse, he has already started to cool down, his muscles cramping up into a sweet ache, and if he doesn't hurry, he might not make it back for even the final set.
“It is swollen,” the nurse states the obvious and Oikawa grits his teeth.
“Really. I did not notice.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No. Feeling great.” He doesn’t even wince when the nurse presses down her fingers into his tender skin. The perfect patient. “Will this take long? I have got to get back out there.”
The nurse twists her mouth in a way Oikawa knows all too well, too. “Child,” she says, though she looks awfully young herself. Oikawa’s smile stiffens ever more. “Take the rest of the season off.”
“What?” For all of Oikawa’s carefully crafted charming self, he can't keep up a straight face this time.
“There are more important things. You should be studying and focusing on your future instead of playing games. Your injury will only get worse, too.”
It takes everything in Oikawa’s power not to scream at her face. It’s not the first time he has been told this, but his gut reacts the same every single time. Oikawa feels like throwing up.
“I don't see how that is any of your business.” Oikawa stands up and disregards the nurse’s wide open eyes, shooting warnings at him like daggers. Iwaizumi doesn’t even try to stop him as Oikawa walks out of the office.
To be honest it’s not bad advice…for anyone other than Oikawa that is. What she—what many fail to understand is that volleyball isn’t just a game for him. Oikawa would break every fiber of his being to make his dreams come true. He is that type of person. If his wish were to fly, Oikawa would tear apart his own flesh and bone, fashioning his shoulder blades into wings. One bad knee will not stop him. It simply can’t.
If many people wish for the same things, it is only natural that only a handful of dreams can ever become true. Only the truly lucky, as his sister would say, can carve their names in stone and actually make it last.
A high, unwavering left-handed wall stands between him and the next challenge that will eventually give him the life he wants. Oikawa doesn't need luck. He needs to be better.
Practicing alone at the dead of night has become a routine for Oikawa. And on the days when his body can’t give anything more, he watches past plays and matches, carefully crafting his own way to victory—the only way he knows how. His every waking moment revolves around volleyball and if anyone were to ask him, Oikawa's answer would be yes he is, in fact, happy. Most of the time anyway.
Tonight, however, things are a little different than usual as Iwaizumi stays with him. His best friend stays and together they practice tosses and spikes back and forth for hours until it hurts to even breath.
“You really are a beast,” Iwaizumi states, breathless, as he stops for a second to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
Oikawa jogs back into place and laughs brightly. Iwaizumi has the nerve to say that after making Oikawa fight for his dear life for the last couple of hours. Every muscle in his body is sore, even muscles he didn’t even know he has. This type of hurt, he adores.
“Won’t you get in trouble at home, though? It is pretty damn late.” Iwaizumi shrugs and Oikawa smiles wide. “See, Iwa-chan, you can be nice!”
“Shut up.” Iwaizumi huffs, but his whole demeanor softens slightly, Oikawa can tell. After this many years, of course Oikawa can tell. “Honestly I thought I could blow off some steam as well. The match with Shiratorizawa…” Iwaizumi sighs. “It was brutal.”
Oikawa doesn’t need a reminder. After defeating Karasuno and the monster duo, he thought Shiratorizawa wouldn’t be so tough to beat after all. All it took was a single display of raw talent to remind Oikawa once more that, in the end, he is but a king amongst gods.
“Let’s keep moving then.” Oikawa wipes his clammy hands on his shorts and grabs his water bottle. “Shit. I thought this year would finally be different.”
“It will be.” Iwaizumi cracks his knuckles. “We’ll make sure of it.”
“Does that mean you’ll keep playing then? Until the end?” It wasn’t an easy choice for someone like Iwaizumi who, unlike Oikawa, probably has a very different path in mind for the rest of his life.
Iwaizumi stares at him, and Oikawa can practically hear his friend’s thoughts.
Was that ever a question.
“Good.” Oikawa tosses the ball. Good.
Ten more seconds and he will make it. He has to make it.
However, some things can’t be done by sheer willpower.
His bad knee gives out and he falls, again. He stands up, again.
Oikawa struggles not to bite his lower lip, but even he knows when it is wise to know one’s limits. Even Iwaizumi has left by now. He stops and prepares his things to go home, but just as he is about to put away the last of the balls, he stops.
One more spike, he thinks, and drops his bag to the floor.
Uhijima wasn’t the only monster he encountered this season. Other than his former junior, the genius setter Kageyama, there was another opponent that excited Oikawa but also unnerved him to no end.
Hinata Shouyou was a peculiar type of player.
Despite his clear lack of both height and experience, Oikawa could see himself reflected in the shrimp—desperately trying to grab onto divinity, even if he has to grow claws in order to never let go. Oikawa remembers the first time he saw the monster duo in action. When he witnessed first hand an impossible jump and then a set that he could only describe as irresponsible…Until Hinata nailed the spike and then a miracle was born. At the thundering sound of the ball passing right next to him only to hit the ground violently, Oikawa smiled like a madman. This, he thought, this feeling right here is what made him fall in love with volleyball in the first place. And the moment he could finally see right through the tactic, when he first stopped the monstruos combination—he understood what it felt to fly too close to the sun.
Once more, someone else’s dream came true.
Aoba Johsai is not going to Nationals. And Oikawa has just run out of chances.
In the end Oikawa has been left with nothing but melted wax on his back, drifting at sea with his dream scattering through the water like broken wings.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Oikawa’s serves keep falling outside the court over and over again. The same happened the night before, and the one before that. It would seem like there is a limit to the strength and control he can muster at this point. Maybe tomorrow he will hit the gym instead, tone up and let his physic catch up with his ambitions. Maybe his problem is not the lack of muscles but the throbbing distraction that is beginning to spread along his right lower extremity.
Oikawa jumps quite regularly as is the nature of volleyball, so once in a while his knee starts giving him problems, like right now. He winces. It hurts, sure, but it's not as bad. He probably has a couple more hours before he is forced to call it a night. He adjusts his knee brace, bends it a few more times testing its resistance by putting his whole weight on it. Once he is satisfied, he picks up another ball. Yeah, that should be good enough.
Toss. Jump. Serve.
The moment his feet touch the ground, a searing pain travels all the way from the tip of his toes to his waist. He collapses. Oikawa groans. He couldn’t even see if he got the point or not. Useless.
When he stands back up, Oikawa limps a little, but he figures it is not that serious. He goes to retrieve the ball again, carefully not to put so much strain on his right leg this time. It is ridiculous. How could he ever hope to compete with someone like Ushijima like this?
“What are you doing?” A deep voice startles him. Oikawa had been so immersed in his own self pity to realize Iwaizumi has come in, and is currently standing a couple steps away, an incredulous look on his face.
“What does it look like?” Oikawa’s voice comes out with a bite that surprises even him. He isn’t angry or anything, so why did his words come out like that? He takes a step forward and grits his teeth.
“It is fucking two in the mor—Stop, you'll hurt yourself!”
Oikawa jumps and serves, and this time, it is perfect.
But it has to be perfect every time, so Oikawa goes and grabs another ball ignoring Iwaizumi next to him.
“Oikawa, are you serious? Have you seen what time it is?”
Oikawa hasn't. Not that it matters. “You don't get it, Iwa-chan, so leave me alone.”
Oikawa can tell Iwaizumi is fuming right now, but he can't find it in himself to particularly care about that now.
“Fuck no. I’ve known you since forever, I recognize this type of bullshit you are trying to pull.”
“Whatever.” Oikawa turns his back at him to face the other side of the court.
“Oikawa you jackass, how long have you been limping like that?”
Bounce one, two, three times. Arms up—
“No, stop.” Iwaizumi blocks him as he is about to toss and Oikawa is forced to stop or run Iwaizumi over. “You don't get to be like this. You don't get to push yourself so hard to the point of breaking and then act like nothing is happening.”
Silence.
“Say something! Snap out of this self pity crap. Goddamit thrown a fucking ball to my face if thats what it takes, just—stop hurting yourself!”!
Iwaizumi doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get it. He doesn't get it.
Yet…
His best friend stands before him brow furrowed and lips barely a line so thin it no longer has any color.
Iwaizumi surely doesn't get it—but then why is his oldest friend the one that looks in excruciating pain?
“Talk to me.”
Oikawa remembers their last official game as a team. He remembers Iwaizumi’s stern expression as tears flowed down his cheeks in non-stop streams. After a decade, it was the first time Oikawa had seen him cry.
“It hurts,” Oikawa confesses and he isn’t sure if he is talking about his knee or his heart.
Iwaizumi nods. “I know.”
“Iwa-chan.” A sob escapes Oikawa’s lips. He thinks on what to say, but he fears he has no heartwarming words to comfort himself, let alone his friend.
However, with a friendship this old, words are often overrated.
“I know,” Iwaizumi repeats and Oikawa falls to the ground.
This time, he doesn’t get up for a long, long time.
The bell rings, and fortunately class is dismissed. At least after lunch is over. On the down side, it also means that there’s still as many more hours of class left in the day. His back and leg muscles feel cramped from sitting all day, and Oikawa is thankful for the opportunity to go and stretch for a while.
At the cafeteria he is soon surrounded by Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Iwaizumi following close behind with his own tray in hand. Oikawa can peek at an extra milk cake and smirks.
“Hey, Captain.” Whenever Hanamaki calls him that, Oikawa knows nothing good will come after. “What’s your plan after graduation?”
The sudden question catches Oikawa off guard, he almost spits out his juice. “What? Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I was just curious. The third years seem to be split between ‘don't know’ and ‘I have my whole career planned since birth by my parents’. Creepy stuff.”
“You mean you don’t know,” Matsukawa says in between sandwich bites.
“Honestly, who does.”
Matsukawa scoffs. “Everyone?! Graduation is but two weeks away, who in the world hasn’t a plan already in place. We even had a whole class focusing on what to do after. ”
Iwaizumi chimes in, setting his tray beside Oikawa’s. “For me it’s college. Sports Science. Then I’ll become a professional trainer, probably.”
“Woah.” Hanamaki claps slowly, and Oikawa chuckles. “As expected of our ace. You also know who you’ll marry and how many kids you’ll have and what their names will be?”
“Iwaizumi certainly has both the brains and brawn for a well thought plan.” Matsukawa doesn’t say anything else but the subtext is clear: unlike someone else .
While Matsukawa and Hanamaki bicker, Oikawa asks Iwaizumi under his breath. “So you’ll train others but not play yourself?”
“Yes.”
Oikawa nods—he is not actually surprised. It actually suits Iwaizumi quite nicely, Oikawa thinks. Maybe their paths will cross again, some day. That thought makes Oikawa smile.
“Shut up, Matsukawa.” Hanamaki threatens the boy with his fork. “What will you do?”
“Keep on with my mom's business.” Short and sweet, Matsukawa answers in a heartbeat.
“Oh, the funeral home?” Iwaizumi asks in between bites. Matsukawa nods.
“Why does everyone have a plan but me?” Hanamaki pouts until he lays his eyes on Oikawa. “Oh right, Oikawa, what's yours then? Are you gonna go to college?”
Oikawa shakes his head. “I’ve got two words for you, my dear Maki.” Oikawa raises one finger. “Volleyball. And also—”
“You'll become a pro player?” Matsukawa doesn’t let him finish. Oikawa tries not to let the surprise in his voice wound his pride. “Well, I guess it makes sense.”
“ I honestly can’t think of anything else I would rather do.” It is the truth. Volleyball has always been the plan ever since he saw his first match on T.V. as a child. “Besides, I'm a catch—best setter, best smile, best hair... Really, I’m the whole package.”
“You forgot biggest head.”
“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa protests at his joke but stops to consider the alternative for a second. “No wait, really? Is it really that big?”
Matsukawa and Hanamaki laugh. “Biggest fool too.”
“Anyway, that’s the plan.”
Hanamaki waves his hand. “You said there were two words. What is the other part of the plan?”
Oikawa grins. “Argentina.”
Hanamaki whistles.
“Will you get surgery?You know, for your knee?” Iwaizumi asks, and the mood gets uncomfortable fast.
“It’s been feeling better, but if my current treatment doesn't work then yeah.” Oikawa has thought about it, actually, and even if the chances are slim. He'll do whatever it takes to make sure his love for volleyball doesn't affect his health in the long run as well. He can’t keep doing things the wrong way anymore—no dream worth having would be worth it.
“That is risky.”
“I know,” he says, not a tremble in his voice.
Oikawa looks every single one of his teammates, his friends, in the eyes and says with a confidence he didn’t even know he had.
“This is not the end. This year was not the end, for neither of us. No one’s future is written in stone.” Iwaizumi nods along with his words and Oikawa knows he understands exactly what he means. “We just have to keep pushing through life and hope tomorrow is better than today.”
Someday, with any luck, it might just be.