Chapter Text
The look of his dead eyes piercing right back at his fractured soul was almost daunting. In some way, it’s almost unreal. Just the other day, when he met himself in the mirror, he saw a young boy with the brightest smile he had ever seen, setting the volleyball above his head. The way that child’s eyes gleamed with joy, as his hard work finally paid off. The way his laughter echoed in the room, oh to fall in love with volleyball once more.
The room tinted black, with the moon lingering outside the window as the stars went missing. A gust of cool wind sleeks in, wandering around the empty room as its chilling touch explores everything: his messy bed, his desk with books piled on books, his worn-out skin, his desperate lungs and his broken heart as it shoved chills down his throat.
A gaze that Oikawa found himself in, staring at the disgusting reflection in the mirror, as if he couldn’t recognise himself anymore. It was pitiful, really. The once bright and gifted boy, who excelled at everything, couldn’t be good enough.
His trembling hands as it almost refuses to set again, but his eyes couldn’t help but travel towards the volleyball by the locked door. What’s the point now? He lost.
Was it fair? For everything he worked so hard for, to the point he gave up his own mental health, for a stupid game that cost him everything, but of course, he lost. He lost so shamefully; he couldn’t even go against Shiratorizawa in the preliminaries. Why does this happen?
Despite his inner turmoil, his guts ripping themselves out, his cells that demand answers and his heart violently sobbing, he seemed oddly calm. A face that stared back at him, a face with eyes that had lost its sight, as if he’s blind, unable to see the path that’s made for him; a face so still, with an unexplained frown, that could almost pose as a statue. A face that’s almost unrecognisable to the point that Toru had to ask who he was.
Who are you?
Does that matter, Toru?
No, of course not.
A silence that consumes the air, which could almost leave him gasping, puts his wired-up brain to rest. To understand. To know. But he still doesn’t know what happened, why he is here, or why he didn’t win. Questions that needs to be answered, but alongside the answers, the questions are now fading away. Toru almost finds himself lost in his own reflection. He’d often say this as a joke, to comment on how attractive he is, but a face so similar yet distant surely had to be questioned and searched. Toru didn’t know he could even look so... dead. The spark that identified him for years has vanished.
Why’d you lose?
Lose? I don’t lose.
Look at yourself, Toru.
Was he supposed to know who was speaking? To know which Toru is actually real? Of course he knows himself; no one else knows himself better than... himself?
Why do you look so dead?
Mirrors reflect, you should know that.
I... lost? As in, for real?
He knows that, when he felt the ball that pushed his arms back with force, as it was sent backwards into the space behind him. And before anyone could register, the loud cry as the ball smashed against the floor, with whistles blowing as crowds cheer from the other side of the court. He saw that. He also saw the tears of everyone else: how Iwaizumi cried, Maki and Mattsun, even Kyotani shed a few tears. He saw that. So why was he realising this now? Did he not come to terms with it? Did he...
What’s wrong with you?
Win next time.
Next time? There is no-
Next time? He always wanted to continue playing volleyball after school. It’s his dream. But going to Nationals was also his one of his biggest dream. Can he really do it? Win next time? I mean- right now it seems so small, so timid. A version of himself that he often prayed to get rid of. A version so scared to even face himself. The once dead reflection in the mirror, whose gaze was left to pick himself up, was now unable to even meet his eyes. A shift that was altered in such a way, the breath that was once stolen from him returned, as his lungs felt heavy again, forcing him to choke silently into a plea.
He’s finally aware of the situation he is now in, feeling the universe study his every movement. His every breath. His defeating heart beat. The weight of his shoulders that were destined to crush him, taking his strength to even fight back as the pain crumples him to his knees; the numbness in his arms taking over, dangling ever so gently in the air as his fingertips graze the distant floor.
Do you even recognise yourself?
Do you even know what you want?
Do you? Toru?
The volleyball is just sitting in the corner of his eyesight, as if there was a spotlight on the ball, just waiting, aching even, to be picked up. To be set, to be spiked, to live in the air, never once touching the ground. To not fall down to rock bottom. Unlike the reflection in the mirror, he collapsed on his knees.
I want to play.
More and more.
I want to play volleyball and win.
Words that were uttered without any care in the world, yet that was the sentence, the belief and love Oikawa had been searching for. Despite his fear of losing once more, despite failing over and over again, he wants to win. He needs to win, to prove the world that Oikawa Toru is someone special, that he isn’t just some high schooler who had ‚potential‘. That’d be pathetic, no?
Oikawa looked up at the mirror to see the reflection grinning, a smile that Iwaizumi always described as if he was burning from adrenaline. This side of Toru he recognised, with the same glare filled with a fiery rage and excitement, like a beast that’s ready to devour.
I’m going to Argentina.