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IWAIZUMI’S POV
I’ve seen Oikawa exhausted before.
I’ve seen him after five-set matches, after late-night practices, after staying up studying tape until his eyes went red and glassy. I know the slope of his shoulders when he’s tired. I know the forced grin, the extra dramatics to hide it.
This was different.
He walked into the gym like a ghost wearing Oikawa’s skin.
His steps were uneven. Not stumbling—just slightly off, like his body wasn’t syncing properly with the floor. His hair was messy in a way that wasn’t deliberate. His lips were chapped raw from biting. And his eyes—
His eyes were wide. Too wide. Red-rimmed. Fractured.
He didn’t look at anyone else. Just me.
“Iwa-chan,” he breathed, like he’d been holding that word in for days.
My stomach dropped.
I’d only seen him like this once before. That time had ended with him shaking so hard he couldn’t hold a glass of water.
He took another step toward the court, already pulling at his sleeves. Tugging. Tugging. Tugging again. I watched him press his fingers against the bridge of his nose, then tap his thigh—once, twice, three times, four—then start over.
He’d missed something.
He always knew when he’d missed something.
“Oikawa,” I said sharply.
He flinched.
The entire team went quiet.
He blinked at me like he was trying to remember what I looked like.
“I’m fine,” he said too fast. “We have to practice. We can’t fall behind. I—I recalculated the blocking formations last night but I think I did it wrong so I redid them, but I might’ve miscounted the rotations and I didn’t sleep but that’s fine, I just need to—”
He swayed.
I was in front of him before I consciously moved.
“You’re not practicing.”
He stared at me like I’d slapped him.
“Iwa-chan, don’t be ridiculous. I have to. If I don’t, something will go wrong. I have to fix it. I didn’t take them yesterday so everything’s loud and wrong and I just need to—”
His fingers gripped my shirt.
He was shaking.
Not dramatically. Not theatrically. Just a subtle tremor running through him like he was plugged into something too strong.
“You missed your meds?” I asked quietly.
His jaw clenched. His eyes darted.
“One day,” he whispered. “Just one day. But then I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about the serve order and the locker combination and whether I locked my window and I checked it but I didn’t check it right and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I got up and then I checked it again but what if I imagined checking it? I might’ve imagined it. I can’t tell anymore.”
His breathing was getting quicker.
“Three days,” he muttered. “I haven’t slept in three days.”
Something inside my chest cracked.
I grabbed his shoulders.
“You’re done. You’re not practicing.”
He shook his head immediately. Too fast.
“No, no, no. Iwa-chan, please. If I leave something bad will happen. Something always happens when I don’t—”
His hands moved to my arms. Clutching. Desperate. He leaned too close, like proximity could anchor him.
He was always touchy with me when he spiraled. Like I was the only solid thing in the room.
It did something dangerous to my heart.
“I’m calling my mom,” I said.
His eyes went glossy. “Don’t make me leave.”
I already had my phone out.
“Mom?” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Can we have Oikawa over? He’s not very well.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I’m working from home. I’ll come get you.”
Relief hit me so hard I nearly sagged.
Behind me, I could feel the team hovering. Concerned. Confused.
Oikawa’s fingers tightened in my shirt.
“Iwa-chan,” he whispered, suddenly frantic. “My chest—”
I swore under my breath and guided him to the bench.
“Sit.”
He obeyed, but barely. His legs were trembling.
His breathing turned sharp. Fast. Too fast.
“I can’t— I can’t breathe—”
“Yes, you can.” I crouched in front of him. “Look at me.”
He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring somewhere past my shoulder, eyes unfocused, counting under his breath.
“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—”
“Oikawa.”
His breaths became ragged gasps. His hands clawed at his own collar. His shoulders locked.
Guilt slammed into me.
I’d pushed him.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, pulling him into me. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He folded into me immediately. Completely. Like he’d been waiting for permission.
His forehead pressed against my collarbone. His fingers dug into my back.
I could feel how thin he’d gotten.
His breaths were sharp and desperate against my chest.
Then—
They stopped.
His body went heavy.
“Oikawa?”
No response.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
“Oikawa.”
His head lolled against me.
For one split second, pure, animal panic flooded my veins.
The team rushed forward.
“Should we call someone?”
“Is he breathing?”
“Holy shit—”
“Back up!” I snapped.
Too harsh. Too loud.
They froze.
“I—sorry,” I said quickly, voice shaking. “Just—give me space.”
I laid him down gently on the bench. Took off my jacket. Folded it under his head.
Turned him on his side.
He looked breakable like this. Too still. Too pale.
His breathing was uneven. Shallow. Stuttering.
Not normal.
I called my mom again.
“He passed out,” I said, my voice finally cracking. “His breathing’s weird. I think he needs a hospital. He hasn’t slept in days. He needs to be sedated or something, I don’t know, Mom, I don’t—”
“It’s okay,” she said firmly. “I’m almost there. You did the right thing.”
Did I?
His eyelashes fluttered.
“Oikawa?” I leaned closer. “Hey. Stay with me.”
His eyes opened slowly, unfocused.
“Iwa-chan…” he murmured.
I think that’s when I realized something terrifying.
If something happened to him, I wouldn’t survive it.
He is my axis.
My gravity.
Everything in my life tilts toward him without my permission.
My mom arrived and helped me lift him carefully. He was conscious but barely. His steps dragged. His head kept falling against my shoulder.
In the car, Mom spoke softly to him. Calm. Steady.
“You’re okay, sweetheart. We’re just going to get you checked. Nothing scary.”
Oikawa nodded faintly, eyes half-lidded.
I didn’t talk.
If I opened my mouth, I thought I might throw up.
Instead, I held him upright. One arm around his waist. One hand steady at the back of his neck. Feeling the fragile warmth of him.
He leaned into me completely.
Trusting me.
Always trusting me.
I pressed my jaw against the top of his head.
If he breaks, I break.
And I will never let him break alone.
——
The drive to the hospital felt endless.
Oikawa kept slipping in and out like a faulty lightbulb.
One moment his head would be heavy against my shoulder, his breath warm and faint against my collarbone. The next, his fingers would twitch and his breathing would spike—sharp, rapid pulls of air like he was running from something no one else could see.
“Iwa… Iwa-chan…”
His voice was barely there. A thread.
“I’m here,” I answered every time. No hesitation. No gap.
His eyes would flutter open, unfocused, pupils too wide. A few tears would leak sideways down his temples. His chest would start to rise too fast again, panic climbing even through the fog of exhaustion.
“I can’t— I didn’t fix it— I didn’t—”
“You don’t have to fix anything,” I murmured, steadying him when the car turned. My hand stayed firm at the back of his neck, thumb brushing gently into his hairline. “You’re done. I’ve got it. I’ve got everything.”
His breath would hitch.
Then I’d press my forehead lightly to his temple.
“Breathe with me. In. Out.”
He followed sometimes. Not perfectly. But enough.
Each time his body softened again, dropping back into half-consciousness, it felt like catching something fragile mid-fall.
I didn’t stop touching him once.
If I did, I was afraid he’d disappear.
When we pulled into the hospital lot, I felt sick. Cold sweat prickled along my spine. My stomach rolled.
He stirred again as we helped him out of the car. His legs buckled and I caught him automatically, an arm locked around his waist.
“Iwa-chan… don’t let them…”
“I won’t,” I promised, even though I didn’t know what them meant.
Inside, everything moved quickly.
A nurse took one look at him and ushered us into a room immediately. No waiting.
He looked small on the hospital bed. Too small. The fluorescent lights made his skin look almost translucent.
She assessed him calmly—blood pressure, pulse, oxygen levels—her movements efficient but gentle. She asked questions he couldn’t answer.
“How long since he slept?”
“Three days,” I said.
“Missed medication?”
“One day. OCD meds.”
She nodded once, already understanding.
Oikawa started to stir again, more distressed this time. His breathing picked up, chest rising unevenly. His hands fisted weakly in the blanket.
“No,” he whispered. “No needles. No— I have to stay awake. I have to make sure—”
“It’s okay,” the nurse said softly. “We’re just giving you fluids. You’re very dehydrated.”
They slid a saline IV into his arm. He barely reacted beyond a small flinch. He didn’t have the energy to fight properly.
When they mentioned a sedative, though, his eyes widened faintly.
“No,” he breathed. “I can’t sleep. If I sleep something will—”
I leaned over him immediately.
“Oikawa.”
His gaze found mine, frantic and glassy.
“If I sleep I won’t know if something’s wrong.”
“I’ll know,” I said.
He shook his head weakly. “You don’t check like I do.”
That hurt.
Not because it was mean. But because it was true.
“I don’t have to,” I said quietly. “That’s your job. Right now, your only job is to sleep. I’ll check everything. I’ll count everything. I’ll stay awake if I have to.”
His breathing was speeding up again.
The nurse prepared the sedative.
“It’s going to make you sleepy,” she explained calmly.
“No,” he whispered again, but there wasn’t strength in it.
I cupped his face.
His skin was warm. Too warm.
“Look at me,” I murmured.
His lashes trembled.
“You trust me?”
There was no hesitation.
“…always.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“Then sleep.”
He resisted when the medication went in—just a small, weak tension in his shoulders. His fingers tightened around my wrist, desperate.
“Iwa-chan…”
“I’m here.”
My thumb brushed just beneath his eye. He leaned into it instinctively.
Like a flower turning toward sunlight.
His breathing stuttered once more. Then slowed.
His eyelids drooped, fighting it.
He tilted his face into my palm as the sedative pulled him under, cheek settling against my skin.
Trusting me to hold him there.
His body went slack.
Sleep took him.
I stayed exactly where I was.
My palm remained beneath his cheek, fingers curved gently along his jaw. I could feel the steady warmth of his breath against my wrist now—slow, even.
For the first time in days, probably.
I let my forehead fall forward onto the edge of the mattress.
The relief hit me first.
Then the sadness.
Because this is what it takes to make him rest.
Because his mind is so loud it chews him alive unless something forces it quiet.
Because he tries so hard to be perfect that he forgets he’s human.
My mom’s arms came around me from behind.
I didn’t realize I was shaking until she held me.
“He’s sleeping,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said, but my voice broke.
“What if it gets worse?” The words came out small. Childish. “What if I can’t help him next time? What if I miss something?”
“You didn’t miss anything,” she said firmly, stroking her hand through my hair like she used to when I was little. “You saw him. You acted. That’s love, Hajime.”
Love.
The word lodged in my throat.
Because it’s not just that I care.
It’s not just that he’s my best friend.
He is the center of my world in a way that terrifies me.
When he spirals, I feel it like a physical pull. Like gravity shifting under my feet.
If something happened to him—
My breath hitched unexpectedly.
My mom pulled me fully into her arms then, and I let her. Just for a moment.
I pressed my face into her shoulder and the tears came before I could stop them.
“I don’t know what I’d do,” I admitted hoarsely. “If I couldn’t fix it.”
“You’re not meant to fix him,” she murmured. “You’re meant to stand beside him.”
I swallowed hard.
Behind us, Oikawa slept.
Peaceful. Finally.
His chest rose and fell steadily. His face looked younger without tension carved into it.
I stepped back from my mom and returned to the bedside.
I brushed a stray piece of hair from his forehead.
“I’m here,” I whispered, even though he couldn’t hear me.
And I will be.
Even if it breaks me.
——
OIKAWA’S POV
Waking up felt like surfacing through thick water.
For a moment, everything was soft. Muted. My thoughts weren’t screaming. They weren’t stacking on top of each other like unstable plates about to fall.
They were… quiet.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar. Too white. Too bright.
Hospital.
The memory came back slowly—like someone gently turning the lights on in a room I’d trashed.
Practice.
Iwa-chan’s voice.
The bench.
The way my chest wouldn’t work properly.
Heat crawled up my neck.
Oh.
Oh no.
I shifted slightly, and the movement tugged at the IV in my arm. My body felt heavy but rested in a way that almost hurt. Like I hadn’t realized how starved I was for sleep until I’d finally gotten it.
A chair scraped softly beside the bed.
“Good morning, Tooru.”
I turned my head.
Iwa-chan’s mom was sitting there, her expression warm and steady. Not annoyed. Not disappointed.
Kind.
Mortification flooded me anyway.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted, my voice hoarse and smaller than I meant it to be. “I didn’t mean to— I must’ve looked ridiculous. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
Her brows knit together gently.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly, “you didn’t make a fool of yourself.”
I swallowed.
I always do, though.
She reached over and adjusted the blanket slightly at my shoulder, the gesture so maternal it made something ache in my chest.
“You were unwell,” she continued. “That’s all. And Hajime has been worrying himself sick.”
My heart stuttered.
“H-He has?”
The words came out before I could stop them.
She smiled knowingly, like she’d expected that reaction.
“Yes. He hasn’t left your side.”
A sudden warmth pressed against my ribs.
I hadn’t noticed it before because I thought it was just the blanket.
I shifted carefully—and felt it.
Weight.
Breath.
Warmth.
I turned my head slowly.
And there he was.
Hajime was crammed awkwardly onto the narrow hospital bed beside me, one arm half-draped over my waist like he’d fallen asleep mid-guard. His face was tucked into the curve of my neck, breath slow and steady against my skin.
His brow was relaxed. His mouth slightly parted. Completely unguarded.
Peaceful.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“He refused to sit in the chair,” his mom said quietly. “After the adrenaline wore off, he just… knocked out.”
A watery sound left me before I realized it was a laugh.
Of course he did.
I looked at him properly then.
At the faint crease between his brows that never fully disappears. At the way his eyelashes rest heavier when he’s exhausted. At the strong line of his jaw softened by sleep.
He looks younger like this.
Less burdened.
I felt something fragile and overwhelming rise in my chest.
He’d been breathing against my neck this whole time.
Like he needed to make sure I was still there.
My fingers moved before I could think. Slowly, carefully, I brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.
He didn’t wake.
I could’ve cried.
I probably almost did.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to his mom or to him.
“For what?” she asked gently.
“For being… like this.” I gestured vaguely with my free hand. “I know it’s exhausting. I try not to let it get that bad, I just— when I miss a dose it’s like my brain won’t let me forget anything. Every possibility feels urgent. If I don’t check something, it feels like someone will get hurt. Or I’ll ruin everything. And then I can’t sleep because what if I missed something, and if I sleep I can’t monitor it, and—”
My throat tightened.
“I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes sense to you,” she replied calmly. “And that’s what matters.”
I blinked.
No frustration. No dismissal.
Just understanding.
“You don’t have to apologize for struggling,” she added. “Especially not here.”
My gaze dropped back to Hajime.
His hand twitched slightly in his sleep, fingers tightening instinctively against my side.
He’s always so solid.
So certain.
He scolds me. He yells at me. He calls me an idiot.
But he also holds me like I’m something precious.
Even when I don’t deserve it.
“He looked terrified,” his mom said softly. “When you fainted.”
My chest squeezed painfully.
Terrified?
Of me?
Because of me.
I studied his sleeping face again.
Hajime isn’t dramatic. He isn’t expressive the way I am.
But his love—
It’s quiet. Immovable. Like bedrock.
He would burn the world down if it threatened me.
And the worst part is… I would let him.
I lifted my hand and very gently traced the edge of his hairline with my fingers.
“I’d do anything for him,” I murmured, barely audible.
His mom didn’t comment.
Maybe she already knew.
Because it’s true.
Every hair on his head. Every stubborn crease in his brow. Every scar and bruise and calloused knuckle.
He is—
Beautiful.
Not in the way magazines mean it.
In the way gravity is beautiful.
In the way something constant is beautiful.
He shifted slightly, nose brushing faintly against my throat.
I smiled through the tightness in my eyes.
“Iwa-chan,” I whispered softly, “you’re going to wake up with a crick in your neck.”
He made a faint, sleepy sound but didn’t move.
I let my fingers settle in his hair.
Just resting there.
Just feeling him.
For once, my mind wasn’t racing ahead to the next worst-case scenario.
For once, the only thing I felt was warmth.
And the quiet certainty that even when my brain turns against me—
He doesn’t.
He stays.
And I would do anything—
absolutely anything—
to deserve that.