memory loss, ambiguous circumstances, 857 words (writing this whole thing felt like a fever dream *lies down* im sorry)
When you open your eyes, you see a boy.
He’s sitting beside you, on a chair right by your bed, and when he smiles at you, it’s so sweet, and so deep that it actually hurts to look at. His face is framed by brown waves, and you don’t know why, but your fingers twitch.
(you want to reach out, you want to touch him, but he’s just a stranger— —isn’t he?)
“Hello, Hajime,” he greets happily. “Please call me Tooru.”
You incline your head in due courtesy, and that’s when it hits you: you’re tired. The lethargy is bone-deep, sweeping across the whole being of your body like a spider crawling all over, its scratchy tips leaving weak tremors in its wake.
You want to sleep.
But something in you refuses to let you close your eyes.
neverletmegoneverletmegoneverletme--
A soft laughs cuts through your confusion, and you turn to look at the boy again. He seems a tiny bit abashed, rubbing the back of his sheepishly before he brings himself to speak. “I know you’re probably really tired and all, and I know you need to sleep.” His eyes shine with something akin to hope, wetly in its sheen. “But, will you lend me just twenty minutes of your time? Just twenty minutes for me?”
You croak out a hoarse “yes”, and that’s all Tooru needs.
He drags his chair closer, and leans his elbows upon your bed. When everything about him is this much closer, something somewhere begins to ache.
“Treat this as a bedtime story,” he says quietly, “maybe, even a fever dream.”
You tilt your head in question.
“Because the next time you open your eyes,” Tooru pauses, swallows, “it might be harder to remember me.”
You still don’t get it, and you frown at him for explanations, but he claps his hands, merrily, merrily, quite contrary, when did his eyes turn so sad?
Tooru lifts his head straighter, then, he begins.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy, and he was very, very sad. He kept chasing after things that just would not come to him. He cried, he screamed, he didn’t know what to think.” Here, Tooru takes a deep breath. “All he knew was endless frustration, all his dreams slid out of reach.”
It doesn’t really strike you until you feel a slight brush against your fingers; both his and your hands have inched closer, and you think it’s alright to just leave them be.
You huff for him to continue, the weight behind your eyes making you impatient for the lull of sleep. Surprisingly enough, it makes Tooru laugh, and your heart warms at the sight of it a bit.
“You’ve always been so impatient, Hajime.”
“H-How would you k-know?,” you struggle to speak.
Tooru’s doesn’t really answer, just shrugs and goes, “I just do.” He moves on. “But, we digress. So, this boy, one day he meets another person. Another boy. And they both learn something new.”
He grins, wide and true, and you don’t know why you feel this way, why do you feel so burnt through?
“They both learned how to love each other, and in turn, themselves as well. The sad boy grew to be not so hard on himself anymore, whilst the other boy looked out for him.”
“That’s nice,” you rasp out, and Tooru lips lilt into a crooked grin. He says, “It is, isn’t it?”
But something about Tooru dims the slightest bit. His hand falls over yours in the tightest grip, and in earnest, he looks into your eyes, all desperate, all grit. “That’s why you must not hold it against him for doing this. The heart may not remember, but the body always will, and if by chance one day everything falls back together, please, please, don’t be mad at him.”
His hand tentatively comes up to brush your cheek, and how gently he does it makes you inexpicably want to weep. “Please learn to teach him about love, instead, all over again.”
“Tooru,” a voice in you goes be quick, be quick, “what about the other boy? What happened to him?”
Tooru’s smile is watery as he leans in kiss to your forehead, then, your cheeks. “I’m afraid the whole story wouldn’t fit the last of our twenty minutes.”
With that, he rises up to leave. “And, that’s then end of that bedtime story.”
You reach out, and grab onto him, “You said you’d never let me go—“
But just when had he did?
There are tears at the corner of his eyes when Tooru leans down, whispers: may the arms of devotion deliver me.
And, then, you go under, slipping underneath the cover of sleep, so cold, so swift—
never let me go
*
You wake up 12 hours later, and wonder if you’ve had a dream.
(You think you dreamt of a boy, touched him even)
(But aren’t dreams just dreams?)
tooru? who made the real sacrifice here, actually?
there are far too many mouths but not enough worth what you’re offering give yourself to few and to those few give heavily. —rupi kaur
FILL: Team Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, G
When you open your eyes, you see a boy.
He’s sitting beside you, on a chair right by your bed, and when he smiles at you, it’s so sweet, and so deep that it actually hurts to look at. His face is framed by brown waves, and you don’t know why, but your fingers twitch.
(you want to reach out, you want to touch him, but he’s just a stranger—
—isn’t he?)
“Hello, Hajime,” he greets happily. “Please call me Tooru.”
You incline your head in due courtesy, and that’s when it hits you: you’re tired.
The lethargy is bone-deep, sweeping across the whole being of your body like a spider crawling all over, its scratchy tips leaving weak tremors in its wake.
You want to sleep.
But something in you refuses to let you close your eyes.
neverletmegoneverletmegoneverletme--A soft laughs cuts through your confusion, and you turn to look at the boy again. He seems a tiny bit abashed, rubbing the back of his sheepishly before he brings himself to speak. “I know you’re probably really tired and all, and I know you need to sleep.” His eyes shine with something akin to hope, wetly in its sheen. “But, will you lend me just twenty minutes of your time? Just twenty minutes for me?”
You croak out a hoarse “yes”, and that’s all Tooru needs.
He drags his chair closer, and leans his elbows upon your bed. When everything about him is this much closer, something somewhere begins to ache.
“Treat this as a bedtime story,” he says quietly, “maybe, even a fever dream.”
You tilt your head in question.
“Because the next time you open your eyes,” Tooru pauses, swallows, “it might be harder to remember me.”
You still don’t get it, and you frown at him for explanations, but he claps his hands, merrily, merrily, quite contrary, when did his eyes turn so sad?
Tooru lifts his head straighter, then, he begins.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy, and he was very, very sad. He kept chasing after things that just would not come to him. He cried, he screamed, he didn’t know what to think.” Here, Tooru takes a deep breath. “All he knew was endless frustration, all his dreams slid out of reach.”
It doesn’t really strike you until you feel a slight brush against your fingers; both his and your hands have inched closer, and you think it’s alright to just leave them be.
You huff for him to continue, the weight behind your eyes making you impatient for the lull of sleep. Surprisingly enough, it makes Tooru laugh, and your heart warms at the sight of it a bit.
“You’ve always been so impatient, Hajime.”
“H-How would you k-know?,” you struggle to speak.
Tooru’s doesn’t really answer, just shrugs and goes, “I just do.” He moves on. “But, we digress. So, this boy, one day he meets another person. Another boy. And they both learn something new.”
He grins, wide and true, and you don’t know why you feel this way, why do you feel so burnt through?
“They both learned how to love each other, and in turn, themselves as well. The sad boy grew to be not so hard on himself anymore, whilst the other boy looked out for him.”
“That’s nice,” you rasp out, and Tooru lips lilt into a crooked grin. He says, “It is, isn’t it?”
But something about Tooru dims the slightest bit. His hand falls over yours in the tightest grip, and in earnest, he looks into your eyes, all desperate, all grit. “That’s why you must not hold it against him for doing this. The heart may not remember, but the body always will, and if by chance one day everything falls back together, please, please, don’t be mad at him.”
His hand tentatively comes up to brush your cheek, and how gently he does it makes you inexpicably want to weep. “Please learn to teach him about love, instead, all over again.”
“Tooru,” a voice in you goes be quick, be quick, “what about the other boy? What happened to him?”
Tooru’s smile is watery as he leans in kiss to your forehead, then, your cheeks. “I’m afraid the whole story wouldn’t fit the last of our twenty minutes.”
With that, he rises up to leave. “And, that’s then end of that bedtime story.”
You reach out, and grab onto him, “You said you’d never let me go—“
But just when had he did?
There are tears at the corner of his eyes when Tooru leans down, whispers: may the arms of devotion deliver me.
And, then, you go under, slipping underneath the cover of sleep, so cold, so swift—
never let me go*
You wake up 12 hours later, and wonder if you’ve had a dream.
(You think you dreamt of a boy, touched him even)
(But aren’t dreams just dreams?)
tooru? who made the real sacrifice here, actually?there are far too many mouths
but not enough worth
what you’re offering
give yourself to few
and to those few
give heavily.
—rupi kaur