verbal abuse, slurs, internalised homophobia, mild horror, dark spaces, mention of character death, mild unwanted selfcest (nothing explicit), shadow self disasters, persona 4-ish au, mild violence, nosebleeds, blood... i think that's it
Iwaizumi Hajime&Iwaizumi Hajime
4291 words
---
He wakes up in a chair, face making an imprint in the bed he’s sitting flush against, his right arm stretching out to grasp cool, empty air. There’s a gnawing pain at the back of his mind, which he dismisses as the result of not having had a good sleep. As he tries to ease out of drowsiness with stretches and yawns, he contemplates his surroundings. He doesn’t remember how he got here, but judging by the bed with its multifunction panel, the numerous monitors, and the pale blue curtains enclosing the bed area completely, he is unmistakably in the hospital. And judging by the cold, crumpled sheets in front of him…
He gets to his feet, pulls open the curtains, and sighs. Through the windows he sees that it’s still mostly dark outside, though some red on the horizon indicates that it’s probably about five in the morning. ‘Dammit, Oikawa,’ he curses softly, ‘It’s too early for this.’
Since childhood Oikawa’s been no stranger to hospitals, and every time he’s had to stay, at some point he would slip out of the room, much to the chagrin of all the frantic hospital staff. Each time, he would either quietly reappear after a few hours or, more likely than not, Hajime would find him curled up somewhere, staring quietly into the distance.
Hajime takes to the hallway, determined to find Oikawa and drag him back to the bed as quickly as possible. The lights are still dim, and it’s quiet. Directly opposite the room is a desk plastered in athletic product posters, and a nurse is sitting behind it, head bowed – Hajime should probably be more affronted, but it is ass o’ clock, so he can’t really begrudge the nurse for taking a rest. Besides, he has something more pressing to deal with. Where could Oikawa be?
He could wake the nurse to ask for help, but he doesn’t want to trouble more people than necessary for what is likely a minor issue. Oikawa’s vanishing tricks have never once been due to kidnapping, and he’s always come back safe. Hajime stops to consider where Oikawa could have wandered off to. His first thought is the physiotherapy rooms, since Oikawa’s in the hospital this time for his knee, and he’s been anxious about getting back to volleyball as soon as possible. But all the non-patient rooms are locked this early in the morning, and Hajime is sure that all of the charm in the world would have no effect on either the stern orderly or the physiotherapist who control the keys.
Could he be outside? One of Oikawa’s most frequent hiding spots is the garden, but at this time, Hajime is doubtful that the door leading to it would be unlocked. Oikawa does like getting fresh air when he can, though, so… Hajime turns and starts walking in the direction of the stairs. He’s probably on the roof.
When he passes a sign that gives directions to the garden, a memory from their childhood surfaces: Oikawa pushing Hajime into the river for a lark, but having to dive after him when he realised that Hajime couldn’t swim. Somehow, Hajime had emerged from the incident unscathed, but Oikawa had developed a lung infection, and spent several weeks bedridden. Hajime had visited almost every day, but he hadn’t been allowed to go near Oikawa. One day, Hajime and his mother had arrived at the hospital to find the nurses in a panic: Tooru-kun has gone missing, where could he be, he still needs plenty of rest to get better.
Hajime had wandered over to the window whilst his mother and the nurses spoke to one another, and when he looked out, he’d seen a familiar light-brown head bobbing amongst the flowers of the hospital’s outdoor garden. He’d dashed down several flights of stairs and gotten yelled at by several doctors and patients, and when he finally reached the garden, Hajime had thrown his arms around Tooru with such force that he hadn’t realised what his own head was doing, and he’d accidentally given Tooru a nosebleed.
Hajime, you brute! Tooru had cried then, coughing and smearing blood across his face instead of stopping the flow properly. Hajime had shuffled forward on his knees, reached out awkwardly to cup Tooru’s face gently with his hands, and Tooru had stilled completely at the contact. Then, he’d firmly pressed down on Tooru’s nose and started questioning him. Where have you been? Have you been here all this time? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Didn’t you know that everyone was worried about you? What could have been so important? The more questions Hajime had asked, the more sullen Tooru had become. When Hajime ran out of breath and patience, he’d sat back and huffed, and when he started looking around because Tooru wouldn’t make eye contact or respond, he’d realised. There were crushed bluebells under Hajime’s right knee, and behind to Tooru there were scissors, a card with a colour pencil drawing of a stag beetle on it, and ribbon. He’d reached for the card, and before Tooru could snatch it back, he’d glimpsed the words ‘I’m sorry Hajime’ in Tooru’s 8-year-old-child scrawl.
Tooru had placed the card on the floor and sat on it, arms folded and looking away with a pout on his face. Hajime had closed the distance between him and Tooru, then placed his hands firmly on Tooru’s shoulders. When Tooru turned and made eye contact with him, he’d wrapped his arms around Tooru tightly in a hug. After that, Tooru had burst into tears, sobbing in earnest as he hugged back.
That was ten years ago, and Hajime’s clearest memory of such prolonged and intimate physical contact between them. Since then, instead of shuffling forward to close the distance, Hajime’s been scooting back. Sure, they’ve had physical touch in the form of roughhousing, high-fives after pulling off successful volleyball moves and back-slaps after matches, but Hajime has been sure to avoid any lingering touches or gazes. He’s even gone so far as to reduce the intimacy of how they refer to one another: since middle school, Tooru has been Oikawa, or some insulting version thereof to hide Hajime’s affection for his first and dearest friend.
Hajime shakes his head vigorously, trying to dispel his stray thoughts about Oikawa the way one might try to lessen the wrinkles in an item of laundry. He stops and sighs, rubbing his temple. His head is still throbbing lightly with pain, but it’s easy enough to ignore. He hopes he finds Oikawa soon so he can get a damn rest. He’s been walking for a while, but he hasn’t come across the stairs yet. Maybe he went the wrong way? When he looks in the direction he came from, he feels a chill run down his spine.
The hallway is pitch black. When he started walking, the lighting had been dim, but that was better than nothing. He turns to look at the other end of the hallway. The lights are still on, but he can’t see the end of it. He stands still, weighing his options. He could try to fumble his way through the dark hallway to just wait in the room for Oikawa to return, or he could press on to look for Oikawa, and they could return together. He thinks about Oikawa: what condition is he in? Is he hurt? Is that why he’d left his bed for so long that it was cold when Hajime touched it? Injured or not, it won’t be easy to navigate the dark hallway alone. Hajime turns towards the dimly lit hallway and steels his resolve: he will find Oikawa, and they will return to the room together.
He walks and he walks and he walks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking for, but the hallway doesn’t seem to be coming to an end. He starts jogging, then running at full tilt, but still the hallway stretches out endlessly. He keeps it up for a minute or so before slowing down and leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. This is pointless. Maybe I should turn back. He casts his eyes at the hallway behind him, and his heart freezes.
Instead of the dimly lit hallway he expects to see, it is completely dark behind him.
Hajime draws himself up and breathes deeply, trying to calm his increasingly frantic heart rate. He faces the darkened hallway squarely, then nods to himself. He’s going to test a theory.
Slowly, he starts walking backwards, away from the darkened hallway, counting out loud to distract himself from the eerie silence of the hospital. At five steps one of the ceiling lights comes in view, and at eight steps, he blinks, and in the next second the dim light goes out completely. He stops and clenches his fists, trying not to tremble. What should I do now? He could continue down the dimly lit hallway, though that seems pointless.
Perhaps it would be more productive to keep a hand against the wall and try feeling his way back, after all. He nods to himself. Let’s try that. He slaps his right hand against the wall and puts his left foot forward into the darkness with more confidence than he actually has. In that moment, the pain in his head reaches a sharp peak, and senses something hurtling through the darkness towards him, and then something smooth and cool makes contact with his left wrist. Horrified, he shakes it off, jumping backwards into the light. It’s faint, but he thinks he sees multiple tendrils retreating into the endless maw of black. Forget about going back the way I came, I’m sticking in the light! He turns and speeds down the dim hallway. Behind him, the darkness gives chase, swallowing his options whole.
---
Hajime isn’t sure how long he’s been running, and though the hallway shows no signs of stopping, he doesn’t want to stop and check on the situation behind him.
What the hell was the thing that had tried to grab him? He shudders. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to stick around to find out. God, could this all be a dream? He pinches his arm and twists the flesh hard enough that his eyes scrunch closed in pain. He looks down – his feet are still slapping against the floor as he dashes through the hallway. No such luck. He keeps his eyes down as he takes deep breaths to draw the strength to run more, and then he’s crashing headfirst into solid wall. He thinks he sees stars as he falls on his ass, swearing and clutching at his head. The hallway had seemed endless, so it’s a surprise that he’s reached the end so quickly. As he massages his head, he cautiously peers at the direction he came from. The darkness is about two meters away, and it doesn’t seem to be encroaching on the light. Then, he looks in the direction the hallway is continuing in, and his heart lifts.
The lighting is still poor, but he can see the end of the hallway. More importantly, he can see the desk plastered in athletic product posters, and he can make out the shape of the nurse slumped in the chair behind. He takes off running towards the desk, listing all the things he needs to do. Wake the nurse. Ask them for help about Oikawa. Tell them about the lighting in the hallway. Maybe the creepy tendrils, too…
The pain in his head increases in intensity the closer he gets to the desk. By the time he’s standing in front of it, he’s trembling from the exertion of running, and from trying not to give in to the endless sensation of sharp needles scraping across his mind. He takes a few deep breaths, and is about to reach a hand out to shake the nurse awake when he notices that something is off.
For one, the nurse isn’t moving at all – their chest isn’t even rising and falling. For two, well, he’s fairly certain that the nurse hasn’t moved at all since he first saw them when coming out of the room.
There’s a gnawing sense of anxiety growing in his chest as he stands before the nurse and thinks about whether or not he should prod them for help. An image of Oikawa, face contorted in pain like the first time Hajime had found him collapsed in the Seijou gym, flashes across his mind. Shit. Oikawa might be in trouble, and here Hajime is letting his mind play tricks on him. He scoffs, and boldly reaches out and shakes the nurse’s shoulder.
Two seconds later, the nurse’s head is rolling off, and Hajime finds himself holding on to a headless dummy.
FILL: Team Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, T
Iwaizumi Hajime&Iwaizumi Hajime
4291 words
---
He wakes up in a chair, face making an imprint in the bed he’s sitting flush against, his right arm stretching out to grasp cool, empty air. There’s a gnawing pain at the back of his mind, which he dismisses as the result of not having had a good sleep. As he tries to ease out of drowsiness with stretches and yawns, he contemplates his surroundings. He doesn’t remember how he got here, but judging by the bed with its multifunction panel, the numerous monitors, and the pale blue curtains enclosing the bed area completely, he is unmistakably in the hospital. And judging by the cold, crumpled sheets in front of him…
He gets to his feet, pulls open the curtains, and sighs. Through the windows he sees that it’s still mostly dark outside, though some red on the horizon indicates that it’s probably about five in the morning. ‘Dammit, Oikawa,’ he curses softly, ‘It’s too early for this.’
Since childhood Oikawa’s been no stranger to hospitals, and every time he’s had to stay, at some point he would slip out of the room, much to the chagrin of all the frantic hospital staff. Each time, he would either quietly reappear after a few hours or, more likely than not, Hajime would find him curled up somewhere, staring quietly into the distance.
Hajime takes to the hallway, determined to find Oikawa and drag him back to the bed as quickly as possible. The lights are still dim, and it’s quiet. Directly opposite the room is a desk plastered in athletic product posters, and a nurse is sitting behind it, head bowed – Hajime should probably be more affronted, but it is ass o’ clock, so he can’t really begrudge the nurse for taking a rest. Besides, he has something more pressing to deal with. Where could Oikawa be?
He could wake the nurse to ask for help, but he doesn’t want to trouble more people than necessary for what is likely a minor issue. Oikawa’s vanishing tricks have never once been due to kidnapping, and he’s always come back safe. Hajime stops to consider where Oikawa could have wandered off to. His first thought is the physiotherapy rooms, since Oikawa’s in the hospital this time for his knee, and he’s been anxious about getting back to volleyball as soon as possible. But all the non-patient rooms are locked this early in the morning, and Hajime is sure that all of the charm in the world would have no effect on either the stern orderly or the physiotherapist who control the keys.
Could he be outside? One of Oikawa’s most frequent hiding spots is the garden, but at this time, Hajime is doubtful that the door leading to it would be unlocked. Oikawa does like getting fresh air when he can, though, so… Hajime turns and starts walking in the direction of the stairs. He’s probably on the roof.
When he passes a sign that gives directions to the garden, a memory from their childhood surfaces: Oikawa pushing Hajime into the river for a lark, but having to dive after him when he realised that Hajime couldn’t swim. Somehow, Hajime had emerged from the incident unscathed, but Oikawa had developed a lung infection, and spent several weeks bedridden. Hajime had visited almost every day, but he hadn’t been allowed to go near Oikawa. One day, Hajime and his mother had arrived at the hospital to find the nurses in a panic: Tooru-kun has gone missing, where could he be, he still needs plenty of rest to get better.
Hajime had wandered over to the window whilst his mother and the nurses spoke to one another, and when he looked out, he’d seen a familiar light-brown head bobbing amongst the flowers of the hospital’s outdoor garden. He’d dashed down several flights of stairs and gotten yelled at by several doctors and patients, and when he finally reached the garden, Hajime had thrown his arms around Tooru with such force that he hadn’t realised what his own head was doing, and he’d accidentally given Tooru a nosebleed.
Hajime, you brute! Tooru had cried then, coughing and smearing blood across his face instead of stopping the flow properly. Hajime had shuffled forward on his knees, reached out awkwardly to cup Tooru’s face gently with his hands, and Tooru had stilled completely at the contact. Then, he’d firmly pressed down on Tooru’s nose and started questioning him. Where have you been? Have you been here all this time? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Didn’t you know that everyone was worried about you? What could have been so important? The more questions Hajime had asked, the more sullen Tooru had become. When Hajime ran out of breath and patience, he’d sat back and huffed, and when he started looking around because Tooru wouldn’t make eye contact or respond, he’d realised. There were crushed bluebells under Hajime’s right knee, and behind to Tooru there were scissors, a card with a colour pencil drawing of a stag beetle on it, and ribbon. He’d reached for the card, and before Tooru could snatch it back, he’d glimpsed the words ‘I’m sorry Hajime’ in Tooru’s 8-year-old-child scrawl.
Tooru had placed the card on the floor and sat on it, arms folded and looking away with a pout on his face. Hajime had closed the distance between him and Tooru, then placed his hands firmly on Tooru’s shoulders. When Tooru turned and made eye contact with him, he’d wrapped his arms around Tooru tightly in a hug. After that, Tooru had burst into tears, sobbing in earnest as he hugged back.
That was ten years ago, and Hajime’s clearest memory of such prolonged and intimate physical contact between them. Since then, instead of shuffling forward to close the distance, Hajime’s been scooting back. Sure, they’ve had physical touch in the form of roughhousing, high-fives after pulling off successful volleyball moves and back-slaps after matches, but Hajime has been sure to avoid any lingering touches or gazes. He’s even gone so far as to reduce the intimacy of how they refer to one another: since middle school, Tooru has been Oikawa, or some insulting version thereof to hide Hajime’s affection for his first and dearest friend.
Hajime shakes his head vigorously, trying to dispel his stray thoughts about Oikawa the way one might try to lessen the wrinkles in an item of laundry. He stops and sighs, rubbing his temple. His head is still throbbing lightly with pain, but it’s easy enough to ignore. He hopes he finds Oikawa soon so he can get a damn rest. He’s been walking for a while, but he hasn’t come across the stairs yet. Maybe he went the wrong way? When he looks in the direction he came from, he feels a chill run down his spine.
The hallway is pitch black. When he started walking, the lighting had been dim, but that was better than nothing. He turns to look at the other end of the hallway. The lights are still on, but he can’t see the end of it. He stands still, weighing his options. He could try to fumble his way through the dark hallway to just wait in the room for Oikawa to return, or he could press on to look for Oikawa, and they could return together. He thinks about Oikawa: what condition is he in? Is he hurt? Is that why he’d left his bed for so long that it was cold when Hajime touched it? Injured or not, it won’t be easy to navigate the dark hallway alone. Hajime turns towards the dimly lit hallway and steels his resolve: he will find Oikawa, and they will return to the room together.
He walks and he walks and he walks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking for, but the hallway doesn’t seem to be coming to an end. He starts jogging, then running at full tilt, but still the hallway stretches out endlessly. He keeps it up for a minute or so before slowing down and leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. This is pointless. Maybe I should turn back. He casts his eyes at the hallway behind him, and his heart freezes.
Instead of the dimly lit hallway he expects to see, it is completely dark behind him.
Hajime draws himself up and breathes deeply, trying to calm his increasingly frantic heart rate. He faces the darkened hallway squarely, then nods to himself. He’s going to test a theory.
Slowly, he starts walking backwards, away from the darkened hallway, counting out loud to distract himself from the eerie silence of the hospital. At five steps one of the ceiling lights comes in view, and at eight steps, he blinks, and in the next second the dim light goes out completely. He stops and clenches his fists, trying not to tremble. What should I do now? He could continue down the dimly lit hallway, though that seems pointless.
Perhaps it would be more productive to keep a hand against the wall and try feeling his way back, after all. He nods to himself. Let’s try that. He slaps his right hand against the wall and puts his left foot forward into the darkness with more confidence than he actually has. In that moment, the pain in his head reaches a sharp peak, and senses something hurtling through the darkness towards him, and then something smooth and cool makes contact with his left wrist. Horrified, he shakes it off, jumping backwards into the light. It’s faint, but he thinks he sees multiple tendrils retreating into the endless maw of black. Forget about going back the way I came, I’m sticking in the light! He turns and speeds down the dim hallway. Behind him, the darkness gives chase, swallowing his options whole.
---
Hajime isn’t sure how long he’s been running, and though the hallway shows no signs of stopping, he doesn’t want to stop and check on the situation behind him.
What the hell was the thing that had tried to grab him? He shudders. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to stick around to find out. God, could this all be a dream? He pinches his arm and twists the flesh hard enough that his eyes scrunch closed in pain. He looks down – his feet are still slapping against the floor as he dashes through the hallway. No such luck. He keeps his eyes down as he takes deep breaths to draw the strength to run more, and then he’s crashing headfirst into solid wall. He thinks he sees stars as he falls on his ass, swearing and clutching at his head. The hallway had seemed endless, so it’s a surprise that he’s reached the end so quickly. As he massages his head, he cautiously peers at the direction he came from. The darkness is about two meters away, and it doesn’t seem to be encroaching on the light. Then, he looks in the direction the hallway is continuing in, and his heart lifts.
The lighting is still poor, but he can see the end of the hallway. More importantly, he can see the desk plastered in athletic product posters, and he can make out the shape of the nurse slumped in the chair behind. He takes off running towards the desk, listing all the things he needs to do. Wake the nurse. Ask them for help about Oikawa. Tell them about the lighting in the hallway. Maybe the creepy tendrils, too…
The pain in his head increases in intensity the closer he gets to the desk. By the time he’s standing in front of it, he’s trembling from the exertion of running, and from trying not to give in to the endless sensation of sharp needles scraping across his mind. He takes a few deep breaths, and is about to reach a hand out to shake the nurse awake when he notices that something is off.
For one, the nurse isn’t moving at all – their chest isn’t even rising and falling. For two, well, he’s fairly certain that the nurse hasn’t moved at all since he first saw them when coming out of the room.
There’s a gnawing sense of anxiety growing in his chest as he stands before the nurse and thinks about whether or not he should prod them for help. An image of Oikawa, face contorted in pain like the first time Hajime had found him collapsed in the Seijou gym, flashes across his mind. Shit. Oikawa might be in trouble, and here Hajime is letting his mind play tricks on him. He scoffs, and boldly reaches out and shakes the nurse’s shoulder.
Two seconds later, the nurse’s head is rolling off, and Hajime finds himself holding on to a headless dummy.