No Major Content Warnings but its hella sad of course.
412 words (of melodrama)
Iwaizumi didn’t think there would ever be a time Oikawa couldn’t plaster on his fake smile until the night he left. It had been raining, because of course it had, and Oikawa smelled like earth, like heat and barely there cologne.
Iwaizumi had yelled, because he didn’t know what else he could do. He wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to fall on his knees and beg for Oikawa to love him like he used to, like he was supposed to, like he said he did every night he whispered it into Iwaizumi’s ear, no, he yelled. Oikawa had cried, angry, bitter tears. He cried like it wasn’t his fault, and he left, running out the door in nothing but his t-shirt and jeans, like he was the one who had the right to leave.
Iwaizumi was alone, breathing heavy and clenching his fists in the living room. The next day he dealt with the apartment, everything they owned together, and then he left town. He thought he remembered messages; stupid, pining things that all felt like lies to him, nothing he wanted. Oikawa’s voice sounded like a threat, a hanging blade itching to fall.
Being in a different city, so far away from every home he’d ever known, felt like he was becoming someone else. The home he missed most was the home he’d built against Oikawa’s shoulder blades, the sides of his neck, the bones of his ankles, but that home was demolished. He wanted it though. He wanted to build it, brick by brick with his bare, scarred hands until he could live his life nestled against Oikawa’s skin.
It took him six months to regret every decision that led to him leaving. The warm body of the woman in his bed suddenly felt scalding, dangerous and foreign and wrong, and so much of him wished he were alone. He spent his nights awake, wondering where Oikawa had gone that night, if he missed them the same way Iwaizumi missed them, if he also felt like half his life fell like the rain between their bodies that night, abandoned and broken.
He knew if Oikawa called him now, somehow finding his number, though it had changed, he wouldn’t yell. He wanted to think he still wouldn’t cry. Iwaizumi wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply everything had hurt, still hurt, or how much he wanted the opportunity to hurt that badly again.
FILL Team: Nishinoya Yuu/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Rated: T
412 words (of melodrama)
Iwaizumi didn’t think there would ever be a time Oikawa couldn’t plaster on his fake smile until the night he left. It had been raining, because of course it had, and Oikawa smelled like earth, like heat and barely there cologne.
Iwaizumi had yelled, because he didn’t know what else he could do. He wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to fall on his knees and beg for Oikawa to love him like he used to, like he was supposed to, like he said he did every night he whispered it into Iwaizumi’s ear, no, he yelled. Oikawa had cried, angry, bitter tears. He cried like it wasn’t his fault, and he left, running out the door in nothing but his t-shirt and jeans, like he was the one who had the right to leave.
Iwaizumi was alone, breathing heavy and clenching his fists in the living room. The next day he dealt with the apartment, everything they owned together, and then he left town. He thought he remembered messages; stupid, pining things that all felt like lies to him, nothing he wanted. Oikawa’s voice sounded like a threat, a hanging blade itching to fall.
Being in a different city, so far away from every home he’d ever known, felt like he was becoming someone else. The home he missed most was the home he’d built against Oikawa’s shoulder blades, the sides of his neck, the bones of his ankles, but that home was demolished. He wanted it though. He wanted to build it, brick by brick with his bare, scarred hands until he could live his life nestled against Oikawa’s skin.
It took him six months to regret every decision that led to him leaving. The warm body of the woman in his bed suddenly felt scalding, dangerous and foreign and wrong, and so much of him wished he were alone. He spent his nights awake, wondering where Oikawa had gone that night, if he missed them the same way Iwaizumi missed them, if he also felt like half his life fell like the rain between their bodies that night, abandoned and broken.
He knew if Oikawa called him now, somehow finding his number, though it had changed, he wouldn’t yell. He wanted to think he still wouldn’t cry. Iwaizumi wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply everything had hurt, still hurt, or how much he wanted the opportunity to hurt that badly again.