ʷᵒʳᵗʰˡᵉˢˢ ᵖʳᶦᵈᵉ

just like ur fake hair

      SHOCK  &  HORROR.  blasphemy.  this  one  actually  wounds  him.  he  grew  that  hair  himself.  the  added  help  of  products  does  nothing  but  assist  his  natural  beauty.  “  why  is  it  that  you’re  so  catty,  kiyoko.  ”  her  name  is  stamped  out  between  his  teeth  with  the  same  sweetened  bite  that  is  usually  reserved  for  tobio.  somewhere  in  there  is  understanding,  maybe  even  respect,  but  no  longer  interest.  only  rivalry.  

          “  would   you  mind  so  terribly  lending  me  your  scary  mind,  mattsu  ?  a  king  is  nothing  without  an  advisor.  ”  

gretchen gomez’s welcome to ghost town  /  accepting  /  @owlit

SKEPTICAL MINDS die hard and while the stars are not known to lie,  doe eyes squint to scrutinize the owl’s claim.  wise or troublesome,  he wonders,  would it be a setter’s foolishness or advisable to trust him based on his spike alone ?  

“  far be it from me to argue with the stars… ”  he starts,  every bit intending to reach the  ‘ but ’  that usually follows  —  but instincts detect a level of veritable candor behind the golden globes that blink back at him and oikawa nearly sways backward away from it,  unpredictably moved.  huh. 

“  …so i won’t. ”

gretchen gomez’s welcome to ghost town  /  accepting  /  @vijekni

immediately the injured animal that his pride is trying not to be backs into the far corner of his chest,  aching,  and cries to bite back  did yours, hajime?  he bites back is his tongue and tainted pride instead.

in an attempt to be level headed,  he turns the question over like a diamond in the light and finds the answer multifaceted.  some emotion,  not quite grief but perhaps a brother to it and just as multifaceted,  forms a harsh lump in his chest.  oikawa tries,  really,  to press this feeling into a diamond as well but it stays coal,  burning.  

a braver version of himself,  one less wounded in this moment,  might have scoffed to cover up the break in his face.  if the question was anyone else’s,  he still might have  —  but this is hajime asking.  whether he admits it or not,  it holds a different weight.  oikawa lets the facade decay and answers with honesty in its stead,  “ no — no it didn’t. ”  

a lapse in defenses gives way to the most intrusive of thoughts: i’m not sure it ever will. this is not something he provides as easily,  not while he still wears the jersey of a captain  ;  not while his pride,  how ever injured,  still exists, “ not yet,  iwa-chan. ”