len len!! 𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

He deserves it, Iwa thinks. This is the universe's sign to quit being a creep.

"Oh my god, are you ok?!” You run over, hands pressed against your mouth. You kneel before him, and before Iwa can respond, your fingers press against his nose.

It stings more than he'd liked to admit. If the crack that rang in his brain after your foot made contact with his nose wasn’t an indicator of a broken nose, then Iwa would consider himself blessed. Maybe he is. Under the dingy orange light that does absolutely no one any favors, you look rather radiant. A halo of hair encases your soft features, eyebrows furrowed in worry. He's never seen you up this close, daydreamed about it more times than he'd admit, but from here he can see everything his mind never thought to imagine. The beauty marks littering across your skin, the slight bags under your eyes that you somehow make look gorgeous.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. Oh my god, this is bad—” Iwa raises a hand, but the frown on your face deepens. “You need to go to the doctor.”

Iwa watches your lips move rapidly, head tilting as you take a rag to his nose. Where’d you get that from? He can’t think straight. Not with your soft hands encompassing his own tightly, soft glossy lips—do you wear gloss? Are they naturally like that?—

“Hello?” It’s your warmth that leaves which cuts the train of thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Oh god, this can’t be a good sign.” Iwa agrees absentmindedly, not actually sure what he’s nodding to.

If his friends could see him now, they’d burst into tears. Calm, cool, collected—that’s what he likes to think anyway—on the floor with a pretty girl's hands against his chest. Ears red from the touch, like a virgin.

Right up against his chest. Nails digging into the muscle with anxiety, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks underneath his shirt. All he thinks of is where else he’d allow you to mark with those pretty manicured nails of yours.

"You're bleeding." You stand quickly. He has to avert his gaze because from down on the floor, he can see more details of you than his mind can take.

Right. The warmth against his plithrum and the metallic taste on his tongue seem to make more sense now. Iwa clicks his tongue, bringing his hand to his nose to wipe the blood.

He feels hands against his back, shoving him gently up. They aren't yours, and it brings an ache to his chest. This is pathetic, Iwa thinks as he sits upright on a chair and watches your form disappear.

There's a crowd surrounding him now; the music from the class was paused a while ago. And he can feel Mrs. Drew's hands take your spot against his chest, but they are cold. Mrs. Drew was one of the many married women who inched a little too close to him during these classes. Iwa holds back a shudder.

Maybe he should be angry? Chase after you, demand your number because, of course, you have to pay his hospital bill. He's now sure his nose is broken (the pain is all too similar to the one time Oikawa sent a spike directly to his face by accident). He's a poor foreigner, or some bullshit excuse about how America's joke of a health care system. Any excuse to talk to you.

"Here," It's your voice that breaks through the crowd. You hand over a cold water bottle, urging him to quickly press it against his nose. You mumble something under your breath about swelling.

"I'm sorry again." You look so cute, gazing down, refusing to meet his eyes. Your hands gently interwined, fingers tugging your shirt down. Your legs crossed, thighs—nope, this is exactly what got him into this mess. Those stupid, plush thighs of yours. "Come on, I'll take you to the nearest doctor. It's the least I can do."

Iwa feels like one of those cartoons, his body floating towards yours without another word spoken. If he were in a cartoon, he's sure his eyes would be in the shape of a heart. Pulstating aggressively when he looks at you.

He can hear the group of rich moms gossiping in the corner as you gather your and his stuff. You refused to let him do any heavy lifting. Iwa can bench 10x more than your own weight, but you don't need to know that.

The walk to the emergency room is shorter than he was anticipating. Just around the block, and Iwa is almost begging for time with you. Now that he does much, if any, talking. He can't with the cold water bottle around his nose; that would make him sound stupid.

You fill the silence. Spend the whole walk profusely apologizing and asking 'yes or no' questions. And when you two finally come to face the bright red sign, Iwa has to physically stop the pout forming on his lips.

You send him to sit, speaking politely to the front desk lady, explaining the situation, and, unlike expected. The doctor sees him quickly.

Iwa is wrong. His nose is not broken, but instead dislocated. And he's not sure whether to be happy that it wasn't going to cost him a CT scan or upset at the pain of the doctor popping it right back into place.

He assumes you'd left. Handed over his belongings to the nice lady who checked him out, but he looked dumb as he waited in front of her. She gives him an impatient look before speaking up.

"Look, sir. We are busy. Your girlfriend is waiting right outside, and we have all your information written down now." She rolls away from the desk, picking up the ringing phone as Iwa pivots his head.

The movements send an ache down his spine, but he can't be bothered as he sprints outside. He can hear the doctor's words ringing in his head, "take it easy," but they fade away when he spots you.

You're sitting on the bench, back to him, tucked into your sweater while the breeze picks up. Iwa tugs off his hood more aggressively than he wants to.

"Here," His throat is dry, and the words escape more gruffly than intended, startling you.

"I just broke your nose, and you're offering me your hoodie." You nod your head, yet there's a smile on your face. It brings a warmth to Iwa's cheeks against the biting wind.

"It's not broken," He corrects, shoving the hoodie further into your space. You raise an eyebrow, but at some point, you realize this is a fight you're not winning.

"Oh," your voice is muffled as you shove his hoodie on. "Good news?" Your tone comes off humorous, and Iwa cracks a crooked grin.

"No," Iwa shifts on his feet. He thinks you look adorable, hair tucked in messily into the hood of his sweater. "Just a dislocation. Hurt like a bitch to pop back into place."

You grimace, tucking your fingers under the bench as he takes a seat. It's quiet for a while, the wind hollowing into the night sky.

"I've said it a million times now—" You turn your gaze towards him, "But I'm sorry."

Iwa nods, meeting your stare. "It's fine. But who pissed you off that badly?"

Iwa had never heard you laugh, but now he's sure he can't leave without it. The way you tilt your head back, corners upturned, and the flicker of amusement in your eyes when you glance back at him.

"I wish I had an answer." He watches as you tug your lip between your teeth, gnawing on it. He wonders how you taste under the moonlight? Sweet, like candy, he presumes. The ones he sees to chew on after class.

You seem to mull over something, hesitating before reaching forward. Lips pursed, and Iwa for a second thinks maybe he'll get to confirm his question, but your lips don't meet his own. Instead, they place a soothing, gentle kiss on his swollen nose.

There's a warmth crawling up his neck as you pull away, and he leans into your space. Iwa thinks that if this were the prize, he'd gladly break his nose every day.

"A kiss for the pain." You whisper into the wind.

forgot my format lolz will prob fix later