#iwaboku

He felt his heart stutter in his chest, but he nodded slowly and crept forward, face carefully blank. They can’t know. They couldn’t know about the fresh waves of self-hatred that had formed, gathering like dark waters and rising, threatening to drag him under, steal his breath, and drown him in all the darkness they brought. Weak. Stupid. Worthless. An endless mantra in his head that left him wanting to do nothing more than bash his head against a wall. Or the anxiety attacks, the ones he’d hidden so carefully, because, with everything going on, they didn’t need another thing to worry about, let alone him and his ridiculous, overblown problems.

“What’s up?” he said.

Akaashi frowned, Bokuto’s face twisting into a soft, sad expression, and he took the lead, edging forward a little, fingers tangling together in front of himself as he stared Iwaizumi down. “Something’s been bothering you.”

Iwaizumi’s limbs locked up, eyes flickering away for a split second before he turned back, shook his head slowly. “No… I’m-”

“Hajime, listen to me for five minutes,” Akaashi said, nearly a snap, and he flinched back, pressed himself into the chair as he stared at them. Bokuto’s fingers slipped over, curled into Akaashi’s sweater, and he brushed their fingers together, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it as he shook his head. “Hajime, it’s obvious. Something has been bothering you for weeks, and all of us can see it. This is worrying us, okay? You just-”

“You look so sad all the time lately,” Bokuto broke in, lips wobbling, a flush invading his cheeks as his tear-filled golden eyes snared Iwaizumi, inescapable. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing and tongue working, but Bokuto barreled on before he could say anything. “When you think we’re not looking you get this expression, like you’re about to cry, and I don’t know why, and I want to ask you and help you, but every time I do it feels like it’s not helping! A-and I know it doesn’t because sometimes I pull away and you just have this look, like everything’s about to break, and- and- a-and-” Bokuto broke off with a choked sound, buried his face into his hands.

Akaashi’s lips twisted and he slid an arm around Bokuto, glanced back at Iwaizumi. “Hajime,” he said softly, “Whatever is hurting you right now, we’re here for you. We’ve always been here for you. You know that. We’re your partners, your friends.”

Iwaizumi’s world was spinning, darkness sucking at his lungs, leaving him trembling in his seat. His hands twisted together on his legs as he bit his tongue and smiled. “I’m okay guys, just a little-”

Bokuto shot up, red-rimmed eyes glaring at Iwaizumi as he clutched at his chest. “For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just talk to me! Talk to Keiji! Stop shutting us out!”

They all froze, Akaashi with his arms outstretched for Bokuto, who stood there, tremors working through his body, fingers biting into his chest. Bokuto tore away a second later, feet slapping the floor as he darted back to their bedroom, agonizingly loud sobs tearing through the apartment. Iwaizumi’s chest hitched, all the air viciously torn from him as he stared after, the fainter sound of his wails breaking through the quiet. He slowly turned, eyes sliding to Akaashi.

Gray eyes blinked at him slowly, nothing showing behind the shroud of impassivity he’d pulled around himself.

Akaashi pressed his hands to his knees.

Rose.

Turned his back.

Iwaizumi lunged up, grabbed Akaashi’s wrist, the skin cool beneath his fingers. Akaashi whipped around tore his wrist from Iwaizumi’s grasp and turned a flinty glare on him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.”

Iwaizumi’s hand fell back to his side. His shoulders sagged. “Okay,” he whispered, pathetically quiet, and Akaashi jerked his head in a nod before he turned and stalked away, down the darkened hallway to the even darker bedroom where sharp cries still punctuated the quiet.

Helpless, he stared at the door, fingers twitching, but legs immobile. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He could barely feel the beat of his heart. His hands clenched tight, head tipping down until his chin touched his chest. Why am I such a shitty person? He had been for so long, enough that everyone thought he was mean and cruel to his best friend, that he was just a violent man with no hope of getting better. He’d hurt so many, and now he’d hurt Bokuto and Akaashi too - the two men he loved the most, with every fiber and scrap of his soul.

I hate myself. A breath shuddered out. “I hate myself,” he croaked to the empty living room.

No response came.

He closed his eyes. Slowly moved through the apartment, toes dragging on the floor as he crept through a place that no longer felt quite like home. He pushed his way into the guest bedroom. Shut the door. Pressed his forehead to it for a moment before he stripped down to his boxers and crawled into the bed, curled up tight and pressed his front to the wall. Another breath shuddered out. I can’t blame them if they hate me.

He was just so tired, an exhaustion that lay bone deep, sunk deep and impossible to remove, no matter how much he slept. Everything hurt, left him weak and trembling, and it was all he could do to breathe, to function. Iwaizumi pressed his hands to his face. Let a wry laugh bubble out as the tears finally flowed, just a scarce few.

From there, it was a swift descent into the slick self-loathing that welcomed him with open arms, familiar from the recent weeks and months.