#missedpoint

       he grumbles at the cup in his hand, lower lip jutting out a bit. of course makki is insufferably wonderful at reading tea leaves ( oikawa has a theory that it’s because he and mattsun are actually cryptids ). 

        the second worst thing about divination is that they have it with the gryffindors ( which is also, the second best thing about divination because it means he gets to annoy iwa-chan but oikawa will take an unbreakable vow never to speak of aliens again before he admits that out loud ).

        he sets his cup down in front of makki ( who lifts it immediately and says something cryptic about his fate that oikawa doesn’t listen to ) and rests his chin delicately in his palm, dreamily glancing out the window. 

no life signal, good job, boys, come on home. oikawa had been holding his breath, waiting for that confirmed. he huffs an affirmative over the com, roger that, and cuts their communication. it’s another kill in their ever growing ledger ; a category four, at that. for a second there, it had given them a run for their money, too.

“ makes cat. twos seem like a piece ‘o cake, mm, iwa-chan? ”  he says it outloud even though he doesn’t have to ; his head swimming with the adrenaline of combat and the relief of victory ; pride swells, a shimmery feeling. he can’t tell who it belongs to in the drift but it doesn’t really matter. probably both of us, he thinks. or maybe iwaizumi thinks. he laughs, lightheaded — exhausted.

the whole way back to base, he lets the accomplishment outweigh everything else ; shoulder claps and applause await them in the shatterdome. oikawa flashes pearly whites and bright eyes, offering his support and praise to their flank pilots and the rest of the team. it feels a little more like going through the motions than experiencing the moment. his gaze wanders to iwaizumi, too tired to prod properly at their bond but heady nevertheless.

how strange it is to wish, however briefly, that he were an actual basilisk and this glare was enough to make his victims drop dead. sharp eyes, as dangerous as the wizard they belong to, cut their gaze across the great hall with one particular target in mind. 

he watches kindaichi’s hand rest a touch too friendly against iwaizumi’s arm and clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. tch. he’s on his feet and halfway across the hall before he’s made the active decision to move. he paints a fux smile across his face and quips a bright, sugary sweet greeting.  

homework is finished,  training has been cancelled on account of the weather. the ever present voice in the back of his mind that nags constant reminders of all he still has to do has quieted. a sweet rarity this is ; an evening where oikawa has nothing more pressing to do than curl up on the sofa and relax. he finally has time to sit down and watch the second season of stranger things TWO MONTHS later. the icing on the cake is that saturdays happen to be the day that iwaizumi comes home earlier than usual.

nonverbal starters — push my muse down to give them medical attention / ac.

he’s never been afraid of heights. figuratively or literally. however, it turns out six feet is quite the distance to fall. it knocks the wind out of him. the added benefit of a concrete floor as a landing pad is probably to blame for that. the initial impact likely makes no noise to the crowd, a tree among a screaming forest— but he hears his head collide with the ground in intimate detail. twice.

adrenaline merges with humiliation as he realizes the full brunt of what’s happened. five hundred plus people just witnessed him fall off a stage, in person.

the song stutters to a halt, or at least he thinks it does but the ringing in his ears can’t focus on anything for a good ten seconds. when sound comes rushing back in, it’s the gasps of the crowd that clutters swimming senses ; they alternate between screams of concern and gasp uneasy laughter. baited breaths, the whole of them, waiting to see what the damage is. 

someone familiar yells his name. makki, he thinks. he sounds far away.

oikawa scrambles up to his feet and then crumples again, grasping at the barriers that he hadn’t knocked down ; gasping for breath. the pain hasn’t hit him fully but he can feel the throbbing in his temples, the tenderness of leg that can’t fully support his weight. he scrambles again, back to the side of the stage this time, clutching at the edge. he can barely see over it but makki is flat on his stomach, speaking too lowly for oikawa to make out of the words. there are two of him. 

apologies tumble off oikawa lips, wide eyes flickering between the security flocking to his side and the fans he’s landed in front of. he isn’t sure who he’s apologizing to. maybe everyone. 

his name again, not makki this time but someone familiar. a callus hand grabs his arm. iwaizumi. 

oikawa nearly falls into him, only relieved for the moment he has to think: i’m saved before pain rushes in with nauseating speed. iwa-chan. he thinks he says it out loud but he can’t tell if he opened his mouth.

the world fades out, in, back out in long blinks. he’s not being carried but it’s a near thing.iwaizumi speaks lowly, something on the verge of soothing. he thinks he’s probably calling him an idiot. only idiots fall off stage and give themselves concussions. he hopes his knee isn’t broken.

when the world commits to being a stable thing, it’s in a nearly empty dressing room. oikawa is certain he’s going to be sick. he’s just glad it wasn’t in front of the crowd. iwaizumi hangs out the doorway, calling for a fucking medic. a water bottle is put into his hand at some point. he watches it tremble ; doesn’t remember taking a sip but can feel the swallow of it going down. the pain subsides, briefly, without the weight and movement of his body.he downs the water bottle and convinces himself he’s fine when the urge to vomit subsides as well.

it takes all of two seconds of this relief for him to realize they had not finished the set and subsequently, he’s letting people down. 

“ there’s two s-songs left... i have to get back—  ” he stands, testing the amount of weight he can put on his bad knee and hisses through his teeth. 

almost immediately, there’s a hand on his chest, shoving him back into the metal chair.  “ like hell you do. sit the fuck down before you make it worse. ” 

tears bead at the corners of his eyes - or maybe they’d already been there and it’s only now that they brim the edges earnestly. pain and humiliation are one thing but being a disappointment is another. he has a job to do, people are counting on him, and if he lets them down now, who’s to say they’ll come back? what if this is it? what if he’s just ruined the band. what if he’s just ruined himself. 

“ iwaizumi— i h-have to... i have to get back out there... ”  still, oikawa pleads with the universe to let him come out on top of this ; for just a little more luck, please. 

“ i know, oikawa— but not now. you’ll be back on stage before you know it. not now. ”  there’s a pause and for all that it’s worth, iwaizumi sounds just as disappointed by this.

defeat, as it turns out, is about six foot drop and a mild concussion. he doesn’t try to stand again— in fairly certain that he can’t now. the room spins when he closes his eyes. hands clutch at a shirt front, looking for something to ground him.  “ it hurts— ”  he means not being able to do anything.

“ i know— let me see. ”  iwaizumi untangles the fingers in his shirt front to presumably attend to his knee injury but oikawa only latches onto one of his hands instead, resting his forehead against iwaizumi’s chest. he stays there, wallowing in defeat and forced to stay awake until the medic arrives.

 “ it hurts— ”  he repeats, exhausted. he means all of it.

pain is a snarled expression hid behind the steam of a coffee mug.