Oikawa was in the bleachers, watching his girlfriend play. A Seijoh girl, that’s what they call her and her teammates. Her being a setter too, Oikawa was always excited to see her play or practice. Often they would play together (even on some cute dates). Today, however, the Seijoh Girls were losing to what everyone thought was an inferior team. All the spikers were already blocked at least once. But they kept trying. The Seijoh supporters went silent, it had been like this for a while already. And Oikawa could see everything, his face showing how he was analysing this match.
Seijoh lost. 20-25 18-25.
Oikawa waited for his girl outside the locker room. She was one of the last to come out, and while the other players exited, all Oikawa could say was “you did a good job”. When Y/n came out, the first thing she did was hug her boyfriend. He hugged her back, trying to appear comforting, although he had many things to say. He got her bag and they walked outside. He would walk her home. The first 10 minutes were silent, Oikawa could see on her face that the defeat was still in her mind. But after that she became more talkative and jokey. That was what encouraged Oikawa to vocalise his thoughts. How could she be behaving like that after such a humiliating loss?
“You know this is all your fault, right?” — that’s what Oikawa had to say. Being a setter, he couldn't help but notice how bad of a player his girl was.
He sensed her stopping, and he looked back.
“What?” — was all she could muster.
“Yeah, you know it. All your attackers were blocked heavily. That’s the setter’s fault. Your sets were off and clearly predictable. It was a poorly done job.”
“Tooru… why that?” — her voice and expression were filled with hurt, betrayal, insecurity.
“You know why, Y/n! I’m a great setter and we are in a relationship. There will be expectations and you should be able to meet them. I assumed you to the public, there will be eyes on you! And doing what you did today… you'll only be embarrassing yourself.”.
“I… I did my best!”.
“Well, clearly your best isn't enough. Maybe think about today when you decide to skip practice like you always do. You're not good enough to give yourself these privileges.”.
She didn’t answer. She knows she shouldn’t. If that's what Oikawa was feeling about her technique, she knew he meant it with the best intentions. He was the best afterall. He let her back at her house before walking away. That night all she could think of was his words, and the game, and the blocks, and her missed serves. Disaster was all she could remember of that day.
---
The next day, Y/n woke up earlier, much earlier than usual. Taking a volleyball, she went jogging to school. There, she trained her sets outside the gym. After a while the volleyball team boys arrived for the morning training. Her boyfriend spotted her. She was training, she wanted to improve. He was surprised.
“Good morning, Y/n!”
“Tooru…?” — she looks at him as she holds the volleyball, stopping the sets.
“Are you training, baby?” — he asks as he hugs her from behind. She hardens at his touch.
“Yeah”
“Soo good um?” — he says, giving a peck on her cheek. — "I'll come help you when practice is over, okay?”.
Y/n nods, not paying much attention to him, focusing on improving herself. Oikawa notices it. That’s why he leaves practice early and helps Y/n on her technique. At lunch, he explains to her a lot of volleyball strategies. And he watches the girls practice also, focusing especially on her. That night, when he walked her home, Oikawa couldn’t help but criticize her more.
“Yeah, you improved your technique but you were still distributing your sets dumbly. No strategy whatsoever. I’ll have a match next week, maybe, more than cheering, you should be taking notes.”.
And that’s what she did. Not only at the game, but everyday. Overworked her body and mind, wanting to become a better player and stop relying on her boyfriend’s shadow, who everyday had a new thing to say about her: “your serve is shit”, “jump higher, block more”, “your set is too close to the net”, “too far”, “eat healthier”, “do more running, you are too heavy on the court”. She felt ashamed, a failure, but she kept listening and going to Tooru for help. She wanted to do better, and even remembering that match where she led the team to defeat made her feel devastated. She started doing some weight work, running and also playing with the boys team when she had the change. Her friends would tell her to take it easy, but any new muscle or joint pain she had was a confirmation that she was on the right path. Her boyfriend also had his injuries, right? And that’s a sign that he puts up much effort.
---
Only a month later is when the next Seijoh girls match comes. Against another not so strong team, but it’s clear that the students are not very hopeful with the outcome, not many people are expected in the gymnasium. Oikawa spends the whole week trying to instruct her, but he keeps destroying her confidence: “you jump everyday and still look like you jump lower each time”, “maybe you should be a libero, your forearm passes are decent”, “where would you set the ball?” while showing a situation on a clipboard “so predictable”, “please, don’t do this on the match”, “in that way, your serve won’t go past the net”. And all that only gave her the need to practice even more. Now, she had tape on all her fingers (after trying to block her boyfriend’s spikes, or getting wrong contact with the ball while setting) and pains she never even had before. It would all pay off.
Match day came, Y/n put on her uniform and warmed up with the girls. After the warm up was over and she was walking to the coach, Oikawa called her. She walked closer to the stands and all he said was “you can do it, just do the basics” and kissed her on the cheek. He had really high hopes for her because he saw how she put effort into improving, even if she wasn’t the best and probably didn’t have any more potential. Oikawa even brought a notebook to put all his thoughts down and later have a talk with her.
The game started and Seijoh was doing well. Y/n sets were still predictable but they were a bit quicker, managing to escape the block more times. Her serves were not hard to receive but they were getting to the other side of the court. But the block was her biggest difficulty. She wasn’t that tall, and she also couldn't jump high. The first set ended 25-23 to Seijoh, which began to bring more people to the gymnasium. From the stands, she heard Oikawa say she should’ve been more focused when jumping up to block. And that’s what she did on the second set, giving all her energy on jumping as high as she could and doing the right movements so her arms would invade the spiker space.
That’s how she got her first block in the match. Her movements were done right and the good job ended in a monster block on the wing spiker of the other team. She only felt the strong hit of the ball in her arms before she was going back to the floor. She didn’t look where she was landing, her eyes closed from emotion. Next thing everyone heard was an agonising scream.
---
notes: hey this is my first fanfic so I'm sorry if it's out of character. I tried to do some angst but I didn't shed a tear, maybe I'm self projecting.
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Title: Fickle Love
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Character: Oikawa Tooru
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 1810
Extra Info: From my dA!!! Originally written in 2017 sometime hehe ;; i tried to do something a bit different with the formatting here, but idk. one day i’ll revise this i know dkhskjfhs
一
She first told him that she loved him on a crisp winter's day.
When snow blanketed the ground and dusted his hair, like somebody had sieved small amounts of frosting sugar through his hair to give him a sweeter appearance. When the trees groaned and wept their loss of green leaves, long lost to the bitterness of the biting temperatures that had seized hold of the city, yet the city was in high spirits. For decorations covered every crevice of the town, and the atmosphere that the warm colours set off melted the stand-offish feeling that had crept into his heart.
So for once, he didn't ignore the girl who had confessed. He didn't walk straight past her with nothing more than a sideways glance.
Instead, he turned to face her. Really face her. Taking in her features, from the curve of her jaw to the bridge of her nose and the shape and colour of her eyes. The way she wore her hair beneath the hat she wore and the way her scarf almost covered the lower part of her face, shadowing her bottom lip.
And he allowed a smile to tip his lips upwards, crinkling his eyes slightly as he observed her.
A smile that froze as he processed her words again in his mind, and the only response that he could think of was one that sang of melancholia and poisoned hope.
How can you love someone who’s dying?
二
He kissed her only a week later.
When the frost of the winter was indelible, sinking into every bone in his body and loading him down with a feverish chill that made him wish he’d taken to his bed and stayed there all day. But he’d opted to leave, to go and meet the girl who’d said she loved him. The girl who’d had their confession accepted by him, and had arranged a date for them.
And they’d sat in the warm confines of a coffee shop, in the late hours of the morning, discussing familial matters and how much had changed since they’d both gone their separate ways to different universities. And what they wished to do with their future, to which he’d shot her a sad smile and simply held his coffee cup in his hands a slight bit tighter.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know he was sick. Everyone knew that the young, once prestigous volleyball setter had become sick. It was something of common knowledge.
She just didn’t know he was dying. That was something he’d chose to keep private.
And he didn’t want her to lose hope.
So he took her face in his cold hands, practically frozen against the delicate warmth of her skin, as though his body was already dead. And he leant into her, his lips gently pressing against her own ones. Nothing outstanding, just something short and sweet and gentle. There wasn’t a spark that he noticed, but he didn’t miss the faint blush running to her cheeks as they parted and she gazed up at him.
“Tooru, you idiot. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed on my first date,” she grumbled.
“Hmm?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice as he shoved his cool hands into his pockets, “well, life’s too short to pace yourself.”
三
He didn’t intend on her ever finding out, regardless of how selfish that sounded or how heartless it seemed to be to lead her on. It was in his best intentions to turn away from her, to walk away before he got too emotionally invested with a person who deserved more than he could ever offer them.
He stared at himself in the mirror. At the grave circles underneath his eyes and the way the light could accentuate each and every rib he had. A clear outline that made him feel sick, weak, pathetic, at the boy who stared back at him.
And he asked himself, his voice a decibel below a whisper, barely a rasp:
“What does she see in me?”
And he resolved, then and there, in his heart, to shut things off before they escalated.
She didn’t love him really anyway. It was more an infatuation. Love takes time to grow, and he didn’t have that.
四
“(Y/N)? I need to talk to you,”
“Sure, Tooru. What’s up?”
“I don’t think this is working out.”
“Wh… you can’t just say that,”
“I just did.”
“You can’t. You can’t say that. You can’t break up with me over a phone call when- when you just kissed me!”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not breaking up with me. We’re not breaking up, Toor-”
The line went blank.
So she tried, and tried and tried and tried, to phone him again. Only to receive the same monotonous message each time.
“The person you are calling isn’t available right now. Please try again, or leave a message after the beep.”
五
You have 50 new messages, 6 voicemails, and 18 missed calls from (Y/N)!
Sighing, he tapped out a message, allowing his heart to freeze over with a familiar frost as his fingers flew across the screen.
Tooru:
Stop messaging me. We’re over. It’d be best if you didn’t try to contact me again.
六
His head hurt. His heart hurt.
He didn’t know why - perhaps it was the illness that was ravaging his body, perhaps it was the burden that this situation had caused. He didn’t know why. Why he’d stopped that day in the park, why he’d listened to her say the things she said, about how she liked him - maybe even loved him.
It was a hammering pain, searing through his temples. Unbearable, despite the number of chemicals that he’d tried to down to eat up the pain. Nothing. Just a white noise in his mind, cotton balls stuffed in his head, and the thudding pain that raged on.
That was all he could remember about his day when his head met his pillow.
A familiar beat of sadness. Of pain.
He wanted it to end.
七
“Iwaizumi?”
He was propped up in a hospital bed now. Staring down at the white bedsheets and trying, trying trying trying to make sense of the words he wanted to say. But there was a blockage, and his brain didn’t want to say the things his heart wanted to say. Iwaizumi knew that.
So when the words left his mouth, Iwaizumi didn’t think much of it.
Just a sick man talking, a sick man whose state of mind was frighteningly deteriorating out of control.
“I don’t think I deserve to be alive anymore,”
“Shut up. Get back to sleep.”
“No. Seriously. It must be karma or something, right? That’s made me get sick. Nature’s way of telling me that I’m a terrible person. That I don’t deserve this life, because I only mess things up all the time and- and… I’m satisfied with that, somehow.” His eyes glazed over with tears at the realisation of the weight of the statement he’d just made.
He was satisfied with the fact that he was dying.
But he couldn’t find a bone in his body that protested to this fact.
八
“Hello? This is (Y/N) speaking.”
“It’s Oikawa Tooru’s mother.”
She felt her heart plummet at the words, at the broken tone she used and the formalities that laced every grief-stricken word she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“He wants you here, at the hospital.”
The hospital?
(Y/N)’s hands lost their grip on her phone, feeling her heart lurch in her throat and her stomach work itself into knots.
She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up, out of fear or the cold that had been developing over the past few days, she knew not.
But she knew one thing.
She had to see Oikawa Tooru once more. Or she’d be damned.
Even though she wanted to scream at him, to slap his face and throw a vase at him like what happens in break-ups on the big screen. Even though her heart sank at the mere thought of his family name, she knew she had to see him.
九
“Honestly, (Y/N), I didn’t think you’d come.”
She shook her head, “why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I don’t… deserve you. I don’t deserve someone who loves me, yet I can’t even return an ounce of that love to you,” he mumbled, “I’m a really crappy person, when you get down to it.”
She didn’t answer him, and he didn’t say anything more, just stared at the plain ceiling that had began to swim in front of his eyes.
You didn’t do anything wrong to deserve such a terrible partner, honestly. I don’t- I just… I feel disgusted that I somehow made you love me. Me, someone who doesn’t even deserve to be living, to be breathing. Me, who’s played with so many people’s feelings and hearts and ruined lives. Me, a homewrecker, a cheat, a liar. Me, Oikawa Tooru, the lying man who’s finally paying the price.
She grabs hold of his hand.
And she knows it’s futile, really. Because she can’t make him love her back. But she does it anyway. As if her actions are somewhat healing, a reparation to permanent damage.
The words stick in his throat, and he doesn’t manage to say anything that he wants to say.
But the ghosts of the syllables and letters hang above them like a spirit, a wisp of a soul, a ghost from long ago that looms over their heads and will continue to do until time indefinite.
十
She last told him she loved him on a crisp spring day.
When the warmth of spring had drank up the remnants of snow that had stuck to the ground for weeks, and a brief February shower had washed away the last of the sludge-like snow that remained adamant on staying. When the breeze was still fairly cold, but there was a new warm chill to it that whispered of new beginnings whenever it gushed past her, whenever its warm caress tickled her ears.
She kneeled down by the gravestone, a lump in her throat as she lay down the white lilies and her heart ached with a pain that hadn’t gone away since that day when she’d last clasped his deathly cold hand.
But she allowed a smile to dust itself across her lips as the words left her mouth. A long, slow, sigh that shuddered as it rattled through her bones and exited her mouth.
“I love you, still.”
Even though a question had slowly been working its way around her chest, a serpent tightening itself round and round her body, starving her lungs of oxygen as she looked at the grave with a last withering glance.
