#sevenmoremillimeters

+ sevenmoremillimeters

"If there’s anyone that’ll need to be saved it’s you if you keep on saying shit like that." He calmly replies, even though his hand is tightly clenched at his side and his eyes are trained sharply on the younger crow. If he hadn’t been so damn hungry he would have declined after all and just left.

Living in the outskirts of town had its disadventages when you had a tournament in the centre and were too lazy to just go home and eat something there. Of course a decision could still be made to leave this whole situation behind and go the hell home, but that would just mean he was running away and he couldn’t let the other have the satisfaction of witnessing his upperclassman flee.

He was really hungry though, so he somehow managed to keep himself from hitting the other upside the head and ruining every chance he had of the other treating him to dinner. “I know a good place for ramen not far from here, I mean I don’t know where you were headed but. Whatever is fine though.” His voice was strained and he bet Tsukishima noticed that he was only playing at being nice but he couldn’t care less about that now.

Tsukishima let a loud laugh erupt from his chest, reaching up to cover his mouth, a sneer still lingering. It was good to have someone that responded to his teasing so honestly. The blond was growing tired to put himself into sarcasm contests and the shorter seemed like a good change.

"Well, I didn't actually choose where I'm eating so maybe if you take me to this good place maybe I'll overlook the fact that you need to pay me later. Shall we go?" Not only Tsukishima noticed how strained his voice was but also took no time to completely dismiss it. He was known not to fear the kinds of Iwaizumi or maybe he just didn't care if the other simply hit him.

÷ ➙ a depressed text

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(3:48am)] i have to wake up for school in less than 2 hours, i stayed up all night overthinking stupid things again and i never told you until just now but i hated kageyama so fucking much because he wanted all that i had and i was scared, i was being replaced, he wanted everything my title my role on the team and i thought he wanted you too and sometimes when you hit me you kinda remind me of my dad but that's ok i just really love you and i don't know what to do about it im sorry

[Delete] [(Yes)/No][Message Deleted]

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(5:01am)] good morning iwa-chan!! ! ♡ lets have a wonderful day ok!!

& ➙ a curious text

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(4:52pm)] do u wanna go on a date with me, iwa-chan? a /date/ date

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(4:53pm)] we could always go get some ramen, unless u want fancy. ive got enough $$ saved up to treat u ♡♡

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(4:53pm)] and maybe we can go to a movie afterwards? what would u want to see?

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(4:54pm)] unless u wanna just....stay in? hahaha idek ♡

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(4:56pm)] but uh, yeah. lets go do something together. i miss u.

@ ➙ a middle of the night text

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(12:51am)] i dreamed about u again

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(12:51am)] it was a very good dream, hajime-chan. u look rly wonderful in a maids outfit ♡♡ u look even more wonderful in my lap while ur in a maids outfit btw

[text ➙ iwa-chan≧ε≦(12:53am)] can i come over?

& for a curious text

To: Iwaizumi [sent 5:23pm]

○ nervous habits

tooru is fantastic a hiding his nervousness. being a captain, he considers it part of his duties as a leader to ensure that his teammates never see frazzled. he does have a few nervous tells, though! particularly his nervous lip biting. it’s not very noticeable, so only close friends, like iwaizumi, have probably noticed the way he chews on his bottom lip if he’s ever unsettled or in a pinch.

○ ideal birthday

an ideal birthday would actually be something small, something intimate. maybe even romantic, if he’s with a certain someone. tooru has done the whole huge party with everyone and anyone invited shtick, and honestly, he doesn’t care for it as much as he let’s on. what would actually make his day would be a quiet night out to a nice restaurant, then a trip to a planetarium. no binge drinking, no loud music. he’d like a birthday where someone takes him to see what he actually likes for once without making fun of him for it — outer space and the stars.

○ time-wasting habits

tooru doesn’t like to waste time. even as frivolous as he can be, it drives him crazy to be doing a task that feels useless or unnecessary. if it isn’t at least fun, then it’s purposeless to him and he tends to get very anxious and restless, bouncing his legs and worrying his lips between his teeth. when tooru needs to burn some time by himself, he’ll study or read, maybe even study up on some volleyball tactics if his computer or phone is on hand. but if other people can be accessed, you can be that tooru will go find iwaizumi or kuroo to go do something with.

○ texting habits

□■□

Oikawa tosses to Iwaizumi in a pinch. When the Grand King’s cheek is pressed to the hot black rock of the executioner’s block, the finishing blow to Aobajousai hanging above the vulnerable necks of Oikawa’s beloved team like a terrible scythe with termination glinting upon its cruel silver edge — he will toss to Iwaizumi. And off the court, when Tooru’s life is falling to pieces right before his very eyes? He’ll still run to Iwaizumi.

Trust. Tooru trusts Iwaizumi. He trusts him with his tosses, the strategies he spends hours agonizing over, and the ultimate outcome of their matches when the going gets rough. He trusts him with his secrets — his sexuality, his dorky interests and genuine personality — and his fatal flaws — his penchance for self-loathing, self-harm. When Oikawa stopped eating, he came to Iwaizumi; they ate their meals together until hunger finally returned to his rebellious stomach without the reassurance of Iwaizumi’s watchful gaze upon his chopsticks. When Oikawa stopped sleeping, he went to Iwaizumi; he spent every moment he could over at his ace’s house, pressing himself against Hajime’s broad back and burying his face between the sharp lines of his shoulder blades until the gut-knotting anxiety eased and Tooru, having conquered his pattern of insomnia, could sleep soundly again. Oikawa would entrust even his life to Iwaizumi without a moment of doubt or hesitation.

And that’s why he’s running to Hajime.

The Grand King looks simply terrified — and he is. Tooru’s wide amber eyes are bright and sharp with wild light; his hair, usually soft, wavy, and delicately sweet-smelling, is an uncharacteristic mess pushed hastily under the hood of his sweatshirt. Something has happened to him, something upsetting; it’s obvious enough to see. All he has is his wallet, hoodie, and a mismatched pair of sneakers on his feet. He’s still in the sweatpants he wears to bed. No cellphone, either. It’s charging on his bedside table back at home.

Guilt shreds Oikawa’s already tumultuous, terror-knotted insides. He’s…he’s really going to owe Iwaizumi for this one…and what time is it, anyway? He hasn’t a clue, but it surely must be very late…

Tooru hasn’t got any other option, though. He could think of only one safe place for him to go — and that’s here.

He paces outside of Iwaizumi’s house for a good fifteen minutes, clenching his white-knuckled hands tightly together as he attempts to calm himself down. He must calm down — has to — because Iwaizumi can’t…can’t…know what has happened to Tooru. At least, not what has really happened to him. Iwaizumi absolutely cannot find out that Oikawa’s father came home blindingly drunk again, waking the entire house with his violent, slurred profanity and the cacophony of shattering glass brought about by his swinging fists. Iwa-chan can’t be told the truth because then he’ll figure out that Tooru’s drunken father must be the reason why half of Tooru’s face is swollen as large as a grapefruit and already turning a bruised purple-red hue, and if Iwaizumi knows that, then Oikawa will end up telling him everything — that his dad dragged him out of bed by his hair and threw him around and screamed “faggot!" in his face. And that just can’t happen…not when more trouble would be the worst thing for his family.

The cold doesn't help. It merely amplifies Oikawa’s shaking and gives his ghostly pale lips a bluish tint. “Iwa-chan…” He calls softly, giving the door a few more quiet knocks. Oh god, what’s he going to do if Iwaizumi’s parents answer, what then—…but they don’t. Tooru nearly cries with relief at the gruff, growling sound of his dear friend’s voice.

It’s not unusual for Hajime to wrestle with Tooru. In fact, it’s a regular game of theirs — although Iwa-chan might beg to differ, considering the unofficial rules are something like “try to piss Iwaizumi off to the point where he tackles you to the ground and literally puts you in a headlock”. If anything, it would be highly irregular for Hajime to not be physical with his setter. Iwaizumi isn’t a gentle person and that’s a good thing, a very good thing, because Oikawa desperately needs an acid to counter his base; a low, throaty bass note to his dulcet soprano. He likes to be roughed up by his Iwa-chan; that’s the whole secret of it, although he’d never admit such a masochistic thought to anyone. If he didn’t enjoy it to an extent, Tooru would’ve found another occupant of his time long ago, way back when they were mere children peeking out at each other from behind the legs of their mothers’ at the park. Truthfully, he just doesn’t mind being pushed around by Iwaizumi’s solid, sturdy muscle; he’s a willing participant, a laughing boy partaking in a silly playground game, all the way up until the pain grows just a tad bit too much to bear and the game must end.

Today’s arena for their wrestling match was the locker room. As usual, they were the final two still there after practice, and the gross, eggshell-white tile flooring still smelled disgustingly like sweaty feet. Tooru would know, considering his face was currently pressed to the ground. Surely neither of them had a more pleasant aroma clinging to their slick skin, considering they haven’t yet had the chance to change out of their sweat-soaked uniforms and take a shower, but Oikawa was an unhappy camper nonetheless.

He’s incurred Hajime’s wrath this round by refusing to stop imquiring about whom it might be on the girl’s volleyball team that Iwaizumi has a crush on. Tooru’s curiosity had simply been too great ever since he’d heard that rumor about Iwa-chan at lunch…and his intrigue over the matter has only gotten him a face-full of foot floor. It always goes something like this: Oikawa purposefully ruffles some feathers with his playful words, Iwaizumi throws him down, and they roll together in a pile of entangled limbs until Iwa-chan’s sturdy, rock-hard muscles finally overpower his leaner, more supple frame.

Hajime has him firmly pinned beneath the bulk of his weight, gripping both of Tooru’s hands in one of his own so he may hold down the setter’s squirming hips with the other. Oikawa is finished; he’s as trapped as the fox misfortunate enough to run right into the mouth of the pursuing hound. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. I won’t ask anymore…a-ah!” Tooru’s beestung lips form a small ‘o’ of pain, his sweat-dotted brow creasing slightly. “…Ouch, Iwa-chan, you’re holding me too tightly…o-ooh, how interesting…! You really are angry today! I wonder w—”

Tooru worms around ever so slightly and all of a sudden, Iwaizumi’s thigh is pressed flush against his hip. And Iwa-chan is…hard.

"Please don’t go where I can’t follow."

Oikawa is reaching out for Iwaizumi, extending his arm to its very limits…but it’s no good, no good at all—

No matter how fast he runs, Iwaizumi is always just out of reach…and no matter the distance he does manage to close between them, he always trips and falls right before his fingertips can graze Iwaizumi’s shoulder—

He falls again and his knees are scraped raw at this point, but Iwaizumi doesn’t stop; Iwaizumi might as well be deaf, deaf to Oikawa’s tearful screams, and all Tooru can do is keep chasing with blood flowing down his shins and palms desperately outstretched, he has to—

He has to stay with Iwaizumi because he needs him, he needs him…oh god, oh god, he needs him so much—

"Please…! Please Iwaizumi, wait for me…! Don’t leave me behind…I-I’ll be better, I promise! I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just don’t…d-don’t go, please, I need you so much…! PLEASE—”

Oikawa wakes with a jarring jerk of the head, bolting upright in his seat powerfully enough to smack his skull against the window. They’re on the bus coming back home from a winning  match, if his sluggish, hazy mind remembers correctly. His skin is pallid and entirely drained of color, as well as covered in a very light sheen of sweat…but Iwaizumi is there, he’s  there in the seat besides him, and that’s all that matters.

It was all just one horrible dream. Iwaizumi hasn’t abandoned him…not yet, at least. Not yet. Not if he has anything to say about it, that’s for sure. Enticed back to sleep by the steady, soothing rhythm of Iwaizumi’s breathing, Oikawa allows himself to fall back to sleep.