𝒕𝒘 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕

Eleven voicemails.

Ten messages from you. 

He rakes his fingers through tousled, sweaty locks as he squints at his phone, still trying to catch his breath from an intense practice. 

It’s only one in the afternoon for him, nearing two. Meaning on the exact other side of the world you were still awake at the ungodly hours that are too late to be considered night and too early to be morning. 

There’s nothing intelligible in the texts, signaling to him your state of sobriety as he chuckles at the drunken mixture of numbers and words that make no sense. Another low laugh escaping as he quirks a brow at your choice of emojis.

He brings his phone to his ear, clicking on the first voicemail left for him.

“Tooru~ it’s so late here! B-But early for you, can you believe it? Guess who I saw?” Your words are slurred, the singsong tone you have on is achingly familiar, serving a reminder of all the times you would lovingly tease him. “Matsu~ kawa~” 

His throat tightens at the thought of you being alone with Mattsun, friend or not he was still a man. One that had an obvious crush back in high school. 

The first voicemail ends with that tidbit of information, the second and third only a few seconds long and sound more like you’re fumbling with your phone than anything else.

“You’re so mean Tooru, so cruel to me.” The next one starts, followed by an exasperated laugh and the words ‘so cruel’ whispered over and over again. “Mattsun’s looking at me like I’m c-crazy! He knows I’m calling you, he must, I just, I can believe you left so easily.” 

Oikawa scoffs at the comment about Matsukawa, a crease in his brow forming, paired with his lips pursing at your accusation of his leaving being anything remotely close to easy. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I hate you.” You choke on the word ‘hate’, mumbling something after the statement that he can’t quite make out, swearing he can hear someone saying your name as the message comes to an end. 

The next one is only a single second long, and a part of him wishes there were more, a part of him wishes it would stop. For a moment he considers deleting all of them, not wanting to risk the pain of listening and to spare you of the embarrassment. But a gnawing feeling, the same that still makes his heart pound at the sound of you saying his name leaves him tapping on the next voicemail.

“Why won’t you answer?” You cry out, the sound of a crowded bar filling the space between your words, “I just need to know please, I need to know.” 

It ends again, and once more he doesn’t think he can stomach listening to another one of these. 

“Do you think of me? Do you think of me all the time? Because,” there’s a sob, loud and broken that only sends another stabbing pain through his chest, your voice but a shaking whisper that tears at the still beating part of his heart, “because I can’t stop, for nearly three years, all I do is think of you.”

“It hurts, it hurts so much.” Your voice shakes and another sharp pain pierces his chest. “When does it stop hurting?”

It doesn’t, it hasn’t for him.

“Why won’t you come home?” A certain rage fills him, selfish, he thinks, that’s what you’re being. Were you really begging for him to abandon all that he’s worked for? Abandon the future he’s been fighting for since he began pursuing the sport he so loves? The message continues with another sniffle, now clearly hearing Matsukawa say your name.

“Hey Captain, I’m gonna take ‘em home, don't worry bout it, sorry if too much was said. Guess it was a bad day at work?” The deep voice is unwelcomed to his ears, the jealousy searing itself across his conscious feels damning. He wants to hate him, hate one of his closest friends all because he’s there by your side. 

“No! I want Tooru.” The voicemail drags along, the sound of Mattsun mumbling something unintelligible eventually has you relenting.

“It’s time to say goodbye.” 

“Bye Tooru, I miss you okay? A-And I’m sorry.” Your voice shakes, 

Whatever petty jealousy that filled him burns away, replaced with a familiar guilt that eats away whenever there’s a lull in his thoughts. 

His thumb hovers over the call button, what would he say?

I still love you but my life is here now? 

Or even utter the words that seemed to scream louder and louder in his mind, only making the back of his head throb.

Don’t go with Mattsun?

There’s not enough words or excuses in his head that would truly justify him calling, let alone him telling you what you should be doing with your life. He forfeited that right long ago. 

He resigns himself to sending a short text to Mattsun, something along the lines of thanking him and to keep you safe. He swallows back the bile rising in his throat, ignores the goading whispers in the back of his mind and pretends that everything is still okay.