#Hurt Paris

[iwaoiness]

When Argentina loses to Japan, Iwaizumi is there, crossing the net to reach Oikawa, who has fallen to his knees, hiding his face in his shirt collar, his shoulders trembling with broken sobs. Hajime wraps his arms around him, and Tooru collapses into the hug. There are no words in Spanish, English, or Japanese that can alleviate the sadness, the failure, and the defeat.

When Japan wins the set needed to advance to the quarter-finals, Oikawa stumbles out of his seat and runs onto the playing area, leaping over the billboard to the surprise of many fans, with a toothy, proud smile. Hajime looks up with teary eyes and lets out a wet laugh, catching Tooru in his arms as he leaps onto him, holding him tightly. There are words, "I'm so, so proud of you, mi vida", "you did it, I love you, I love you, I love you", "the quarter-finals, damn it, I knew you'd make it," soft and sweet, just for Hajime.

When Argentina suffers another defeat, Iwaizumi doesn't let Oikawa sleep in his own room. He drags him to his, and they shower together. Iwaizumi leaves him clothes with the promise that this time Oikawa will return them (which, of course, he doesn't). He applies kinesiotape strips to Oikawa's shoulders and arms, and then they watch their favorite movie on the laptop, cuddled up in the tiny bed. They talk about the movie, laughing at the most absurd scenes. Tooru lies with half his body resting on Hajime's, his head nestled against Hajime's broad chest. Hajime's hand roams through Tooru's hair for a while before wandering down his strong back. As they prepare to sleep, Iwaizumi holds him tightly, kisses his forehead, and whispers there’s no one like you out there, you are the greatest player the world has ever known, this is just another step towards the top, I love you and you are my pride.

When Italy eliminates Japan, Oikawa stands among the Japanese fans, giving a standing ovation to the team. He tries not to cry, fighting the sting in his eyes and the burn in his nose. But when he sees Iwa-chan bow towards the stands with the rest of the team in deep gratitude, when he sees Iwa-chan wiping away his tears with his sleeves, when he sees Hajime comforting a defeated Hinata, Atsumu, and Kageyama with pats on the back and hands in their hair, when he sees Iwa-chan checking to make sure the rest of the players are okay, and then searching the stands for him, giving him a sad smile, Tooru breaks down too. He comes down from the stands, and there is Hajime waiting. They hug, sinking into each other’s arms because there’s nowhere else in the world they’d rather be. Oikawa becomes Iwaizumi’s solid pillar, catching his sobs, sinking his fingers into his hair, and gently rubbing his back.

“Why are you crying so much, Iwa-chan? You're going to get snot all over my shirt!” Tooru teases, though he’s not much better, with teary eyes and a red nose. He lifts his head just to cradle Iwaizumi’s face in his hands, gently brushing his wet cheeks with his thumbs. When Hajime’s eyes meet his, he smiles softly. “It’s okay, my love, it’s all Tobio-chan’s fault. Geez, couldn’t he have paid more attention to the Italians when they were talking during the game?”

Despite himself, Hajime laughs, leaning into Oikawa’s touch, leaving a sweet kiss on the palm of his hand.

“That applies to you too, you know? We beat you, and as far as I remember, Japanese is your native language.”

“I was paying a lot of attention, but you kept covering your faces every time you talked!” he protested childishly.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, amused, before sighing and resting his forehead on Oikawa’s shoulder, feeling heavy and exhausted. Tooru kissed his cheek, resting his own against Hajime’s head while hugging him again, feeling the strong arms of the love of his life tighten around his waist.

“I wanted to win so much,” then he whispered, small and weak. “Not just for me, or my parents, or the team, or the country. Also for you. Especially for you. I wanted to share the fucking podium with you, Tooru. To share the medal like you did with me in Tokyo.”

Tooru wants to tear his heart out. He wants to sell his soul to the Olympic committee to redo these Olympics Games and start over. He wants to show that they are the strongest six. He wants Iwa-chan to prove it too. He wants them both to reach the highest peak, to face each other at the top.

He hates losing. He hates the taste of failure, salty and wet. He hates defeat.

But he also understands that this is volleyball too. Two teams separated by a net, bouncing a ball back and forth. The ball isn’t allowed to touch the floor, isn’t allowed to be carried but to be connected. Volleyball is also fun, even in defeat. Because it makes you stronger and because losing doesn’t mean the sport disappears forever.

“You will,” Tooru says, his voice grave, honest, and unwavering. You will because I believe in you. You will because this isn’t the end. You will because we’ll keep playing volleyball. "We will. The next Olympics will be in Los Angeles, and I'm going to kick your ass there, Hajime. I’ll reach the podium first, I’ll share the medal with you again, and it will be the gold.”

Iwaizumi snorts, snuggling into Oikawa’s shoulder for a few more seconds before lifting his head again. He cried again. His eyes are still wet, the skin beneath them red, trails of tears crossing his cheeks. But he smiles, wide and sincere.

“As if I’d let you beat me, babe. I’ll be the one taking you to the podium first.”

“Oho, Iwa-chan, do I smell a bet?” Tooru intertwining his hands behind Hajime’s neck.

“If I reach the podium, the honeymoon will be in Philippines.”

“And if I reach it first, it’ll be in Bali.”

“Deal.”

“Kiss to close the deal?”

“What about the handshake?”

“Bleh, boring!”

Hajime laughs, leaning in to rub his nose against Oikawa’s.

“Thank you,” he whispers against his lips, half-closing his eyes “for everything, Tooru.”

And Oikawa smiles, sweet and completely in love.

“That’s my line.” And with that, they kiss in the middle of the Paris Olympic Stadium.

...

as furudate once said: today you are the defeated, but what will you become tomorrow?

u can find this and me on my ao3 🍉

[who-do-i-know-this-man]

⚠️Vote for whomever YOU DO NOT KNOW⚠️‼️

[frazzledsoul]

My toxic trait as a Luke/Lorelai fan (other than not caring that much that they didn't have kids of their own) is definitely thinking the Christopher/Lorelai marriage, as an event that happened and lasted all of five minutes, is not really that much of an aberration. She already did the one thing she could do that would hurt Luke the most, he told her he'd be civil but he didn't really want anything to do with her and moved on with his life, she isolated herself from Stars Hollow and let him keep their friends...Christopher shows up and gives a big romantic speech and says he wants to try, plus he does all the things she wanted Luke to do, like let her spend time with his daughter and listen to her ideas about her.... isn't it good enough? Besides, what else is she going to do with her time? Rory is busy, she's got Logan and she actually went out and got new friends for once and Sookie has her family. She can't go to the diner, she can't go to town meetings, she can't go to town events, Luke is at all of those places and he brings April to all of them, too, it's just one more reminder that he trusted April with everyone but her.

Plus, she gave Luke up because she wanted to be married and have kids more, why not take Christopher up on this?

I mean, I get it.

Then they get married and Lorelai wants her old life back, only Christopher doesn't fit into it anymore because he never really did in the first place. And now he has to live in her house. And use her shampoo. And install his big ass TVs. And oh yeah, she has to raise another woman's toddler now, doesn't she? Oh, and Christopher is actually annoying on a day to day basis and he doesn't really want to live in Stars Hollow anyway. She did not think about all of this. You mean a quickie marriage didn't solve all of her problems?

So anyway, dumb AF, but I ain't mad that it happened.

[fl4tlines]

Bad Things Happen Bingo – Tearful Smile @badthingshappenbingo ┆ Square #7

「✦」 OCs: Kay Edwards ⅋ Paris Elswood 「✧」 Content: Addiction ┆ Drug Use ┆ Memory Loss ┆ Subtle Manipulation ┆ Toxic Relationship ┆ Verbal Conflict 「✦」 Word Count: 1,797 「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔. ⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ Love in my eyes, blinded by you; // Just to get a taste of heaven; // I'm on my knees; // I can't help it, I'm addicted; // But I can't stand the pain inflicted; // In the morning, you're not holding; // On to me. ❞ ⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧

A dark feeling, imitating a deep guilt, tugged Paris’ heart into his stomach as he woke and the bedroom around him blurred into focus. The bed beside him was cold – empty. No surprise there. Kay was a simultaneous night owl and early riser. Probably already up.

A light spinning in his head emerged as he pulled himself from the bed, late afternoon light streaming in through the open blind. At least it wasn’t dark yet. He grabbed a hoodie on his way out into the living room and pulled it over his clothes from the night before, glancing around the living room for any sign of Kay.

But he did hear him. In the kitchen with the tap running. With the confidence of a stray animal, Paris went to lean in the doorway of the kitchen. The clean kitchen. Absent of the carnage from the last few days.

“I’m sorry,” words were out of his mouth before he had even processed them.

“For what?” Kay’s response was dull. Laced with exhaustion, which Paris thought would be clear on his face, if Kay had bothered to turn around and look at him.

“I –” Paris faltered, “I’m not sure. I just feel like I should be.”

“You got that one right,” Kay still didn’t turn to look at his boyfriend as he scrubbed at a saucepan in the sink. If he turned around, Paris’ inevitable puppy dog eyes about last night would tear at any of his remaining anger.

“I – it feels like I fucked up.”

“Mhm,” a mirror of Paris’ responses from the previous night. “You remember much from last night?”

And Paris had to admit, it was patchy. He vividly remembered being at the apartment, and meeting Cami, and getting home and falling asleep. The walk? Not so much, but he could piece that together.

“Most of it. I think,” Paris responded. “Maybe not all of it.”

“So you don’t actually remember what you’re apologising for?”

Kay put the saucepan to the side and started on a measuring jug, focusing more on the chipped spout and congealed sauce than Paris.

“No. Just – I know that I should be sorry.”

“Then it’s not really an apology, is it?” Kay worked the sponge into the jug, “I can remind you.”

“I know that you were home late last night. I think I heard you come in.”

“You think? You really don’t remember talking to me at all?”

“Only when you left for work. Not when you got home,” Paris responded. Surely it was a good sign that he could remember Kay leaving, right? If all he’d lost were patches of last night, that had to be a good thing. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s not really what you said,” Kay put the second dish down and picked up another, still pulling all of his visual focus to the chore in front of him. “It’s more what you did.”

The monotony of the task at hand was a distraction which Kay sorely needed. This conversation, much like the ones from the previous night, was not a one off. The same sentiment could only be portrayed in a limited number of ways. There were only so many words Kay could string together to get through to Paris. And he was running out of options.

“I really don’t remember talking to you last night. I – I didn’t hurt you or something, right?” Paris’ mind raced in an uncomfortable way. “I would remember that. I’m sure I would remember doing something like that.”

Kay sighed and moved to put the dish down, but aborted the action. An emotionally charged conversation would only become more so if he wasn’t able to keep together his carefully constructed disconnect.

“We’ve talked about it, Paris. The drinking. The drugs. We’ve talked about all of it. I don’t think we have a lot left. I don’t have much else to say to you.”

“How did you know?”

Not an apology. Far from it. To Kay, it sounded more like an accusation. That Paris would follow up with accusations of spying or mistrust.

“You left your phone on the table,” A simple answer to a simple question. “I guess I should be proud that you didn’t lick the damn thing clean.”

“You know about the coke…” Paris trailed off into silence.

Maybe it was better that Kay knew. That he didn’t need to weave a web of lies about why he didn’t remember last night. Not that getting high was an excuse Kay would accept for how Paris might have acted. And that was something Paris would back him on.

“That’s not what you said it was last night.”

“You knew about it,” Paris paused. “And you knew what it was because you tasted it.”

“It’s coming back to you now?” Kay was still dealing with the dishes in the sink, working on them slowly. An attempt to prolong the task for as long as he could.

“Yeah. Kind of. I – you woke me up. Yelled at me for – I guess for the coke – and I was probably an ass about it.”

“No probably about it. You were dismissive and you lied to me. Maybe I wasn’t exactly helpful –” He had called Paris a ‘fucking junkie’, beyond unhelpful, “And I’m sorry I didn’t handle it well enough. But you outright lied to me about it.”

“Yeah. Sounds like me.”

“Not just sounds like. It was you.”

“I’m sorry. I was just –”

“Stop there,” Kay interrupted. “We don’t have to do this again. It’s not worth a fight now, right?”

“It’s not.” Paris could concede that Kay was right. What was done, was done. There wasn’t any way that he could undo his lies from last night. But he could get his shit together. “I am done, though. I know that sounds like –”

“Bullshit?”

“Yeah. I’m quitting. Everything. Cold turkey, I swear.”

“Hm,” Kay only mumbled an acknowledgement as he put together a better response. “I’ll believe that when you prove it. Until then, we keep playing happy families and you keep it out of the apartment.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Kay put the last dish on the draining board and finally turned to face Paris. Even the brief eye contact made Paris’ stomach churn. The leftovers from the night before were still sitting in the DVD case. But it wasn’t as if Kay would ever end up stumbling upon them.

And really? Them even being there was a good sign. It was a sign he hadn’t caved. Given into the desire to numb himself further. Not doing that was a show of strength. Paris had had the strength to stop last night – he could stop whenever he wanted.

“Good. You understand that I’m not like this out of spite, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yeah – definitely. You’re looking out for me.”

“So we can drop it?” Kay didn’t leave a pause for Paris to respond. “There’s a risotto bake in the oven. Probably another ten minutes or something.”

“You cooked?” Paris asked, gaze darting to the oven and then back at Kay. The weight of just how badly he’d screwed up only now truly landing itself on his shoulders. “Like, for us?”

“Yeah,” Kay nodded and allowed some of the tension to leave his posture as he leant against the kitchen cabinets. He offered a slight smile across to Paris. “Couldn’t let you poison yourself with those god awful fries in there, could I?”

Paris opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. No semblance of a sentence passed his lips. And he hadn’t even noticed the tears before Kay had breached the distance between them and placed his hand ever so lightly on Paris’ cheek, wiping one away. Pushing it off of Paris’ cheek.

“I know we fight, but I love you. I just want you to be safe. And happy. I’m just scared for you. That’s all,” Kay spoke slowly, finally allowing some emotion to flower through. Obscuring some of his carefully placed thorns from earlier with something more inviting.

“I’m going to do better, I swear,” Paris could only manage a whisper. “I really am.”

With Kay breaking the ice of physical contact first, Paris wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug. He hardly noticed Kay’s sharp intake of breath or his barely concealed grimace. As if the physical contact might come even an inch closer to solving their problems. It only took Kay a moment to return the gesture, allowing Paris to melt into his grip. Allow Paris to cry into his shirt. Leave dark patches on the gray fabric. Quietly whisper that he really was done. Really would do better. That Kay didn’t need to be worried – scared – for him.

And they just stood, for several minutes. Kay would stand there as long as Paris needed him for support. That was his role, and it probably would be for some time. After a while of silence, which felt like an eternity of Kay gently rubbing Paris’ back and supporting some of his weight, Paris finally pulled away slightly and put together a sentence, bringing his tear stained gaze to Kay’s face while he spoke.

“Thank you,” he still spoke only at a whisper. “You haven’t been called in to work tonight, right?”

“No, not tonight. And I’ll say no if they ask me tomorrow,” Kay tangled a hand through Paris’ hair and kissed his forehead. “I can cut some of my hours, I think. If you need me here? Maybe stay home and focus on studying.”

“Please,” Paris exhaled slowly, offering up as much of a smile as he could muster to Kay. Giving his boyfriend every ounce of positivity he had left with the one look. “I can handle money. You know that you don’t have to worry.”

But it wasn’t the money that held the anxiety for Kay. It was every other implication that cutting hours might have. If he made a mess of it – if Kay handled the situation with too little grace, that alone could kill Paris. Forget drugs. Forget recklessness. If Kay gave anything but the perfect story to his employer, it would be risking everything he had built for himself here.

Paris didn’t know that he wasn’t the only one at risk of completely devastating their relationship with one wrong move – and Kay was planning on doing everything in his power to prevent him from finding out.

“I know,” Kay kissed Paris again. “I know. How about we focus on right now, though? We’ll eat, I’ll go to the store and grab popcorn or something, and then we can put on a movie and just…” he paused to find the right words. “We can just exist for a while. No pressure.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ « previous ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ » next (wip)