#omg iwa of course

[koenigami]

There's this recent study which states that a person’s aggression can be reduced by 40% when they smell tears.

So I couldn’t help but think about big, intimidating men with a really bad temper turning into mush once they see tears slide down that pretty face of yours. Besides the fact that the sight of your bloodshot eyes and pained expression makes them want to rip their damn heart out, they don’t immediately notice their testosterone as well as their blood pressure slowly but surely drop. Whether your distress is caused by them or someone else, they throw their head back in frustration and leave everything be because right now they can’t help but go after this instinct to kiss every single salty drop off your cheeks. Though it’s only once you’re safely wrapped up in their arms with hands running over your back in a soothing motion, that they fully relax. When you’re calm, they’re calm. When you’re in pain, they’re doing even far worse, so seeing you tilting your head to smile ever so softly at them simply feels like a goddamn reward.

[adoringhaikyuu]

wait omg i love ur stuff, can u mayyybe do one of the “they think you’re pregnant” ones for terushima, iwa, suga and ukai ?? <3

THEY THINK YOU'RE PREGNANT | 4

characters: iwaizumi + sugawara + terushima + ukai + (gn!reader)

warnings: none, but all of the boys are -for- having babies in this!!

notes: this is probably the last one of these i'll do + this has literally taken me so long (3 years) to find inspiration for the last 3 scenarios ahh

 part one / part two / part three / part four

iwaizumi feels like you're hiding something from him. he doesn't know how to explain it, call it his intuition. but he feels like there's something you're not telling him, and for some reason––aka oikawa, he thinks you're pregnant.

"well if you ask me, iwa-chan, it sounds like y/n might be pregnant."

iwaizumi almost choked on air when his best friend uttered those words. was it true? was he really going to be a father? surely you would have told him, right? why wouldn't you? did you think he'd react badly? did you not want to raise a family with him?

oikawa went on, knowing his friend would get too caught up in his thoughts if they stayed in silence.

"took you long enough anyway, i've been waiting to be your kids' favorite uncle." he waved a hand playfully, "and yeah you'll be wonderful parents too, i'm sure."

that made iwaizumi's familiar oikawa-induced scowl return, earning the volleyball player a half-hearted smack on the back of the head.

iwaizumi's gait slows as he walks into your bedroom, noticing you snuggled in the covers, on your phone. when you notice him you quickly smile and greet him, opening your arms for him to give you a hug and he absentmindedly obliges, his body working on it's own through muscle memory. just the sight of you has him feeling tingly and warm.

you can tell he's not fully there when he pulls away, an almost distant look in his eyes that brings a bubble of concern to your stomach. "are you alright?"

you place a hand on his cheek and he leans into it, tilting his head, his eyes cast down as he sits next to you and wraps his arms around your waist.

his voice is small when he speaks up. "you know you can tell me anything, right?"

you frown, "of course. why?"

you tilt your head to catch his eye and he finally looks up, a hesitant and somewhat fearful look in his gaze. it's not that he was scared that you were pregnant, no. it's that he was worried you wanted to keep it from him.

his hand subconsciously drifted closer to your stomach. "are you pregnant?"

you froze and blinked once, your hand dropping from his face in shock. you don't know what you were expecting but it wasn't that. "wh––no? haji i would have told you if i was. where is this coming from?"

suddenly an embarrassed blush rose to his cheeks as his eyes widened. "uh i don't––" he sighed and let his head drop down, his voice stooping to a mumble. "shittykawa."

you raised a brow, letting out a breath of laughter that brought a smile to his lips. "trust me when i say i would tell you before oikawa if we were having a baby."

iwaizumi nodded, wanting nothing more than to hide his face. so he did, playfully tackling you, the smile on his face widening when you let out a surprised yelp mixed with a laugh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close.

you quickly melted into him, wrapping yourself around him, tangling your legs together in the bed.

his voice was partly muffled as he spoke up, "guess i'll have to tell crappykawa he won't be an uncle as soon as he thought. poor guy was excited too."

you paused, your hand mindlessly playing with his hair. "...i mean...maybe he could be."

iwaizumi's breath hitched and he raised his head to look at the sheepish smile on your face. "yeah?"

you nodded. "yeah." you shrugged, "i'm ready if you are."

his heart started to beat faster, swelling with love as he leaned in to give you a sweet kiss. "i've been ready, doll."

sugawara has had an extra pep in his step all day. he woke up earlier than you to use the bathroom and when he slid back under the covers, you spoke up in your sleep, mumbling.

"mm need to tell...koshi...bout the baby."

his eyes widened, heart rate picking up as he stared at you. should he wake you up? should he call daichi? he was too excited he didn't know what to do.

he kissed you on the cheek and turned on his side to watch you with a smile on his face. he started thinking about what life was going to be like with a mini you with cute chubby cheeks.

he ended up not being able to fall back asleep, so he got an early start to his day. when you finally woke up later, he had already pretty much had a full day, prepping to be the best dad and partner during your pregnancy. he stocked up on all your favorite snacks and ingredients for your favorite meals, along with a bouquet with your favorite flowers. he was also wearing your favorite outfit on him, his softest hoodie for you to cuddle into.

he also made your favorite breakfast, you realized as you walked into the kitchen, a loving smile growing on your face. "kou what's all this for?" you immediately walked into his arms, nuzzling into the fabric of his hoodie. you looked up at him with hearts in your eyes.

"just wanted to remind you how special you are to me, and that i'll always take care of you."

"aw baby."

"so uh is there anything you wanna tell me?" he looked at you hopeful, a smile on his face.

you perked up and his smile widened. "oh, thank you baby, really. you're so sweet to me." you squeezed him tighter.

his smile faltered slightly. "anything else?"

you tilted your head. "um, i love you?"

"i love you too babe." he laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "nothing uh...nothing else?"

your brows furrowed, an unsure smile on your face. "i don't think so?"

"you know you can tell me anything, right? especially if it's about us?"

"yeah of course i do. but i don't know what you're talking about?"

"the...the baby?"

you blinked. "whose baby?"

he blinked back. "...ours?"

"we don't have a baby...?"

"i thought...i thought we were having one?"

"...why?"

"you said...in your sleep this morning you said you had to tell me about the baby." he smiled, embarrassed. "and now i'm realizing you were probably just mumbling nonsense." he laughed. "sorry babe."

"aw kou," you pouted, both at how cute he is and how thoughful he is to have done all this for you. "you seemed so excited."

he kissed your cheek, smiling "yeah, but i can wait."

you bit your lip. "hm, well maybe...you don't have to wait that long? if you're ready."

he beamed at you, eyes tearing up, heart swelling with love for you. "i've been ready, love."

terushima was seeing signs everywhere. he had a strong suspicion that you were pregnant, and he always trusted his gut.

you'd been moody, clingy sometimes and then absolutely disturbed by his presence within a split second. and then there's the food––

"yujiii"

he came tentatively into the room, slightly afraid. "yes, my love?"

"i'm really craving the sushi from that one place we tried last time."

"the place all the way across town?"

you started to pout, tears forming in your eyes.

"no no no, hey hey, it's okay! we can just order, yeah?"

smiling, you nodded and beckoned him over for a hug. "thank you baby."

he came into your arms, basically sighing in relief. nuzzling into your neck, he mumbled, "this baby's really putting me through the ringer, but i know it'll all be worth it."

you stiffened and he immediately tensed, holding his breath. he didn't mean to say that out loud.

he tried to keep you close but you managed to pull back and look at him. "baby?"

"well yeah..." he looked down to your stomach and back into your eyes.

your eyes narrowed, your left one starting to twitch. "i'm not pregnant."

slowly, he started to back up, eyes wide. "oh–i just..."

"i'm on my period, dumbass!"

he almost tripped on the rug behind him and ran for the door. "i'm gonna order your food baby okay! forget what i just said!"

ukai wasn't a superstitious man. but something about his dream last night was making him think you were pregnant. mainly because you were pregnant in the dream.

he walked into the living room and leaned against the wall as naturally as he could, though he felt more awkward than ever for some reason, glancing at you on the couch and looking away again and again. how should he ask this?

"have you ever thought about what it'd be like if we had one of those little shits running around the house?" he cringed internally, probably not like that.

your brows furrowed in confusion, "you mean a dog?"

a flash of irritation crossed his face, moreso at the fact that he phrased his question so poorly. what was he thinking?

"n-no not like a dog. like...a little minion, you know?"

you tilted your head, even more confused. "a minion?"

he sighed, exasperated "yeah, you know. like...like a kid. our kid."

your brows raised in surprise. "oh––well..." you paused for a moment. "i mean, of course i have."

"i think you're pregnant." he facepalmed in his mind.

"...what?" you looked around, not quite knowing what to think.

he simply nodded, convinced.

"are you saying i've gained weight?"

his eyes widened in panic and he crossed the room in two steps, coming to sit next to you on the couch. "no! no, of course not babe."

"well...then why do you think that?"

"i uh..." he scratched the back of his neck, looking around. "i had a dream."

"a dream?"

"yeah." he looked at you, curious. "have you had any dreams recently?"

"not that i remember..." you looked at him weirdly, slightly concerned by your boyfriend's strangeness. "what happened in your dream?"

"you were pregnant."

you blinked at him. "okay..."

he simply looked at you like you should understand where he was coming from.

"and how did dream you react?"

he placed his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, looking up as he tried to recall. a small smile appeared on his face, "well, i was pretty happy, pretty sure i almost had happy tears." he laughed, almost fondly.

you couldn't help but let a little smile slip at your ridiculous boyfriend. "kei, did you ever stop to think maybe your brain's trying to tell you that you want a baby?"

his lips parted in shock as he looked back to you, eyes blank, blinking as his brain recalibrated. "well...huh, maybe you're right babe."

your smile grew, "i'm always right."

he rolled his eyes playfully, a smirk on his face. "yeah, yeah."

©adoringhaikyuu 2024 please do not repost

[chrollogy]

SIGNED: LOVESICK FOOL #03

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

masterlist

synopsis: After reading the new confession during his lecture, it takes all of Iwaizumi’s sanity not to get up, and leave in the middle of class, especially after coming to a conclusion that these confessions are indeed written by you.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff :3, friends to lovers, iwa is an impatient man !!, they’re kinda awkward, kissing omg, not beta read.

word count: 2.7k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. weee last chapter ! thank u sm for showing love n interest to this hehe this was totally an unplanned series so apologies if the pacing is meh :3

Oikawa was just teasing, Iwaizumi knew it but why did the brunette’s words fuck him up so bad? Did he finally succumb to his delusions for his friend’s words to make him overthink this bad? If anything, Iwaizumi should be completely rational about the whole situation since one wrong move would cost the price of your friendship.

A couple of days had passed since the former had shown him the confession, he’s been trying to act very indifferent over it despite those words from Oikawa but nothing helps when most—if not all—students were talking about dimples which were mentioned on the post.

Now that the anonymous submitter had specified their best friend’s features, students were on the prowl for anyone with dimples—which was exactly what Oikawa had done during that night in their shared dorm.

It repeated in his mind like a broken record, taking up most of its space, and leaving no room to even think of anything else. What would he do? What would Iwaizumi do if these confessions were actually from you?

As far as he knows, it’s strictly fifty-fifty as of now—a fifty percent chance that they were from you because as vague as the first confession was, the second somewhat mirrored yesterday’s events with you. But also a fifty percent chance that this was all an uncanny coincidence, and Iwaizumi was just overthinking it. After all, he didn’t want to jump into any conclusions without a concrete reason.

For now, he ruled it as a mere coincidence. Waiting for another confession to confirm anything would probably be the best idea here, though, of course, that was if you—or the real person behind these submissions—were going to send in another.

Iwaizumi didn’t want to admit it—especially to Oikawa—but he was kind of looking forward to the next confession, even going as far as turning on the notifications for the page. Embarrassing, he knows but for one to underestimate a yearning man was like walking into a fight determined to lose. Though, Iwaizumi wouldn’t even know how to approach the situation if he were to get the confirmation he needed; would he confront you about it? That wasn’t really his style to do so, he could already imagine how awkward it was going to be—tripping over his words, and all crimson-cheeked.

Oddly enough, your words back at the study room last week equally bothered Iwaizumi, he couldn’t specify what about it made him feel this way.

Nevermind that, he needed to focus on the lecture material at hand. Or at least he tried to.

He sat inside the vast lecture hall filled with students, it wasn’t too packed nor was it too empty, just enough to freely give Iwaizumi the pleasure of choosing a seat where he could quietly take notes but also maybe slack a bit without their professor noticing—a few rows back from the middle. It was always like this whenever a new semester started, all students would attend their lectures for about a week straight before the numbers dwindled where a majority of them would rather watch their lectures at the comfort of their room, leaving a fair number of students who actually attended in-person.

The professor’s monotonous voice echoed throughout the lecture theatre—into Iwaizumi’s ear, and out. Despite his interest in the topic at hand, he couldn’t take his mind off you. He figured he might have to rewatch the recorded lecture once he’s back at his dorm to jot down important concepts.

Iwaizumi managed to force himself to actually listen in, even if it was half-assed, though this was only effective for five minutes or so due to his phone vibrating inside his pocket. As if on cue, his mind immediately wandered to the confessions page, what if it was another submission from that anonymous—from you. His hand itched to dip inside his pocket, and check the notification but at the same time, Iwaizumi didn’t want to be more distracted than he already was.

His mind chalked it up to a text from either Oikawa or you but that didn’t really do much—even just the thought of getting a text from you made him all the more curious about this random notification.

Oh fuck it.

Unceremoniously dropping his pen onto the desk, it rolled off to the edge, finding its comfort atop the carpeted floors just beside his foot. He’d get that later. Iwaizumi sank further into his seat as if doing so would somewhat shield him from the embarrassment that engulfed his body; acting this way over something so little, Oikawa wouldn’t let him see the end of it for sure.

A stutter bloomed inside Iwaizumi’s chest as his dark emerald eyes read the notification title—it was from the page. They had posted a new confession just a few minutes ago. Without wasting any more time, his thumb flew over to the notification. Iwaizumi didn’t know he had been holding his breath after releasing it once he was met with a loading screen.

There was nothing to be afraid of, really.

After a few seconds, the screen finally loaded, Iwaizumi’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the bottom of the post, checking to see if it was submitted by the same anonymous sender. It read,

Signed: Lovesick Fool

A wave of excitement washed over his body at those familiar words. Iwaizumi had to physically stop himself from smiling like a whole idiot over this, his free hand coming up to over the lower half of his face, hoping that his fellow classmates couldn’t see how silly he looked. Putting on the most stoic expression he could muster, Iwaizumi began reading,

‘I know you’ve seen the other confessions I’ve written, and you’ll most likely see this too.’

He sucked in a breath. The professor’s voice spilled from the lecture theatre’s speakers but it was muffled, and soft, it faded into a sweet, thumping melody—the melody of Iwaizumi’s heart; he could hear nothing but the pounding of the beast confined in his ribcage.

‘This sounds really really pathetic but fuck, everything you do just makes me hopelessly in love with you. The way your eyes light up every time you talk about your interests, the way you get kinda mad at me for being reckless at times only because you care—the list could go on and on. I hope you know that I love you with all my heart and soul and that I would gladly make you as much agedashi tofu as you want.’

Iwaizumi’s eyes fixated on two words, agedashi tofu.

To many, that may seem like an irrelevant, misplaced piece of information—completely random—but to Iwaizumi, it meant everything because not only was that his favourite but it also confirmed his suspicions, that you were the one behind these popular confessions, and you had just confessed how in love you were with him.

This was too much to even be deemed a coincidence. Dimples. His favourite food.

Warmth—no, a searing blaze. That was the only thing Iwaizumi could feel right now, not even the pounding of his chest, not even the tremble of his hands, not even the shortness of his breath but the burning of a thousand stars—fiery. As though an azure flame had been born in the depths of his chest.

Iwaizumi needed to see you now.

Twenty minutes. It had only been twenty minutes since the lecture started which meant Iwaizumi had to sit through another forty minutes before he could see you. Forty long minutes of squirming in his seat, and repeatedly glancing at the large digital clock on the wall. Forty long minutes of gnawing at the skin of his bottom lip, and impatiently bouncing his leg up, and down to ease the nerves eating him up.

If only Iwaizumi knew how to control time then he wouldn’t be facing this problem.

You might have fucked up. Maybe adding in a crucial piece of information—his favourite food—may have not been the smartest move; of course, others won’t bat an eye at it but the target audience, however—also known as one Iwaizumi Hajime—would immediately pick up on this. Though, what’s done was done, you just somehow wish that he wouldn’t come across this specific confession even though that’d be one-hundred percent unlikely.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your eyes read through the paragraphs on your textbook, trying not to think of your most recent confession, and instead diverted your attention on the lecture material. It was going well ‘til your phone lit up, indicating a notification.

Wasting no time to check it, you sucked in a breath after seeing Iwaizumi’s name on the notification tab. It was a message from him, he must’ve just finished his afternoon lecture.

Okay. Okay. Having lunch together wasn’t foreign at all but you seemed even more nervous about it now, not to mention how Iwaizumi sounded so serious over text—well, maybe you were just being dramatic, that was how he normally texted. Though, the fact that he had to follow up with another message saying that only the two of you would be having lunch was a little odd. Iwaizumi was never one to specify these kinds of things.

It took Iwaizumi approximately seven minutes to walk from his lecture theatre to the library, three if he decided to do a light jog. As your figure came into view, sitting on a study desk amongst all the other students in the jam packed library floor, it reminded him of your confessions.

How had he been so oblivious to your feelings? Just the thought of you keeping all that to yourself gave Iwaizumi the urge to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug. Maybe later.

He greeted you with a small wave of his hand which you eagerly returned. The little gesture tugged at his heartstrings, and weakened his knees; now that Iwaizumi knew you reciprocated his feelings, he figured he deserved to let his guard down a little—this time, he won’t push them down like he used to do.

As you quietly packed things inside your bag, Iwaizumi took the pleasure of discretely watching you from the corner of his eyes. He stood by the study desk you sat on, thumb mindlessly scrolling on his phone while his gaze was on you.

The way the afternoon sun bounced off your glowing skin had him sucking in a breath. God, you looked effortlessly breathtaking as always. His eyes traced the outline of your features, gaze gently kissing every dip, and curve of your face, from the tint of your lips all the way to the length of your lashes. Iwaizumi looked off to the side, warmth bloomed from his chest, and crept up the column of his neck ‘til it cupped his cheeks.

“Let’s go?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, wary of fellow students studying. Iwaizumi returned a nod, and stiffly led the way.

He could feel everything wrong with his movements—the way his legs felt weird, the awkward stride in each step, how his arms felt heavy against his sides. It was as though Iwaizumi’s body wasn’t insynched, he was all over the place yet the only thing that remained constant was his yearning heart.

You fell into a step next to Iwaizumi, clearly aware of his silence. Usually, he’d be talking your ear off about today’s lecture despite not understanding a single thing from your end but all you got was nothing. Sneaking a glance to the side, you caught a glimpse of a slight scowl on his face, one that he usually put on when in deep thought. 

The warmth of your body slowly seeped on to his own, your hand was centimetres away from his, and it beckoned him like a sweet, sweet temptation, an invisible string pulling, and pulling his hand closer to yours until—

Both of you flinched at the subtle contact, a slight brush of his knuckles against yours yet it was as though his skin burned like an azure blaze.

“Oh, sorry.” Iwaizumi gave you a sheepish look, rubbing his nape with the hand that touched yours. You shook your head, mumbling a small ‘it’s okay’ but was it really when the warmth of your cheeks, and the beating of your heart said otherwise?

The touch was momentarily yet it was as though you’ve caught a glimpse of great ecstasy, the feeling of Iwaizumi’s bare skin against your own had you yearning for more like a touch starved man. You couldn’t quite figure out why he’s been acting so foreign lately but you weren’t much better yourself.

Ever since last week, the air between you, and Iwaizumi has turned weird—as if the two of you danced around each other but took no further step to initiate anything; whatever that anything was, you didn’t know.

The abrupt sound of his shoes against the pavement reeled you away from your thoughts. Looking behind you, you’ve noticed that Iwaizumi had come to a stop, hands balled beside him, and a tinge of crimson on the tips of his ears.

Confusion clouded your mind, “You oka—” “The confessions.” Iwaizumi cut you off. Your heart violently stuttered.

“Those are from you, right? The ones signed with ‘lovesick fool’.” 

Oh, how badly you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Your nails dug into the hearts of your palms, words lodged inside your throat but didn’t dare come out, all you could really do was stare at Iwaizumi wide-eyed as embarrassment stuck to your body like a leech.

Two options: act like you don’t know anything or run away but seeing as how serious Iwaizumi was, you figured he didn’t have time for silly games.

“How did you—oh my god this is so embarrassing.” Just the thought of pouring your heart out into those confessions, and Iwaizumi fully aware that you were behind them was enough reason to crawl into a hole, and disappear forever. Not to mention how he most likely didn’t even reciprocate your feelings.

Iwaizumi took a few steps closer, a small smile danced on his lips. Oh, so he was finding this all funny, huh? But somehow it gave you a tinge of hope that rejection was out of the picture.

“If I’m being honest, you gave it away from the first confession,” Your eyes widened at his words, trying to rethink back on the first confession you submitted. What the hell. You were so sure to be careful, and vague about it. “Well, not the confession itself but what you said when Oikawa read it out loud,”

“You said something about how it was a long term friendship yet the confession never mentioned anything like that—”

Oh. So, in conclusion, you fucked up.

“—not to mention the dimples in the second confession, and agedashi tofu on the third.”

You buried your face in your palms, turning into putty—not the good kind—as the words came out of Iwaizumi’s mouth. Never mind rejection, this was more embarrassing, definitely a core memory for the books, one that you’d never read.

“Look at me.” He softly chuckled but you were stubborn, shaking your head behind your palms.

Iwaizumi let out a sigh before his hands came up to your own, gently guiding them away from your face to meet your gaze. He didn’t stop there, Iwaizumi held your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze that matched his reassuring smile.

“Are you gonna reject me now?” “Close your eyes.”

Huffing at the way he ignored your question, you obliged anyway, fluttering your eyes shut. At least this was one step better than being rejected on the spot. All you could feel was the warmth of his hand, and the violent pounding of your heart against your chest.

What was he even up to?

Iwaizumi traced your features with his gaze, dropping down, down, down ‘til it found your lips.

After a heartbeat, you felt something warm press against your face—no, your lips. It was only for a brief moment yet you craved its softness, his softness more than anything. You opened your eyes to see a crimson-faced Iwaizumi, he was just as shell-shocked as you were by his own actions.

“Did that—did that answer your question?” “You’re absolutely unbelievable. Kiss me again.”

Iwaizumi didn’t have to be told twice. This time, he did so with more passion. He was going to kiss you as many times as you wished, maybe until all the air in his lungs ran out if it meant your happiness. Because now, he wasn’t going to let you go, not when the taste of this beginning was so, so sweet.

Maybe pouring your heart out to the university confessions page wasn’t a stupid move at all.

—

tags: @stunie @akumakitsune21 @boosyboo9206 @khfviq @avis-writeshq @elliesndg @1929sleepdeprived @wakashudou @lillycore @viscoolreal @lialia3945 @softpia @anqelkoz @tar0sw0rld @nwhaerin @kiyuwumi @seroh @eggyrocks @jellysupremacy @songofgratitude @gsyche @haikyuusunsalad @smellysluna @amoosarte @bbyxxm @fiannee @tiramisu4uu @hoshhhiiiii

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @the-all-stars-network !

© chrollogy 2024 | don't plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[errihaienx]

HQ CAPTAINS : when someone tries to flirt with them ♡

(pre-timeskip , aged up characters)

quick disclaimer: these scenarios don't affect the original plot of the series. any information or events that contradict the original plot are purely fictional. (i do not own any of the characters)

warning: could be suggestive (Terushima's) and some inappropriate/cuss words

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ᴜꜱʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ, ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ, ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ, ᴋɪᴛᴀ, ᴅᴀɪᴄʜɪ, & ᴛᴇʀᴜꜱʜɪᴍᴀ (ɪɴ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ) ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟɪʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

Doesn't really notice that someone is trying to flirt with him, or to be blunt he doesn't care. 

But he will unknowingly embarrass the girl

"Eh? Why are you clinging your hands– Oh! Y/n is always like that to me omfg she's so cute."

Your name can be heard all the time, so the bitches won't stand a chance. Every person he sees and interacts with fails to grab his entire attention since all he can think about is his woman.

If a girl comes up to him he'll think of: "Woah that hairstyle doesn't look good on this girl, OMG DID I JUST IMAGINED MY BABY WITH THAT HAIR?! SHE'S SO DAMN FINE IM GOING NUTS" he'll be smiling and the girl might think that it was because of her :/

NO. JUST NO.

But okay, if someone will approach him he will walk out. But of course, if it's an important matter he will respond. And his response will be very dry

"I do not give my number so easily for Y/n's peace of mind, I shall take my leave."

Then he'll march his way to you, giving you a little smile acting like he didn't broke someone's heart just a minute ago.

He's a cute flirt only to you though

So girls be throwing themselves at him, but he doesn't give a fuck.

If someone will talk to him especially when it's a girl, openly showing their attraction towards him, he will converse with them and if they'd confess or ask him if he's available he will politely reject them.

"You always look hot Kuroo-san..."

"Thanks"

"How about we meet–"

"I am already deeply in love with someone. please excuse me."

He then turns around smirking, he's thinking of bragging it to you. He just wanna see your annoyed jealous face, he assures you that you're the only one for him. 

Oh please the guy literally have fans

His supporters actually knows about his relationships, like every girl's name that he dated has their name and 'stats' on his fans' memos. The fans also concluded that his typical dating period with someone is 2-3 months.

He's very alluring, and he's also welcoming and so people think it's okay for them to flirt with him. 

You had a couple of arguments with him about this matter. And because he doesn't want that, he will try his best to avoid them.

"Oikawa-san! My birthday is coming could you go out with me?"

"Ohoho, Happy birthday! But I don't want to sleep outside so.......I won't. You can have Iwa-chan right here-"

*/got punched by hajime

Despite of being straightforward, blunt, and gives off idgaf-with-your-feelings vibes he's still popular with girls

Even if the girl isn't done talking he'll leave immediately

He will simply tell them that he's in a relationship already, but that doesn't solve the situation. It ignites the girlies' desire to have him even more. He then eventually thought of a way on how he'll get rid of those kind of situations by involving one of the twins.

"You can ask me to be your date when Atsumu finally decided to leave volleyball alone."

"B-but Kita-san isn't that i-impossible?"

"That's the point."

The man is fine as  fuck so the girlies love him

He will politely turn down them, you know. Your man is good 😌✨✨

"You are the karasuno's Captain, right? Oh my! The whole team's hot but of course the captain is way more-"

"Ah, no... Please spare me."

Some even visit his afternoon club practices just to interact with him, taking advantage of the fact that you are not in the same school as him.

This mf is a chick magnet

He has a habit of sticking out his tongue, and that's where his piercing prevails and with that girls flock around him. 

He kinda likes the attention but of course, he's only yours. you two had arguments about this too but with terushima's personality you just gave up and told him that as long as the girls respect his boundaries as someone's man it is fine for you. 

"OhmYgOsh tOnGuE pIerCiNg!?!? I bEt tHaT pIerCinG cOulD dO sO mUcH~ iT's  sO cOoL!"

"I know right!?! I can make Y/n scream with just this!"

"Lucky Y/n!"

"No no no no! I'm the lucky one, heck I love her so much!!"

[rinsoap]

˚ ༘ ♡⋆｡˚ ﾐ the big seijoh four's status!

✿²˖ ࣪ ➣ includes : oikawa tooru. iwaizumi hajime. matsukawa issei. hanamaki takahiro.

note : random headcanons lol. it was really fun so i may do this with kuroo, kenma, akaashi, and bokuto if i'm feelin crazy. BTW, THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE LATE TEENS-EARLY TWENTIES SO KEEP THAT IN MIND WHEN READING!

OIKAWA TOORU:

favourite song/artist/album: he's been super obsessed with 360 by charli xcx him n electronic pop are like this 🤞 he loves likes his rnb girlies so of course kali uchis is his favourite he knows all the lyrics to fue mejor and he doesn't even know spanish! the SZA version of course!!! bc his favourite album is ctrl by SZA the superior sza album

favourite movie/show: he likes psychological horror or classic 2000s romcoms so probably midsommar or 10 things i hate about you. look me in the eye and tell me he isn't a gleek. you can't.

favourite colour: dark blue. he thinks he looks the best in it he would be right

favourite subject/grades: math. he's lowkey good at it? his grades are pretty solid but his fatal flaw is that he gets bored easily unless it's something that really interests him or if it's something he's good at.

tattoos (yes/no): NOT REALLY! him and iwaizumi plan on getting matching tattoos. probably a little doodle of something knight related. he doesn't really want a lot of tattoos other than that.

piercings: he wants a nose ring but he's scaredddd omg. for his eighteenth birthday, iwa n mattsun n makki dragged him to the piercing shop to get it pierced bc he would not shut the fuck up about it 😭

celebrity crush: it changes all the time. he's in lovee with pinkpantheress rn. and also christian bale specifically his velvet goldmine premier look..... god he's so fucking fine sorry im projecting

IWAIZUMI HAJIME:

favourite song/artist/album: he's a casual neosoul enjoyer of course he grew up on it the filipinos love their neosoul n jazz so his favourite song since BIRTH has been on & on by erykah badu. it's between that and sometimes. he was GEEKED to know erykah was on a tyler, the creator song bc that is his favouritee artist real ones know he put suna on it's hard for him to name his favourite album that isn't by tyler but if he had to he would choose channel orange by frank ocean.

favourite movie/show: godzilla. nuff said. he's kind of a jojo's bizarre adventure fan. ok he's actually a huge jojo's fan he just likes to LIE and say he's just a "casual" enjoyer.

favourite colour: green or brown.

favourite subject/grades: literature/academia/history. he's really interested in reading but he can't stand writing essays. his grades are good, everyone thinks he's naturally smart but he did pretty awfully in elementary school until he got his act together lol.

tattoos (yes/no): YES kind of. matching tattoos with oikawa of course. i bet he's got a couple precolonial filipino tribal tattoos too lord he's so fine but other than that, i don't think he's a big fan of tattoos unless they're not very visible at first glance.

piercings: he's got a gold nose stud that he got drunk with mattsun one night and he lowkey regrets it until someone compliments him on it then his confidence is through the roof for the rest of the day

celebrity crush: steve lacy..... he doesn't know if he wants him or wants to be him. OH AND CLEO SOL. she is so beautiful and he is obsessed with her energy.

MATSUKAWA ISSEI:

favourite song/artist/album: he's a slut so his favourite song is probably dreams, fairytales, fantasies by A$AP ferg.... don't shoot the messenger! you cannot convince me that he isn't a crazy frank ocean dick rider. "what do y'all know about frank ocean" is his favourite phrase. he's been in his top artist for spotify wrapped since novacane came out. his favourite album is probably WASTELAND by brent faiyaz because yes i still do believe he is a brent stan.

favourite movie/show: all four of them are really into the spiderverse just ask him where he was when the into the spiderverse release date was announced. his favourite show would probablyyyy be death note he wants to fuck ryuk

favourite colour: pink, purple, and probably some obscure shit like amaranth.

favourite subject/grades: any weird extracurricular that doesn't require a lot of academic knowledge like jewlery making or somethin. it's not that he hates school exactlyyyyy, it's that he finds it soo boring. he has never studied for anything in his life but somehow, his grades haven't gone to shit yet, IN FACT, his grades are pretty good like Bs at worst. the whole team hates him for this.

tattoos (yes/no): YES. he had a tattoo phase for a brief period and he BEGGED all his friends to let him practice like he would PAY some of them. he didn't want to practice on himself at first because his pain tolerence is surprisingly low but hanamaki and oikawa pleaded him to stop being such a pussy because they didn't want anymore shaky ignorant tattoos lol. his phase fizzled out for a little bit and people are shocked that he has this skill because he's not a tattoo artist?? it boosts his ego lol

piercings: he's planning on getting a tongue piercing (and bringing hanamaki too so he can get the vertical eyebrow piercing he's been wanting for a while)

celebrity crush: like i said, he's a slut, so he has a handful... brent faiyaz, alexa demie, dominic fike, jhené aiko, summer walker.... and i get him!!

HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO:

favourite song/artist/album: this mf will listen to anything tbh but he's a fan of alternative bedroom indie music like wallows, rex orange county, and tame impala, so his favourite song is can i call you tonight? by dayglow. but we all know at his CORE, he is a barb... he loves nicki minaj him and oikawa were SO invested in the nicki/meg beef. speaking of, oikawa put him on so much electronic so now his favourite album is CAPRISONGS by fka twigs.

favourite movie/show: him n mattsun watch superbad RELIGIOUSLY do Not talk to meeeee. he will admit fully with his chest that total drama island is 100% his favourite.

favourite colour: pink obviously. sometimes he says vermillion for literally no other reason other than it sounds fancy. he doesn't even know what it looks like 😭

favourite subject/grades: he does not like school so he doesn't have a favourite subject.... he sits in the back on his phone mostly and copies off of iwaizumi and mattsun. oikawa Refuses to let him copy off him because he is STINGY and iwaizumi only does because hanamaki's grades are kind of abysmal 🙏

tattoos (yes/no): definitely. he has some ignorant patchwork on his upper arm and a couple of his thigh, a product of mattsun's tattoo phase. he likes em a lot but he only ever gets them when intoxicated tbh. he almost got a tramp stamp once but iwaizumi finally talked him out of it after an hour of protest. it was oikawa's idea of course.

piercings: LOOK AT HIS FACE AND THEN LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND THEN TELL ME HE WOULDN'T HAVE A SEPTUM. he's been thinking about getting a vertical eyebrow piercing but he's worried it will heal bad.

celebrity crush: his thoughts that are not about dylan minette are about kali uchis. need i say more.

[softxsuki]

Alo!!

1.5k is such a huge number omg! Congrats!!!!!!

Id love to participate in your trope drabble event.

Trope 15 with the haikyuu fandom and a fem!reader.

Thank you and congrats again!!! Many hugs 🤗

1.5k Follower Event Trope #15 Haikyuu

Trope 15: You fall first, but he falls harder

This event is now closed. You can view the masterlist here.

| Pairing: Oikawa x Fem!Reader | Genre: Fluff | Post-Type: Drabble | Word Count: 630 |

Warnings: Kissing

Note: ...hi. The way I keep promising to finish these on time and it just never happens bc writers block slaps me in the face. Shout out to my friend for giving me some inspo with this since Oikawa is her man. IDK why he was the first face to pop up in my head when I thought of this trope, but it worked out. I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. I've come to realize how hard it is to write a whole trope progression in just 500 words. These need to be full chapter stories honestly. BUT HERE WE GO a snippet of what this would look like with Oikawa! ANON, I hope you're still around to see this NFKEAKJ. I'm the worst.

“Eyes on me gorgeous,” Oikawa hums against your lips before his game, possessing your lips in front of the crowd with a smirk, as a few of his fangirls whine in the background.

You wore one of his spare jerseys he had given you a few months after getting together and you’d worn it to every match with pride ever since.

“Of course, who else would I be looking at?” You laugh, pressing another quick peck to his lips, taking his hands in yours.

“Hmm Iwa-chan?” He pouts, remembering how loud you cheered for his teammate and best friend at last week’s match when he scored the winning point. He wasn’t pleased at all and was a pouty mess the whole time when walking you back home. Cute.

“Oh stop you big baby, you know I’m your biggest supporter here, so knock them off their feet, Toru,” you smirk, giving his hand a squeeze.

“You better be,” he smiles, patting your head. “See you after the match?” He asks slowly, his eyes bright.

“Of course. I’ll be watching the whole time. Now go before your coach pops a blood vessel,” you laugh, shaking your head as the coach screams for Oikawa again, clearly stressed about the match. With one last nod, he waves at you with a little wink before running off to the court.

The crowd roars with excitement as each group huddles together for their pregame pep talk, hyping each other up for the match that would soon start. You slowly make your way back up the bleachers, taking your seat where you’d cheer for your cocky setter boyfriend, feeling a little reminiscent of how you got here.

It felt like only yesterday when you were on these same bleachers cheering for Oikawa before he even knew you existed. It took one leap of faith to approach him after the sea of his fangirls had dispersed, leaving him alone after his successful match. You had quietly approached him, handing him the small gift bag you had prepared with a few snacks and other things you hoped he would like. 

It was at that moment when he felt his heart melt. The girl he had never seen before had then taken over his every waking minute. Your attention and praise was more wholesome than the compliments he was thrown by his fans. He couldn’t help the thought that crossed his mind as you quickly ran off as soon as your friends called you. I’m gonna marry that woman. Cliche, yes, but his heart was completely yours after that day. 

Knowing you were his fan, he’d look for you in the crowd before his match, wanting to catch a glimpse of you before the game, hoping you were there watching him and cheering him on. One match in particular made his heart stop when he spotted you standing there, a beautiful smile on your face as you wore a fan-made jersey with his number on it. He felt glued in place, until Iwaizumi smacked him on the shoulder to bring him back to their game-plan to make sure they were all on the same page. That was the day Oikawa decided he’d make you his one day.

You shake your head, remembering the day he had asked you out; how nervous the cocky captain was, though it had all paid off in the end. At that moment, Oikawa smacks the ball, shaking you from your thoughts. He had just won the game for his team as they all run to smash him into a group hug.

As usual, as the boys surround him, his eyes dart to the crowd until they find yours, a large smile appearing on his face as he sees you already screaming in celebration from their win. What a lucky man he was.

Posted: 8/26/2024

[seiwas]

who would you ship ur moots with?!!

hi nonie! 🥺 thanks for dropping by!! oh gosh this is a tough one!!! (i have a lot of moots too 😭) let me go through the list!! (it got really long sorry omg)

@andypantsx3: ANDY AND SHOUTO ANDY AND SHOUTO i will shout it at the top of my LUNGS!!! 🥹

@augustinewrites: gojo but i think megumi would be so cute with augustine too 🥺 atsumu or iwa as well!! depending on the mood 🥺

@avatarofstars: mimi and satoru cute cute!!!! 🥺

@bluebird-in-the-breeze: i think shouto and birdie would be so cute ngl 😭 but izuku and birdie would be inevitable, yknow?

@c4ssiopeias: i think of bakugo when i see nova but i also think nanami would be so sweet 🥺

@crysugu: DILTO DILTO DILTO (i'm joking) of course it is none other than 24/7 boyfriend suguru 🥹 (kita now recently too 🥹) (atsumu formerly. maybe in another universe.)

@culturity: idk who blade is but kady loves em so i will love them for kady too 🫶🏻🥺 (if i had to pick from jjk based off just vibes tho... i think... kady would be so cute with yuuji 🥺)

@em1e: emmie would be so cute with suguru PLS 😭 i love the way they write him sm (this is also completely random but kenMA?????)

@firein-thesky: crying bc i associate cielo with hawks so much but also there is satoru but deep down in my heart i think cielo'd be so cute with megumi 🥺😭

@fushisagi: one of my fave tsumu fics is written by ci 😭 so ofc it's tsumu!! 🥹

@gardenofnoah: oh i would love to see bea with nanami 🥺 (but bea's bakugo is also so incredibly soft, kiri feels cute too 🥺)

@getoluver: suguru with angie ofc 🥺 they would be the softest, cutest, purest love ever 🥺

@grim-gril: ofc for riri there is satoru but i'm also feeling major yuuta vibes AND IDK WHY 😭

@hyomagiri: oh ellie would be so cute with satoru or tsumu 😭 i think the energies would match like crazy!!

@itadorey: i think suguru and inez would be so cute 🥺 (tbh tho can u rlly get suguru without satoru...)

@izukusloves: i always think of izuku when i see kc 🥺

@kedsandtubesocks: oh erika and satoru would be so cute, so playful, would make me feel so single... 🥺 but also... nanami and erika... mmm it is doing smth... giving a warm home, domesticity, love 🥺

@kentoangel: of course it is none other than mr. nanami kento. of course it is. choso is close but (for now) mr. kento wins 🥺💗 (such an attractive couple mhm)

@kissxcore: satoru def but also kuroo??!? or oikawa... also iwa... maybe the entire seijoh4???!!? bring me with you alexis 🤧

@konigbabe: moni and satoru 🥺 would be so adorable i think!

@mididoodles: is it weird to say i ship midi with their irl partner... UGH the recent doodles midi made of them were so cute 🥺 they are so cute 🥺

@mimiriko: miriko and suguru would be cute 🥺 but i think shoko would be hot too omg i saw miriko talking abt her recently...

@mintmatcha: either aizawa, nanami, or makki/mattsun for mint omg 😭 (i think makki/mattsun humour would be so fun with mint tho 😭)

@mitsies: ofc it's satoru 😭 but also.... yuuta is looking very MMMM 😳

@naosaki: gojo but also i like the idea of art with yuuji??? omg i think it'd be so cute 😭

@noosayog: i don't talk abt bllk much but i think isagi and noos omg.... yes.... and since noos also loves tobio i can't help but support!! 🫶🏻 but isagi... omg

@pastelle-rabbit: this should not be a question. IT IS MIRAKEI. it is only mirakei forever and ever. keigo and amira keigo and amira forever and ever 🫶🏻

@prettyiwa: ix is my favourite iwa writer so 😭 it would be a disgrace if i didn't say iwa 🥺

@princess-okkotsu: is this even a QUESTION. IT'S YUUTA OFC. it has to be. it's the only answer actually. (sometimes megumi too tho... 😭)

@saetoru: literally not even a question 😭 it's gojo sa(e)toru 😭 tee knows and loves him in a way i could never

@satoruhour: either satoru or suguru for t!! i think their energies match & the banter would be so so fun 🥹

@selarina: ngl sunarin bc he's rina's icon 😭 bUT ALSO i think rina and megumi would be so cute 🥹

@seravphs: gojo is an obv one but i think it'd be cool to see sera w college!megumi 😳 (also wanna see sera w atsumu lowkey... college!shouto would be cute too 😭)

@shdous: satoru but also... lately i've been thinking nanami for ej too 🥹

@saintsugu: ezra and sugu!! ezra and sugu!! 🥺

@soumies: megumi megumi megumi PLS 😭 so so cute (nanami and osamu too in another universe but. MEGUMI) i think he and soph would be so cute together fr 🥺 THE perfect bf.

@stellamancer: deep down its bakugo (hihi 🤭) but unfortunately That Man (gojo) wins for now 🤧

@strawberrystepmom: is this even a QUESTION!!! satoken ftw 🥺 satoru and kendall are so so cute!!

@suashii: sunarin 🥺 but also!! sua's bakugo is so soft!! and i also see suguru 🥺

@threadbaresweater: the way i am fully obsessed with lin and nanami oh god 🥺 there would be so much love and warmth and just home in them i think 🥺

@todorosie: i support the sorin shouto ship 🥹 but also smth about sorin and nanami feels just so!! so!! romantic aaaah

@twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat: ari and i will die on the satoru hill. we will protect that man with our whole BEINGS. pls. no one gets him like ari 😭

@ufo-ikawa: um. OIKAWA OF COURSE?? ari and i are already planning double dates bc it's impossible to get one without the other 🤧 (in another universe we go for the miya twins unfortunately)

@utahimeow: gojo but also kuroo and TBH TOBIO TOO 😭😭😭 and kenma... and... maybe the entire hq... omg char i can't pick...

@vagabond-umlaut: sukuna feels like a cool match!! ✨

@willowser: is this even a question. OF COURSE it's bakugo. OF COURSE it is. every time willow posts rbs/posts him i get SO GIDDY. i love the way willow loves him 🥺

[monstrsball]

it's been.... many months and i am back with another batch of pokemon teams in my hq pokemon au!

seijoh four edition

oikawa: ninetales, lucario, nidoking, emolga, mawile, sawsbuck

pokemon trainer, of course. his goal right now is to beat the current champion (ushijima) who he totally doesn't have a grudge against. he's challenged him once, and beat the elite four, and is currently preparing for another go at it.

he doesn't hate dragon type pokemon but he has developed an aversion to having any on his team because it was ushijima's advice to him when he lost against them. i also like to imagine this is a rivalry they've had since before ushijima became champion so it's not just... oikawa lost once and is salty forever now lol.

i did take types into account somewhat, at least defensively, but this is mostly just... vibes? pokemon i think oikawa would like having on his team and that i think suit him. lucario is because, like with suga and kageyama, i wanted him to have a pokemon that evolves with high friendship! a way to symbolize one of the things he's better than kageyama at in canon. i will fully admit that nidoking is me shoving in the 'grand king' thing. but!!! he suits him. emolga is simply because i remember getting really pissed off at trainers with emolga when i was playing pokemon white so naturally oikawa had to have one.

iwaizumi: arcanine, heracross, tyranitar, joltik, ceruledge, togedemaru

this is also just vibes... after giving oikawa a pikaclone i was like omg what if i gave iwa one too... <- arcanine and ninetales were already supposed to be their little counterpart pokemon. oh well they get two i guess. joltik and togedemaru are besties. joltik likes to sit on iwa's head.

tyranitar and arcanine were both iwa's first pokemon!! his big guys that he babies so much. this is according to oikawa. iwaizumi denies this. (but oikawa is right)

ceruledge is because... it's a knight and i think that suits iwaizumi for obvious reasons. and well. i don't like armarouge's design lol so ceruledge it is <3 and i love fire/ghost types.

as for his role in the au, he's just a trainer traveling with oikawa. they do double battles a lot. iwaizumi has all of the gym badges but hasn't pursued challenging the elite four, it's not necessarily something he has a lot of interest in. he likes entering tournaments though.

matsukawa: chandelure, haunter, bisharp, morpeko, grafaiai

first off, i have decided to give the seijoh four all pikaclones to mirror the karasuno third years all have eeveelutions hehe. i think it's cute :p and they ended up all being the dual types too which i think adds to it somehow... or at least differentiates them from the other characters i gave pikaclones to haha.

some ghost types because of what he does in canon! which might be what he's pursuing in this au too? or maybe he later decides to settle down in a haunted house to look after some ghost types... that could be cool. bisharp because i think he's cool. that's it.

(oikawa is not a big fan of his haunter because he messes with him a lot. <- guy who pokemon just like to mess with. see: suga's aipom)

hanamaki: dedenne, impidimp, maractus, mareanie

other than dedenne, i don't have much reasoning for these guys? just guys i think he would like. smaller team because i imagine, like matsukawa, he doesn't battle as much as iwaizumi and oikawa do. he does it for fun but that's about it. he's not really sure what it is he wants to do. he's still trying to figure that part out.

impidimp gets along pretty well with matsukawa's haunter. they both make oikawa's life worse.

[hiro-doodlez]

I was watching silly Minecraft videos (tubbo flipping out because ethoslab joined MCC) and iwas thinking “man i dont even know this man but omg dude” so. Of course. My favorite thing to do when i dont understand something is to find imy own equivalent to whatever it is. So i was thinking. IF I EVER MET DANTDM?? THAT GUY GOT ME THROUGH MY PARENTS DIVORCE?? LITTLE KELLY AND CARLY????? APHMAU?!??!DUDEI WOULD BE ON THE GROUND SOBBING PISSING SHITTING????

And now i wonder if i shpuld rewatch old videos i loved

Also reminding me of this one time when i was like. 7. I got my little kindle taken away, and i dont even know for how long, but i DO rememeber that i made an entire essay on why i was so sorry for not watching her videos and why i was so sad AND. COMMENTING IT. PUBLICLY AND IM SO CURIOUS IF I COULD FIND IT NOW (definitely not)

[uc1wa]

i would loveeee to hear about your self ships xi🤍

sigh i was waiting to indulge in this question until after finals but i’m so stressed n would like to think ab this now, thank you for asking nonnie <3

iwaizumi! of course! the love of my life! my day one! the perfect boyfriend, husband, baby daddy a girl (me) could have! over the past seven (holy fuck… I STARTED HQ IN 2016 THATS SO LONG AGO??) years i have never faltered from being an iwa lover! i swear omg! he’s the type of man that i would pack a really nice lunch for and he’d buy new flowers every week to put in a vase on the kitchen table. my indulgent quote unquote backstory w him is that we met at uci (i got in teehee, tho i could not afford it LOL) and blah blah i moved back to the motherland for him and we had a million kids and he was head over heels for me (BARF!)

dick my cutie pie loverboy. i feel like we'd just get along so well so! of course he's a selfship of mine. don't rlly have real in depth thoughts (more so, modern au rather than vigilante) but he just seems like such a fun lover. domestic life with him seems so, so sweet. meal prepping and cooking all sunday every sunday, gymming every other day of the week. he would be such a slut n feather my hips while i squat pr’s ugh.

geto, oh my love. he is an individual who is so full of love that it is ultimately why he died. can you imagine feeling his depth of love? it's so intense and full and heavy sigh. not to be her but in another life i could've fixed him and made him... better, if possible.

jason... well, of course. our personalities balance out completely, i'd like to think. calm lover who i think i could crack with due time. i'm a patient girl! i'm also a lover girl as he is a lover boy, again, in due time. i’d lay in his lap while he’d read books aloud (i think he’s hate reading aloud so as soon as i fall to sleep he would stop in a heartbeat lol) also we'd have olympic athlete babies idgaf.

kirishima as well. he's just. oh i have so much love in my heart for him!!! he's the sweetest sweetie pie in the world. can you imagine a 6+ft big beefy and brawny ripped man with some fat on him bringing you flowers after work? cuz i can and he has red hair and razor canines.

atsumu and oikawa are other selfships of mine. atsumu also seems like such a fun and domestic partner. his personality makes me jump with joy. oikawa... the line is blurred between selfship and kin to me LOL. he's such an admirable chara to me who i love so much. perfect boy with goals... and he speaks both of my mother tongues? cries, i miss him sooo bad.

[seiwas-interact]

hello sel! thank u for your kind tags on my silly oikawa fic! hope u have a wonderful day/night😌💓

hi noos!! nice to meet u omg 🥺 this is our first time interacting aaaah!!! and of course u are so welcome omg i loved how u wrote our silly man 🥺❤️

i was just abt to message to thank u for the follow!!! i’m so flattered ajdnjdnd i’ve loved ur works for a while omg 😭😭 esp that one u wrote on iwa n his baby AAAAHHH 😭

i was wondering since we’re now mutuals if u’d want to be friends!! 🥺 aaaah hope you’re having a lovely day ❤️

[forhyune]

mira, my one and only, my exact intended audience for this fic, THANK U SO MUCH :') i'm so glad u enjoyed the main couple and how their relationship developed over the course of the story! to hear that the AU is near and dear to u makes me feel very warm inside.

and I'M GONNA CRYYY KUROKEN MY LOVESSSS!!!! someone else said they reminded her of oikawa and iwa and i am simply over the moon at both of these comparisons. interestingly enough, a lot of the haikyuu inspiration was subconscious; i didn't have any hq duo in mind while writing, nor did i even know how much i was drawing from the show until the seungjin scene and then it hit me that the setter/hitter/soulmates dynamic was Soooo kuroken/iwaoi/kagehina/etc. feel like haikyuu is just one of those pieces of media that sticks with u forever and shows itself in ways u don't expect. this was one of those ways for me

not me just Rambling omg i fear i can't shut up about that stupid volleyball comic to save my life. anyways. i love u and i'm so very grateful for u! ISHIKAWA YUKI MENTIONED RAHHHHH

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow!"

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“—ugh, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. It’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at your face at the same time.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Jinyoung Park «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kyeyoung Kim «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Jinyoung Park «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says, Hwang?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.

“No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie, Hwang Hyunjin? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me right now?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he lies. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied to his email within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest. You’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up without putting down his Americano. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I relinquish my rights” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all.”

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Hello—who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that.

“What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.”

The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.

“You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class—I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.

“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets was made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.

“I tried! Someone distracted me.”

“Read it before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.”

“Sounds about right.”

He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

“Your role model?”

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs that my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”

You think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky. They’re right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed. “Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[imraespace]

WAITILL REPLT TO THE OTHER PARTS OF YOUR RESPONSE LATER IM EATINF DINNER BUT DWPOOKEI FOCUS ON YOUR EXAMS YOU GOT THIS YOU WILL GRADUATE WIRH 100%‼️‼️‼️ HOW IS THE PASSING RATE THAT LOW??? THATS LESS THAN HALF THE PPL WHAT WHAT WHAT NO BC HERE UMM YOU NEED 40 HOURS OF COMMUNITY SERVICE AND U JUST NEED TO MAKE SURE U DONT FAIL ANY OF YOUR COURSES AND U GET UR DIPLOMA IT REALLT ISNT THAT HARD UNLESS URE TAKING ADVANCED SUBJECTS BUT EVEN THEN MOST PPL LOCK IN BUT ANWYAYS U GOT THIS POOKIE i thought u would like delete tumblr and like never come back until summer and iwas like man ure gonna come back with 165+ asks 💔 BUT NO BC ID CRY IF I HAD AN EXAM ON MY BIRTFHAY WHAT IS A MOCK EXAM I KEEP HEARING AB IT BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT IT IS HELP. I LEGIT ONLY HAVE FINAL EXAMS I DONT HAVE MIDTERMS … ITS OKAY URE GONAN DO AMAZING ON EVEYRHTUNG POOKIE 💜💜

im kinda worried for next year bc idk what im gonna do like im into psychology and medical so i wanna become a psychiatrist but also idk ☹️☹️ my careers teacher has veen saying psych sociology and such are useless and ppl who go into it never find a job bc youth unemployment is so bad. LIKE HE SAYS BECOME ENTREPRENEURS LIKE OK TECHNICALLY IM GONNA ALREADY OWN A FAMILY BUSINESS BUT THAT ISNT GONNA BE MY MAIN SOURCE OF INCOME OBV. so im kinda just worried i just wanna go medical tho .. 💔 ill figure it out i guess i kinda have to

- 🐙

I HOPE I DOO

BECAUSE THEY MAKE THE EXAMS HARD AND EVEN IF ITS NOT HARD PPL PANIC BC PF ALL THE PRESSURE OF KNOWING OMG YOU MESS UP NO FUTURE! PPL WHO DO PASSED THEY ALWAYS SAY THAT THEY STUDIED EVERYDAY ALL THE TIME AND DIDNT INTERACT WITH NO FRIENDS AND DIDNT GO OUT OR LEAVE THE HOUSE THEYRE SO STRICT HERE ITS ANNOYINGGG PLUS THEY GIVE YOU TEACHERS LIKE MY ACCOUNTS ONE BC MY FRIEND HAS THE SAME PROBLEM WITH HER CHEM TEACHER AND WE ALWAYS COMPLAINED AND ASKED FOR A NEW TEACHER BC WE WANNA PASS ANS THEY ALWAYS SAY NO. SO BAD TEACHER, PRESSURE, NO LIFE AND SOME HARD ASS EXAM THATS GONNA DECIDED YOUR FUTURE.

WHAT..

HELPME I WONT DELETE TUMBLR

MOCK EXAM IS LIKE MY FINALS THEYRE GIVING US AN EXAM LIKE HOW THE EXAMS WILL BE AND THE EXAM SETTING like the exam you're not in your normal classroom ans you have your own candidate number so you gotta go at your own seat they gave you based on like your last name bc it's in alphabetical order yk like preparing us for the actual thing

DO SOMETHING YOU REALLY WANNA DO DESPITE WHAT YOUR TEACHER SAY!! I chose business bc I wanna own my nursery and I got made fun if bc "mara you're so quiet you can't talk to children!"🤨😒 don't make me bite you.

YOU CAN OWN THE BUSINESS ANS DO MEDICAL YOU JAVE TWO SOURCES OF INCOME

[gurugirl]

Little Flower……

MY GOD I FEEL LIKE BASHING MY HEAD UP AGAINST A WALL RN 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

That’s was SO HOT I CANT! HES INSANE YET I CANT HELP BUT WANT HIM😭 this was soooo perfect like the atmosphere was set so well with the storm and the light being out! Also him showing up to her house is a BOLD MOVE especially if they haven’t developed a relationship outside work related things. But honestly idc because this set the story up so well and he for sure gives off creepy stalker guy vibes and irl I WOULD BE TERRIFIED!

Anyways, the TENSION omg 😵‍💫 but kinda lived for his “confidence” and how he gave of the vibe that he KNEW she would go weak for him🤭 and omg i definitely was not expecting that size kink thrown in there… LIKE IM SUCH A SUCKER FOR A SIZE KINK IT MADE ME DIZZY😵‍💫 and the breeding part too😵‍💫 ugh the smut of course you killed it! Truly could never go wrong! And you know I love dash of possessiveness!

OVERALL THIS IWAS SO GOOD OMG!!!! I didn’t think he would like leave before she woke up but idk I like that it leaves some mystery to it! SO SO SO GOOD!!! I love dark Harry but I especially LOVE when you write!! You always know how to handle it! Ahhh loved so much!!!

AHHH! So happy you enjoyed it! I might have gone overboard with all the kinks in there but size kink and breeding kink I just cannot get enough of so I felt it very necessary as I wrote it 🤭

But his boldness and confidence is more like delusion. He's been stalking her (that is IF any of that even happened 👀) and so even though they didn't know one another well, in Harry's mind they do because he's learned all he can about her.

ANYHOO! I adore your feedback and you. I appreciate you so much 🥰

xoxo

[seiwas]

op i'm sorry for rambling my thoughts and feelings on this but !!! this is probably one of the most painful and most memorable iwa fics i've ever read (and fics in general) !!!

op is one of my favourite writers i think, hands down!! especially for iwa (over the course of 24 hours is one of my fave iwa fics ever) and i'm not really good with the technicalities so i can't dissect everything and pinpoint exactly why, but the writing always makes me feel a certain type of way! it's immersive, and easy-to-read, hits in all the right points, well-thought-of and descriptive in ways that aren't too over the top and i just!! i love it so much!! i think the only way to truly appreciate it is to read and experience it yourself!!!

for this fic exactly, i first read it around a year ago i think on ao3, and when i went thru it i decided right after that i could never read it again. not because it was bad, but because it was too good that it hurt so bad. i genuinely felt like i needed to recover from it. still, like all good fics do, it continued to linger at the back of my mind.

if you asked me what my favourite lines would be, i'd have to just paste the entire thing really. i can't possibly choose, not when each sentence feels so carefully selected to add on to how all of it delivers and feels.

the premise itself is genuinely really sad, and i think it takes such care and tender writing to be able to execute it this way (another reason why op is truly one of my faves!!)

i love introspective writing, and this felt like a look into iwa during the whole ordeal, specifically. and it's painful, extremely. op weaves in flashbacks in between scenes of present day and i think that drills in every emotion he's feeling even more. it's raw in that it shows all of iwa's struggles, mentally, emotionally. he begins to doubt if he's able to take it, but knows that he will always choose to be there anyway. and the very dedication he has, to being there, even when things are hard, especially when they're hard, i think op showcases it so well.

the way it's formatted fits the story so well. the way words are emphasised, the spacings, the time markers, and it's especially evident when iwa receives the phone call. i truly felt my heart drop down to stomach when i read it and i don't think i'll ever forget that feeling. it's through op's writing that the vividness of that moment, how iwa feels, like his world is caving in, and really how he even managed to survive the drive there is conveyed so... excruciatingly (i can't even find the right word for it pls omg)

their love in this fic just!! aches me, you know? how attentive iwa is, how he listens, how he cares; how reader is so eager, so loving, so bright. the conversation on 'untranslatable phrases' was so full of love, i don't know how else to describe it!! reader is able to bare all, iwa is there to listen all, and he's cheesy with it too, and i think!! it's those small details that make their entire situation so tragic (i really cried).

the addition of seijoh4 here i think !! just !! was the cherry on top for me honestly. i loved seeing everyone interact and take care of him in ways they could, and i loved how reader loved him, that reader entrusted him to them when the time came. i think op really gives meaning to what it means to love and be loved forever, unconditionally---to a love that outlives anything.

the last scene!!! oh god, how perceptive oikawa is even when everyone else thinks iwa's doing better. and that little detail abt how iwa's integrated reader so much in his life that some days he still catches himself getting ready to leave for a hospital visit (i also again.... rlly cried), and the opening of the letter. the letter.

how op could fit so much, so much context, so many memories, so much emotion with such few words. i don't know how they do it!! the letter aches, all throughout it, but i think the part that stuck out to me most is how well reader knew iwa, that they knew he'd only find the letter later on. that reader knew how he was, respectful of space, and respectful of reader, especially. and that's just!! idk!! it's love in the knowing, and my heart really couldn't take that reading it (i was again... crying). there's not much i can say to describe how reading the letter made me feel because i don't think i can ever articulate properly (it's really best to just read it sdbfjdhas).

for me, any fic on memory loss always touches on the questions of: how do you love someone who isn't exactly the person you loved anymore? how do you watch the person you love become less of themselves everyday? and i think!! the love that's put into it, from both reader and iwa--- that he'd go through it and reader wouldn't want him to; it's poetically tragic, and painful, and raw, and beautiful and sometimes i think that's a lil bit of what love is.

op i am so thankful you wrote this ! if you are reading this aaah and i truly don't know how you do it !!! your writing is jsdhb everything really !!! thank you thank you thank you from the bottom of my heart !! (even tho it is broken... and crying.... jshdfsdakf)

sharing this with you @todorosie & @augustinewrites if you wanna read this and cry w me shjdfbdjsbf

AO3 | SFT | 🎵 (Listen)

Relationship: Iwaizumi Hajime x F!Reader Rating: General Audiences Content Warnings: Manga Spoilers, Post-Time Skip, Angst, Iwaizumi POV, Brief Oikawa POV, Iwa Calls Reader "Doll," Heavy Angst, Semi-Non-Linear Timeline, Flashbacks, Hurt/NO Comfort, Alzheimer's Disease, Descriptions of Depression, Dissociation, and Grief, Did I Mention Angst? Cause Holy Shit So Much Angst, Technically SFW But Not Safe For Your Heart Summary: He never expected to fall in love with a linguistic major during his time at UC Irvine, just as you never expected to be diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer's by 29. Word Count: 5,000

A/N: Reposting my submission for @/rintarhoes But My Feelings Collab so that it's on this blog. This was an early submission (rare for me to submit something on time much less early, I know!) because once I had decided on the plot, it hurt my heart to sit on it. When receiving feedback on the preliminary plot, I was called "a writer of depths of disparity and misery like none other have ever known." They no longer talk with me about my projects and I can't fault them.

Autumn 2032

Tucked inside of this neat little envelope provided by the hospital staff is the last letter you will write him. It sits heavy in his palm with the shaky lettering of his name in your first language, the permanent reminder that you are disappearing, that you are nearly gone.

Even if you are physically safe in the building behind him, still breathing, still there, you’re slipping from him, just as the doctor said you would nine years ago.

It’s not long after you’re gone that he'll find the strength to read it.

Five Months Later

The letter, still unopened and unread, stays with him wherever he goes. It’s a constant reminder of what’s happened, a constant piece of you that he can keep close. Everyone knows better than to bring you up, save for Oikawa and the therapist you two used to share.

“Couples in trouble aren’t the only ones who should see a therapist. We have a good thing and we want it to keep going, right? It’s never a bad idea to strengthen our communication!” “Of course you would say that, Dr. Iwaizumi. You’re fluent in five languages and are learning another. Your life revolves around communication.” “Tsk. You just like hearing your name attached to my title. Anyway, think of it as maintenance. You don’t wanna wait until there’s a breakdown, right? It’s better to take care of it like you’re supposed to.” “Okay, okay. Go ahead and make the appointment. But you’re damn right, I like hearing my name with your title. It’s your name now, too.”

He alone carries these memories, the memories of you and him, of the life you had together. He alone carries the weight of your love, of his love for you.

Just like your letter, it stays with him wherever he goes.

It was a hot summer day, just before the start of his first term at UC Irvine.

You were on the phone just outside of the cafe, speaking animatedly to the person on the other end of the line, talking about something or other—he can’t remember because he wasn’t paying attention back then. Not really. It wasn’t until you started listing languages you were fluent in and which you still wanted to learn that he had started listening. You caught him staring and offered a wide smile as though you two were the best of friends.

While he went inside to get a drink, he hoped you wouldn’t be there upon his return, that you would’ve left, that you would've afforded him the opportunity to quietly contemplate the cute girl who had caught his eye, the same one who had said that she’s fluent in Japanese.

Of course, that didn’t happen. Off your phone, you were reclining in your chair, looking as though you were waiting for him. As soon as your eyes landed on Iwaizumi, your smile turned breathtaking and you invited him over.

And just like that, you had entered his life, changing it permanently.

A Ph.D. Applied Linguistics candidate in your second year of post-grad. You were fluent in English, obviously, Japanese, and Castilian Spanish, and were in the process of learning Arabic. It was easy spending time with you, something he attributed to your Japanese, though he now understands it was a part of your charm.

Exceptionally skilled at reading people, you knew just what to say and how to act to make others comfortable, though you never had to do so with Iwaizumi, never even tried. Being in your company was comfort enough, providing a sense of peace he never thought he’d need.

Two years. It took him two years for him to fall in love—well, a better way to describe it would be to say that it took two years for him to realize he was in love with you.

Looking back on it, he can’t be upset that it took him so long to figure it out. It was still time spent with you, spent enjoying you and making you smile. It was still time spent loving you and being loved by you.

Upon graduation, he returned to Japan, having received an offer to train with the national team thanks to recommendations made by Ushijima and Utsui. The two of you maintained contact, communicating over the phone, over handwritten letters, over video calls. All the same, there was only so much communication that can be done with more than 8,000 kilometers and a sixteen-hour time difference separating you two.

Looking back on it, he regrets the time spent away from you. It was only eighteen months, not that much time in the grand scheme of things—as he justified to himself back in 2020—but too much time considering the amount of time he would actually get with you.

This is something he still struggles with reconciling now that he returns to an empty bed at the end of each day.

Early Summer 2033

The facility always smells like various cleaners, always a shock to the senses despite coming each day. Better this than a virus that could run rampant among immune-compromised patients, as witnessed during the pandemic.

The doctors glance his way and busy themselves, answering the question he’s yet to ask. But he asks nonetheless.

“How’s she doing?”

The answer they give him is one they must be familiar with giving, but one that’s undoubtedly difficult to answer each time.

Iwaizumi knows the answer before the words tumble from their lips.

It’s written across their faces. It’s heavy in his coat pocket, heavy in his heart at the memory of your first night here months ago, of the day that came before.

The one where you didn’t recognize him, where you didn’t recognize your home, where you couldn’t communicate what you needed or what you wanted. The one where there was nothing he could do to comfort you.

He still visits each day, still talks to you about his day, about Oikawa and his reluctance to retire from volleyball despite the fact that his ligaments are beat to shit, about how veterans of his first Team Japan still ask about you.

He continues to read to you from your favorite—er, what were your favorite poetry books, though he’s certain he’s butchering the translated poems in their original languages. He changes your flowers once a week, making certain to care for them as you had shown him before the first overseas trip you had to make years prior.

Some days he’s able to spark your memory, even if but for a moment. You make it abundantly clear how much you miss him, how sorry you are that you can’t fulfill your promises to him. It comes in the form of correcting his pronunciation or humming the Godzilla theme with him. Those are the days he looks forward to, the ones where he can see you. Those are the days that break his heart, when the love in your eyes is replaced with fear and confusion, when he loses you yet again.

He knows the day is coming when you’ll be far past recognition, when he’ll no longer see your smile, no longer see the affection that you once held. He knows that day is coming when this will be another memory that belongs to Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi alone.

Some days, he wonders whether there’ll come a point where it’s too much, where his heart can’t take it anymore, where he’ll listen to those who dare tell him that you’re already gone, that visiting doesn’t make a difference anymore. Some days he believes that his limit is coming sooner rather than later.

But the truth is that he still won’t abandon you. The truth is that the sliver of hope that resides in his heart is enough to keep him going, even when all of him knows there is no saving you.

Five Months Later

The day he married you, the sakura had started to fall. It marks change, marks the ending and a new beginning simultaneously. He had believed the hanafubuki to be a sign of hope, of the beginning of his life with you, the promise of always having you by his side. After your diagnosis, he would look back on that moment and wonder whether it was an omen, a foretelling of the ending to come.

It had started slow, almost insignificant, coinciding with an intense set of expectations and responsibilities, traveling for work while you were in the process of being published in two separate journals.

You both had chalked it up to stress.

Blanking on a word that was clearly on the tip of your tongue. Forgetting where you had placed an item that you had just put down. Forgetting names when you always had an exceptional ability to remember the name of someone you had interacted with only once. Losing track of the conversation mid-thought.

The therapist attributed it to stress, just as you did, just as he did. They recommended little reminders—alarms, post-it notes, vibrant ribbons to grab your attention, multiple planners and calendars placed around the home. Iwaizumi took it upon himself to create reminders in his phone so that he could remind you himself.

Two months had passed and it only got worse. No longer had you the additional stress from the journals, yet the lapses became more frequent, ultimately culminating in an accident that prompted a series of scans and that diagnosis.

Neither of you were alone that day, having the 2021 Team Japan there to offer support because it was you.

Undeniably charming, impossible not to love. You brightened each room you entered, reminded everyone of the little blessings to be found each day, leaving everyone with a smile on their face.

And still, that night you both felt incredibly alone and incredibly scared.

That first night was hell—not that any of the subsequent ones were any better. It was spent desperately trying to absorb the information thrown at you, ending with you curled against his chest while soft sobs punctuated the silence that threatened to consume you both.

You started writing letters again, despite the fact that he wasn’t leaving you, that he refused to leave you. Once a week for nine years until you couldn’t anymore.

“Entrusting him with your heart,” you would say, but you both knew that it was your way of giving him as much as you could before…

Well.

This.

A phone call as he travels to visit with you again. The morning sun blinds him momentarily as he answers via Bluetooth.

He should stop driving. He should pull off to the side of the road. He should—

“Iwaizumi-san? I’m sorry to report that your wife—”

He should do something because the world is slipping away from him as his vision is clouded by tears and feels himself being hollowed out.

It’s a miracle that he made it. They find him on his knees in your now empty room, still decorated with the flowers from yesterday, with the books he made certain they had, with his letter to you firmly placed on the nightstand. There’s a vibrating in his pocket but he can’t seem to make it stop.

“Hajime?” “Hm?” “Can I rave about these so-called ‘untranslatable words’ with you? It’ll be but a moment of your time.” “You never take a moment when talking language. But go ahead. Tell me all about them.” “It’s kinda a point of contention among linguists—” “What is?” “The existence of ‘untranslatable phrases’ in the English language. The idea that there are words that exist, beyond our ability to translate. It’s false, obviously, as they can be translated, even if it takes a more detailed translation. Just because a word in one language has no counterpart in another, specifically English, we dare call it untranslatable.” “Okay. I’m following. How does this tie in with what you wanted to tell me?” “Let me get there! You know that I like providing context. Anyway, what’s so interesting about these words is that they describe sensations and experiences nearly universal with varying degrees of importance depending on the culture. Eh. It’s more like—what a given culture has paid more attention to, for one reason or another.” “You’re starting to lose me, doll.”

“Iwaizumi? Bud?”

He recognizes the voice, but can’t quite place it. Everything is engulfed by a fog that numbs him, that separates him from his senses, keeping him in a prolonged state of limbo, a state of reality wherein he doesn’t exist.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since he arrived an hour and a half ago. When I made the call on her behalf, I expected someone else.”

“Yeah. The person you called—”

“Oikawa-san?”

“Yeah. Him. He’s working on flying in from Argentina, so he called us.”

Nothing makes sense right now. Not the voice he’s known for the last twenty-three years, the one he hasn’t heard in a couple of months, nor the soft voice of someone he only ever sees in passing, only ever here. He’s astonishingly, astoundingly, devastatingly

e m p t y .

Everything feels weighted, sluggish, like his nerves are taking their sweet time relaying input to his brain and he can’t find it in him to care. He understands what you meant, what that phrase had signified.

It was a lie that he didn’t realize he told (or was it?), not like it matters. Any misconception is left by the wayside as he feels that pain you had once described firsthand.

“It’s how we have so many words related to sakura here. Or how there’s specific words to describe each phase of snow in Inuktitut. These words exist in these languages because it’s something we experience often, something that has significance to our cultures.” “Okay, that makes more sense. But is that what you wanted to share with me?” “Not quite. What I find to be particularly enchanting are all the phrases dedicated to describing various points in love. Can I share some with you?” “Go for it, doll.” “Fuck, I love you, Hajime," you had murmured in your native tongue. “Is that one of them?” “Hajime!” “Sorry. Go ahead.” “Thank you. Going back to Inuktitut, there’s ‘iktsuarpok,’ which describes that feeling you get when you’re waiting for someone to arrive. More than anticipation, enough that you find yourself looking out of the window or popping your head out of the front door to check if they’re nearby.” “I think that’s what it felt like while I waited for you to come into my life. I was waiting for something and it was only appeased once you asked me to join you.” “Who knew that Iwaizumi Hajime was so cheesy when in love?” “You, for one. What’s the next one?” “Norway has ‘forelsket.’ It’s that giddiness that you feel when you start to fall in love, when you think about them or when you get to spend time with them. And there’s ‘onsra,’ which is almost like the Boro contrast to koi no yokan. Instead of an inevitability before you walk into love, it’s the inevitability that a love won’t last.” “Huh. I wonder if that’s what Kusokawa meant when he was talking about his last relationship. Okay, then. What’s the one that strikes you the most?” “‘Ya’aburnee.’ It’s Arabic, something I had come across a couple of years ago but never really looked into. Its literal translation is ‘you bury me.’” “That’s morbid, don’t you think?” “I guess? It’s that pain, that feeling you get, deep in your being when you consider living without your love. It’s the wish that you die before them to spare yourself the pain of living without them because it’s certain to be unbearable. It’s typically incomplete in that form, but I digress. I… I feel it, in my soul. The possibility that I’ll outlive you? It terrifies me.” “I think I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to live without you either, but I’d rather spare you that pain than to go first.”

The acrid smell of Matsukawa’s shitty cigarettes brings him to the brink of consciousness, pulling him away from the memory of you. He hates this—hates that his escape is the burden of these memories while you left without any.

To hear you speak, he has to dive into the depths of his memory, has to see the life you two had together, the life cut short. Not even forty and he’s achingly, staggeringly alone.

“Oikawa’s flight just took off. He should be getting in sometime tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” Hanamaki sighs. “Where do you think we should go? I’m not sure that taking him home’s such a good idea.”

“I don’t know. I can’t think right now with how hungry I am. Hey—Iwaizumi. You there?”

One of them nudges him, tries to get him to speak, but he can’t find his voice. Lifting his eyes in acknowledgment, he can nearly feel the relief that flows from them both.

“That’s progress,” Matsukawa says with just a hint of disbelief. “It’s been a while since you’ve had anything to eat, right?”

The words won’t come and his voice is lost, left somewhere that only you would know.

“Shit. Alright. Going off the assumption that you haven’t eaten since six this morning, it’s safe to say that you need food just as much as we do. Makki—there’s a little ramen place not too far from here. Think you could get us there?”

“I know just the one you’re thinking of,” Hanamaki sighs. It falls silent before he hears Hanamaki say, “Hang in there, Iwaizumi.”

Late Spring 2034

Things are… better. Depending on how you choose to look at it. For Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Iwaizumi is doing better. For Oikawa, he’s not. Then again, Oikawa’s been around long enough to know better.

While you had been writing letters for him, you had also written letters for each of your friends, each of his friends. You even wrote one for whichever nurse would be on duty when you passed. They served as goodbyes, dedicated with love as could be expected from you. But they also included instructions. Specifically, instructions on how to help Iwaizumi, to make certain that he’s not alone, that he knows he’s loved.

They serve as a testament to how well you knew him—predicting how he’d react, when he would want to be left alone, when he shouldn’t be left alone. His friends help keep the memory of you alive simply by honoring your wishes as diligently as they are. But it’s not you.

It doesn’t lessen the pain, doesn’t lessen the yearning.

The only way he can get Oikawa to leave him alone—by which he means staying on the opposite side of the house—is by telling him that he’s going to read the letter. The one he’s been intentionally neglecting.

The edges of the envelope are soft, worn down from constantly being on his person. Barely sealed, he’s able to delicately open it, maintaining its condition as best as possible. The contents are short, succinct if only because you were struggling with writing it in the first place, both emotionally and physically. It doesn’t fail to tear into that gaping wound, doesn’t fail to leave him open and bleeding out.

And Oikawa’s there for him when he needs it the most, whether by his own instinct or by your guidance, he doesn't know.

This pain is cataclysmic, but he would still rather deal with it himself than have you live through a second of this.

One Year After Your Death

Oikawa watches as Iwa-chan works up the nerve to enter what used to be your office. He’s only entered it once after your passing, not that Oikawa can particularly blame him. Of any other room in your shared dwelling, this one is nothing but you.

But almost everything else is packed, save for some essentials, the big pieces of furniture, and your office. It’s time.

As soon as the door is pushed open, the thick musk of dust that’s built up over the years engulfs them both, even as Oikawa waits in the hallway. As the dust settles, the subtle notes of jasmine reach his nose, reminding him of the pressed flowers you liked to keep. Iwa-chan stiffens as he enters the room and Oikawa knows it’s because he smells it, too.

What little traces of you that remain exist wholly untouched in this room. He feels for his best friend, he does. Bad enough to imagine what it would be like were Oikawa in his shoes, if he had lost his partner as Iwa-chan lost you.

That word you had mentioned in your letter—what was it?

It takes quite a while before either of them can start. Oikawa takes up gingerly packing your items as Iwa-chan goes through them, cherishing each piece. He’s not certain whether Iwa-chan will ever truly recover from this, though there has been some progress made, a semblance of returning to normal.

The thing is—normal for Iwa-chan has included you for nearly half of his life. Oikawa will sometimes find him preparing to visit you, either having forgotten what’s happened or too emotionally spent to realize that it’s not a part of his routine anymore. Sometimes he’ll pick up the phone and dial the facility, hanging up once they answer.

But the spark that used to be in Iwa-chan’s eyes is slowly coming back, though it’s muted, nothing he’s ever seen in all the years that they’ve known each other. It doesn’t surprise him, not when he considers the relationship you two had.

When Iwaizumi had first brought you to meet Oikawa, he was surprised. Sure, Iwa-chan had introduced other love interests to Oikawa before, but never had he flown them across the world to meet him. Never before had one of his partners looked at him the way you did—as though you had found the most beautiful creation in all the cosmos.

Hours pass like this—reminiscing over random memories associated with almost any item, some happy, some sad, while Oikawa packs up box after box. It’s when he gets to your desk that confusion dances across Iwa-chan’s face.

“Iwa-chan?”

He turns in the direction of Oikawa’s voice, but his eyes are focused on the drawer he just opened. There’s the soft shuffling of papers shifting against one another as he pulls out an envelope, pristine, looking as though it were placed there earlier today.

On the face of the envelope is addressed to Iwa-chan in precise kanji that he knows to be yours. This is a letter that you had written him from quite a few years ago—the one Oikawa had received but three years prior had started in hiragana, but was forfeited after several basic mistakes, transitioning to English. But the letter that is being unfolded by Iwa-chan right now is a gift from the linguist that he had fallen in love with from either before or shortly after your diagnosis.

“Do you want a moment?” The question drips from him, a worrisome mixture of hesitance and anxiety, and a silence quickly builds, one that starts to border deafening. Iwa-chan is looking at the letter, not quite reading, not quite seeing anything past your careful script. It lasts a moment longer before—

“I, uh—yeah. Yeah, that’d be… good.”

With a small nod, he turns on his heel and leaves your study. Once in the hallway, he leans against the wall adjacent the door and slides down, feeling the residual grief that has seeped into the bones of this house that’s no longer a home. He waits for the sound—any sound, really—of his friend needing him, waits for a break from the stifling quiet, the one that has him praying to whoever will listen that he never experience this kind of pain.

My dearest Hajime,

It’s been three weeks since my diagnosis and I am writing this because we both know what it means.

I’m scared, Hajime. I’m terrified of losing my memories—the important ones. I couldn’t care less about misplacing my keys or my books. I couldn’t care less about getting lost in the city that I’ve called home for the last two years. I couldn’t care less about any of the minuscule symptoms of the early stages.

I’m scared—absolutely petrified, my love—of losing the important memories. That night we were both studying, bickering over which version of Blade Runner was best (we both know I won that argument, thank you!). When we went stargazing and you told me all about Tōru’s theories surrounding aliens and his fascination with the cosmos. That one guy from my department who kept asking me out, making you get all defensive and anxious until you got fed up and asked me out yourself. The way your lips felt the first time we kissed and the way my hand fits perfectly in yours. The moment I asked you to marry me and I got to watch as Iwaizumi.exe stopped working (only for you to pull out a ring from your pocket).

I don’t want to lose these memories, so precious and dear to me. I don’t want to lose you.

Calling you over to join me on 13 September 2016 was the best decision I have ever made—and you and I both know, I’ve made some pretty amazing decisions over the years. Nothing compares to the moment you stepped into my life and changed everything. It was as though I had been living in a world without color or music or literature, something I wasn’t even aware I was missing out on. And you came onto the scene and everything became so vibrant. Music became complex and intricate, utterly enchanting. Poetry had never sounded better, had never carried such evocative emotions.

You are the best thing to have ever happened to me. There is so much love in your heart—even if you show it through aggression—that pushes you forward. You have drive and compassion that continually inspires me and motivates me to be a better person, if only for you. There isn’t a single part of you that I’m not desperately, hopelessly in love with—even the things I “hate” about you are things I adore, though you will still never catch me waking up with you at five in the morning to go on a run. I’m sorry, Hajime. That’s just the way it is.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t give you this letter sooner. Shit. I’m wondering why I’m not going to give this to you sooner. I think it’s because I know that at one point, my letters and my communication are going to become less coherent as I start to lose cognizance. Knowing me, I’ll keep this up as long as I can—you know how much of a fan I am for the written word—and that at some point, I’m going to give you the last letter I can ever write.

I can’t speak to its eloquence or its contents, but I know that I want my last words to be ones that I am cognizant of. I want to choose my last words just as much as I have chosen every single aspect of my life, and I’m confident in choosing to keep the letter in my desk drawer because I know you.

I know that you are adamant that I need my space. I know that you respect my space. I also know that you vividly remember the morning after you had tried to help me by organizing my office—the very office that had my research carefully organized and spread out in my mess. I don’t think I’ve seen you that scared since. You won’t come in here until you have to. So this piece of me will be waiting here for you when it seems as though I have nothing left to say.

We both know that’s not true.

There is not a single regret that I hold throughout the entirety of my life—not the excruciatingly embarrassing childhood memories that almost seem like bad dreams; not the pains of adolescence that we shall not name; not the trips, stumbles, and falls that riddled my life. I regret none of it because it led me to you. It made me who I am today and granted me the opportunity to be a partner to the most fantastic, awe-inspiring, beautiful person this planet has to offer.

I have and will continue to cherish each and every moment I spend in your presence, each and every moment that you choose me to be your partner. Each day I wake, I look forward to choosing you again and again. I love you, thoroughly, unconditionally, and completely. My love for you will outlive the both of us. This, I know with absolute certainty. As sure as the sun will rise and the sakura will arrive, my love for you will outlive us.

It was shortly after we married, I think, that I went on that tangent about untranslatable phrases. Do you remember? I shared the one that one phrase that had struck a chord with me. Ya’aburnee. It’s a beautiful word for a beautiful language, one that weighs heavily on me now. Back then I had said that I never wanted to know what it was like to live without you. Now that wish is likely going to be a reality, I want to take it back. I would rather save you from that pain than to save myself.

I cannot spare you that pain, but I can wish. For you, Hajime, love of my life, I wish for your health and safety. I want for your happiness, for the world to be brightened by your smile. I want for there to come a day—sooner, rather than later—when the sun will be high in the sky and a pleasant breeze will blow past you, and you’ll feel peace and love. Know that when that day comes, I am with you.

Until I see you again.

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

A/N: This was written both with research conducted on Alzheimer's and "untranslatable words" and personal experience with either. I apologize if I misrepresent either and I encourage you to reach out and help me learn better 💜

Additionally, I'd like to extend a very, very special thank you to @caxsthetic for letting me talk angst with you. I don't know how you keep doing this, but I'm grateful to have you to talk to~ 💙😘

[seiwas]

👀 and 💔 please my sel bel!

of course miraluv!! 💗🥺

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

omg right now my priority is to finish my gym!kiri fic 🥹 "can i have your number? (your bpm i mean)" bc it's one of my ficsforgaza fics!

on the side though, i've been thinking of an iwaizumi reincarnation/soulmate au for a while 🥺 the main inspiration is troye sivan's album, "something to give each other", where i intend to use each track as inspiration for one of the lives of reader and iwa 🥺 i'm still outlining it rn but this is purely just self-indulgence!!

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

my nanami fic i think: (you were good to me) ; writing it was torture 🥲 the megumi fic i wrote with niku also comes close 🥲

fic writer ask game!