#please give unbreakable from carole and tuesday a listen! :')

[kodzukyan]

two hearts, four broken pieces (now we’re unbreakable)

notes: happiest belated birthday to my grand king <3 lots of (long?) dialogue, long talks at the beach, kinda clunky, but i hope you enjoy :> song accompaniment recommendation: unbreakable by lauren dyson (carole & tuesday) & everything i need by skylar grey! also posted on ao3.

summary: you were there like the air when i felt like i was underwater. AU in which you have matching birthmarks on your heart as your soulmate. - oikawa/oc

wc: 6.2k

The clock ticks continually as you finish reviewing the club budget for the upcoming school year. As the last rays of the sun begin to dim into a darkening blue, the clock rings loudly, signaling the end of club activities. The other student council members routinely leave by five, and after a quick goodbye and wave, two hours pass by without you knowing. You glance at your watch, and you sigh softly as you see the shorthand reach seven.

There are still numbers that do not add up, but you suppose that has to wait. Getting up to stretch, you automatically head to the keys cabinet to see which keys are still missing. As usual, the keys to the volleyball gym have yet to be returned.

Like any other day, you sigh again. This is a rather normal occurrence as the volleyball team tends to stay as late as you do. Normally, you don't mind since it’s not a big deal - you’re usually still here to lock up after they leave. Today, however, you’re rather exhausted and would like to finish up your report and just go home. Putting on your white blazer and patting down the wrinkles of your tan skirt, you make certain you’re presentable before you head out of the room and towards the volleyball gym.

A resounding smack reverberates through the air before you even enter the gym. You knock twice on the gym doors, and when there is no answer, you open the doors soundlessly and enter the gym. The gym is unoccupied except for one lone player, making the echoes of each movement louder. 

He doesn’t notice you, and as you see him jump to hit a serve, you are in awe by the strength and impact of it as it lands. It astonishes you a little to discover the normally flirty eyes and teasing smiles with such intense concentration and seriousness. When you see a faint smile on his face as his serve lands within the lines of the court, you wonder if this is what he really is like. As he recovers another ball to try again, you clear your throat. This time, you catch his attention, somewhat.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan! You don’t have to wait for me. I’m almost done!” he calls out, eyes never leaving the court.

“Sorry, Oikawa-san. I am not Iwaizumi-san. While I do have to say I am extremely impressed with your tenacity, I am afraid it's late and time for you to go home,” you say politely with a perfectly practiced smile on your face.

The ball he tossed into the air previously drops straight down onto the floor and bounces as he hears your voice. He jerks his head towards you, and you almost want to laugh when you see his gaping mouth.

“Oh, Pres-chan! I wasn’t expecting you!” he recovers swiftly, a hand behind his head and his tongue sticking out humorously.

Ah, he’s back to his normal self.

“Apologies again,” you nod, a courteous smile never leaving your face, despite your slight disdain for your new nickname. You’ve learned it is easiest to deal with people with a perfect smile, lips upturned slightly at a 45-degree angle and eyes crinkled together lightly.

He stares at you intensely as you smile. While his eyes are analytical enough to press anyone under, it doesn’t bother you because you are used to such scrutiny.

“I’ll pack up! Pres-chan, wait for me! I’ll walk you home since it’s so late.” He finally softens in his stares and begins picking up the balls around the court.

“No need to worry about me, Oikawa-san. There are still some matters for me to finish up at the student council room,” you assure him courteously despite your mild annoyance at your stray strand of hair that fell out of your neat ponytail as you tuck it behind your ear.

“No, no! I insist! It’s so late, so it’s dangerous for cute girls like you, Pres-chan!” he protests as he continues cleaning.

You begin assisting him to pick up the balls and grab the mops to clean up the gym. The more hands there are, the faster you two get to leave. After cleaning up the gym and returning the keys to the student council room, you continue to decline his offer of walking you home. Being around him for a little less than 30 minutes has already tired you, but you find it more draining to talk him out of it so you just relent.

He accompanies you back to your house at your pace, constantly filling the silence with some sort of conversation. He seems to recognize your need for distance, so he keeps the conversation light, never diving in deeper than what you are willing to give. You respond as amiable as you could with this surface-level sort of conversation. This is comfortable, this is straightforward, this is not about who you are, so you find it easy to keep up your practiced smile and pleasantry. 

For what it’s worth, you can understand why he’s so popular. He’s attractive, and his personality is tolerable enough. But something about him is slightly unpleasant to you. You have an inkling of what it is, but you’re not ready to open the tightly sealed jar of emotions yet.

When you reach your stop and he bids you goodbye, you find yourself face to face with your cousin, who just squeals and questions you.

“Who is he?” she exclaims loudly, far too energetic for so late at night. “What if he is your soulmate?!”

You smile tersely, “He is just a classmate.”

She only looks at you in confusion. “Eh? You never know! Did you already see his mark?”

You flash her a practiced smile as you excuse yourself.

“No, I was born without one.” 

---

You like routine. This is something you’ve established for as long as you remember. If things are set in place, set in stone, then they are less likely to fall apart, to break.

So when walking home with Oikawa Tooru stays as a recurring part of your days, it makes you uneasy.

This is not part of your normal routine. But you suppose him returning the volleyball gym keys instead of you wrestling him for them is also not part of your normal routine.

“You know, for someone so smart, you’re kind of dumb."

You finally look up from your papers. Your pen still in hand, eyes in disbelief, and voice laced with venom as you hiss, “Excuse me?”

“Pres-chan, even I know when to stop. It's nearly 8 in the evening. Your body needs rest so you can function as efficiently as you always want to,” he rolls his eyes as he air-quotes the word efficiently. The volleyball gym keys jingle in his hand as he does so, and the sound of it aggravates your headache.

"This is coming from the one who stays behind two hours every day after club activity ends? Stop trying to preach what you don’t practice." Your grip on your pen tightens.

"I take Mondays off," he shrugs and offers a lopsided smile. There's a serious glint in his eyes despite his casual gestures.

You know he's right because the keys to the volleyball club always hang neatly and untouched every Monday. You know he's right when you finally let yourself feel the tiredness in your body. You know he's right when your headache finally catches up to you, but you simply cannot completely let go.

Maybe he sees your sagging shoulders and weary eyes, so he doesn't press the matter anymore. He hangs the clubroom keys in the cabinet before he walks over.

"You can rest, you know?"

You do, but you can't. Not when there are so many reports to fill out and papers to file, not when the club budgeting still isn't adding up, not when you have to be the you that your father created inside his head. Your brows cease together as your head throbs. Before you could respond, you feel a gentle pat on your head that brings you out of your thoughts.

"You're doing great, Pres-chan. Take a break," he speaks softly as he strokes your head.

You close your eyes at his touch, and you relish in his gentleness. For someone with such calloused hands, his touch is surprisingly tender. His voice sounds distant, and it feels like he's speaking past you, like he's speaking to whoever he sees in place of you. You think maybe this is what you needed anyways, this is what you want to hear even if he’s speaking to himself through you.

"Take a nap. I'll wake you up in 20 minutes," he ruffles your hair, messing up your perfectly tied ponytail.

You glance at him briefly, and his stupid smile irritates you. Maybe your headache is getting the better of you, maybe you’re just too tired, but you find yourself nodding as your shoulders finally drop in defeat. "10 minutes."

He laughs as he agrees, and when you finally lay your head down and close your eyes, you briefly feel the warmth of his jersey before you drift off.

When you wake, you find that Oikawa is sitting beside you, humming a soft tune as he scrolls on his phone. It takes you a moment to blink the sleep out of your eyes, and then it occurs to you that he never woke you up. Your eyes flutter to the clock, and when you see that it's a little past 9, you panic. You shoot instantly up from your seat, and your sudden movement leaves you dizzy as the world around you rapidly spins in color. Oikawa stops mid-hum as looks up from his phone before he secures your arm to steady you.

"Holy shit, I thought I told you to wake me up in 10 minutes. The papers need to be filed so we can work on the report due next week. I need to finish the reports, so I can turn them in on Friday. The budgeting excel -."

"Pres-chan." He cuts you off as he takes his hand off your arm and pokes your forehead. "I filed the papers on your desk. They go into their respective color-coded drawers, right? And the reports are just club updates, yeah? I arranged them by club type, so you can just sort through them later. Also, I put the volleyball club on top, so get to us first, okay?" he teases lightly and sticks his tongue out mischievously. "I didn't mess with your budgeting excel because it's not my place to, but don't you think you can ask your treasurer to explain their budgeting and money management so far?"

You blink at him in silence as you take in all the information he told you. You glance over at your desk and see the piles of loose paper gone. In place are new stacks of reports clipped together with the assortment of pastel paper clips you brought last month on a whim. Your surprise overtakes you as you let out a shaky breath. 

"Oh," you whisper, breath still quivering and voice slightly trembling. "Thank you."

You make a mental note to double-check everything again in the morning, just in case. That thought almost flies out of your head when you glance over, and the smile he flashes you is so bright you almost forget how to breathe.

"You're welcome."

When he accompanies you home that night, your steps feel a little lighter and your heart soars a little higher as you catch a glimpse of his profile, eyes fixated on the stars above as he tells you stories of constellations and aliens. 

---

While you’re not an avid volleyball fan, witnessing their defeat to Karasuno in such a close match, watching the light in their eyes dim into a quiet somber crush on your heart. When the match was over and they asked for the keys to the gym, you gave it to them without hesitation although the gym is supposed to be closed for cleaning later today.

Throughout the hours, you find yourself unable to completely focus on the paperwork in front of you. Your eyes keep trailing to the empty key slot where the gym keys are supposed to be, and your ears are fixated on each tick of the clock. Fidgeting with your pen, you finally give in and let out an uneven sigh when the clock rings eight. After smoothing out your skirt and blazer and retying your neat ponytail, you make your way to the gym.

As always, you knock on the doors before coming in. Only silence greets you.

The gym is vacant, and the cheering crowds and rest of the volleyball team members have long gone home after their spontaneous practice. Volleyballs are still scattered everywhere, the net is still up, but none of that matters as your eyes focus on the lone figure lingering in this solemn, almost crushing, silence.

His eyes are downcast, but you can tell from the hitching movement of his chest and the pooling puddle in his lap that he hasn't stopped crying. There is so much you want to tell him, but no words come to you. You’re not even sure if you’re in a position to say anything, but when you see him sitting there defeated and crying silently, a split image of yourself instead of him appears for a moment. The tightly sealed jar of emotions you’ve repeatedly tried to suppress opens.

"You don't have to be perfect, you know?" you tell him softly.

He doesn't look up and only clenches his fists.

You pat the creases out of your skirt as you squat down, hands gently touching his before clasping them firmly. The words burn in the back of your throat as your eyes tear because you know. You know this feeling, this absolutely crushing feeling when all you have is taken away and you’re just left with nothing. Maybe you’re projecting your failures onto him, maybe this is just what you wanted to hear, but you tell him all the same.

"You're so much more than just your losses," you whisper with gentle firmness, "This is not the end. Not for you. Not for your volleyball."

His calloused hands only grip yours tightly as his silent tears fall and roll off your skin.

"You are not your failures."

You barely detect the sound of him letting out a deep breath, but he squeezes your hands. It may not be enough, it may not be okay, but it’s a start.

As the two of you sit in silence, you can merely laugh at yourself for ever thinking Oikawa Tooru was anywhere close to perfect. He is incredibly fragile, human, and unlike a star that you thought you could never reach, he is here beside you. He sniffles every so often, and when every so often becomes more often than not, you laugh lightly and offer him a tissue.

He accepts it with a sniffle, and as he blows his nose, you could only crinkle your nose.

“Ew, you’re gross,” you lightly poke fun at him.

“I was going to say thank you, but I take it back now,” he gasps dramatically.

You roll your eyes as you offer him the rest of your tissues. “It’s fine. I don’t need your thanks. Just… feel better.”

“Thank you,” he whispers anyway as he props his head on yours.

---

You hear three knocks, two fast knocks, a pause as if it’s left for drastic effects, before the third knock, in a familiar rhythm. Instantly, the wooden doors of the student council room open, and brown hair and honey-colored eyes peek in.

“Wanna do something fun with me, Pres-chan?” Oikawa asks, eyes brilliant and smile equally mischievous.

"... Depends on what it is," you raise an eyebrow at him as you look up from finishing some preparations for university. You've substantially given up trying to advise him to wait before barging into the student council room.

He wiggles his eyebrows before he grins. “Let’s go to the rooftop!"

It takes you a moment to comprehend what he said because while it’s not that crazy, the rooftop is off-limits to students. Subsequently, it occurs to you that out of your three years here, you've under no circumstances done anything remotely rebellious. The adrenaline hits you, so you snatch the keys to the rooftop before heading out the door.

"Alright, let's go."

He freezes before his mouth drops and gasps dramatically. "Heh, Pres-chan, looks like you really aren't that much of a good girl after all."

You roll your eyes at him, and a soft smile finds a way to your face before you walk out. "Hurry up, or I'm leaving you behind."

"Wait for me!!" You hear the scampering footsteps, and you swear you can hear his pout.

This is the first time you’ve ever been on the rooftop, you think, as you finally unlock the door and step out into the sun. It’s a little past seven, and you think the sun is going to set soon as it slowly fades behind the Miyagi skylines in bursts of orange. You close your eyes as the wind blows, almost as if it’s greeting you. You can see why people skip all the time to be up here. 

“Feels pretty good, huh?” Oikawa stands beside you as the wind tousles his hair and the sun kisses his skin. He looks radiant under the sunlight, and you merely hope he doesn’t hear the fluttering of your heart.

“Yeah,” you nod along, “I… I wish I came up here earlier.

Honey brown eyes so deep and warm, staring directly at you, and there is something that you’re terrified to name. You always thought love was something dramatic, once in a lifetime, and it just hits you like a train out of nowhere. With Oikawa Tooru, it feels more like learning to walk - steadily, one step after another, until he becomes a part of your natural routine.

You can see the longing and something akin to love in his eyes, but you know it's not love. You know when he loves, he loves with all his being. Right now, there is something, but it's not love because he sees not only you but also past you. He sees the light at the end of the tunnel, the future where he's standing on a volleyball court with his name on the back of a national team jersey. He sees the passion and the love he has for volleyball beyond you, and even when he's here in the moment, even when he likes you, he sees something greater.

Your heart clenches because you want it to be you, you want you, this to be enough. But you know he is meant for something so much greater. He is meant for the stage lights of an international court, living and thriving with so much passion and love for the sport he dedicates his life to. He is unmeant to be here, to be held back by something called love.

You try ignoring the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, try ignoring the way his eyes linger at your lips as if he wants to kiss you. You try ignoring your yearning heart when all you can hear in your head is him telling you he's going to Argentina.

“You’re going to do great in Argentina.” You swallow the lump in your throat and interlace your own fingers together to prevent yourself from reaching out and holding his hand.

He blinks, and slowly retracts his extended hand, and swallows the words he wants to tell you. “Oh, uhm,” he hesitates. “Geez, Pres-chan! Don’t make it sound like we’re never going to see each other again!” he pouts dramatically, voice creaking just ever so slightly and eyes lacking the playful glint in it. “We’ll see each other again.”

He sounds hesitant, almost as if he’s doubtful if he can uphold the words of a promise. He doesn’t deserve to be held back by a promise.

You let him go.

It’s funny because you don’t even think he is yours to let go, but you smile anyway as you catch his unfaltering eyes back on the sunset. He is the one who teaches you a little bit about being okay, the one who first opens the tightly sealed jar and lets a gale of fresh air into your world.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. Your hand finds its way to him, fingertips ghosting over his hand almost as if you didn’t just reject his moments ago.

The wind blows softly, and the blooming cherry blossoms flutter as he blinks in confusion before he smiles crookedly too. In a world where you are braver, you would have voiced the three words lingering on your mind instead of the two that came out, and your lips would have been on his instead of settling for a ghost of a touch of hands. But in this world, this is all you can do, all you can intend for.

Instead, the two of you continue to stand in silence, sharing this one last moment where he can stand on both legs without leaning to his left to accommodate for his right knee, where you can laugh in a loose smile and ruffled hair without feeling the need to fix them. It’s satisfactory, you tell yourself, this is enough.

While he may not be your soulmate, while you have no soulmate mark, it hurts all the same. Your heart still breaks as the falling sunlight fades into the deep indigo skies, as he waves goodnight, as you watch him go with the world on his shoulders and wings on his back. The hollowness in your chest aches, and you wonder if this is what heartbreak feels like.

---

“Funny, huh? Out of all the people in the world, out of all the places in the world, I end up meeting you on an Argentinian beach, thousands of miles away from home,” you stifle your laughter softly.

The hot summer wind blows into your unbound hair, bringing grains of sand and the scent of the ocean. The shore calls you, and you find yourself wiggling your toes in the clear waters. As you look to the horizon, you find that the crystalline waters contrast vividly against the soft pinks and oranges of the fading sun.  It’s so surreal, and it makes you momentarily forget that there are responsibilities, people waiting for you back at home. 

The faint rustling and the loud splash of water wake you from your trance, and you find Oikawa Tooru running into the waters carefreely. His pants are roughly rolled up just barely above the water level. His eyes are tender and his smile is wide as he holds his hand out to you.

“Come on, Pres-chan,” he gestures his hand in front of you again. “The water feels really nice!”

You take a moment to breathe because he looks beautiful with his brown eyes twinkling mischievously and lips upturned jovially and carefreely against the fleeting sunset. You smile once more, lips upturn softly instead of the traditional 45 degrees, as the last strands of your hair frees from your hair tie. 

You briefly remember being eighteen, standing on the rooftop of your high school. His hand is extended, but you were too afraid to take it, too afraid to become a burden. You blink once and think maybe this time, he should have a say in his own decisions instead of you selfishly making it for him. You take his hand, hesitantly and shyly, as you take your first steps into the water.

Time stills as your eyes meet his brown ones. He stares at you dumbfoundedly, and you are unsure if the pinks of his cheeks are from you or the sunset.

“You look happier,” he finally comments softly, “I’m glad.”

Now it’s your turn to stare at him dumbfoundedly. Your hand covers a slight laugh that breaks from your lips. You take in his wind-tousled chestnut hair and eyes closed from his laughter, his muscular body that no longer tends to lean on his left side absentmindedly to protect his right knee, and you realize he is more genuine, more candid, more Oikawa Tooru than the one you’ve known since high school.

“You do too.”

”Wanna grab drinks after?” Oikawa asks nonchalantly as the two of you finally make your way out of the water and sit under the broad umbrella from the blazing sun. His long legs are stretched out as he leans back, hands propping him up.

Despite his relaxed posture and even voice, you see his fingers wiggling in the sand and the pinks peeking on his cheeks and the tip of his ears. It almost makes you laugh because you’re certain you can reckon on one hand how many times Oikawa Tooru seems so timid.

“I mean”- he continues, taking your silence as a declination, -“just as friends, to catch up, you know? How have you been? Oh! What about your cousin? Didn’t she -”

“Okay,” you laugh lightly. “I’d be happy to.”

“-Oh, now that I think about it, what did you end up doing- wait -” he pauses mid-sentence as he stares at you bewilderedly, ”-okay?”

“Yes,” you laugh again, much louder and without restraint. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats after you again.

“Yes, okay.” You nod.

The smile he gives you is so bright it outshines the sun.

---

"So, how are you?" he asks again once you're seated beside him, a beer in hand and dusk in view.

You offered a general answer earlier, and it started a train of small talk that never breaches past the surface. It reminds you of high school and leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. 

The beach in Argentina is always full of life, but it's quieter now. Maybe it's the fact that it's getting late or the fact that you're on your third beer already, all you can focus on is the man beside you.

Maybe you're more honest now too because he looks like he wants to ask more. (Like he asks “how are you?” when all his eyes are saying is “I love you.”)

"I threw my phone into the ocean and got in a screaming match with my dad," you tell him honestly.

You can feel his gaze on you as he lets out a soft hum to let you know he's listening. It used to unnerve you whenever he looks at you like that, whenever he makes you feel so transparent. Now, it makes you smile because he always makes you feel so seen.

"He told me to be all these things that I am not because he wanted me to have a good life. I know his intentions and know it makes him happy. But I was so fed up with just constantly not being enough for who he wanted me to be, so I told him I just wanted to be his daughter."

You don't realize your hands are shaking until you feel his hands on yours. He pulls the beer bottle out of your hands before he places them into his own and squeezes them.

"And what did he say?" he asks softly, recalling all the late nights and the mask you put on at school in the name of a shadow that always looms over you. He remembers the instant drop of your face whenever your father comes up, when the words duty and filial piety become a burden instead of pride on your shoulders.

"He just kinda stared at me and stopped talking. I think it didn't occur to him that this was a thought in my head. I cried a lot." You squeeze his hands back.

"Yeah, I'm glad you gave him a piece of your mind, though." His voice is gentle as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

"He cut me fruit after, so I think we're okay," you laugh awkwardly as you flash him a smile. "I think I'm okay."

He smiles too when he notices your smile is a lot freer now, that the corners of your lips are no longer locked in place and forced in front of fake pleasantries. Maybe he's freer now too, he thinks as he looks at the brightly lit skies, as he continues his volleyball journey, feeling so fulfilled despite being thousands of miles away from home. 

"I used to think I wasn't good enough," he starts honestly with a small laugh. "No matter how hard I work, I could never be enough compared to geniuses who just get it." 

“I used to think you were so put together when I initially met you, like the universe's spotlight was meant for you,” you hum. “Until I realized you were the reason why the volleyball gym keys were never returned on time.”

He laughs light-heartedly. “Hey, I had an image to keep up, okay?”

You tuck in your knees and prop your head on top of them, eyes never leaving his, hand still in his. “I think I realized you were a lot more reachable, human even, when I saw you broke down after losing to Karasuno our third year.”

“Are you deriving comfort in my pain? How rude!” He pouts. “But I somewhat get it. I used to think you were super snobby with your fake smiles and your super tight ponytail. I used to think you were going to be balding early!”

“You were the one who habitually had a hoard of fangirls around you, and nobody could get anyplace in the hallways!” You retort with a fond smile.

Memories of high school seem so long ago, and as you recall each one, you see the light in his eyes waning and waxing with the tides. The feelings you try so hard to bury, the ones you try to let go of the day he set off to Argentina bubble through your chest and flow onto your lips.

"I think I was too scared to love you," you finally whisper as the moon rises and the waves kiss the shore.

He stares at you and blinks once, twice, before he breathes a soft, “Oh.”

You finally take your eyes off him, hand finally wiggling its way out of his to encase yourself as you bury your face in your knees. “I wanted to be enough. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t for my dad, wasn’t for myself, wasn’t for you.”

He leans closer and brushes a strand of loose hair off your face. “You are always enough. For your dad, for yourself,” he pauses and smiles gently, “And you are more than enough for me.”

You peek at him through your lashes. The ocean waves drown out the sound of your heartbeat as he stares at you earnestly, eyes honest and lips so, so close.

“I didn’t want you to regret me,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “I didn’t want to be someone who holds you back from your dreams. I didn’t want to be just temporary until you find your soulmate.”

His eyes widen, but he persists steadily close. “I don’t think I could ever regret you. My dreams will always be the national court, but you being there, by my side, would be the best part of it.”

He takes a breath as he reaches for your hand, much like he did at the rooftop of your high school.

“I was born without a soulmate mark. Initially, I was so upset because I thought no one would love me unconditionally like a soulmate is supposed to. But honestly, fuck that. Fuck soulmates. Fuck some pre-destined person supposedly made for you because no one is. We are in control of our own fate, and we are in control of whom we choose to love. And I like you Pres-chan. I have since I was eighteen and dumb. I still like you now at twenty and still a little dumb. But no matter how old I am, how old I will be, it’s always you. I will always choose to love you.”

You breathe in sharply as you listen to his words, every sound and syllable clear as his eyes as he looks at you, only you. There is only truth in his words, and as your eyes wander from his to his hand and back to his eyes, the overwhelming amount of sincerity overwhelms you. 

Oikawa Tooru has always been dedicated in all that he does, and the thought that he is offering you that very same dedicated heart of his becomes a consuming warmth in your chest. The heat of your fluttering heart radiates off your cheeks, and the feeling that has been blossoming in your heart blooms into an indescribable softness and affection.

Love has perpetually been something out of reach, something you witness in movies and read in books, something you witness in your friends and cousin. But love is here now, in the form of Oikawa Tooru with his hands stretched out for you to take, with his heart bare and exposed for you to have.

“I was born without a soulmate mark too. I used to hate it because it felt like it was another thing I was lacking in. I wasn’t even enough to have a soulmate,” you breathe out, eyes on the ocean that reflects on the moonlight. The last bits of the tightly sealed jar of emotions you’ve kept finally flows out.

“But if soulmates do exist, I would like to think they are made. Not in the sense that they are made for each other, because fuck destiny, but in the sense that we wake up every morning and choose who fits us and how they fit. And whatever this is we have between us, we forged it,” you start firmly as you place your hand in his, eyes meeting his. The last bit of bitterness flows into the sea, and the only thing that remains at the bottom of this jar is hope.

“I like you too, Oikawa. I have since I was eighteen and smart. I still do at twenty and moderately smarter but still trying to figure life out. And I don’t know what the future holds or even what I’m doing to do from here on, but I want it to be you.”

“I want it to be you too. I can’t promise you the world or where our lives will lead from here onwards. What I can promise is I will choose you, from the moment I wake up until the moment I sleep, from now until the end of the ocean.”

A promise, his truth. While the unknown horrifies you, this is enough. You smile as you squeeze his hand. When he grins and squeezes your hand back, you think maybe love is irrevocably here to stay.

---

“What were you before you met me?” He takes one of your hands in his and uses his other in an attempt to tame your unconstrained hair against the wind. He pouts when he finds that your hair just blows wildly and gives up, but he smiles, nonetheless, when he hears your unrestrained laughter.

You shake your hair out of your face and turn to face him, hair blowing wildly and freely with the wind. You tear your eyes away from slow waves of the ocean, illuminated by the brilliant reds and oranges of the setting sun, and you find yourself more captivated by glowing brown eyes than you ever could by the dazzling colors of the horizon. 

You stare briefly at him, looking into his eyes and seeing his relentless soul, and the butterflies in your stomach flutter like they did the very first time, feeling absolutely starstruck. You hum softly as you turn back to the peaceful waves and remember the tight ponytails and painted smiles of your high school days. You remember the weight on your shoulders to become someone ideal and the heaviness on your heart to become a you that only lives to make your father proud.

“I think... I was drowning,” you answer almost inaudibly but honestly, both hands gripping his tightly as if you’re holding a lifeline.

He pauses for a moment before he squeezes your hands again. He whispers then, reluctantly and almost fearfully, “And what are you now?”

You turn to meet his eyes. You recall him at seventeen and feeling annoyed because he mirrored every bit of the pretense you put up in all the undesirable ways. But you see him now, twenty and free of the inferiority and limitations he places on himself, and you wonder if you also look older, wiser, happier because you are now the you you want to be.

You have always associated him with air because he is terrible and unpredictable, destructive and clear, focused and silent. But he is also comforting and calm, like an invisible force, who's consistently going and going, with unhindered sight. He is always persistently here and cannot be turned away, and before long, you find yourself not knowing what to do without it.

At the moment, you find the last bits of the riptides that pull you under the waters finally cease, and as you enjoy the scent of the salty ocean and hear the lull of the gentle waves, you think you can finally breathe freely and vivaciously.

Slowly, you take a hand to trace the outline of the miniature matching sun tattooed on his chest, where the soulmate mark is supposed to appear. You smile undoubtedly and wholeheartedly.

“Water.”

---

you’re what i need cause now i can breathe; you put the beat in my heart. somehow we fit together, and now we’re unbreakable. 

[peachbibi]

Mr Perfect // slow burn

Part II

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve Harrington was the coolest guy at school and now he’s working with you at the rental store. Very complicated story about complicated feelings.

Warning: Language

A/N: That chapter is about what happened in the past. The reason why don’t you like Steve so much. It’s longer than the previous one and with Steve from s1.

“It was Lorie...she was my best friend” You were lying on your bed at 11pm talking with Robin on the phone. It was a warm summer night and the window in your room was open.

“Wait. Lorie? Lorie the slut?” Lorie and her face blew up in your mind. “Sorry! ...I didn’t mean to” Of course she didn’t. But it was the first thought in people’s mind when they heard her name.

“You know she was different before they’d started dating” And the wave of memories hit you. All those moments got alive in your head and you just let them take over your mind.

It was three years ago and you were both inexperienced and naive… well, Lorie was. You remember that day when she ran into you in the morning with a big smile on her face, holding a small piece of paper. She leaned on the wall next to you showing it so you can see what was written there. ‘Party at 10 pm. I`ll be waiting for you. Steve H’

“So? What do you think?” That smile actually was a bit annoying and they way she looked at you like it was Christmas. She did shine.

“What do I think?” You kept looking for your books in the school locker. You didn`t want to go to the party cause it wasn`t really your thing.

“STEVE HARRINGTON asked me to come to his party, you silly girl! I think she likes me. He`s been smiling at me for the whole week during our English classes” Her dreaming face were more annoying.

“I don`t think that’s a good idea” You closed your locker and headed to your classroom.

“Why? THE KING STEVE asked me out. Can you even hear me?”

“I don`t think he is a good guy, Lorie. Honestly, why do they call him The King?” You stopped and looked into her eye, praying for some common sense.

“Please~ We`ve been best friend since the middle school. I`ve never let you down and it is just for one night, Y/N. Do me a favor, pleeeeease?” She grabbed your hand and squeezed it with puppy eyes.

“Just for one night” It wasn`t just for one night. That party cost you two weeks and your friendship.

“Fine” You sighed. “Just for tonight I`ll be a good friend” She hugged you and kissed your cheek. You couldn`t stand Lorie but sometimes she was adorable. She was a good friend who protected and cherished you. But she also was very selfish.

That night you first time saw Steve Harrington so close. The house was full with people and alcohol and Lorie looked stunning. She always knew how to look desired. You were standing in the living room near the table with punch. Lorie had already drunk two cups cause she was freaking nervous. Steve came to her and kissed her hand. And you suddenly got it, he was cool. In his black jacket and dark glasses with his perfect hair, he was cool and not just cool. He was the coolest guy at school that’s why they called him The King. He said something sweet to Lorie and she blushed. He didn`t see you. You was invisible for him, not as shiny as Lorie was. Steve pulled her into the dancing crowd and she apologetically smiled to you. Of course, she left you. That’s why she came here. For a half an hour you were eating snacks and drinking punch and waiting for your friend. You asked some guy where the bathroom is but he offered to show you Paradise instead. Jesus. You just wanted to pee. You were walking past the stairs and you saw Laurie with Steve coming up.

“Lorie!” She turned around. She was a little bit drunk so was Steve. There was annoyance in her face when she saw you.

“What?”

“We need to talk. NOW” She rolled her eyes and whispered something to Steve who went upstairs. “What are you doing, Lorie?”

“I`m having fun, Y/N” You took her hand and got close to her. “Lorie, you don`t want to do it. Not drunk in his parents room”

“You don`t know a shit. Just leave me here. Go home. Don`t ruin my night” She pulled you away. Her lips were red because of kissing and her hair was a mess. “C`mon. Go, Y/N. You are too boring for this party”

“I`m here because of you, remember?” You were trying to stay calm but it was impossible.

“Well, I don`t need you now” You looked in her cold eyes one more time and left.

They’d been dating for a whole week. The week full of night calls and tears and sex. Everybody at school knew Lorie was “spending time” with Steve Harrington but not like his girlfriend. More like a friend with benefits but not a friend...

On Monday you found Lorie crying in a bathroom at school. Apparently, Lorie though their relationship were special but Steve didn`t. He alway asked her to leave his house next morning after they did it cause his parents shouldn’t know about her. When he stopped answering her calls she decided to visit him. He was hanging out with Tommy H. and Carol near the pool. He asked her to leave but Lorie refused and he said he don`t want to see her anymore. She was broken. You pulled her up from the bathroom floor, washed her face and told her she should tell him everything she thinks about him. So, after classes she caught him up near the school with his friends and stopped him. You tried to tell her that was a bad idea and they need more private place but she was adamant.

“Steve, we need to talk!” Lorie`s throat was dry because of tears and she could hardly speak.

“We have nothing to talk about, Lorie. I told you we can`t be together. It’s over” He was leaning on the hood of the car, not even noticing you near Lorie.

“ Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong?” She was almost crying.

“He left you because you are slut” said Tommy H. and looked at her with a wry smile. Carol giggled and Steve just closed his eyes in annoyance. You were numb. You just couldn`t move. You saw her standing there in front of him with a shocked face.

“What!?”

“Aw, don`t play an innocent girl here. You were the one who almost ate his face on the party. And then you grabbed his hand and asked him to show you his bed room” said Carol looking at Lorie with shame and disgust. “Ah, Steve, you are the king! More, Steve, more! And then you came every time he asked you to do it”

“You did what?” You were shocked and you let this question slip.

“You told them!” Lorie screamed and threw his bag at him. Tears started covering her face and you saw fire in her eyes. And it woke up her pride. She wiped her face with a sleeve and looked into his eyes. “You know what, fuck you, Harrington”

“You already did” He finally spoke. “And it wasn`t that pleasant. You need to improve your technique”

She showed him her middle finger and left. You grabbed her bag from the ground and followed her. You almost reached her as Lorie turned round with an angry face.

“Lorie… why did you do that?” You spoke quietly.

“Because I wanted to” She stepped closer to you looking in the eyes. “ And stop giving me that look”

“What look?”

“Like I did something wrong”

“But you-“

“No. Stop it! You are always right, yeah? You always right! Don`t you dare judge me, Y/S/N” She pointed her index finger at you.

“ You were the one who told me Jane Bree is a whore because she slept with Rick after their third date! You even wrote it on her desk! You slept with Steve before any date. And then you did it every time he asked you. Like you are his toy. And know he threw you away” You knew it was the end. You knew she did bad things and she just used you but you were catching on your memories. You just couldn’t remember when everything started getting worse and worse. When did she become jealous and selfish and needy? She slapped you. Hard.

“Don`t. You. Dare. Judge. Me.” She cried again. You threw her bag on the ground and walked past her. You cried too. You felt like you were her toy.

On Tuesday everybody knew she slept with Tommy H. to get back at Steve. It was also the biggest quarrel between Tommy and Carol but after that their relationship had become unbreakable. Then she hung out with Steve`s childhood friend Kyle. And then she became Lorie the slut.

“That’s why I don’t wanna have anything on common with Steve Harrington” It was 1am by the time you’d finished your story.

“Holy shit” That was the only thing Robin told you that night but it was enough. She listened to you without interrupting and with interest. It was enough. You felt relief.

Thanks everybody for support :3

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