#university really do be kicking my ass 'til it's bruised

[someonetookmyawesomename]

And here I am only getting what I want after new year

Who I’m thinking about every time… ❤️

[amjustagirl]

Summary: She may mean the world to Iwaizumi Hajime but at the end of the day, Oikawa Tooru is his star. 

AO3 Link here

Sequel: Broken Compass

She used to think the universe intended for her to literally  crash into one Iwaizumi Hajime. 

One of her first assignments as a writer for one of the country’s top sports magazines was to cover the Japanese volleyball team’s season, and despite constant reminders from her editors  not  to screw this up because the men’s volleyball team is crazy popular these days, she manages to trip over her own feet and knock not just herself, but the newly minted team trainer to the ground. 

When she lifts her head from the ground, the first thing that hits her mind is -  goodness, he’s hot  -  he’s a veritable god among men, all sinewy muscles and sunkissed skin, and she can’t bring herself to speak as he carefully checks her once over for any signs of injury. ‘Are you alright?’ he asks her, and she nods dumbly as he pulls her to her feet and waves her off with a warm smile. The heat from his hands lingers on her skin long after she goes to bed that night. 

They meet again at the next match. He remembers her name, she gives him a friendly wave. Then at the next match, she cheekily asks for his comments and he huffs a laugh as he directs her to the team’s PR manager. By the end of the season, she works up the courage to ask him out for coffee, and he says yes . 

 Iwaizumi Hajime is everything she dreamt of in a partner - kind, caring, steady, his feet firmly planted on the ground. He always wraps his arm around her to pull her close when they walk along the edge of the road, and indulges her pleas for an extra cuddle – ‘ the last one, I promise! ’ - every morning when he leaves for work. They exchange long text messages late into the night when either of them are on the road, and nag each other for working too hard. When they lay in bed at night, he whispers promises filled with love against her skin, tells her he can trace the constellations in her eyes. 

It makes it so easy for her to close her eyes and believe that their love is written in the stars, so a year later when he asks her to marry him, she doesn’t hesitate to jump into his arms and say yes . The weight of the silver band he slips on her finger grounds her with his love, and her heart is full. 

She can’t stop feeling like a thief who’s snatched the sun from the sky. 

Oikawa Tooru is to be his best man of course. 

She knows who he is, she’s covered the sport long enough to have heard about him - the prodigious setter from Miyagi who never made it once to Nationals despite his obvious talent (an exquisitely crafted  katana  is, after all, no match for the brute force of a cannon), who spit in the face of fate and chased his dreams to sunnier lands. 

Iwaizumi has always been awfully fond of regaling her with stories of Oikawa, so much so that she thinks she can piece together their relationship - childhood friends turned longtime teammates, the long suffering ace and the monstrously brilliant setter. She watches his face soften uncharacteristically when he reads news about his old friend winning a match, and hardens when Oikawa whines loudly during their video calls about his bruises and sore knee. She can’t help but think Iwaizumi must have been like Jupiter, a god in his own right, drawn into orbit around Oikawa, a star burning over-bright. 

She knows they remain best friends despite their separation by whole continents, keeping in contact via video calls and text messages, playing hopscotch with the time difference. They certainly look like it when they greet each other at the airport, Oikawa trilling a playful ‘ Iwa-channn’ and Iwaizumi grunting at him to ‘shut up, they’re in public, dumbass!’, exchanging back slaps so loud it makes her wince. 

‘You must be the poor fiancee’, Oikawa gives her an exaggerated leer as he stands before her, hands on hips. ‘What did Iwa-chan drug you with to get you to marry him? Do you know he snores like a monster in his sleep? You know you can back out before the wedding right? Blink once if you’re ok, and twice if you’re not - and I’ll help you escape from him.’

Before she can respond to that frankly impertinent speech, Iwaizumi roars ‘Shut-up, Shittykawa’, tackling him into a headlock and wrestling him off into their car. She stifles a laugh as they spend the rest of the ride to Oikawa’s hotel room bickering back and forth. 

‘How did you manage to pack so much luggage for a two week stay, you vain piece of crap!’

‘I care about my looks and grooming - unlike some of us who skulk around in clothes they’ve worn since high school!’ 

 ‘Vainpot.’

 ‘Beast.’ 

 ‘Piece of shit’ 

 ‘Meanie’

Iwaizumi alternates between grunting and growling at Oikawa’s nonsense but his eyes are shining (so bright that she can see stars) and Oikawa’s retorts are punctuated with smiles that are impossibly wide. She thinks to herself it’ll be good for Iwaizumi to have Oikawa around.

Oikawa starts to call her ‘ Chibi-chan  ’ especially when Hajime is around to be annoyed by it – she admits she’s short, but not  that  short, it’s just that he spends most of his time surrounded by literal  giants  - and develops an irritating habit of ambushing her with quizzes about Hajime's likes and dislikes. 

'Favourite food?' 

'Agedashi tofu.' 

'Favourite movie?' 

 'Godzilla.’ 

After a few rounds of these pop quizzes, she looks at him like he's sprouted a second head. ‘Seriously, Oikawa-san, we're getting married in less than two weeks. Do you seriously think I wouldn't know the most obvious things about my own fiancé?'  

'Don't frown, Chibi-chan, you'll grow wrinkles and look old', he sing songs at her. 'I'm just making sure you're worthy of Iwa-chan's love!' 

'Stop bullying my fiancée, Shittykawa, or I'll beat you up so bad you can't move'. Iwaizumi rubs lazy circles against her back, and she leans against him comfortably. 

'Aww Iwa-chan, once a bone head, always a bone head’, Oikawa says, scrunching his face into a mock-sniff. ‘Say, Chibi-chan, do you know Iwa-chan would beat me up ‘til I let go all the cicadas we caught, but if they died, he would cry?' 

‘Are you calling me a crybaby, Shittykawa’, Iwaizumi growls dangerously, simmering down only when she coos at him, ‘that’s so cute, you must have been such a sweet child’. 

Then, sensing that her presence is probably stopping the boys from catching up fully, she shoos them out of the apartment on the premise that they should get some fresh air and cool off but really so they can get some much needed time together. ‘ And stop fighting’ , she calls after them, making good use of the quiet to busy herself with wedding preparations. 

When Iwaizumi finally returns home late that night, he finds her asleep on the couch, and with a soft smile he curls up around her. ‘Hajime?’ she breathes, nuzzling her nose into his neck, and he has to bite back the urge to cover her face with kisses, tightening his hold on her instead.  

‘I’m back’, he whispers, his breath warm against her neck. ‘Sorry I was out so long’. 

‘It’s fine’, she mumbles sleepily. ‘Did you guys have fun?’

‘Yeah - we went for dinner and then Oikawa dragged me to at least five different bakeries to find the perfect milk bread before he was willing to go for drinks’, he complains. ‘And he made me promise to go for drinks with Issei and Hanamaki tomorrow afternoon before we meet with the wedding coordinator’.

‘Mm’, she hums absently. ‘Oikawa seemed a little on edge earlier. I’m glad he calmed down and had fun with you’. 

Iwaizumi frowns into her hair, thinking back to Oikawa’s inexplicable needling of her earlier. ‘Sweetheart, if Oikawa is irritating you, I'll make him stop’. 

‘It’s fine’, she says, with a little more force than she intended, waving away the concerned look he gives her. ‘He’s your best friend, Hajime. I think he's just feeling a little insecure. You should spend more time with him while you still can’. 

He grins and kisses her warmly. ‘You’re too good to me. What did I do to deserve you?’ 

‘Because the universe willed that I love you’, she answers, as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. 

But Oikawa manages to find a way to wreck her well made plans.   

Iwaizumi finds her in the kitchen, back turned towards him, and the slam of the dishes on the counter makes him wince. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart’, he tells her, wincing when she shrugs off his hand. 

'You skipped our appointment with our wedding coordinator', she hisses, whirling around to face him. ‘But that’s not the worst of it - do you know how scared I was when you didn’t pick up my calls? I thought you got  hurt  or heaven forbid - got run over by a car and died,  Hajime!’

‘I’m sorry’, he repeats, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. 'I got engrossed in catching up with Hanamaki and Issei, and Oikawa stole my phone so I lost track of time. I kicked his ass for it, you could've heard him whining about it from outer space’. He slyly slides an arm around her waist, resisting her attempts to pull away as he buries his nose in her hair.  ‘I'll make it up to you, I promise'. 

'Make sure you do', she huffs, leaning into his warmth. ‘And what was Oikawa’s reason for stealing your phone?’ 

‘You know Shittykawa, he probably thought he was being cute. I’ll make him apologise,’ Hajime replies, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck. 

She relaxes a fraction, breathing in his familiar scent - fresh linen and pine and  home, but that doesn't ease the knot of something  -  she can't quite put her finger on what it is just yet - weighing down in her chest. 

True to his word, Iwaizumi drags Oikawa by his ear to lunch with them the next day, not letting go until he apologises to her with an appropriately chastened expression on his face. ‘I’m sorry, Chibi-chan, I shan’t do it again’, he tells her contritely, but when Iwaizumi’s back is turned, he shoots her a puckish grin brimming with mischief that makes her toes curl. 

She ignores him, and lets herself be drawn into the flow of their conversation - Oikawa complaining incessantly about Ushijima Wakatoshi and Kageyama Tobio whom she’s met many times in the past few months and he shoots her dirty looks when she archly tells him that she thinks they’re lovely men, Iwaizumi getting on Oikawa’s case again for not eating enough, for not sleeping enough, barely able to restrain himself from violence when Oikawa responds with a trilled ‘  Iwa-chan, you sound like my mother ’.  

The conversation meanders off to their Seijoh teammates she’s not terribly familiar with, so she’s caught off guard when Oikawa abruptly turns to her with shit-eating grin and asks innocently ‘Say, Chibi-chan, what about Iwa-chan caught your eye?’

‘Have you looked at him?’ she says, playfully nudging a blushing Iwaizumi with her elbow. ‘He’s built like a god.’

Oikawa’s smile turns sickly sweet, showing far too much teeth. ‘In that case, I’m surprised you didn’t go for one of the volleyball players instead. Or was Iwa-chan your last attempt? You’re twenty-five this year, after all.’ 

A glance in Iwaizumi’s direction shows her exactly what she expects - first, his mouth drops open in a wide-eyed, open mouthed gape, then fury burns white hot across his face, and she has to grab his hand before he causes a scene by throwing himself bodily across the table to strangle the smirk off Oikawa’s face. ‘I can fight my own battles’, she mouths at him, willing him to stay in his seat, her hand still pressed firmly against his.  

‘Well, you did ask me what first attracted me to Hajime, and I didn’t lie - I was really drawn by his looks’. 

 She inhales and lets herself be drawn back to the warmth of the memory of tumbling head first into Iwaizumi’s arms, and exhales to look squarely at Oikawa. ‘But then I fell for his kindness, his steadfastness, his patience - and when he told me he loved me, I felt as if the universe had handed me the sun, the moon and the stars’.    

Her answer must have touched Oikawa’s shrivelled little heart, she thinks to herself, because something  in his eyes shutters and a look of respect streaks across his face. ‘Well said, Chibi-chan, well said’, he says begrudgingly. ‘Iwa-chan is lucky to have you’. 

The rest of lunch passes without incident, and when she and Iwaizumi are finally back home, he corners her as she’s about to go to bed and asks quietly - ‘Sweetheart, did you really mean all of that?’  

‘Of course I do. I love you, Hajime. Do you need me to count the ways?’ 

‘Maybe’, he responds playfully, circling his arms around her as she pulls him to bed. She lies in his embrace, ear pressed to his chest and falls asleep to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the ebb and flow of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest.

When Iwaizumi calls out that he’ll be gone to the bar down the street for an hour or two to vet Oikawa’s best man speech, she certainly did not expect him to burst back into their flat with Oikawa held bridal style in his arms. It would have been a comical sight - Oikawa’s bulky frame dwarfing even Iwaizumi, legs looking ludicrously long dangling over Iwaizumi’s arms - but for the frantic expression of Iwaizumi’s face and the desperate way Oikawa clings to Iwaizumi’s neck. 

‘Idiot bumped his knee while doing shots’, Iwaizumi explains to her distractedly, as he settles Oikawa onto their couch. ‘I don’t think it’s serious, but I’ll take him to the doctor in the morning to check him out just in case. Brought him to our place since it’s closer than his hotel room, and I can keep an eye on him overnight’. 

She hands him an ice pack. ‘Why don’t you two take our bed, and I’ll take the couch? He’ll be more comfortable that way, and you can watch over him at night.’

‘Are you sure?’ Iwaizumi frowns, and she nods, pushing him towards his friend while she turns to fetch a set of spare pyjamas for their unexpected guest. Iwaizumi lifts Oikawa to their bed and together, they strip him of his clothes and, mindful of his knee, gingerly slide him into clean clothes. 

‘Iwa-chan’, she hears the lanky setter whine as she makes to leave the room to bring an extra ice pack. Turning her head, she catches a glimpse of Hajime bending over Oikawa’s form. She’s not sure if it’s a trick of the light, but she  swears she saw Iwaizumi brush his fingers against Oikawa’s forehead with a quiet tenderness he’s only ever shown to her, tucking his hair behind his ears. For some reason, it makes her heart clench. 

She’s gathering the discarded clothes up from the floor whilst Iwaizumi’s in the shower, when Oikawa shoots his hand out to grab her wrist. ‘I’m sorry’, he tells her, a plaintive note in his voice.  ‘I tore it up – I should never have tried to tell him.’

‘What?’ She gives him a bewildered stare. ‘What are you talking about?’ 

‘Iwa-chan’, he slurs, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath as she moves closer to him to catch his words. ‘He got mad with me, madder than I’ve ever seen him before.’

‘You mean Hajime? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay mad with you, whatever it is you’ve done.’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry’, he manages to say, and starts to cry. She flounders, unsure whether to comfort him herself or call for Hajime to deal with him (because she’s not stupid, it’s painfully obvious he resents her), but the look in his eyes is so heartbreakingly vulnerable that she can't bring herself to leave him alone even for a minute, so she sits next to him on the bed, rubbing a soothing hand against his back while he soaks her sleeve with hot tears. ‘You’re drunk and injured, Oikawa-san. You should rest’, she murmurs, easing him back against his pillow when his sobs cease and he seems to calm down. 

As she bends down again to pick up his clothes, he gives a cry of alarm and tries to grab her wrist again, almost flipping himself off the bed. Hearing the commotion, Iwaizumi rushes into the room, hair still wet from his shower, barking loudly ‘you idiot’, forcing Oikawa to lie back down onto the bed. She backs out of the room, leaving Hajime to comfort his sobbing friend. 

 She doesn’t think too much about Oikawa’s strange words, mentally writing it off as another one of his odd little quirks. But as she’s folding up his pants, a stack of torn papers falls out of its pocket, and she thinks she recognises the words ‘Iwa-chan’ scribbled all over it. Though she knows it’s wrong to invade his privacy – especially when he’s in no position to defend it, she can’t help but be curious, reasoning to herself that it must be his best man’s speech, she should at least vet through it once before the wedding. 

It isn’t hard to piece the scraps of paper together, the tears uneven, as if made in a fit of panic or rage. It is, as she thought, Oikawa’s best man speech, and it starts out as expected, with well wishes to Iwaizumi and her. But as she continues reading, running her finger over each word, etched so harshly into each page that the ink bleeds, it becomes evident that that isn’t the only thing Oikawa meant to say. 

‘I know it’s too late, but I love you, Iwa-chan’, she reads with growing horror on the very last page, a suspicious water stain next to these words. Mind whirling, unable to process what she’s just read, she sits at the kitchen table reading and re-reading his words until her vision starts to blur. 

 ‘There are times I wonder if I chose wrong, if I should have held fast to you, the other half of my soul rather than going off to fight in hopeless wars, because I should have known you won’t always be waiting for me to come home. But I will always love you - like the moon loves the sun, even if I can only watch you from afar, so full of light’. 

She should be  furious  – she should head straight to Oikawa and scream and shout and stamp her foot at him, because how dare he say these things  now  when he’s had  forever  to say them to Iwaizumi before she even came into the picture – how dare  he wait until she and Iwaizumi are less than ten days away from being wed. But she doesn’t, because deep inside her, she understands. 

How can she begrudge his love when they love the same man?  

‘Sweetheart’, she faintly hears Iwaizumi say, squinting in the light as he emerges from the dark bedroom. ‘Is everything alright?’ he asks, his voice heavy with concern when he catches sight of her tear stained face.

She wants to tell him that everything’s just fine – but his gaze shifts to the torn papers in her trembling hands and she knows immediately everything is not fine at all when he looks back at her with guilt and anguish branded on his face. 

‘Did you know?’ she asks, hating the way her voice starts to break. 

‘He told me just now’, he tells her heavily, dropping into the seat across her, his hands cradling his head. 

‘Do you love him?’ she demands, ignoring the sob that’s threatening to tear itself out of her chest. 

He looks up at her. There are tears in his eyes. 

‘Yes’, he admits. ‘I don’t want to, but I do’. 

His words knock the oxygen from her lungs, leaving her with a crater in her chest. He loves  Oikawa Tooru, this beautiful, brilliant, broken boy, incandescent with the light of a thousand stars. 

Where does that leave her? 

(Stranded in the dust, abandoned in the dark)  

She suddenly feels as if she’s trapped in her own skin, a vise that’s far, far too tight, burning with the need to turn herself inside out. ‘I need to go’, she manages to spit out, stumbling over her feet. He stands in alarm, reaching towards her but she slaps his hand away. ‘Don’t touch me’, she hisses, grabbing her wallet and phone through a haze of tears. 

‘Where are you going to go?’ he demands, barring the door with his large frame. ‘It’s late, it’s not safe.’

‘Anywhere that’s not here’, she snarls, trying to shoulder her way through. ‘Let me go, Hajime – I can’t stay here, please, let me go!’ She slams her fists against his chest, collapsing to the floor at his feet when she realises it’s impossible to break through the immovable force that is Iwaizumi Hajime. 

‘Let me go somewhere that isn’t here’, she begs him, hiccupping through her tears. ‘You’re hurting me more by making me stay here with him’. 

He sinks to his knees to cup her face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry’, he sobs. ‘I couldn’t bear it if I lose you too’. 

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him he already has ( because she can’t stay, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts), and when her stillness convinces him it’s safe to turn his back to her for a second, she slips through the door and disappears into the night. She hears him shout her name, hears the anguish in his voice, but she doesn’t stop running until she’s safely ensconced in a nearby hotel room.  

Her phone keeps buzzing through the night. ‘Iwaizumi Hajime ’, it reads,  ‘Iwaizumi Hajime’, flashes on her screen, again and again. She tries her best to ignore it, turning her phone on to silent mode, leaving it face down on the dresser but she can’t - her ears still echoing with the heart wrenching panic in his voice. So she rolls over to her phone and sends him a text – ‘ I’m fine, go to bed, you have a doctor’s appointment with Oikawa to worry about tomorrow morning’  – quickly switching it off before he can flood her inbox with desperate calls and texts. 

She tries her best to fall asleep, but she ends up lying awake, counting the cracks in the ceiling. The air in the room is far, far too still, and she feels like she’s suffocating, buried alive from the sand and dirt and earth pouring into the cavity in her chest. Against her better judgment, she uncorks the cheap spirits in the hotel minibar and pours herself shots, one after another, until she drops off to sleep with a single thought swirling around her head. 

The universe isn’t fair - because first it gave her Hajime, then it took him away. 

It is noon when she wakes, sunlight streaming mercilessly into the room. She sits up with a groan, rubbing a hand across her face. For a second, she wonders where she is, the monochrome sheets so different from the cheerful patterns she uses in their room, before reality  slams into her like a comet to her chest. 

Right. That happened .  

She can scream and cry and try to scratch the face of fate but it won’t change matters. Hiding away from the world isn’t going to make the cruel joke that is her love life go away, so she grits her teeth and steels herself, washing her face and paying the bill before heading home (though if she’s honest with herself, she’s not sure if it’ll be  home for much longer). 

She prays to god or whatever deity there is out there (not the universe, it has a funny way of throwing  shit her way) that Iwaizumi wouldn’t be home, but whatever it is, it’s definitely not listening because Iwaizumi opens the front door while she’s still struggling with her keys. It takes just one look at him for the pain in her chest to make its presence felt again.  

‘How’s Oikawa’s knee?’ she casually inquires, edging around him to slip into the flat. Oikawa doesn’t seem to be around, so she lets herself relax just an inch. 

‘It’s fine’, he responds, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Just needs some rest’. 

‘That’s good’, she says absently, heading straight for the kitchen, ignoring him as he follows her steps. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asks, pulling leftover rice and dashi stock out of the fridge. He nods dumbly as she heats them both up to assemble two bowls of Ochazuke . Her heart may be broken, but her stomach certainly isn’t, and she’s not about to let herself wither away. He looks at her dumbly as she slides his bowl at him, and neither of them says a word until she leans back in her chair, satisfied with her meal. 

‘Are we going to talk?’ he asks her confusedly.  

‘About last night? What is there left to talk about?’ she replies, keeping her composure firm. ‘The wedding’s off obviously, so we need to inform all our vendors and guests as soon as possible. I think I should be the one to move out of the flat – ‘

He cuts her off frantically – ‘What? Why would we call off our wedding? I still love you, and you still love me, don’t you?’

She gapes at him incredulously. ‘Hajime, you told me last night that you love Oikawa. How is our marriage going to work if you love someone else?’ 

‘But I love you’, he says, his voice cracking. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ 

No it isn’t, and she’s shaking her head because it isn’t enough, it’s never going to be enough, because he may love her but he’s in love with him – has been since they were little boys with stars in their eyes. And his shoulders shake and it’s his turn to cry because  he loves her, he really does, he knows greed is a sin but he wants both him and her, and he wishes that it could be enough. 

 ‘I’ve seen the way you look at him, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you’, she tells him, eyes dry, but there’s a tremble in her voice that she can’t hide - because she’s so stupid, she should have figured this out long before she dug out her heart and handed it to him - but then again maybe she didn’t because she was blinded by staring too long at the sun. 

‘You will grow to resent me if I keep him from you and besides, how could  I possibly compare?’  

Because Oikawa Tooru, blessed with innate brilliance and cursed with a penchant for self-immolation, burns brighter than a thousand stars. 

‘I’m sorry’, he tells her, rounding the table to drop to his knees before her, the look in his eyes so heartbreakingly sad that she has to choke back a sob. ‘You meant the world to me’, he whispers brokenly as he buries his face in her lap. 

‘I know’, she answers him – and gods, her heart is screaming and it hurts - but she loves him so much she knows it’s only right to let him go. ‘But the world will move on, and you need to chase the stars while you still have them in your sight’. 

At this, he lets out a quiet cry, and this time she gives in and joins him, her tears soaking his hair. He wraps his arms around her as she presses kisses into his skin and they stay that way for a while, their limbs entwined, because it finally dawns on both of them that this is it  - it truly is the end of them.

The sun may set and the moon may rise, but the stars - they burn bright in the sky. 

Her love for him should die (from earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust) – but it doesn’t.  

She packs her life into cardboard boxes and shifts into her sister’s flat. Iwaizumi doesn’t allow her to pay for the cancellation of their wedding, takes all responsibility for informing their guests that the wedding’s off - he says it’s his fault after all, and she doesn’t resist, knowing it’s his way of trying to make amends.   

His face crumples and he tries to refuse her when she returns his ring, but she insists - because it doesn’t feel right, she can’t seem to smile when the silver band catches the sun's light. He doesn’t tell her he keeps it in a box beside his bed, and opens it from time to time.

Oikawa manages to weasel her sister’s address out of Iwaizumi and appears on her doorstep the day before he’s due to return to Argentina with a bushel of white lilies in his arms. 

‘Wait!’ he cries, catching the door with his foot as she tries to slam it into his face, cursing the reflexes of a professional athlete. ‘I won’t take too much of your time’, he promises, and she folds her arms, glaring at him expectantly. 

‘I’m sorry. I’ve treated you and Hajime terribly, haven’t I’, he asks her shamefacedly. 

‘You have’, she tells him coldly, because she desperately wants to blame him for everything bad that's come her way but when he hangs his head, she can’t help but soften her tone. ‘But I understand, Oikawa. How could I blame you when I love the same man?’ 

‘I don’t deserve your kindness’, he responds quietly, after a pause. 

‘But you have it’, she tells him. ‘So live and be happy, for his and my sake’. 

When he leaves, she closes the door and sinks to the floor, burying her nose in his offering of lilies. Its scent is cloying sweet, but she can only taste the bitterness of ash in her mouth.  

A year later, and she’s back covering the Japanese men’s volleyball season when she runs into one Iwaizumi Hajime again. 

He is the first to speak, asking her a genial ‘how are you’, to which she replies ‘fine’, though she really means - ‘I may be wounded, but I am still standing on my feet’. But Iwaizumi understands -  he always does , and they stay silent for a while. 

She picks up the courage to ask after Oikawa, and she knows he’s trying his best not to light up as he tells her that though he’s back in Argentina, they’re pursuing a long distance relationship. In turn, she tells him about her new boyfriend, ruefully mentioning that though she tried to stay clear of volleyball boys, Akaashi Keiji not only used to play volleyball in high school, but is the best friend (and former setter) of Bokuto Koutaro, national team player and self-proclaimed ace. He laughs at that - but she does not mention it is a relationship born out of the heartbreak reflected in both of their eyes.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks her before they part. It’s ironic because these are the first words he’s ever said to her, but she swallows the memory and this time she responds truthfully.

‘It’s a work in progress and I’m getting there, one day at a time’.  

They exchange bittersweet smiles.

It’s enough for now.

[adam-levineyard]

It's been really fucking long

So, I have not really been active these last years and stuff, and i don't even know how to begin unpacking all this shit.

Anyways, after the whole student exhange thing i got seriously depressed for about a year and a half or so. I started drinking too much, not caring enough about anything besides work to cope with it. Back in 2017 i was planning on running off with the (now i realize) little money I had saved. Ended up getting black-out-drunk as shit at my best friend’s bday party and confessing some really fucking nasty thoughts to both him and my parents between sobs and retches. I was at my lowest and started having some really bad ideas. I just wanted everything to stop. Anyways I kinda got better or something.

Until nearing the end of last year. Got really stressed out at work and drinking a lot again, ended up getting black-out-drunk again at work's christmas party. We went clubbing or something with the really wealthy owner. Everything was on the house. I don't know how I got back home barefeet, beaten, bruised, sobbing, with a bloody nose and dog bites all over my leg. Next morning I had no ID or money in my wallet. My calf has couple puncture scars that you can pinch and feel like you’re grabbing a bowling ball.  

And so it goes. Every 8 months or so I have some sort of breakdown or something, stop drinking altogether, get confident and careless again, and repeat the whole fucking thing. Last one was about a month or so. My last two gigs were as head bartender at an 80 seating capacity restaurant , then got stolen to a 600 capacity one. I get really obsessed and stress out a lot at work, it’s pretty normal in the restaurant industry. Started pulling two weeks straight with no days off and lots of overtime or doubles with no extra pay. Took some regular hours for about a week, then pulled the same shit again, but this time it was 3 weeks straight. Started overreaching myself, not doing things right, some national bigshot boss came over and realized the waiters were stealing from my stocks or charging customers extra and asked for my non-existent inventories, which I could not do cause I was very fucking busy making sure the bar was not left unnatended. She made me cry out of frustration and shame in front of everyone right there on the bar. Got drunk again, pulled the same shit over and quit about two weeks ago.

I was scouted for that restaurant. A Diageo World Class twice-participant saw me at the other bar I was working at, realized I'm fucking great (cause I actually am a fucking great bartender, mind you) and pretty much stole me from my modest 80 capacity bar to a whopping 600 one. His name’s Bernardo, and he’s the national head bartender for the whole restaurant chain, Palomino’s. They have seven outposts spread out in the country. I worked alongside him for two weeks and learned tons in that short time, then he returned to Mexico City, and we remained in contact. We got along great, he was the first and only bartender I met that knew what a fucking Sazerac was, or that also enjoyed Fernet Branca. Before he left, he passed on his bar blade to me. He had it for seven years.

I did my fair share, I saw that we made it through Mother's and Father's day and event after event. The local managers realized I would work as many hours as needed and latched on to it. At some point they chastised me at a meeting for accepting overtime pay, ever since I returned every extra cent whenever (if ever) I got a little extra on my paycheck. I eventually burned myself out and when I quit, they ended up begging me not to go for 10 days straight ‘til my last day. The managers even promised to send me to the Guadalajara and Mexico City outposts that we had so that I could grow as a bartender. Pretty much petty lies so I would pull a couple weeks more of extra shifts during this holiday season but I didn't buy it. I never talked to Bernardo about quitting, I just had to get out, whenever we talked he told me he considered me a friend. But I didn’t want to let him down.  But I know I did and I'm probably dead to him. I never talked to him again. He even sent me a couple messages asking me if I had my submission ready for a couple international competitions. I haven't even opened those messages, I think he blocked me. 

But I know how he thinks, cause we do think alike. I had a friend there who was head bartender before I was, they had me take over for him. He started burning out and they made me boss. He got depressed and told me about it. Asked for a day off to sort his feelings out and stuff. I knew how he felt so I ok’d it. He skipped work for three days straight. I spoke with Berna about it, and tried to soften the whole thing cause the other guy was my friend, as in like, “what should I do? I mean I’ve felt like that before and I know how it feels so I don’t wanna be too harsh or something” but he just cut me off and told me it was a load of bullshit and that he was gonna make him go tipless for 2 months, and warned me about pulling that kind of shit myself. And you know, I get him. I get it. Cause we do think alike. In this industry you can’t afford that kind of shit, you either suck it up or go fuck yourself. So when i realized that I was burning out  I decided to call it quits before I let them down even further.                                 To be completely honest, I loved the fact that they begged me to stay, promised me growth and promotion at bigger and better cities and a “a pressure free enviroment” as long as stayed for the holidays. I was under the impression that I was doing a horrible job, apparently not so much. The moment I decided to leave they started looking for replacements. As in plural. One barkeep leaves, two openings are posted. 

Anyways, this was not supposed to be such a depressing entry.                          I’m actually kinda sought after tbh, A couple friends from other bars had tried to swipe me from that bar, the owner at the bar they stole me from tried to lure me in again with promises of paying me bartending schools at New York and shit (he’s got the money but he usually doesnt put it where his mouth is, although apparently I was one of his favorites, the maitre’d told me he heard him order the manager to “look after me and keep me happy” while I was there so yeah). And you know, the whole begging-me-to-stay-shit at Palomino’s.

One of my closest friends and his gf actually put in a good word about me at the university they teach at, and I was offered to teach bartending to the culinary students there. Honestly, I do know a lot. Like, a  l o t . But you know me, I’m shy as shit and don’t do well in front of crowds, so my classes haven’t really been tip-top. But I’m working on it. They’re twice a week so I haven’t given more than three classes to both groups. Group B seems to like me though, but i think I bore Group A. The rest of my time I’ve dedicated to resting a bit for once, and this week I started kickboxing, so let’s see how that goes. I’m hoping it makes me a bit more assertive. I always struggle to speak my mind at work mostly because you get a motley crew of misfits working at restaurants, so I’ve been threatened with an ass kicking more than twice whenever I get aggressive at work (which i surprisingly often do). I’m also doing it for fitness, and a sense of progression and achievement. I’m doing kinda well, but that happens with every breakdown-cycle-thing. Hoping third time’s the charm.    

[feralninjaprincess]

State Recap

This post is probably going to be long.

We left at 7 Friday and got down to Galveston about 3. The cell phones were out all over the island so communication was terrible.

Found our condo, got unloaded, grabbed my gi and weapons and headed to the venue. Most of karate tournaments is waiting. You wait for your division. Then you wait for your turn. It’s tedious, and it’s time for nerves to psych you out. I had a panic attack before my weapons and self defense divisions started. A literal panic attack. I looked at my brown belt, I looked at Master Chambers and it hit me. What if I’m not good enough to be wearing this? What if I embarrass Robi? And I cried. And I couldn’t breathe. Thank God Tracy was there. She kept me sane and calmed me down.

Self defense was just weird. One dude just did one steps, (it’s a karate thing) instead of actual self defense. I don’t even know how he outscored us. The judges were scoring everything super low too. And there was no consistency to their scoring. Kittie stumbled and almost fell down and she scored higher than me pushing me just out of the medals. At first Robi thought she and I tied. I told him if that happened I would just give it to her because she’s my uke. It’s not fair for her to have to perform hers over again, then be my partner for mine a second time. But she was a tenth of a point higher so no biggie. It’s the only event I didn’t medal in this year.

My power wood breaking event was up at the same time as weapons. I was having to run between two rings for a few minutes. I didn’t break as well as I wanted to. I think I was psyched out about hitting my thumb and low and behold what did I do? It’s fine though. Bruised it a little that night but nothing serious. I was bowing in for weapons so I missed them calling out who placed where in breaking, but apparently Larry announced to the crowd in that ring that I broke boards with a broken thumb so I got cheered and didn’t even get to enjoy the moment. Hahahahahaha.

Weapons could’ve gone better. I messed up my kata but hid it well and kept going. The judges didn’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever placed in weapons. As soon as I can hold my katana again, I’m going back to samurai sword. It’s my first weapon and the one I feel most comfortable with. I want to really work on refining it. I think it’s good to know how to use the others, especially as an instructor, but for competition, sword will be where I stay. Anyway, I placed third. It was my first time to place in weapons at state.

Then I had to wait for hours to compete in power concrete breaking. Hours. Like I finally broke about 11:30-11:45. Got home, devoured pizza because I hadn’t eaten since breakfast then went to bed. I blew that concrete up. The awards for that were gis and a world title. Of course they were out of gis in my size but Larry is supposed to be ordering me a new one.

I fell asleep about two am and woke up at five on Saturday. At six, Arthur and I went to ihop while everyone else slept. I walked five blocks down to the venue while everyone else was getting ready. One of our families screwed their kid out the chance to compete in kata, because they slept in. I was texting them for an HOUR to get him there and that was after telling them the night before what time they had to be there. They showed up just after he’d been disqualified. I was so mad at his parents.

Spent the morning running from ring to ring, coaching our kids. They did great. None of them took first but several of them brought home second or third.

Third was my major number this year. Third in weapons, 3rd in breaking wood, 3rd in kata, 3rd in sparring.

Kata went ok. I watched Sensei talk through the whole thing so when he cheered for me at the end, I rolled my eyes at him and laughed and said, I know you were talking. I’ll never be great at kata because I’m too goofy and too smart ass with Robi. Hahahahaha. After kata, one of the black belts did tell me that he never wants to be on the receiving end of my kicks or punches. He’s a dude that I’ve watched knock dudes out. He’s a beast so that was a HUGE compliment.

One of the other guys that’s a brown belt almost black, told me that I’ve proved that I belong here. And that was such a big deal man. He didn’t know about the panic attack the night before. It was like the universe was speaking through him in that moment.

My fight to get to the championship round didn’t go as I had hoped. The chick I fought was fast. She was all over me before I had time to react. I wish it was bogu. I could’ve taken her down and finished it on the ground but it’s point sparring. It’s about speed and timing and mine was off.

After the fight, I was cool until the head judge, who is a dear friend told me to keep my head up. Of course that made me cry. I walked off the mat and Len (another black belt friend) and Robi were there. Len was on me about crying. I told him I’d have been ok if James hadn’t said anything. Hahahaha.

James pulled me aside later and made me cry again. He talked about how my time will come, he’s always cheering for me even when he’s judging me, and about how that girl only shows up in her region, takes her trophy and goes home. I jump in and help at every tournament, I travel all over the state, I’m a big supporter and helper of the entire organization and it doesn’t go unnoticed. He said that I matter to the AOK. She’s just another competitor. That might have been the biggest compliment all weekend. He also told me I’m beautiful and he loves me about thirty seven times all weekend.

Larry proposed to Leslie at the banquet. I went with Robi and Tracy to the hotel bar at the Hilton after the banquet. Tons of karate folks there. We drank til the wee hours and laughed and talked. One of the black belts might have tried make a move on me. I said I wasn’t sure, Tracy said it totally was. Hahahahaha. We will see how things go next year I guess. When I got ready to leave, Robi hugged me (and not a half hug, a real one) and told me how proud he was of me.

The girls I rode with I took the scenic route on the way home. It was fun. Now I have a cold. My immune system couldn’t take any more not sleeping and stress. Lol.

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

voltron- lance with a cold but doesn't want anyone to know?

(Omg my first voltron prompt..also lowkey nervous bc I’m new to it and everyone already has a million amazing voltron fics and I have nothing new to add to the table :“D on the shorter side so I get used to writing voltron :”) )

Amongst the total debacle of space, discovering alien life, realising that the world was so vast and bigger than the human mind could comprehend, Lance had found another family through his friends. It wouldn’t quite fill the void left by the loss of his family back at earth, but they were loving,  a little ignorant and harsh at times during high drake situations, very rarely at that but Lance understood, given the clusterfuck that was their situation.

The universe had been so much larger and diverse than Lance had could have possibly imagined, so many things he did not know. Among all this, topped with insecurities he had struggled with beforehand, he struggled to find his place in all of this.

His friends were kind to him, never telling him he was useless of any sort, but he couldn’t help but feel it. Watching them, with all their own niches and spectacular talent, he grew a little envious, and wishing he could be that. Wishing he could be a little bit more than this.

So when his body began to break down, he had to ignore it, not wanting to seem any weaker than he already was.

“Paladins! Report to the bridge in 60 ticks!”

Lance groaned, not wanting to leave his comfortable, warm position on his bed. He tightened his sheets around his frame as he regained his senses. As he did, he wished he hadn’t because he became aware of a powerful headache, a stuffy nose and a fevered body.

As soon as he realised what was up with him, he widened his eyes, taking his ailment as a challenge. No way would he be taken down by something as simple as a cold.

He pushed himself out of his bed, trying to get ready as quickly as possible. Lance instantly regretted his past decision as his headache intensified, causing him to feel weak and woozy. He groaned softly, until a sudden tickle brewing in his sinuses had him inhaling sharply and sneezing harshly towards the floor.

Lance groaned yet again, the force of the sneeze causing his head to whip forwards, the sudden movement doing no wonders for his already painful headache. He laid a hand against the wall, steadying himself as a wave of dizziness hit him, sighing, bracing himself for what was no doubt going to be a rough day.

“Lance, you’re late!” Allura sighed, a slight hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Nah, y'all are just early! Party doesn’t start til I walk in,” Lance beamed, trying not to raise any suspicion towards his illness.

Keith rolled his eyes fondly, averting his attention back to Allura, “So, what’s the agenda for today?”

“I would like you paladins to partake in an extensive training session today, to bring you all back in shape for any unexpected attacks,” She explained.

“Of course, we appreciate how well you’ve all been working and how strong you’ve all gotten, but there is always room for improvement!” Coran grinned.

“Great!” Lance beamed with feigned enthusiasm for the others. ‘Great,’ he beamed sarcastically to himself.

“I’m ready to kick your ass, Keith,” Lance grinned, all this forced energy already draining his weak body, causing him to feel warm and dizzy. 'I am definitely not ready to kick any ass, Keith,’ Lance thought to himself.

Shiro raised his eyebrow slightly, noticing a slight rasp and congestion to Lance’s voice. He cleared his throat as the rest of the team running off to get into their gear, catching up with Lance.

“Are you okay, Lance?” Shiro asked kindly.

“What? I’m fan-tastic, ready to seize the day!” Lance beamed.

“Hmm,” Shiro merely grunted, not too convinced but let it go for the time being, giving Lance a friendly pat on the back.

Lance kept his smiley, energetic facade on until Shiro and everyone else were out of his sight, and then proceeded to cough a short fit of chesty wet coughs into his arm.

Lance groaned softly, wondering how he was going to get through today.

Lance dodged Keith’s swing sloppily, last minute and nearly tripping over his own feet. He breathed noisily through his mouth, his nose completely stuffed. He could barely even see Keith with his vision turned a blur from his awful headache.

“You’re slacking, Lance!” Keith taunted, dodging a sloppy swing from Lance with ease.

Lance made a groan of frustration and annoyance, his nose starting to burn with a tickling sensation, averting all his attention towards it. Due to the overpowering sensation, he lost all his concentration and ended up being hit by Keith. Extremely hard.

Lance let out a hiss of pain, swallowing to stop himself from being any louder than he    already was being. He dropped everything, his frame tipping slightly as he rested his hands on his knees to support himself. The one good thing that came from this was that at least now, he lost the about the tickle, but instead had a throbbing pain in his leg.

Keith’s face went completely white, eyes widening in shock. He rushed towards Lance in worry, dropping everything. He wrapped an arm around Lance’s shoulder to help him stand upright and steady.

“Are you okay?!” Keith asked frantically, guilt dropping out of his voice.

“I’m fine, Keith!” Lance snapped, pushing the boy off of him and stood straight on his own, causing his head to spin. He sniffled weakly, trying to steady himself so he could see straight.

Pidge came up to them, examining Lance’s leg, raising an eyebrow quizzically, “There’s not much damage done here, thankfully. Just a bruising at most.”

“I’m not weak!” Lance hissed, becoming slightly delirious.

Pidge widened her eyes, “What?! No, Lance! That’s not what I meant at all!”

Lance let out a shaky breath, realising what he had done and softened. In that moment he looked much younger, tired, weak. “I’m sorry,” he croaked softly, voice scratchy.

Hunk frowned, “Lance, what’s wrong?”

Lance shook his head aggressively, picking back up and getting himself into a a fighting position. He faced Keith, pulling on a determined look, as he painted. Suddenly, the tickle from earlier returning with vengeance, intense and burning that there was no time for a build up. He simply launched into an powerful fit of sneezing, head snapping forward with each one, which progressively got more forceful.

As he finished, his pounding headache worsened from the impact of snapping forward repeatedly. He slumped forward, giving in to his illness as he allowed himself to feel the true extent of his illness.

“..Lance..?” Pidge called gently.

Lance sniffled, letting out tiny little chesty coughs due to his congestion. He looked pathetic, a complete contrast to his bubbly, friendly exterior.

“What’s wrong?” Hunk asked patiently, a gentle hand propping itself on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance looked up blearily, eyes watery and exhausted, letting out a shaky little sigh before starting his sentence with a congested, little cough, “..I just don’t feel very well..”

Shiro smiled softly, approaching the younger boy and holding him by the shoulders, “Oh Lance..you should’ve told us. You know we wouldn’t have made you do this if we knew you weren’t feeling good.”

Lance sniffled, leaning against Shiro’s steady embrace, “I know..I just..”

“You just..?”

“…I didn’t want you guys to think I was weak,” Lance choked.

Pidge looked bewildered, “What?! We would never think that! Why would you think that? We would be nowhere without you!”

Lance shrugged, “..I don’t know..I wanted to prove to you guys..to myself..that I have a place here, I guess. It’s all just so overwhelming..”

Hunk frowned, “Awh Lance! You have nothing to prove, you’ve already proven yourself time and time again! We wouldn’t have even been able to do all of this if you haven’t connected with Blue!”

Lance managed a tiny smile, “..I just..I don’t know, feel inferior to all you guys. You’re all so talented..”

“Well, that is a load of garbage,” Keith said.

Pidge blinked, looking over at him, “Keith!”

He shook his head, “Lance, you are one of the most talented people I have ever met. You never seize to impress me everyday, and I learn more about you and realise that you’ve really got something. It’s a load of garbage that you think otherwise.”

Lance managed a small smirk, “..I..impress you?”

Keith blushed, looking away in embarrassment, “..That’s all I’m going to say.”

“Ah, there he is,” Pidge joked.

Shiro felt Lance’s forehead with the back of his hand, frowning, “You’ve got a bit of a fever too..you need to get to bed and get some rest. We need you in tip top shape as soon as possible, because we do really need you, Lance.”

Lance gave him a small smile, “..Okay.”

With that, Hunk swooped in and picked Lance up in his arms, giving him a large, loving grin, “Nurse Hunk to the rescue!! I’ll cook you up some good soup in just a little bit!”

The Paladins escorted Lance to his room, where they safely put him into bed, where Hunk said his farewells to make Lance some soup, shortly followed by Pidge who went to find some medicine, then Shiro who went to inform Coran and Allura, leaving him with Keith.

Keith fluffed up Lance’s pillow and tucked him into his blanket, feeling his cheek, brushing hair out of his face, in that totally loving mushy gushy out of character way that left Lance bewildered and having an out of body experience. He didn’t know if this was his fever or real life.

Keith answered that question for him, a slight blush to his cheeks, “..Don’t get yourself excited, I’m not going to be doing this every night now.”

Lance pulled on a look of fake disgust, “Eugh, I wouldn’t want you to.”

Keith smiled softly and sat at the edge of his bed, arms crossed and obviously finding trouble keeping eye contact with him, “..Lance..”

“Mm?”

“..I..didn’t know you felt that way. I-I know this is weird, and let’s not make it weird but if you ever want anyone to talk to..I’m right here, any time at all,” he stammered.

Lance gave him a small woozy smile, a soft, kittenish sneeze escaping him before he sniffled, snuggling into his covers. “..Right back at ya Keith..I’m here too..”

Keith smiled softly, gazing over at Lance with care, watching as the boy’s eyelids slowly drooped, clearly exhausted. He chuckled, “Get some sleep, Lance.”

Allura gently opened the door to Lance’s room, having decided to check on the Paladin and to see if he was well, only to see Keith sitting right by Lance’s side, a loving gaze on his eyes as he watched him sleep, as if trying to keep him safe.

Keith tensed as he heard her come in, whipping his head around to face her and relaxed as he realised it was only her. Suddenly, he realised what had happened and blushed with embarrassment, “uh..listen..”

Allura only smiled, “No, you don’t have to say anything. And I won’t either.”

She left shortly after, knowing Lance would be just fine if Keith was there by his side. And she was right, because Keith remained there to ensure that Lance was alright, making a vow to himself that nothing would ever hurt this boy, and the rest of his friends would help him do so.

[zmediaoutlet]

breña

Show me lonely, and show me openings to bring me closer to you, my dear—

Dean keeps thinking about time. Can’t help it.

Sam stirs, at his side. Dean keeps his eyes on the window, where the half-drawn curtains are barely keeping out the slowly darkening gold of the afternoon. A hand pets down over his naked back, smooths down his flank in a heavy stroke, and Dean stretches out under it, tries to focus on the warmth, the weight. He’s got his arms folded under the thin motel pillow, but they kicked away the covers in that first frantic fuck, hours ago, finally alone where no one could see or interrupt. The sheet’s wrecked, beneath them. What’s left is just this pillow, and Sam—the long, warm, familiar body, tucked in against his side. They’re pressed together at hip and shoulder, Sam’s leg snugged up against his, and now Sam’s hand on the small of his back, stroking slow circles with one restless thumb. Some family group from next door clatters out onto the sidewalk outside their room—a man’s voice calling for them to hurry up, or Mount Rushmore will have walked away! Little-girl voices shrieking dismay. Sam huffs, and Dean finds he’s clenching his fists tight, tries to relax them. They listen as car doors slam, as an old engine whines to life and drives away, and then it’s quiet, again.

“What time is it,” Sam says, soft.

His breath is warm against Dean’s shoulder. Dean shrugs. “Don’t care,” he says, and it’s too-low, gravelly, but so what. Not like Sam’s going to say anything.

Sam makes a noise, kind of like disapproval, but too quiet to really count. It’s what Dean expects to hear from his little brother, though, and he turns his face into the pillow, squeezes his eyes closed. He hasn’t cried, not yet. Maybe it’s because the horror of what’s coming is too great. Too big to even think about. “You think Bobby’s right about those signs in Des Moines?” he forces out, to distract himself.

There’s a pause. “Probably,” Sam says, after a few seconds. “He or Cas will call, when they know.”

Dean nods, his face moving against the too-warm pillowcase. He’s having a hard time breathing. Bobby came and found them, back this morning when Dean was just sitting on the Impala’s hood, with Sam silent next to him, and he took one look at their faces and he must’ve known the conversation they had, but bless him, he didn’t say a thing. Just let them know that there were maybe some demons they could bleed, down in Iowa, and that he’d go check them out. That he and Castiel might not be back for the rest of the day. Dean had nodded, too fucked-up inside to speak, and once Bobby was gone, once they were alone, he should’ve been able to—he should’ve said—

The hand on his back slips over to his hip and tugs, and he lets out a shaky breath into the pillow but turns over, as he’s urged, because he’s not going to deny Sam a thing. Not today.

He ends up flat on his back, the pillow shoved up against the cheap fake-oak headboard. Sam props himself up on his left arm, raised halfway to sitting, and just looks at him. Dean licks his lips, feels himself flushing, but he lays there, spread out and naked, and looks back. Sam’s tan, lately. Bare, there’s no way to distract from how he’s also just—big. Grown up, and up, when Dean can still remember him as a little smartmouthed fragile thing, looking up to Dean. Like Dean ever knew what he was doing. Dean reaches up and touches his arm, where the curve of bicep’s bulging out; traces that up to his shoulder rounded with muscle, then over his tattoo, then over his heart. Sam catches his fingers, there. Traps Dean’s hand flat against his warm, living skin.

Dean can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe he’s not fighting this with everything that he has. He drags his eyes up, a little higher, even if he dreads it, and Sam’s just—watching his face. He’s got a tiny furrow of concentration there, between his eyebrows, his lower lip caught between his teeth. His hair’s completely screwed up, and in other circumstances Dean might grin, but instead the only thing that comes to mind is that this is the last time he’s going to see it, like this, all fucked up from sleep or from Dean’s hands in it, from Sammy scrubbing through it during research or after he works out, and Dean could just—“Sammy,” he says, thick, and Sam looks right into his eyes and Dean sees that he’s thinking the exact same thing, and his fingernails dig into Sam’s skin—but then Sam’s leaning in, he spreads his hand wide over the side of Dean’s face and kisses him, knocks his mouth open with his own and tongues into him, deep, slow, their teeth knocking together clumsily. Dean closes his eyes, winds his arms around Sam’s neck. He’s holding onto his resolve by the barest thread, like trying to haul a ton of lead in with a single strand of fishing line, but there’s no other choice. The universe has brought them to this—after everything, they’ve arrived at this horrible, gorgeous summer’s day, just a few handfuls of hours left until the world cracks in half. Sam lets out a little sob of a noise into his mouth, his fingers slipping back into the too-short hair at the back of Dean’s skull, and Dean slides his hands down, gets them around Sam’s waist and drags him, urging, spreads his legs to get Sam between them. Sam pulls away from his mouth, ducks his head down against Dean’s shoulder, his breath rasping loud and too-fast against Dean’s skin, but he’s hardening up, warm and stiff down against the inside of Dean’s thigh, and that’s it. Dean grips his ass tight in one hand, slides the other up into his hair and clenches, pulls a little, and Sam jerks between his legs, slams a hand down against his hip, and—yes, that’s it, Sammy, please, and then Dean pulls his knees up high, wrapping himself up and around all that dear familiar weight, lifts his hips and then the push in, slick where Sam’s already used him twice, a stinging deep ache, and he closes his eyes, keeps Sam close enough that there’s hardly room for him to thrust—but he does, grinding in close, his hands heavy and bruising on Dean’s skin, and they breathe together, hot and close and suffocating, the bones of Sam’s forehead crushed in tight against Dean’s, his nose on Dean’s cheek, their mouths slipping slack and open against each other.

After. Sam’s shifted them around so he’s laying on his back, Dean sprawled out over his front. He’s got to be crushing Sam, but he remembers, from his own looming death—that’s the point. He tucks his face in against Sam’s collarbone, curls his fingers where they’re crammed in under his shoulders. Sam settles both hands on the backs of Dean’s thighs where they’re spread around Sam’s hips, thumbs stroking in repetitive circles. Dean’s sticky-wet, leaking, sweat-sheen all over him, and it reeks of the two of them in here. He wishes they could never leave.

“What’s it like?” Sam says, soft into his hair. “After.”

Dean swallows. He knows what Sam’s asking. There’s no answer. His hell was nothing like Sam’s will be, and there’s nothing he could say that’ll help, and, anyway—“Just—not yet, Sam,” he says. He settles his weight more heavily onto Sam, their bellies slipping slick together, and presses his ear tight against Sam’s chest, listening for the thud of his heart. The squared light of the window is a little dimmer. Who knows how long ‘til Bobby’s call. He has to take what he can get. “Not yet.” Sam’s breath hitches, but he settles one hand tight over the back of Dean’s neck and doesn’t say anything more. Dean listens to Sam’s heart, trying to ignore the tick of the face-down bedside clock. They breathe, waiting.

(read on AO3)