The locker room is quiet, so quiet that Oikawa can hear the beat of his heart, the plip of sweat from his forehead as it drips onto his thigh, the gentle hum of the air conditioning, and the muffled sound of the referee whistle from the other side of the door. It's so cold he can feel his sweat cooling to his skin, raising the hairs there. It's cold everywhere except for his knee, where he can feel nothing but a burning pain so intense that it numbs out anything else.
He can feel the ache coursing down his entire leg, from the incessant pulsing under his knee cap down to the very end of his toes. It's a splitting pain, one that feels like it's taking each and every one of his nerve endings and tearing them apart at the seams. Just a small nudge causes him to gasp, biting his lip, tears welling in the corner of his eyes.
As a choking noise escapes from the back of his throat, Oikawa screams and slams a fist on the bench, the raw, grating sound of his own voice and the metallic clang of the reverberating metal briefly distracting him from the pain, but only for a moment; only until he can't scream any longer, his throat burning, the tears still sliding down his face in the most infuriating way possible.
And the pain is still there.
His brings a hand to his face to roughly wipe them away but they only continue to stream down his cheeks, soaking the fabric of his shorts.
They won't stop, they won't stop, they won't stop.
The pain won't stop.
I can't get up, I can't move, I'm so weak.
I'm so weak. I'm so weak. I'm so weak.
Get up. Get up. Get up, you bastard. GET UP.
Without thinking, without considering the rational of his actions, Oikawa roughly pushes himself to his feet, only to feel a rush of pain so great that it hits him like a punch in the gut and a wave of nausea overwhelms him. Falling to the ground again, Oikawa gags, his stomach churning violently, his vision going blurry for a moment. The pulsing from his knee feels as though it's traveled to his head and multipled tenfold in intensity. Mindlessly overcome with pain, Oikawa lets out a series of choked sobs, screaming profanities until his throat is hoarse and all that comes out are pathetic croaks.
"F-Fuck...dammit, dammit, dammit..." As his voice fades out, he rests his forehead against the cold floor of the locker room, the touch somewhat of a relief against the overwhelming feeling of burning up, every part of him feeling as though it's composed of tiny fuses ready to ignite and explode if he moves any more. Breathing heavily, Oikawa closes his eyes, trying to focus on anything but his knee.
Anything but the pain.
It had happened so fast. One moment he was fine. One moment everything was okay.
And then a moment later, he was not fine. Everything was not okay.
It was during his jump serve, during something he had practiced over and over again. During something he had perfected, something that should have never failed him.
He could tell while he was still in the air. Something wasn't right; the position of his legs, the angle of his descent, his sense of balance. Even before he landed, sirens were already going off, blaring 'DANGER' across his mind. But it wasn't something he could stop.
With an awkward twist, a pop, and a blinding flash of pain, he was on the ground, curled into a ball, screaming profanities between sobs. Whistles were blowing and someone was shouting for a medic, but Oikawa couldn't remember much besides hearing his own screams, the splitting pain, and seeing Iwaizumi almost immediately at his side. Oikawa remembers reaching out to grip Iwaizumi's jersey, balling his fist in the fabric as he tried to move himself closer, but only caused himself more pain.
"Don't move, moron!" Iwaizumi had shouted, though his voice lacked all of its usual bite, "Here, hold on. Hold on, Oikawa. They're coming to help you."
"Iwa-chan..." Oikawa had managed to choke out, gripping the jersey so tightly his knuckles had turned white, "..Iwa-chan..m-my knee, it's..."
"Hey, hey, ssshh." Iwaizumi had replied, his voice suddenly soft, reaching down to put a hand over his, "You'll be okay."
You'll be okay.
Remembering those words, that blatant lie as he lay on the floor of the locker room only increased Oikawa's frustration.
It was so easy to hate Iwaizumi in that moment, to project all of his pain and frustration on someone else. On someone else's well-meant but dishonest words. On someone else who didn't have his pain, who wasn't broken, who wasn't weak like him.
On someone else who could still play volleyball.
Because that was the worst part.
It's not the pain; it's the consequences of it.
He's not going to be okay. Oikawa knew that long before now. This isn't something he can just tape up, put some ice on, maybe take a couple days off to recover from. He doesn't need the MRI results to tell him that he fucked himself up, to tell him that he'll need surgery if he wants any hope of recovering.
He doesn't need the MRI scans to tell him that his volleyball season just ended. He already knows.
Somehow finding it in himself to push his body into a sitting position against the row of lockers, Oikawa lets his head tilt back, watching the ceiling fan whirl above him. It was a shitty thought, but a thought he couldn't help but think.
Why me?
Oikawa's not sure how much time passes before the locker room door opens, revealing Iwaizumi in the doorway. As he walks across the room to sit next to him on the floor, Oikawa wants to say something light-hearted like he usually would, but when he catches Iwaizumi's concerned, hesitant expression, something else comes out entirely.
"Don't you fucking dare."
Looking perplexed, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, Iwaizumi replies with a, "What?" that's much too gentle, much too soft, and sets Oikawa's nerves on edge.
"Of all people don't you dare look at me like that, like I'm weak." Oikawa hisses, furious. As though a match has been lit, Oikawa feels the fire of his desperate frustration boil again, unleashing itself upon his friend, "What the fuck is with that tone?! That look?! I hate you. I hate you so much. You knew already back there on the court, but you lied to me anyway. You knew I wasn't...that I'm not..."
But he trails off, feeling the tears welling in the corner of his eyes again as emotion swells in his chest. He feels like he's suffocating and yet Iwaizumi keeps looking at him like that. Like no matter what Oikawa says, no matter what he tells them, that he'll keep sitting there, calm and strangely patient, listening to him until he has nothing more to say.
And Oikawa is frustrated, he realizes, but not at that, not at Iwaizumi. Feeling a stab of guilt, he lets out a shaky sigh, closing his eyes as the back of his head hits the locker. What he says next is less than a whisper, so quiet, so defeated that he can barely hear it himself.
"...I'm not okay."
As quiet sobs shake Oikawa's body, Iwaizumi reaches an arm around his shoulder, pulling Oikawa's head to his chest, running his fingers through his hair, his gentle touch soothing in contrast to the heave of Oikawa's chest and the jerk of his shoulders.
Neither of them say anything, as there's nothing to say. There's nothing that can mend something so completely broken; they both understand that.
Nothing will fix the throbbing pain, the boiling frustration, or the future aspirations now shattered like glass at his feet.
But as not okay as he is, Oikawa thinks, if Iwaizumi is there, as long as Iwa-chan is there with him...
Everything might be a little less not okay when it's all over.
A/n
Anddddddd I think that might be the end of this one shot book! Maybe a sequel book?....who knows!
