oikage

broke down

the last time he saw the boy — he was crying and suffering. the boy he loved so much, the boy he thought strong. he couldn't bear it. oikawa permanently took the mask off.

" oika—" said tobio in a sigh.

" stop. this. stop shaming and belittling your suffering through humor. it's okay to be wounded. you are not lesser in the world because the world has hurt you, okay? it isn't your fault that you're hurting. but humour as a coping mechanism is a double edged blade."

"listen, i care about you please oikawa. i do''

he looked at him again and he swear that somewhere in those eyes he catches a shooting star or perhaps the long rays of starburst tricking out into the world.

« i'm trying tobio i truly am but i don't think i'm ready yet. »

oh oikawa, you will never be ready, ready is but a spell that wizards yearn to cast. no humans has known ready. nothing that dies can be ready. it is now because it can't be after.

suddenly, oikawa's legs shift under him, the ground sighing at his touch. the ground feels softer here. the air feels lighter here. a voice as soft as the springtime sweeper the air around him as if a sheet of satin were tossed over his fragile body. he can't hear anything and he is having chest paint and trouble breathing. he feels dizzy. tobio shake his shoulders and yells at him.
the voice as soft as the spring.
it was tobio all along.