bOIII no. 2 PLES I love hiM SO MUCH. anyways i think its a bit uhhhhhh huRT?????
read pls. luv u
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*deep fckin inhale* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGKHAGSHGASDGAS;KDHG;HGDKHGDH;KGD;KHAGD;KHGD;KHAGD;KHAGD;KHAGSH;KDA;DASKGD;AKHSGDJHLAGDJLHGHSDF ok
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OIKAWA KYUUN~~
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He was late.... Very late.
It was nearly nine at night, the city smoke filtered through the air lapped at your face and caressed the bare skin of your chest, just above your bathrobe.
Worry settled deep within your bones as the night blended from a dreamy prussian to a clean black.
Failure had always been part of Oikawa's life. It was almost embedded in his nature; he was destined to try his utter best, feel the euphoria of pushing himself over his limits and only to be rewarded with failure.
Painful, obvious failure; a reality that no matter how hard he tried, there would always be someone better than him that would beat him in the face.
And that worried you.
But it was also why you agreed to go out with him, to be his lover, to stick by his side. Your friends had told you that Oikawa was a very unstable person, that he would always prioritise his work and hobbies before anything and anyone.
But that wasn't what you saw the day the brunette broke down in front of you, emotionally confessing his aching love for you and how you were the cause for a shift in his life.
How he held you as his tears streamed, and how you kissed them away, healing every wound in his heart while his hot tears seared yours away from that day and every moment since.
And yet...
Another soft breeze, a little sympathizing sigh from the night.
You made up your mind.
It wasn't very often that you took your car out- technically Oikawa's, not yours, but still. You could drive, with anxiety at the passenger's seat but you could drive. And so ten minutes later you find yourself fervently pulling up to the local stadium in Tokyo, one where Oikawa frequented. There, the lights of the interior guided you to the fully mechanised court where sure enough- just from a few feet away, you could hear a pair of shoes squeaking.
A loud blast and then the sound of the ball hitting the polished floors a little way off.
The sight never failed to amaze you- Oikawa at his prime, his peak, where his feelings were overstimulated, fueled by adrenaline and pure joy over doing what he loves. His form was perfect in the air, his brown locks sticking to his sweaty forehead. And his hand came around, like a whip.
