oikawa tooru oneshots

5 • CREEP - RADIOHEAD

A/n: very self indulgent. By that I mean me hating myself.

Oikawa Tooru was an angel. He was perfection, he floated like a feather in a beautiful world, he was special, he was special. He was loved; worshipped; he was a king, the Great King, someone who was above the average, and for good reason at that too.

You couldn't look him in the eye — he was too... special.

Special. So fucking special.

You loved that word; you also hated that word.

Adored it because it was something that Oikawa was. Loathed it because it was something that you weren't.

There were many different words for special. Unique; quirky, that was a strange one; outstanding; remarkable; exceptional. They sounded grand, they demanded your attention, they demanded your respect and love. Those who were special got all they ever wanted, those who fit right into the sublime crowd, those who had been born to play a particular role in society.

You'd been rejected from the auditions before the others had even begun to rehearse.

Oh, how you wished you were also like him. You hoped, prayed, begged — sobbed for some kind of divine intervention, to make you exactly like Oikawa, untouchable, indisputable, flawless — but you stayed exactly as you had always been.

What the hell were you doing here? You didn't belong here.

Nothing ever seemed to quite work out for you, no matter how hard you tried. You couldn't find a special slot for yourself; among the millions, billions of cubby holes for people, there was no place for you. A nobody, a nothing, a freak, a weirdo, a creep — there would never be anything for you! You were living in a world where either you were special or not, and somehow you'd fallen out of both of those categories, and now lay in the dirt of the unwanted bastards.

What did I have to do, you asked, what do I have to do to be special?

The answer was simple. You couldn't do anything. You were stuck like this, forever, stuck as a useless person who didn't have anywhere to go, or anyone to turn to.

You wanted control, you wanted Oikawa's control; you wanted his perfect body, his perfect soul, you wanted him to notice when you weren't around — when you were bawling in the bathroom, when you were watching other groups of people walk past you, when you would overheard other students whisper things about you behind your back, think you couldn't hear them. Oh, but you heard, you heard and digested every single word they said, and absorbed it into your being like a pathetic sponge.

Why weren't you special? Why weren't you special? Why weren't you special?

People were ready to do whatever made Oikawa happy, whatever he wanted, because he was special.

Special. So fucking — special.

You wished you were special.

But you were a creep — you were a weirdo.

Nothing you ever did would change that; no matter how much you yearned for perfection, unquestionable perfection, Oikawa's perfection, you'd never get it; you didn't even care how much it would hurt, how much pain you'd have to endure to finally be a part of the crowd. You fucking needed it, you needed to be like Oikawa, you needed to be like — like everybody else.

One day, just one day! One day where you weren't plagued with the thoughts of how there was nowhere for you to go, one day where you didn't look at Oikawa and turn so envious you could feel your blood pumping through your veins becoming green with jealousy.

Yet that would never happen.

Oh — you wished you were special. You wished you were special.

But you were a creep.