Battle Scars

{ ~ }

{ Oikawa Tooru }

Oikawa Tooru stared at the plain t-shirt he was supposed to have changed into ten minutes ago for practice, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to go, he really did. But if he did, if he took off his sweatshirt, his friends would all see the cuts and scars that decorated his arms. They would see the marks he had made every time he felt insignificant, every time he felt he wasn't good enough, every time he felt weak. Every time he needed to express the pain that raged like a summer storm inside his rib cage.

Artists had pencils and pens to express their pain; writers had words. Oikawa had his pocketknife. His arm was like a canvas, with diagonal lines crossing over each other, running from his wrist to his elbow, every line trying it's best to get his pain across but never doing a sufficient enough job.

Oikawa gave one last glance at his shirt before going to sit in the corner he had sat in the past three days while his teammates practiced their hearts out in the gym. His phone began to buzz, and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Seijoh's team-mom Iwaizumi calling, probably wondering why he wasn't in the gym with everyone else. Instead of answering, however, he turned his phone on silent and set it on the floor next to him.

Oikawa reached back into his pocket, his fingers running past his bulky leather wallet, past his set of keys, and brushing against the cool blade of his pocketknife. His fingers wrapped around it, and he pulled out his artist's paintbrush, his writer's pencil, his coping mechanism.

He flicked it open, the light from one of the few windows cut out of the walls reflecting off the blade. Another light caught Oikawa's eye, so he looked down to see someone blowing up his phone with texts. He placed his knife carefully on the floor next to him and picked up his phone. He scrolled down to read them (all from Iwaizumi, by the way) from the beginning.

Iwa-chan~
where are you

Iwa-chan~
why are you skipping practice

Iwa-chan~
answer me

Iwa-chan~
what's going on

Iwa-chan~
it isn't like you to skip

Iwa-chan~
what are you doing

Iwa-chan~
if you don't answer in five seconds I'm gonna track you down

Iwa-chan~
remember that Buddy Search app you made me download

Iwa-chan~
I'm using it

Iwa-chan~
why the hell are you in the club room

Iwa-chan~
I'm on my way

Iwa-chan~
you're dead meat when I get there

Iwa-chan~
see you in 3 seconds

Panic began to rise in Oikawa's chest. Adrenaline shot through his veins, it's icy claws making his heart skip a beat. He heard footsteps pounding closer, getting louder and louder, fighting the even louder pounding in his head. His breathing was becoming ragged with fear. Oikawa grabbed his pocketknife from the floor and was about to throw it across the room when Iwaizumi burst through the door. Oikawa was positive he looked like a deer in headlights - scared out of his mind. Could he still throw his knife? Would it get lost in the mess that littered the clubroom's floor? Should he hide all of this from his best friend?