one shots of the haikyuu breed {on-going}

Will He (OiAka)

Will He (Ryan Hemsworth Remix) // Joji

            Fuck, I live for this song, so I hope y'all enjoy this. This is a bit of an experimental piece and short, and next I'm going to try a stream of two consciousnesses which might be fucking sick !! Look forward to it ;)

       Smeared lipstick on the collar of his button down, little purple marks from a woman he would never truly know. A night to remember for Oikawa, but surely it was one Akaashi would forever try to forget. That night, Oikawa had slipped in the front door, stumbling through the hall. Akaashi had dragged himself from their bed, cold from the absence of Oikawa, to find the source. He didn't realize it was nearly four in the morning at the time, but he hadn't thought to look at the clock.
       "Oikawa?" he had called down the hall, peaking around the corner and flicking on the lights.
       Oikawa didn't say much at all and froze. His lips were stained an obnoxious pink, and it trailed down his neck, beneath his clothes and smudged on his shirt.
       Akaashi had seethed, all his serene, sleepy demons surging from his throat and chest as he screamed obscenities at Oikawa. He chucked anything he could get his hands on, before Oikawa ran through the door. Akaashi collapsed to his knees, returning to a still state within emotionally. His head spun and felt like it would split, the ring singing in his ears like a dying songbird.
       He returned to his room, laid down, and immediately went to sleep.
       The morning was a different story.
       Heartbreak in his case began with a physical pain, one that resonated throughout his lethargic bones and filled them like cement, until he could do no more than quiver and cry and claw at his chest. He clutched a polaroid they had taken years ago to his chest, crumpling it a bit in his frantic hands. After a few hours and calling off work, he pried himself from bed, tears freely falling down his cheeks. He riffled through the closet, slipping on his favorite sweater of Oikawa's, the one that seemed to never not smell like him, no matter how many times Akaashi tries to wash it. The scent was like a curse left to torment Akaashi, and it tormented him constantly. One night he scrubbed it until his fingers blistered and bled. It was the only thing Oikawa ended up leaving in the apartment, mostly because when he returned, he didn't plan on ever going back. He had forgotten it and got over it, much like how he treated Akaashi.
       Their relationship wasn't healthy in any way. It was an astoundingly toxic waste of time, and effort, and passions. It was a rollercoaster of emotional and physical manipulation from both parties.
       There was always screaming between the two, but they had some sort of unspoken agreement, an agreement that activities would be discreet. Each knew of the other's side piece, but they didn't mind. They had tricked themselves and each other into love until it stuck.
       They loved each other, oddly and deeply, but they broke each other in different ways.
       "Do you know what happens when you lick a jolly rancher and stick it against a window, and then try to pull it off?" Oikawa asked once over their morning coffee.
       "Yes," Akaashi answered quietly, taking a sip from his mug, his eyes flitting up from the poetry book on the table. "It shatters."