Sorry in advance
It's somewhat difficult for Iwaizumi to stay perfectly aware of his surroundings with the distraction of bullets hissing around him at regular intervals. He blames that for how long it takes him to notice that the everpresent shadow just over his shoulder is gone, that at first he mistakes the vulnerability of his uncovered back for a generic awareness of his mortality under fire. And it's hardly any delay at all, really; it can't be more than a few seconds, given that Oikawa is still in eyeshot when Iwaizumi reaches out behind him to grab at the other's shoulder and catches nothing but air. When he turns around Oikawa is lagging, not so far to be wholly separate from the group but more than enough to compromise the security of the trailing members, moving slowly enough that he falls behind with every step.
"Shit," Iwaizumi hisses, his jaw setting into irritation. It's true that Oikawa sometimes lacks discipline during training, has a tendency to joke around far more than Iwaizumi would like, but he never thought it would extend to a situation like this. He reaches out to grab the elbow of the man ahead of him, jerks his head back towards the straggler to indicate where he's going, and drops back while the rest of them continue on forewarned about the loss of the last two members.
Oikawa seems to be slowing. By the time Iwaizumi has stalled enough for him to catch up, he's barely moving at a jog anymore at all, his motion more of a shuffle than anything that could plausibly be called a run.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Iwaizumi demands as they fall into step. "I didn't think you were slacking off training that much, idiot, can you really not run a couple miles?"
He can hear Oikawa's laugh, clear over the pattering sound of continued gunfire; the sound is diminishing as they fall farther from the main group, the concentration of the fire targeting the larger mass of men ahead. Iwaizumi has a pang of irritation, the sense of responsibility to the rest of the team abandoned because of Oikawa's inexplicable delay, and when he reaches out to grab the other's shoulder his hold is accordingly rough.
"Listen, you fucking asshole--" he starts, and that's as far as he gets in the framework of guilt he is planning to deliver, because Oikawa slips on the smooth asphalt under them and drops out from under his hold.
For a minute Iwaizumi is just confused -- the rain has made the ground somewhat slick, sure, but the treads on their combat boots ought to be more than enough to compensate, and there's no incline or obstructions to trip Oikawa up. Then the other hits the ground with more force than he should, barely getting his elbow out in time to save himself from faceplanting entirely, and an explanation slots itself into place.
"Ah fuck," Iwaizumi huffs. It's just his luck, after all. He drops to a knee, glancing up to take stock of their surroundings. The bullets have all but passed them by, now, except for a few passing shots pinging off the walls around them; he still ducks behind one of the storage crates set against the side of the street, the cover insufficient but enough to buy them a few minutes to patch Oikawa up.
"I can't believe you got yourself fucking shot," Iwaizumi snaps as Oikawa drags himself through the rain to fall against the crate alongside the other. His hair is wet from the rain, curling around his face like the water is bringing out the natural wave of the strands, and he tips his head to meet Iwaizumi's gaze. In the dark his smile is particularly bright, enough to grate Iwaizumi's nerves more raw than they already are so his question comes out as a growl. "Where did you get hit?"
"You're going to patch me up?" Oikawa asks, his voice lilting into the teasing range that sets Iwaizumi's teeth on edge. "Can I get a kiss to make it all better from Nurse Iwa-chan?"
"Fuck you," Iwaizumi hisses. "This isn't the time for your fucking bullshit, unless you want to wait around for us both to get shot."
Oikawa coughs, lifts a hand to swipe at the corner of his mouth. "How mean, Iwa-chan, of course I don't want you to get shot."
"Coulda fooled me," Iwaizumi snaps. "Spit it out, idiot, where are you hurt?"
"I always love your pet names," Oikawa hums, and Iwaizumi looks up from the bandages he's fumbling out of his pockets, ready to smack the smirk right off the other's face.
It's then that he sees the color at the corner of Oikawa's mouth, the smear of red turned black in the dark, and all the fire of irritation in him goes cold with horror before he can frame words to it. Suddenly the pale of Oikawa's skin looks telltale, the limp angle of his wrists turns into frightening exhaustion to Iwaizumi's eyes, and the sound of his breathing comes gasping into audibility over the gunshots.
"Oh shit," Iwaizumi says, and he's reaching out to grab Oikawa's shoulder as he starts to slide boneless across the support at his back. Oikawa coughs again, and now it sounds wet, hacking and raw to match the blood he spits into a shaking hand. "Fuck, Oikawa, hang on, you have to stick with me."
Oikawa's smile is audible even under the heavy effort of his words, even before Iwaizumi shifts his grip to turn him face-up and supported against the other's arm. "You sounds so sweet when you're worried about me, Iwa-chan." He weighs more than Iwaizumi expects, is supporting none of his own weight at all, and Iwaizumi's heart clenches in panic as adrenaline starts to shake through his hands and close off the rhythm of his breathing. Oikawa's gaze is slipping over his face like he can't hold it still, his lips still turned up on that smile, and some part of Iwaizumi grabs at that as reassurance, surely he couldn't muster that smile if he were actually dying. Then something flickers over Oikawa's delicate features, a spasm of pain that Iwaizumi has never seen before, and when his body shudders in a convulsive spasm Iwaizumi can feel his stomach drop, his entire sense of balance going into freefall for a moment as certainty hits him.
"Oikawa--" he starts, and that's when his throat closes up, the burn of sudden tears choking off his words before he has a chance to decide what to say. There's too much, affection and teasing and camaraderie, all the things he thought he'd have time for, the appreciation he's always taken for granted and the love he thought he could wait to tell tumbling together and closing off his throat with desperation to say everything so what he manages is nothing, just a breathless choking sob.
Oikawa's smile is softer than he's used to seeing, stripped bare of the teasing edge Iwaizumi has always seen before. It's not fair that his heart should beat the harder at it, that his body should flush hot with the burn of affection when Oikawa's touch at his cheek is so cold.
"It's okay, Iwa-chan." His fingers are sticky, dark with blood that clings to Iwaizumi's cheek as Oikawa's hand slips down to his jaw and falls limp over the other's chest. "I know you love me."
Iwaizumi blinks hard, trying to clear the haze from his eyes, and Oikawa's eyes shut, he takes a breath that Iwaizumi can feel stuttering in his chest.
"I'm cold, Iwa-chan," he says, his voice catching high and plaintive as he starts to shake in Iwaizumi's hold. "You--" Another cough, shorter this time but ending with a wet gurgling gasp as Iwaizumi ducks his head and pulls Oikawa in closer against him. "You should warm me up."
"It's the rain," Iwaizumi sobs, his voice sticking the words into unintelligibility. "You're all wet, you just need to get back and dry off."
Oikawa laughs, or tries to laugh before it turns into another gasp, desperate and rattling in the back of his throat. "Dripping with good looks, maybe," he chokes, and then all at once, his tone going lost and terrified for a moment, "Iwa-chan?"
"I'm here," Iwaizumi gasps. "Here, I'm right here, Oikawa" but the trembling shiver in the other's shoulders has gone still, the weight of the form in his arms has gone heavier and truly unresisting.
Iwaizumi doesn't need to see the absence of a flutter of pulse along the bare line of Oikawa's throat to know what he's lost.
