Infectious || IwaOi

14.

Credits to respectful artists.

Enjoy:

If there was one thing that took Iwaizumi's mind off things, it was intense workout. The sweating, the exertion, the adrenaline and the contraction of every muscle gave him a sense of euphoria.

He had now been in the gym for at least two hours, trying to run away from the world, his pull up count now exceeded his personal record, but it wasn't enough.

He recalled the string of chaotic events that took place the other day. The game, the car ride, his confession....

"Shit." He whispered as he pulled himself up again, his legs crossed beneath him, forcing from his torso up his body to go above the metal bar he hung from. Every time he brought his weight down, he was tempted to do more, ignoring the scream in his biceps and forcing another one.

He grunted as he pulled himself up again, the memories flooding again.

He had said it, just flat out. About his feelings.

You dumb fucking dinosour. That's not how confessions work.

He was pissed off and embarrassed at himself. He had believed that he had everything under control.

But apparently his feelings just said no.

He winced and let go of the bar, crouching on the floor and breathing heavily. With a wrapped hand he pushed back the wet spikes that stuck to his forehead with sweat and picked up his towel on the bench.

The gym was mainly empty, except a few trainers and potential athletes - some he even presumed were athletes.

He didn't continue volleyball after high school, he dived right into business, although every now and then, his body would beg for the strain.

Iwaizumi grabbed his water bottle and took a long sip, unpeeling the black tank top he wore from his skin due to the profuse sweating. He pushed his grown out hair back again and stretched his back, groaning once more at the feeling.

Iwaizumi was a lot more ripped than he gave himself credit for; heck, for their company promotion poster they even asked Iwaizumi to pose shirtless, and after a not so desirable session, a lady even approached him with the offer of working for a modelling agency.

He hysterically turned the offer down.

Modelling was for pretty faces...

Pretty faces huh?

Oikawa's face appeared in his mind; not one where he was looking at Iwaizumi with those beautiful brown eyes of his, but when he was smiling at Junko; a kind and childish smile.

That was the image he could think of when the word 'pretty' was thrown in.

He relaxed, clutching the towel to his face, tuning out the erratic beating of his heart on his ears. He really does look cute when he smiles like that; that careless and free smile. One that didn't come when he spoke to other girls or when he speaks to other colleagues.

Then for some reason the image of Oikawa back in his room resurfaced, when he had passed out.

Before his mind would wander to the image of his slightly exposed body, Iwaizumi forcefully stuffed his towel into the black duffel bag, not needing a mirror to know the unholy shade of red on his face.

Shit.... Why am I feeling like this?

Just as he was about to unwrap the protection bandage on his hands, he saw the screen of his phone light up, indicating a new message.