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‘Oikawa’s Diary.’ || one.

It’s so stupid, but sometimes I wish we were still children.

He loved catching bugs with that little net, beetles and butterflies and even a worm, one time. I don’t think I’ve spent a single summer without him. God, I was such a crybaby, and he knew. Of course he knew. He put a beetle on my arm, and would make fun of how I froze right where I was sitting. But when I started crying, he’d stop laughing and take it away.
He never really hurt me, back then. He never has until now.

I hope he won’t ever forget those summers. Well – at least I’ll remember, even if he doesn’t.

I couldn’t ever forget how Hajime became my friend.

Kageyama’s life could have been easy. 

Then, Hinata kisses him. 

Just like that, his tiny soft mouth against Kageyama’s chapped, raw-bitten lips. It’s after their last spike against Shiratorizawa slams into the floor, victory pouring over them like a hurricane, waves from the crowd’s ear-shattering cries crashing down on the court. It’s Hinata’s last spike, and winning has never been sweeter than with Hinata’s ragged breath flooding into his body and curling around his heart. 

One hour later, they fight. Kageyama says things he doesn’t mean, Hinata yells back, and then there’s horrible white silence because – 

“You don’t love me,” comes out of Kageyama’s mouth. “You love the tosses I give you and the volleyball I play. Not me. You don’t, because you hate it when I touch you and you flinch, and you hate that I call you names – “ 

Hinata cries. It’s not pretty. His cheeks are red, eyes swollen. “You don’t get it,” says his soft voice when he grabs Kageyama and pulls him into a strong hug. Kageyama fights, struggles, tries to escape. He only goes silent when Hinata sobs something into his chest, face wet and salty. 

“Yes, I like your hands when they toss, but I like them more when they hug me. I like when you yell commands and scream about winning, but I like it more when you kiss me and are really quiet or tell me that – that I’m your f-favourite person.” Hinata trembles, curls into Kageyama’s arms. “I wanna… be that, you know.”

“You are,” Kageyama says, and it comes out natural, gentle. And then – “okay.”

His life could have been easy, but he’s in love with Hinata. Nothing ever goes perfect for them, and that’s fine. Kageyama swears he’ll never stop trying. 

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IM READING THRU YOWUR RIGING WTIRNG *WRITING NOW AND I CANT TYPE MY EYES ARE BRURLY BLURRY FROM TEARS U ARE SO TALENTED AND EVERY WORD U WRITE STRIKES SOMETHING IN ME AND IM OVERWHELMED WITH HAIKYUU FEELS U JUST US JUST i cant rbreathe

…wow. That – that came unexpected and I am SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW. What a sweetheart you are! 

Please don’t cry, shhhh, everything is okay. Thank you for telling me this. Thank you for reading through my things and just – this is so nice, aaaa, I have no words ❤ 

imo writers don’t get enough feedback or support to let them know that they are loved. I admire your work so much and it leaves a glowing feeling in my chest<3 i can feel your love of writing by the words you choose and the stories you tell. beautiful work!!

This is seriously the best thing to wake up to on my first day of university in this new semester. 

Thank you – for taking the time to message me this. It makes me very happy that I leave a glow in you. Your compliments and love mean infinitely much. And yes – I do love writing. Thank you! ♥

Whenever the doubts crash down on Asahi like a dark, dark wave, his fingers trembling after training’s over, head low and heavy, Noya knows what to do. He takes Asahi’s hand, gentle, leads him to a bench and sits him down. 

And as Asahi takes deep breaths and focuses on that quiet melody that Noya hums, Noya loosens his hair band and begins to braid his hair with fingertips dancing over Asahi’s skull. 

It helps, every time, like a healer’s charm. 

In that last iwaoi fic u wrote, what exactly is Tooru’s “trauma”??? Pls elaborate

I suppose you are referring to this drabble I wrote. 

I deliberately did not mention the kind of trauma that Tooru has been through. There was something that crossed my mind, but I did not write it down. It was not really a specific and detailed situation I had in mind, but a general idea about what caused the trauma:

Tooru has suffered from violence that has been inflicted to him by another human, that is as much as I can say – thus Hajime only opens his arms and leaves the choice of coming closer or not hugging him to Tooru. Tooru is wary about physical contact because of what happened to him. 

Sometimes, I like to specify things from the past of my characters, but when I write drabbles, my stories are often just excerpts from the character’s lives, little snippets of a whole timeline. And sometimes, I leave out details so the reader’s mind can fill in the gaps with their fantasy. 

I hope this was a satisfying reply! Thank you for asking. ♥

“My father called,” Hajime says when Tooru comes into their dorm room. 

It’s all he needs to say. Tooru drops his bag, slams the door shut and strides over, falling down on the bed where Hajime’s sprawled out. “Tell me.” He kisses the corner of Hajime’s mouth, curls himself into the curve of Hajime’s chest where it hurts the most. He smells like lavender and sweat. Hajime turns his head to bury his nose into the warmth of Tooru’s neck.

“We didn’t talk long.” He speaks slowly, carefully. Every word weighs on his tongue, iron-heavy and thick. “Of course he asked how mom is. If she’s got a boyfriend. Told him to fucking call her himself, but I know he won’t.”

“And then?” Tooru’s chin is pressing into his scalp, hands warm and still on his shoulder blades. Hajime feels small. It had taken months for Tooru to convince him that opening up didn’t mean that someone was going to ram their claws up his soul and twist until he bled. Tooru is patient when he wants something. He never lets Hajime doubt that he wants him, always has, maybe always will. 

Hajime closes his eyes, breathes into the dark. “He asked if I still had a boyfriend.” 

The warm hands on his back twitch. “Haji,” Tooru says, gentle.

“I said yes. He hung up.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Hajime whispers into Tooru’s skin, and his fingers go tight and angry in Tooru’s shirt. “Just – don’t be sorry for… for – “ 

“For loving you?” Tooru says, and then: “Never. Not for that.”

“Good.” His blood still aches and coils, but Tooru then kisses the edge of his mouth again, and Hajime lets him. Tooru gives him the silence he needs. He’s simply there, all evening, until it’s dark outside and Hajime kisses him back.