Originally posted on: 2017-02-20

A/N: I'm in love, and heartbroken. And it wasn't supposed to be this way. But I heart you, and sometimes it hits me that I really really really really like you so much, but you think I'm just a joker. And it's my fault for falling in love with people so fast so easy, but you've always been my number one. Have I ever told you that? Would you really believe me, without a hint of skepticism?

My friends keep telling me that I'm just like Kuuro, but alas, I really really think I'm 89% Oikawa. And that's why this is written in first person, because Iwa-chan... I, I... just want you to know that I'm real. And this is real. What I feel for you.

I couldn't find a proper translation for 軌跡 ; it roughly translates in 'trajectory' , 'track'.

If you didn't get the hint this is semi-autobiographic [blushes into my hands] so it's bound to be ooc. I wrote this in like 3+ hours so what is editing lmao

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Here you come. Scruffy and annoyed at me for God-knows-what reason, your brows furrow into a frown as your figure approaches, tall and unbearably handsome despite the murderous look in your eyes.

What have I done this time, Iwa-chan? Would you let me know before—

"Mfffft!" Unceremoniously, your fist meets the side of my waist, cutting the air off my lungs. Jeez. You could have warned. Instead, the menacing stare aggravates, and your lips jut out with the tension in your face.

Seriously, I'd laugh if my ribs weren't hurting.

"Stop texting and start warming up already!" You demand, a tone that allows no objections.

Ah. So that's why you're mad. I can't help but sigh internally. I'm good at reading people, but your communication skills really sucks, Iwa-chan. "Honestly!" I huff, struggling to breathe through the pain, "Can't you learn how to greet like normal people, Iwa-chan?"

"I greet normal people like normal people." You say, unfazed. A white towel brushes against your forehead sweeping the sweat away. "And you're trash."

"Ru—de!" Offended, I pout as my hand rubs the sore spot on my side.

You pick up my phone from the bench, and I'm just a second too late to stop you. My heart sinks when your eyes flicker through the screen and lips twist downwards in a clear sign of distaste.

"Are you texting these girls again? Jeez." You put the phone down as if disgusted. As if it burnt. As if you thought you really knew me so well, and you expect to be disappointed.

Why do you always expect the worst of me? Am I really that bad in your eyes, Iwa-chan?

You think I'm just like that. You think it's me, an unsalvageable thing. A bad habit, a vice. Am I just that irremediable for you? That heartless, that unlovable, that vain?

It's not like that. I wish you could tell. Without me explaining myself, without you not believing me. It hurts that you don't believe in me.

"It's what friends do." I grumble, annoyed. "It's called socializing. It's not my fault that you don't have to because girls don't like yo—"

SMACK!

"Aack!" Alright… maybe I deserved that one. "Quit it already, will you?" Flipping the cellphone close, I shove it mindlessly into my sports bag, not caring for the unsent message glowing on the screen. It doesn't matter. Nothing and no one matters to me except for the one who can't see it, the one who should be able to see it, because you're supposed to know me the best but you don't have a clue, damn you, Iwaizumi Hajime.

I'm kind of pissed now.

The back of my head is starting to hurt and I can feel the start of a headache. It's your fault, so at least let me blame you for something.

"Then get your ass back to the court." Impassive as rock, you retort at me. I curse myself internally when my lips curl against my will.

What am I, a masochist?

"Yes, mom." I mock, poker face against your twisted expression.

I don't know if you're actually about to punch me again or it's just the theatrics to intimidate me. Trust me, Iwa-chan, you need neither to win. I'm already here, already fallen, a total goner.

It'd only take you a glimpse to notice, a bit of an effort to believe.

Of all the ways you hurt me, Iwa-chan, your hands do the least damage.

.

Gosh, I'm such a masochist.

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"Love sucks." You tell me one day, beer on one hand and a low-battery cell phone on the other. Your room is starting to get dim and we're both too lazy to turn the lights on. Twilight will do, and your silhouette against the window on this summer afternoon is both light and shadow.

The words that came out of your lips make my heart weak.

Two words from you, and my chest tightens as I feel light headed. What the hell. I roll into my stomach, curious and alert. My left sock slips out half-way from the sudden movement. "What do you know about love?"

"Shut up." You blush. A golden drop of your drink drips from the corner of your lip when you take a sip with too much haste. God, you're a fucking picture, and I wish I had eidetic memory to imprint every image of you forever in my mind.

"Oh my god," I blink in astonishment, "There's someone you like?" Please let it be me, I think. Please say it's me. Except it can't be me, from the way you just mentioned it, from the way you look at me as if you regret even mentioning anything, I know it can't be me. And just like that, my heart drops.

"Mm," You mumble in confirmation, eyes rolling back. "There's someone, yeah. But it's a lost cause, they like someone else."

Ah.

Well that doesn't make it any better for me.

"Oh. Sorry." I say, trying to sound sympathetic. It comes out awkward and not at all genuine. I didn't mean it that way though, I can't help it. The truth is that I might be about to cry.

"'S ok." You roll your shoulder dismissively as if it's not a big deal. How can this not be a big deal, Iwa-chan? Tell me, how can this be unimportant? There's someone you like. Your heart finally belongs to someone and of course that's not me. Did you give it to them purposely, was it stolen from your chest? I've known you almost all my life and this is the first time ever you confess you have feelings for someone. And I have no idea who that is. Do you have a type, Iwa-chan? Would I ever fit into that category? Did I ever stood a chance or is it way too late for you to see me as anything more than a friend, your best friend?

Best friend is all I am, and I guess I should be grateful, huh? Best friend is better than classmate. Better than neighbor and better than teammate. It's better than family, which you don't get to choose. I guess you're stuck with me by choice, so thank you.

But I want so much more, Iwa-chan. Would you believe me if I told you that?

"Yea." Short and meaningless, I'm at a loss of words, and so are you. You don't have a follow up comment, and I don't press on the matter. My chest hurts. I don't even ask you their name. I don't even ask if I know them, when you fell in love, what is it —that I will never have, never become— that smittens you so. I don't even ask if it's a boy or a girl. You don't want to tell, and I'm too much of a proud fuck to show any further interest. I'll wait. You'll tell me one day, when you want or when you're ready. And I'll sure be here to listen. Like the idiot that I am.

God, why couldn't you fall in love with me instead? We had time, and we had chances, but somehow I missed all the trains. Did you even stop for me once? Were we on the wrong trajectory? And now I'm standing on a vacant station with an expired ticket and no place to go.

I'm just the joke friend, ain't I? The inadequate lover. I'm in your list of rejects without even a chance of tryout.

I'm just your friend, your best friend. And best friend is all I'll ever get.

So I guess I should be grateful.