Hello Readers ^.^
This is my first ever fanfic. YAY!
I have read many but I've never written one, so any advice or criticisms would be really appreciated.
After reading over it a million times I have started to hate it (ha!) but I presume that's a side effect of not knowing if I have managed to convey what I was hoping to. As a first attempt though I am happy and excited to get my work out there for people to review.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my sad little story about my favourite piece of trash.
rivers-of-tea
Disclaimer: I do not own Haikyuu! or anything relating to it. Everything belongs to Haruichi Furudate *bows before the master*
Oikawa Tooru lifted his head and gazed up at the large swathes of pink and orange that covered the dawn sky.
A chill breeze rustled the trees, catching the slightly curling strands of his hair as it passed. They brushed softly across his forehead and caressed the back of his neck, sending a small shiver down his spine.
He walked in silence as he made his way to the school gym for morning practice. His bag hung heavily from his shoulder - filled as it was with textbooks, food and his volleyball shoes - and thumped rhythmically against his leg.
He sighed inwardly and rubbed his eyes before running his hand roughly through his hair. He was tired. He had stayed up late watching videos of different setting and spiking combinations, in the hopes of improving and expanding the team's current offensive plays.
Despite that bad habit of his, he didn't think he looked too bad. Sure, his hair was dishevelled, but that could be due to the breeze, rather than his idle hands running through it as his brain worked out and rearranged complicated plays at 4 am.
Sure, there were slight dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked a little pale. But that could be blamed on the season. Everyone looked paler in winter and, as an already fairly pale person, of course his skin wasn't going to look like it was glowing in a season with a distinct lack of strong sunlight. He knew it definitely wasn't due to the lack of more than 2-3 hours sleep each night that he had been living on for the past few weeks.
And sure, there was a slight tremor in his hands. In fact, his whole body felt a little shaky. Almost like there was a minute gap between when he thought about doing something and when his body actually completed the action. But that could be blamed on the two cups of coffee he had quickly downed before leaving the house, rather than the fact that those, and many other, cups of coffee were replacing the meals he should be eating.
In fact, if you asked Oikawa Tooru how he was feeling lately, his face would split into a grin, his eyes would crinkle and he would release a bright laugh as he responded with an energetic "How can someone as pretty as I, be anything less than fine."
What a beautiful liar he was.
If you looked real close and paid attention, there were warning signs all over that response. His face stretched just a little too widely for a natural smile. His eyes dark, empty pits in crinkled sockets. His laugh too high pitched and the rhythm too perfect for a natural response. His voice as he answered too loud and stilted, robotic almost.
But the truth is, that when people ask how you are, they aren't actually asking you how you are. If they were, perhaps Oikawa would find the courage within himself to answer truthfully.
See for Oikawa the truth boiled down to 6 words. Six words that every time he thought them brought him both immense pain and slight relief. Pain, because those words were true in a way that sliced through the air in his surroundings, leaving him gasping for breath. Pain, because it was those words that forced him to continue to practice, even when his knee ached so badly all he wanted to do was lay on the floor of his bedroom and cry himself into oblivion. R
elief, because they were an excuse. A guilty excuse that he loathed, but nevertheless found himself relying on when he missed a serve or set a bad toss. 6 words that if spoken aloud to him by someone else, may just break him in such a way that Oikawa Tooru would no longer exist, so destroyed he would be.
"You will never be good enough."
When Oikawa reached the gym, he stopped just outside the square of light escaping through the open doors. After a quick glance to make sure no one could see him, he quickly ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to return it to its usually perfect waves. He rubbed his calloused hands on his face and slapped his cheeks to give him some colour, then closed his eyes and stood, as still as he could.
He breathed in the crisp morning air, feeling it pass through his mouth and gather in his lungs. He held it and imagined gathering every negative feeling in his body and, when he could hold it no longer, imagined blowing those problems away as he exhaled.
He pretended that this routine made him feel better. Some mornings it did and he could walk into the gym feeling almost like himself, able to offer a bright good morning and encouraging words to his teammates. Most mornings it did not.
On those days, he took a moment to rearrange his features into the best semblance of a normal smile he could manage. His pulled every negative emotion, every fear, every anxious thought into a tight ball where he lodged it underneath his heart. His breathing would remain shallow and rapid as he breathed around the tight ball between his lungs. Throughout the day, he would pull his shoulders and elbows back, pushing out his chest in an unconscious attempt to relieve the crushing pressure on his ribs. He would scratch at his sternum, attempting to subtly express the desire to dig under his skin and relieve the tingling itch that made it hard to concentrate on anything but the swirling mess inside him.
Today was one of those days.
Oikawa released one small sigh before stepping into the light of the gym. For a second the weight of his emotions bowed his back and he wondered briefly if anyone would even notice if he didn't put up the mask. If he behaved just as he felt. He knew they would though and in truth, it was easier to lie that explain. So he squared his shoulders, prepared his most obnoxious grin and calmly dragged his broken body into the gym with all the dignity he could muster. It was pretty convincing.
After all, he was a beautiful liar.