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Oikawa Toru stared at the empty gym, his heart sinking lower with every second that passed. The sound of his own footsteps echoed in the stillness as he walked toward the net, memories of the match replaying in his mind like a broken record. They had lost. He had failed. Again.
It wasn’t just the loss that stung—he was used to losing, to that bitter feeling of defeat that followed a hard-fought game. But this time, it felt different. This time, the weight on his shoulders was unbearable. He had promised to lead the team to victory. He had promised to make his team proud. And he had failed.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He could feel the familiar sting of tears building behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He was Oikawa Toru, the Great King. He didn’t cry over things like this. Not anymore.
But it wasn’t just his pride that was hurting. It was the disappointment he knew he had caused. The faces of his teammates flashed through his mind—their exhausted expressions, their forced smiles, the quiet disappointment they tried so hard to hide.
And then there was Iwaizumi.
Oikawa’s chest tightened at the thought of him, of the way Iwaizumi had looked at him after the match. Not with anger, not with blame, but with something much worse—concern. Worry. The kind of worry that cut Oikawa deeper than any scolding or reprimand ever could.
“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa muttered under his breath, sinking down to sit on the floor in the middle of the empty gym. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers trembling slightly as the weight of his failure pressed down on him. He didn’t want to face Iwaizumi, not after this. Not when he had let him down.
The door to the gym creaked open, and Oikawa’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He could feel Iwaizumi’s presence, the quiet strength that always seemed to follow him, grounding Oikawa even when he was falling apart inside.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Iwaizumi’s voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of worry. His footsteps approached slowly, until he was standing right in front of Oikawa, looking down at him.
Oikawa didn’t move, didn’t lift his head. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He had failed them. He had failed him.
“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi knelt down in front of him, his voice a quiet command. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Oikawa raised his head, his eyes meeting Iwaizumi’s. The concern in Iwaizumi’s gaze was almost too much for him to bear. He swallowed hard, trying to find the words that wouldn’t come.
“I’m sorry,” Oikawa whispered, his voice barely audible. “I failed.”
Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed, his hands reaching out to gently cup Oikawa’s face. “Toru,” he said, his voice firm, but not harsh. “You didn’t fail. You gave everything you had. That’s not failure.”
“But we lost,” Oikawa bit back, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I was supposed to lead the team, to take us to victory. I promised you—”
“You promised to do your best,” Iwaizumi interrupted, his thumb brushing against Oikawa’s cheek. “And you did. Losing doesn’t make you a failure. It’s part of the game. It’s part of life.”
Oikawa’s eyes stung, his chest tightening as he leaned into Iwaizumi’s touch. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge the deep-rooted fear that had been gnawing at him for so long.
“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa’s voice cracked. “What if… what if I’m not good enough? What if no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be enough?”
Iwaizumi’s grip tightened, his hands steady and sure. “You are more than enough,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving Oikawa’s. “And you’re more than volleyball. You’re more than wins and losses.”
Oikawa blinked, the words sinking in slowly. He had always been so focused on the game, on the next match, the next victory, that he had forgotten there was more to him than just being a captain, just being a player. But hearing it from Iwaizumi, from the person who had been by his side through everything—it was almost enough to break him.
Almost.
Oikawa exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Iwaizumi’s. “I don’t want to let you down,” he whispered, his voice raw.
“You’ve never let me down,” Iwaizumi said, his voice steady and sure. “Not once. Not ever.”
Oikawa closed his eyes, the weight of Iwaizumi’s words wrapping around him like a lifeline. He could feel the warmth of Iwaizumi’s breath against his skin, the solid presence of his body grounding him, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this. He never had been.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, the silence between them heavy but comforting. Oikawa’s breathing slowly evened out, the panic that had been clawing at him fading away, replaced by the steady rhythm of Iwaizumi’s heartbeat.
“You’re not a failure, Toru,” Iwaizumi murmured, his fingers brushing through Oikawa’s hair. “You’re human. And you’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. Just let me be here when you do.”
Oikawa’s throat tightened, but he nodded, the tension in his body slowly easing. He wasn’t used to this, to leaning on someone else, to being vulnerable. But with Iwaizumi… it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like trust.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispered, his voice soft and fragile. “Thank you.”
Iwaizumi smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that made Oikawa’s heart ache in the best possible way. “Always,” he said quietly, pressing a soft kiss to Oikawa’s forehead.
Oikawa closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Iwaizumi’s presence wash over him. He didn’t have to carry everything on his own. Not anymore.
And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.