𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙠𝙮𝙪𝙪 𝙤𝙣𝙚-𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨

in a dream // iwaoi // angst

oh jeez okay first listen to in a dream by troye sivan holy cRAP that album s l a p s. i. its so good.

also i've gone back to my phase where all i want to do is sleep, skateboard, and take really long, hot showers where i just sit on the floor and vibe (sometimes cry), and uhh yeah thats a vibe, so expect more angst ahaha oops.

anyway!! this is an iwaoi one shot because i adore them. it's,,, pretty angsty but i mean its vibey and thats all that matters. i did edit it though woohoo. its,, 2800 words oops

song: in a dream by troye sivan

~~~

Oikawa covered his ears and let out a low scream, so rough that no sound even came out. He was simply yelling just to feel the way yelling feels, to let out all that anger and pain without the sound behind it. He clutched at his brown locks and crumpled into a ball, pulling his knees into his chest and shaking as he took short, heavy breaths. He couldn't help but gasp for air, considering it felt like he couldn't breathe as he sobbed his heart out.

He tugged on his hair again and brought his hands down to his knees to pull them even closer into his chest. Before long, his hands were moving once again, this time reaching for a small ballpoint pen and throwing it across his bedroom, smacking against the door with a loud crack. Oikawa took a deep breath—this time forced and shaky—and stood up slowly, moving over to the pen, which was now lying on the floor a few feet away from the door. He picked it up and threw it again, this time in the opposite direction. It hit the wall by his bed and plopped onto the white sheets, it's fall softened by the fluffy mattress.

Where the pen now lay, a phone sat next to it, its blue alien phone case facing up to the ceiling. Hesitantly, Oikawa grabbed it, taking a second to get his hopes up before turning it on. Maybe, just maybe, he'd received a text message from the one person he wanted to talk to, maybe a missed call—he would even settle for a like on Instagram.

His tears momentarily paused as he flipped over his phone and looking at the notification center. Nothing, absolutely nothing from Iwaizumi, his boyfriend (who was dubbed "iwa-chan is secretly an alien (*⁰▿⁰*)").

Oikawa slid back onto the ground, dropping his phone onto the floor next to him and sliding it under the door to his closet, watching as it disappeared underneath it with ease. He took another deep, shaky breath, and the tears came back at full-force, if not stronger. His chest heaved, his hands shook, his eyes watered, and he hated it. He hated how worked up he got over one goddamn person. One goddamn person who he had been friends with for eighteen years—almost his whole life, considering they met at age six—and dating for two!

Ever since Iwaizumi had gone to America for training, Oikawa had been left alone without his best friend and boyfriend by his side. Iwaizumi had promised he would talk to Oikawa as much as possible, but his responded went from taking three minutes to three hours to three days, and it had already been a whole day since his last response to Oikawa's "goodnight ╰(*'︶'*)╯♡" and since then, he had sent another good morning text and a few others about random things, only to be left on delivered.

He needed immediate responses, and he was not getting that at all, not even on the rare occasion when they called. Oikawa made it a point to call Iwaizumi at least once a week, usually on Saturdays, when he was off work, and Iwaizumi only answered once or twice a month. When he did, he would either be half-asleep or doing something that required his attention, so his responses would be delayed, and Oikawa was not there for it. This had been going on for months, if not longer.

After hitting the wall with the pen another three or four times, Oikawa's unsteady breathing calmed down a small bit as an idea popped into his head. He was standing in the middle of his room, panting and holding the pen in his right hand. He processed the idea again and again, turning it over in his head and partially thinking it through. All of his crying had worn him down to the point where he could barely see any negatives to his idea.