Oikawa often found himself wondering if time had stopped since stepping foot outside of the airport upon his arrival in Argentina.
The sun still rose and the moon still waned, and the hands of the clock still turned. The Earth still maintained its orbit around the sun, and when he looked at his phone in the morning each day, he could see that the date had ticked up by one. The birds that nested on the branch by his window flew about during the day, chirping merrily as they scattered throughout in exploration, only to promptly return back to the nest by nightfall.
Yet in spite of all the signs of life that surrounded him, he knew that something was off.
It had been an unsettling feeling nagging at the back of his mind that warned him of the peculiarity. Perhaps it lied in the alteration of his center of gravity, for his very existence seemed to slow down to a halt, or perhaps it was that the rest of the world had left him behind as it blazed on forwards through the construct of time. Too often had he found himself feeling like a spectator in his own life, quietly watching as his surroundings fast-forwarded until he could no longer keep up.
Too often had he found himself wondering when the lonely emptiness stabbing him in the chest would dull — out of focus and out of mind.
For him, time certainly had stopped, because if time could heal all wounds, how was it that this one still remained so fresh? How did the stinging of the laceration in his chest persist through the test of time? Why was it that all his efforts to jumpstart the present — to bury the dread and the regret that seemed to ravage his mind — always fall short of success?
The vibration of his phone against the wooden surface of his dresser interrupted his thoughts, pulling him out of the dreamless void of emptiness his slumber had become and back into the corporeal world of reality. His eyes immediately flew open, his arm outstretched and his fingers by the lock button of his phone before even the first ring of his alarm.
His thumb pressed down forcefully on the button, silencing his device before the speakers even got the chance to ring out. He brought his phone screen to his face, quietly staring back with dull eyes at his lock screen wallpaper — the one with the two of you in front of the school entrance that you had set for him.
Letting out a deep breath, he extinguished the light from his device and threw it onto the other side of the bed as he sat up and placed his feet down onto the cold wooden flooring of his bedroom. He slowly stood up, stretching out his arms as he did so, and trudged over to the bathroom across the hallway.
Just another regular start to the day.
His hand flicked up the light switch by the bathroom door, and he squinted his eyes at the sudden brightness of the light as he blindly felt for the tap to turn on the faucet.
For as long as he's lived in the apartment, each night he would lay in bed staring at the bleakness of the night and wake up the next morning to the sun spilling into his room all in the blink of an eye. It dawned on him that he could no longer recall the last time his unconsciousness had graced him with the opportunity to dream, but he much preferred it this way. He had been haunted enough by the thoughts of you during the day — he needn't suffer through them in the lone hours of the night as well.
As he waited for his cup to fill up with water, his eyes glanced up to the figure standing on the other side of the bathroom mirror. He frowned and leaned forward until he was mere inches away from the mirror, examining each square inch of his own reflection in curious bewilderment.
The fingertips of his free hand danced across his raised cheekbones as he brushed his teeth, and while his touch confirmed his suspicions, he found it hard to believe that the person staring back at him was none other than his own reflection. The figure in the mirror's appearance and presence seemed so different from his own self-image. While he was the textbook definition of handsome, his features sharp and perfectly proportioned, it was clear he looked fatigued and sullen —his eyes hollow and expressionless. It was as if he was incomplete and empty — as if he was nothing but a mere vessel without a soul.
Oikawa frowned; he had always envisioned himself as more of a...
He leaned back from the mirror and spat the toothpaste in his mouth into the sink.
He wasn't quite sure who he was anymore now that he thought about it.
With a sniff of his nose, he watched as his reflection squared his shoulders and stood straight before him in the mirror. He raised two fingers on each hand up to the corners of his mouth, pushing the edges up into some semblance of a smile.
Had his smile always looked so forced? He opened his mouth, revealing his teeth in a wide beam.
Had his expressions always seemed so stiff?
With a heavy sigh, he dropped his hands back to his sides and he watched as his lips fell back into the tight line from before. He tossed his toothbrush to the side and walked back into his room towards his closet, his fingers combing through his hair as he grabbed his team jacket with his other hand and headed for the front door.
It didn't really matter in the end whether or not his smile looked forced or stiff or whatnot. He was the mood-maker of the team — the comedian, the jokester. No one would pay any notice as long as he seemed happy enough.
Slipping one arm and then the other into his sleeves, he zipped the jacket up to the top and pulled at the bottom of the fabric to straighten out the folds. Oikawa had settled into a predictable routine now that he had gotten accustomed to his new life in Argentina. He'd wake up, get ready and head out the door, jog over to practice, and then cool down on one of the benches outside by the gymnasium doors as he waited for the rest of the team to trickle in. It gave him time to ready himself for the act he would have to put on, equipping him with the focus he would need to simultaneously play at his best while acting out the character of the Pierrot.
Ensuring that his shoelaces were tightly laced, he gave a quick tap of the tips of his shoes against the marble flooring of the atrium and pulled open the door, stepping out into the sleepy streets of the early morning.
It wasn't that he really needed the extra exercise, but it gave him something to keep his mind occupied with. In a world where time seemed to have stopped only for him, it was his one chance to regain his pace to catch up, no matter how futile, with the rest of the world. It was short-lived and fleeting, but he appreciated how there existed no pressure on the way he should act — it was just him alone in the very moment; the intermission in the play his life had become where he could, almost ironically, stop and catch his breath.
As he arrived at the front entrance of the training center, he reached up to his ears to unhook his earbuds and shoved them into his pant pocket before taking a seat by the gymnasium door. He brought his phone up to his face as he leaned back against the wall, his legs outstretched in front of him, as he scrolled through the notifications that had accumulated throughout the night.
He let out a quiet chuckle at the silly pictures of animals his old teammates sent him in their group chat, and his thumbs flew across his phone's on-screen keyboard as he typed out his reply with the same pinpoint precision as his tosses. He tapped reflexively at the corner of the screen to toggle the stickers, sending an onslaught of smiling cartoon aliens to the group to declare his amusement.
He paused, looking back at the chat window on his phone, and frowned at the overly up-beat messages he had just sent to his friends. Was he overcompensating? Was he trying too hard to be happy?
Was he not?
With a shrug, he tapped at the arrow at the top corner to return to the app's home screen. He was a professional; they'd never take notice that he had accidentally dialled his excitement too high. Even he didn't notice after all.
Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, his thumb scrolled through his LINE feed, sparing less than a second of a glance at each post until his eyes landed on a picture you had posted just hours earlier. It was simply a photo of you by the beach with little written in the caption save for a silly turtle emoji, but a ghost of a smile settled on his lips nonetheless. You were never good at writing captions, and the memory of him teasing you for "taking the easy way out with emojis" brought about a sense of solace in his heart.
Oikawa stared at your vibrant smile before him, a warm feeling settling at the base of his stomach. You looked happy; the sun shone brightly behind you in the photo, and your arms were splayed out with the exuberant energy of your infectious joy reaching out to the very tips of your fingers. You looked happy and full of life — as if you had finally reached the very ending that he had fought so tirelessly to offer you on a silver platter. This was the proof he had needed to convince himself that it was all worth it; that all the nights he spent awake wandering through the depths of his mind imprisoned by his own regret had been worth it.
He was glad that you got your happy ending, but at the same time, he couldn't deny the stiffness of his jaw and the pang of pain that shot through his chest. It hurt, and he suspected that it would continue to hurt for the rest of this life, but if that were the sacrifice he would have to make to guarantee your protection against his demons...
Then he would be more than willing to trade away every genuine feeling of happiness in his entire lifetime just to secure the deal.
He swallowed a gulp and quickly swiped up and out of the app to return to his home screen. He locked his phone with a quick press of the button, but subconsciously pressed at it again to bring up his wallpaper once more.
"I just want you to be happy," he murmured quietly to himself, his thumb dragging across the surface of the screen.
Because at the end of the day, what was most important was that he had accomplished his mission — that he had kept the promise that he made to himself to guard his most beloved treasure with every fiber of his being.
If it meant that you'd get the happy ending you deserved, he'd willingly take the fall.
Loud footsteps echoed out from in front of him, and a pair of bright blue court shoes stepped into his visual field.
"Hey, you okay, Tōru?"
He looked up to find his team's captain staring down at him with a worried frown.
"Oh, never better," Oikawa replied with a mirthless laugh as he stood back up to his full height, looking his captain in the eye with a cheerful smile on his lips.
"Never better."