Three weeks passed, and the flow of his days were returning back to their steady rhythm. They dragged on slowly, but Iwaizumi packed them with activities to keep his mind off of what he was leaving behind. Oikawa did nothing to make him doubt his decision.
So, he reasoned, it must be.
The first week had been the worst; the overwhelming urge to visit the roof ended up consuming him. His self-restraint won, but he felt incredibly sick.
The second week was better because he let himself walk upstairs, using the cranes as an excuse (he'd organize the cranes in groups of fifty, so it was easier to count). Really, he went up and let the fading memories wash over him. He went back downstairs with a clear head.
He couldn't deny that a small part of him would collapse from relief if Oikawa was there.
The third week, there was a familiar figure on the roof.
Iwaizumi's heart took a shaky jump, inhaling cold air that froze his lungs. He dropped his box and ran over to where Oikawa was lying on his back, the latter boy's chest taking steady, fluttering breaths. His eyes were half-asleep; Iwaizumi prayed they were asleep and not something else.
Iwaizumi's eyes flitted over Oikawa's body. There was no blood, but he was no doctor. It could mean a million other things. "Oikawa," he muttered.
Oikawa didn't look like he could see him. Iwaizumi grabbed his sweaty hand. When Oikawa didn't flinch at the contact, he let go, chest pounding. What was he supposed to do? His whole life had been a series of precedented events and rules, which he had followed strictly. Never had his heart raced like this; his fingers so numb from confusion.
At that moment, he ignored his past three weeks of effort- they were futile anyway, he realized- and pulled Oikawa back towards the stairwells.
Oikawa was dazed- he stumbled across the steps as if they were never there. Iwaizumi picked him up, not caring about his girlfriend, only that Oikawa was so light in his arms despite his size. Iwaizumi forced the dark thoughts away, unwilling to believe anything other than that Oikawa was going to be okay. He would bring Oikawa to the safest place he knew- his apartment.
Only when he was on Iwaizumi's couch did Oikawa's eyes show a flicker of recognition, and with his barely moving lips, he whispered, "Iwa-chan."
He looked worse now than before; his cheeks were flushed and red. Iwaizumi pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over the numbers for the ambulance. Would Oikawa be safe there? What if he didn't want to go; then it would be Iwaizumi's fault, right?
Perhaps he should wait till Oikawa woke up. Maybe it was just a fever, maybe whatever had happened was planned, maybe Oikawa was going to be fine. What was he supposed to do when the entire situation was a structure of maybes?
He could only focus on what he could do now. Iwaizumi darted to the bathroom and prepared a cool towel, placing it on Oikawa's forehead. He stood leaning on the back of his chair and stared at the sleeping boy.
With each passing minute, his fingers strayed farther away from his phone, until it was back on the table. Oikawa looked fine. He was merely sleeping, and Iwaizumi was overreacting. Oikawa's chest was moving at a steady pace; nothing suggested that something was wrong.
Iwaizumi, too, had reduced his short, swift breaths into calmer ones. He didn't want to think about why Oikawa was on the roof. If he knew one thing for sure, it was that Oikawa wasn't safe in his apartment (he'd known that before, but he couldn't stand to see him go back now). Oikawa could live anywhere.
He was tempted to call the police, despite the fact that he still had no proof, which was the absurdness of it all. But, weren't those were the very thoughts that had led to this; the excuse he had blamed it on so he wouldn't be bothered by it? Even when he knew something was very, very wrong?
He was incredibly selfish.
Oikawa had never said anything that had shown that Noriko harmed him. If anything, it had been the opposite. It was always the same words. They were followed by the same, fake smile, the one Iwaizumi had grown to recognize and hate.
He was tempted to call the police, but then again, he was a coward, and incredibly, incredibly selfish.
A/N I unpublished the book, then republished it, so sorry if anyone got 15 notifications