Chapter Text
“And you’ve spent the last four years actively trying to break my leg.”
The words hung in the twilight air, sharp and heavy as a dropped volleyball. The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was filled with the frantic, echoing rhythm of both their hearts, and the dull, relentless throb in their right knees.
Oikawa Tōru stared at Iwaizumi. The shock of the confession had paralyzed his famous wit, leaving him raw and exposed. He looked past Iwaizumi’s wide, tired eyes, past the tense set of his shoulders, and saw only a long timeline of moments that suddenly snapped into terrifying focus.
He remembered the early days of high school, when Oikawa had started overtraining, desperate to close the gap with Ushijima. He remembered coming home late, stumbling into his kitchen, and seeing a text from Iwaizumi that simply read, "Stop running. It hurts." Oikawa had thought it was a warning about his form. He now knew it was a desperate plea from his soulmate.
“You… you knew,” Oikawa whispered, his voice sounding hollow. “The pain. You felt it. All the time.”
Iwaizumi nodded once, curt and miserable. “The cold chills when you iced it. The pressure when you kept pushing. The blinding stab the other night when you landed wrong. It’s always the same leg, Tōru. Always the right knee.”
Oikawa felt a wave of nausea. He took a clumsy step back, leaning against the cold brick wall of a nearby building for support. His heart wasn’t just racing; it was twisting with a profound, corrosive guilt that surpassed any fear of injury. He hadn’t just risked his own body; he had been inflicting silent, chronic agony on the person he cared about most in the world.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Oikawa asked, his voice cracking. It wasn’t a question of curiosity; it was a desperate cry for understanding.
Iwaizumi’s face, usually so solid and immovable, twisted with frustration. “How could I? What would you have done, Tōru? You think I didn’t want to scream it every time you pushed yourself past the point of sanity? But I knew you. You would have either: A) Quit volleyball, terrified of hurting me, or B) Pushed harder, just to spite fate, making it worse for both of us.”
Iwaizumi took a step toward him, his own pain and fear finally boiling over. His hands were clenched.
“This isn’t about fate, or destiny, or some cheesy romantic connection. This is about your self-destruction! I couldn’t tell you because I knew you would turn my pain into another way to hurt yourself, to prove you don't need help. I’ve been feeling your ambition, your fear, and your physical suffering for years, and the only thing I could do was stand beside you and try to yell some sense into you!”
Oikawa flinched as if struck. Iwaizumi’s anger was pure and justified, fueled by years of silent suffering.
“And you,” Iwaizumi continued, the words coming out in a rush, “what were those little aches you were feeling? That’s what started this, right? The shoulder, the hands? That’s just me, you idiot! That’s just the normal soreness of practice, the price of being an ace! You felt that—a fleeting ache I shake off in five seconds—while I was dealing with a chronic injury that might end our whole career, and you didn't even put the pieces together!”
The contrast was stark and damning. Iwaizumi was forced to bear a life-altering pain, while Oikawa barely registered the echoes of his partner’s daily hard work.
Tears, hot and sudden, welled up in Oikawa’s eyes. He wasn't crying because of his knee; he was crying because of the immense, unspoken sacrifice Iwaizumi had made.
“I’m sorry,” Oikawa choked out, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Iwa-chan. I was so focused on being the best, on fighting Kageyama, on beating Ushijima—I just ignored everything my body was telling me. And I dragged you into it. I hurt you.”
Iwaizumi watched him cry, his anger immediately softening into the familiar, deep-seated tenderness that only Oikawa could provoke. This was the vulnerable, raw Oikawa he was sworn to protect. He walked closer, gently pulling Oikawa’s hands away from his face.
“Stop,” Iwaizumi said, his voice now rough with emotion, but no longer angry. “Stop apologizing. It’s done. We know now.”
He rested his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders, grounding him. “Listen to me, Tōru. I needed to know, too. I spent years wondering who the reckless maniac was, the idiot who was constantly making me wake up with phantom bruises. And it was you. It was always you.”
A small, weak laugh escaped Oikawa. “Just my luck. My soulmate is the one person I can’t hide anything from. Not even when I try to break my own leg.”
“Exactly,” Iwaizumi affirmed, letting a small, tired smile touch his lips. “It means you have to start telling me the truth. You can’t lie to me about your body anymore, because if you lie, I feel it. And if I feel it, I’m coming after you.”
Oikawa looked up, meeting Iwaizumi’s gaze. The initial terror of the soulmate revelation had passed, and in its place was an overwhelming sense of finality and belonging. This was their fate, not as something dramatic, but as something deeply, annoyingly practical.
“Is that what this is for you?” Oikawa asked quietly. “A burden? A leash?”
Iwaizumi stepped back, placing a hand once again on his right knee. The phantom ache was still there, a constant reminder.
“It was a burden when it was a secret, when I thought you were some stranger I couldn't help,” Iwaizumi admitted honestly. “But now it’s just… a fact. It’s what connects us. It forces you to take care of yourself, and it forces me to pay attention. You’re the setter, Tōru. You control the pace, the tempo, the flow of the entire game.”
He paused, his gaze softening into something intense and possessive. “Well, guess what? This connection makes me the secondary setter. I’m going to set your pace, too. When you’re in pain, we are in pain. And we will recover together.”
Oikawa felt the weight of Iwaizumi’s sacrifice and the strength of his commitment. He finally understood that their bond wasn't a punishment; it was an unbreakable partnership. They were two players on a court, tethered together by an invisible net of shared sensation.
"So," Oikawa said, managing to straighten up, the guilt transforming into resolute determination. "I suppose that means if I decide to cheat on my physical therapy, you'll know?"
"I’ll feel the strain and the burning, and I’ll be here in five minutes with my spike practice ball," Iwaizumi threatened, his tone back to its familiar, stern warmth. "And trust me, you don't want to feel the full impact of a block to the face, either."
Oikawa shuddered dramatically. “Noted. No more self-sabotage, for my health, and yours.” He took a slow, careful step forward, closing the remaining distance between them.
He gently reached out and touched Iwaizumi's right knee, right where the phantom pain was concentrated. Iwaizumi didn't flinch, just held his gaze.
"Thank you, Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispered. "For carrying my pain. For being my anchor. I promise I’ll be better now."
Iwaizumi just sighed, a sound of heavy relief. He placed his hand over Oikawa's, pressing their palms together over his own kneecap.
“We’re getting this fixed, Tōru. We’re going to get you back on the court, healthy, and we're going to win. Together. And if I feel one sudden, inexplicable ache in my body that isn’t earned in practice, I’m going to assume you’re doing something stupid and I’m going to hunt you down.”
Oikawa smiled, a real, radiant, pain-free smile. The oppressive anxiety Iwaizumi had been carrying instantly eased.
“Deal,” Oikawa said. “We’re stuck with each other, Iwa-chan. For better, or for crippling overuse syndrome.”
Iwaizumi snorted, finally grabbing Oikawa’s bag and slinging it over his own shoulder. He put his free arm around Oikawa’s back, supporting his slow pace as they started their walk home again, no longer just best friends, but two halves of one fiercely protective, ridiculously complicated destiny.
The knee still ached, but now, knowing its source and sharing the burden, the pain felt less like a curse and more like the constant, low-level thrum of an unbreakable connection.