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Oikawa Tooru flopped face-first onto his bed with a melodramatic groan that echoed through his one-bedroom apartment. Despite the twenty-minute scalding-hot shower he'd just taken to scrub the day off, his hair still smelled faintly of sweat and city smog.
The world had been out to get him today. He was late to practice. His coffee order was wrong. A stranger stepped on his sneakers—his new ones. And his manager emailed him a document labeled "urgent" at 9:58 PM.
He reached over to his nightstand with a sigh, grabbing his phone and unlocking it with a tired swipe. Clad in his comfort pajamas (the faded ones with tiny alien heads that he refused to throw away), he opened his LINE chat with the one person who could salvage the remains of his sanity.
Oikawa:
I feel bad right now. Send biceps.
He didn't add a single emoji. That's how serious it was.
It took about twenty seconds for the little “read” indicator to pop up. Oikawa watched the screen, half-buried under his duvet, clutching his plush alien pillow like a life preserver.
A photo came in.
Oikawa blinked.
It was a mirror selfie of Iwaizumi Hajime—shirtless, mid-gym session, sweat glistening on his shoulders and arms like some kind of divine intervention. He was holding his phone in one hand, the other flexed with casual effortlessness.
A vein popped in his bicep. Another vein popped in Oikawa’s heart.
Iwaizumi:
Feel better, princess?
Oikawa bit his lip to keep the ridiculous grin off his face and failed miserably.
Oikawa:
What the hell. You can’t just send me that without a warning. I choked on my tongue.
Iwaizumi:
You asked for it.
Don’t blame me for delivering top-tier comfort.
Oikawa:
That wasn’t comfort. That was emotional whiplash.
Also, I may have saved the photo.
Just for therapeutic purposes.
Iwaizumi sent an eye-roll sticker. Then another message.
Iwaizumi:
Rough day?
Oikawa rolled onto his back, staring at the screen with a small sigh.
Oikawa:
Yeah.
I just feel… worn out. Like I’m treading water all day, and the moment I stop, I sink.
I know it’s dumb. I just wanted to hear from you.
He hovered for a second before hitting send.
The typing bubble popped up immediately.
Iwaizumi:
It’s not dumb.
You’re allowed to feel like that. Doesn’t make you weak.
...Also, I’m flattered you think my arms can cure existential dread.
Oikawa let out a laugh—real, warm, unexpected. He curled tighter into the blanket.
Oikawa:
They kinda do. It's like watching a live-action motivational poster.
Iwaizumi :
“Pain is temporary, but these gains are forever.”?
“Lift heavy and carry your emotionally unstable setter.”?
Oikawa:
EXACTLY.
There was a pause. Then, another message.
Iwaizumi:
Want me to call you for a bit?
Oikawa hesitated, his thumb hovering over the reply box. The comfort of Iwazumi’s voice—grounded, gruff, and stupidly steady—sounded exactly what he needed.
Oikawa:
Yes please. I promise not to cry unless you flex again.
Iwaizumi:
No promises, but I’ll try to keep it PG.
Calling now, drama queen.
Oikawa smiled softly as the screen lit up with Iwaizumi’s name. He swiped to answer, settling deeper under his blanket.
“Hey,” Iwaizumi said, voice low and familiar.
“Hey,” Oikawa whispered back, already feeling better.