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if the answer really is you...
Fifteen minutes late.

It was one of those rare, chilly summer nights, and Oikawa Tooru forgot to bring a sweater. That frustrated him because the bus arrived fifteen minutes late that cold, starless night. Those were things Oikawa could have cared less about before. Since everyone left for college, pointless, subconscious thoughts seemed to be the best kind of company nowadays. He’s also noticed how long it’s taken for him to find the right answer to the question inked neatly on his wrist.

The little, pretty things in life also became more prevalent in the things Oikawa started to notice. The subtle fading of midnight blue into a light periwinkle, into a dusty pink, into a soft orange, that eventually reached down and pressed itself against the horizon.

It would be about four in the morning when he'd perch on his apartment window sill to watch the sunrise. His skin, cold and pale like porcelain, would crawl with excitement as his soon as his eyes caught sight of the great and glorious sun. Although loneliness was an inevitable dark shadow following the little boy into the big city, every morning, he'd spend a few hushed moments to remind himself that he walked under the same sun as his friends and his family. Then, they wouldn't seem so far away after all...

What is love to you?

He wasn't sure if it was some joke, and if it was, what on earth did he do to deserve it? It was long overdue, the answer to the question on his wrist, painfully overdue. It was a long time since he'd felt bare skin on his own, the intimate feeling of having someone to lean on. He missed that. He missed Iwaizumi, being a child, a free spirit. He missed having someone to tell him that it was going to be okay.

Nothing was okay.

The first year of university wasn't anything special. To be honest, it was a waste. His teammates kept rising, improving, while Oikawa was stuck at his starting point. But he tried. And tried again. He tried at four in the morning and at twelve at night. He tried when his legs grew numb and his lungs were catching fire. Still, he would not give up. At the end of the day, he'd constantly ask himself:

"Is this only a shortcoming of my dreams?"

Little by little, he saw his premonition turning into a reality. His dreams were hanging onto hope by a thread, and only to find themselves to be severed even further.

His goddamned knee gave out the second year.

Alone, afraid, moving to towards a goal that had long left his reach; Oikawa had never felt so defeated in his life.

말해줘 내게, what is love?

The forecast for the 15th of August was less than 5% for rain showers, and 95% unexpected surprises.

Between intermittent surges of downpour, the sun seemed to be in a teasing mood with its inconsistent bursts of light here and there. Steam looked like it was peeling off the outer streets of Tokyo. Despite that, Oikawa was in the mood for a stroll. Maybe that day would be the day he could sort everything out. Maybe it was the day where he'd find the answer to the things that had been falling apart. Which was everything, it seemed like.

It only took a few steps out before Oikawa's worn-in-and-out sneakers were soaked to the very tips of his laces. The small, pale blue umbrella from his childhood slung against his shoulders seemed to do no good. A lofty height was typically an envious thing, but in Oikawa's case, it proved to be something of an annoyance. Tilting his chocolate head off to the right, a few exasperated sighs leave his mouth.

Amidst the sauna-like steam and the drabness of the grey apartment buildings was a petite little thing absolutely drenched in rainwater. She was clothed in a smart, white shirt, and simple, faded jeans now hugging her form like a second skin. She shivered against the bus stop pole, and Oikawa decided to make it his epiphany of the day to keep her company and give her warmth.

"It's a hot day, but you're cold, aren't you?"

Either she couldn't hear him over the din of the downpour, or she was just flat out ignoring him, because she kept the same shivering stance from before. Raising his umbrella above her, he sacrificed what little he already had of dryness, and casually stepped into the downpour like it wasn't a bother to him. And in truth, it wasn't. The umbrella was too small for him, and the girl looked like she needed it more than he did anyways.

Lowering her head of rain-soaked (h/c) tresses, she answered him in sniffles, and clasped her hand around the base of the umbrella. Almost as if he were her guardian angel, Oikawa towered over her with means like that of protection. He didn't know what it was that intrigued him about her, but something inside the deepest depths of his heart urged him to stay with her.

He studied her back for a good two minutes until resonations of soft crying started to reach his ears. Giving her complete custody of the umbrella, Oikawa bent down to take a good look at her.

He wasn't at all prepared for the sight in front of him.

He almost fell backwards because her eyes were one of the most fascinating pair he had ever seen. They looked like they were fabricated with traces of quartz in them, for they shone with brightness and beauty, albeit a little glossy with tears caught in between her lashes. They reflected dreams, hopes, fantasies that had yet to become realities. They were dreams that had been sitting idle for quite some time. It was almost identical to his in that perspective.

And she spoke, her words weightless and just a bit distant...

"What is love to you?"

It's her...

  ...it's really her.


          ...my answer.

With feverish hands, Oikawa pulled the crying girl into his chest. He breathed in, once, twice, the taste of nectarines and rain water meeting the tip of his tongue. All he could do was hold the girl, and if he let go, who knew what would happen to her then.

"Love..."

Oikawa repeated this over and over, as if he were testing a foreign word.

"Love is finding the one that you know will be there when you fall."

The umbrella slipped from her hands, unnoticed and unnecessary to her, they travelled up to cling onto his shirt like a lifeline. The steady, constant stream of her tears dwindled down to the bare minimum of occasional droplets littered here and there.

"Love is here for you, my dear..."

He had to say it for not only her...

"Love will always be here for you."

...but for himself.