Chapter Text
Spring’s arrival was a paradoxical phenomenon ; nature who abandoned its coat during winter had found her way back to her green fur, now adorned with burgeoning flowers. And the rays of the sun have finally pierced the thick gray clouds to fall on the pavement and reflect on a window. Birds swallowed their cough, flapped the snow flakes away from the feathers as they sing-sung without a care, a tune only them seemed to know. It was warmer. It was colorful. A true revival.
Yet at the same time, it announced the beginning of the end. Oikawa fiddled with the strand of his ceremony hat, and saw in a single strand every memory passing by. As he closed his eyes and traced the fabric with the tip of his index, he could swear to feel the different red threads of his memory wove onto it. The first thread represented his first steps in his high school, and he smiled remembering how easily impressed he was at the building. Everything seemed bigger than him, so new and enticing - he remembered forcing Iwazumi in a full exploration of the school, searching for every stairs, trying to remember by heart the name of each classroom. His third year was over in a minute, and he had long forgotten how most of the rooms were called. It was a useless effort, but he was young and naive - still now, he did not regret exploring this school or paying Iwa a drink after getting scolded for running in the hallways.
It’s a fond memory, and most of the threads are tied to a certain softness ; it’s attached to the sound of the ball echoing in the immense gymnasium, rolling to his feet like it was meant to be there, next to him. His first presentation, driven with the will to surpass himself, the dedication to the madness, his number attribution and affirmation as the official setter… A machinery that he had no idea would weave such a knot, and had not yet anticipated the end off. He gripped the thread, squeezing his eyes as he ran after the string ; he could hear the faint giggles, screams when he first won a match, cries when he lost his first, saw in accelerated the lows and the highs. He was out of breath, the lips slightly parted, his heart pounded harshly against his chest as he lived again his first spring tournament - he couldn’t believe that he experienced his last one, the images flashing through his mind felt like yesterday.
He fiddled with the thread of his hat, and followed the path of a straying strand he had not noticed before. He twisted his finger in the thin strand, let it caress his finger - except it stung. Before him stood a tall frame, and deep blue eyes he had hoped to forget in this new building, in this new team. Oikawa snapped away from his reminiscing, the thread still on his finger and watched it tremble. How could he think about that brat in such a moment ? How could he not ? A figure that followed him even when he left, how could he not think about that genius even now, even so grown ?
Soon enough the thread would dangle on his cheek, soon enough the hat would be thrown away and he’d move forward. Yet a few minutes away from the beginning of the end, the strand sitting in his hand felt like a glimpse of the ghost’s hair. He fell back into a time trap, closed his eyes again, and admired as he stood so small in front of everything he was not. A genius, so young yet so talented. So young, but so brave. And soon enough, it wouldn’t be for his age, but simply fucking gifted - if that’s not already the case. His grip on the thread tightened, and the way he uncomfortably sat reminded him of how cold it felt when he was benched and replaced with this brand new kid. How hurt his body was after giving it all yet never being enough. And he dared showing up again, stealing his chance, going further than him . Not even stealing, it would be attributing too much effort to something he seemed to do effortlessly.
Revival. Fatal. Oikawa opened his eyes and let go of the thread, staring at his ceiling wondering if, maybe, it wasn’t the time to also let go of this feud. The devil was just a kid, but so was he - so if he forgave him should he forgive himself too ? Should he stare at nature like a rebirth or like on the verge of death row ? He had no clue, he felt like if he planted a seed there and let it grow, it would inevitably die - and he didn’t want it to die.
The memory of his rival couldn’t die within him.
The sound of his phone buzzing definitely snapped him from his daydream, a text from his volleyball team asking if they could meet in their gymnasium a last time before the ceremony. Somehow it felt like he already went there, and his body was already exhausted from the trip. He got up, and took a coin that hid in the depth of his pocket and risked his future in a fate game ; heads, he decides to move on with his unresolved anger, tails, he fuels the feud and never talks it out.
He threw the coin in the air, watched it fall, and slammed the door without seeing the answer. Either side, either way, a flower who died or lived again - Oikawa was moving forward.