if u squint u'll see some iwaoi crumbs hehe happy reading!

Iwaizumi’s hands gripped the steering wheel, the rhythmic hum of the engine filling the silence between them. The city lights flickered as they drove through the streets, casting fleeting shadows on the car’s interior. Oikawa sat beside him, absentmindedly munching on the strawberry Pocky, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

But even though his eyes were focused on the passing scenery, Oikawa’s mind was somewhere else—somewhere far away. The sound of the Pocky crunching between his teeth was a small comfort, something simple in a world that had become increasingly complicated.

As he stared at the dark roads, his thoughts drifted back to the life he had left behind—the life he had been forced to abandon. The bright stage lights, the constant chatter of the press, the noise of a life so full of expectations.

How did I get here?

Oikawa couldn’t help but replay his journey—the glitzy concerts, the days spent perfecting every note, the smiles he’d worn for the cameras. He had loved it all. He had been proud of the life he built, of the fame he earned. But the pressure, the expectations, the feeling of being constantly watched… it had all become suffocating.

He thought about his parents, their cold indifference to his true desires, and the marriage they had arranged for him—the one that hung over him like a dark cloud. And then, there was the sudden escape, the decision to run, to leave it all behind. But even now, even as he sat beside Iwaizumi, there were moments when the weight of it all crashed down on him again.

The racing world, this world that was so different, so raw, was his attempt to break free, to do something that was entirely his own. But was it enough? Was it even what he truly wanted?

Iwaizumi glanced at him briefly, noticing the far-off look in Oikawa’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He could feel the tension rolling off Oikawa, like a quiet storm brewing just beneath the surface. He didn’t know what Oikawa was thinking, but he could tell it wasn’t about the Pocky or the race. It was something deeper, something that had nothing to do with the present moment.

The silence in the car stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that spoke of things unsaid, of struggles and dreams that hadn’t quite been realized yet. And for a brief moment, Iwaizumi wondered if Oikawa would ever truly be free of his past—or if the weight of it would always follow him.

Oikawa’s grip on the Pocky tightened slightly as he chewed on the last piece. His throat tightened too, but he swallowed it down. There was no use in dwelling on the past. He had made his choice, even if he didn’t have all the answers yet.

But for now, he allowed himself to feel this strange, fleeting sense of peace, even as his mind spun with questions he didn’t have answers to.

Iwaizumi’s fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, the car moving smoothly through the streets. The sound of the engine and the occasional hum of passing cars filled the air. Oikawa, sitting quietly beside him, absentmindedly ate his strawberry Pocky, his eyes following the trees as they passed by it.

But as Oikawa chewed, his thoughts wandered far from the present. The weight of his past loomed over him, like a shadow he couldn’t shake off no matter how far he ran. He didn’t even notice the way his grip tightened on the Pocky stick, lost in his own world.

His mind drifted back to the life he had once known—the extravagant concerts, the rush of being adored by thousands, the constant flashing lights and the sound of his name echoing through arenas. The luxury, the fame, the sense of security that came with knowing that the world was watching, waiting for every move. He had been at the top, untouchable in many ways.

He had lived in mansions, flown in private jets, worn designer clothes. He had everything—everything that most people could only dream of. His life had been a picture of perfection, a carefully curated image that the public adored. He had it all, or at least, that’s what he had convinced himself.

But now, in the quiet hum of the car, Oikawa couldn’t escape the realization that all of that had come at a cost. The fame, the luxury—it had all been part of a world that suffocated him, a life built on expectations and rules that he never had a say in. The arranged marriage, the endless obligations—it was all too much.

Now, sitting beside Iwaizumi, in a car that wasn’t his, wearing clothes that weren’t designer, and eating Pocky instead of fine dining, Oikawa felt a strange mixture of discomfort and exhilaration. He was out of his element, far beyond the comfort zone that had once defined his every move. The simple act of driving through the streets with Iwaizumi, without the press, without the glitz, felt so… new. It felt real, but it was also terrifying.

Was this what he wanted? To leave behind everything he had built and step into a world that didn’t have a set path? A world where he wasn’t told what to do, where to go, or who to be?

Oikawa swallowed the last of the Pocky, his throat dry. He wasn’t sure anymore. But one thing was certain—this, whatever this was, felt different. It felt free.

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything, his focus on the road, but there was something in the way he drove—calm, steady, like nothing could shake him. Oikawa glanced at him briefly, seeing the focused expression on his face, and something twisted in his chest. For all of Iwaizumi’s toughness, there was a quiet security in him. Something Oikawa had never really felt in his own life.

For a brief moment, Oikawa wondered if he would ever find a place that felt like this—a place where he didn’t have to pretend, where he didn’t have to be the perfect popstar. He stared out the window again, watching the city pass by, feeling the weight of everything he had left behind.

But what if there was something more to be found beyond the luxury and fame? What if, in the chaos of this new life, he could finally be himself? Could this be the life he was meant to live?

For the first time in a long while, Oikawa wasn’t sure. But he didn’t mind the uncertainty. Not anymore.

As the car hummed steadily along the road, Oikawa’s mind continued to drift, following the threads of his past. He didn’t like admitting it, but he knew deep down that being a popstar was never truly his dream. It was something that had been shaped for him, something he’d been pushed toward by the weight of his parents’ expectations.

When he was younger, he had always known that the stage wasn’t where he felt most comfortable. The spotlight had always felt too bright, too intense. But what choice did he have? His parents had dreams for him—dreams of success, of fame, of a life filled with luxury and admiration. And so, he had played along. He had tried so hard to fit the mold they’d made for him, thinking that if he worked hard enough, if he became good enough, maybe he could convince himself it was what he truly wanted.

The pressure had been suffocating. But he’d kept pushing forward, doing everything he could to meet the expectations placed on him. I was trying my best, Oikawa thought with a sigh, to fit in. To be the person they wanted me to be. The person everyone thought I should be.

He could still remember the countless hours of practice, the constant rehearsals, the never-ending need to be perfect. As a popstar, there was no room for mistakes. And I made sure there weren’t any, he thought, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of the Pocky box. That’s why I became such a fast learner. If I made a mistake, even once, it would be like I didn’t belong. Like I wasn’t good enough.

He had adapted. He had learned every dance move, every note, every interview line. He had perfected it all—so there wouldn’t be room for error. So he could stay at the top. But even as he reached the height of his career, there was always this gnawing feeling inside him. A feeling that maybe he was playing a part that didn’t fit who he truly was.

The more he had tried to fit in, the more he had lost touch with who he actually was. The Oikawa he used to know—the one with dreams of a different life—had faded somewhere in the background. The constant pressure to be perfect, to be the best, had consumed him. The moment he made a mistake, the image would crack. And that scared him.

Looking out at the passing streetlights, Oikawa couldn’t help but wonder how different his life could have been if he had been allowed to pursue his own dreams, instead of the ones carved out for him by his parents. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this, he thought quietly. Maybe I never was.

The realization was bittersweet. He had done everything he could to prove that he belonged, but in the end, he was just trying to fill a role that wasn’t meant for him. The weight of the facade had been crushing, and now, for the first time in a long while, Oikawa was beginning to understand that it was okay to admit he had been wrong. It was okay to not fit in. To not have all the answers.

And as he glanced over at Iwaizumi, who was focused on the road with a quiet confidence, Oikawa wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could start finding his own path. One where he didn’t have to be perfect, where he didn’t have to try so hard to fit in, and where he could be free to make mistakes.

As the midday sun bathed the car in a warm glow, Oikawa’s mind was still reeling from his thoughts about the life he’d left behind. He barely noticed at first, but then he felt it—the soft, almost tentative pressure of Iwaizumi’s hand on his thigh.

Iwaizumi’s other hand was still gripping the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road, but the touch on his leg was deliberate, firm, as if Iwaizumi was trying to communicate something. Oikawa’s breath hitched slightly, surprised by the sudden gesture. He hadn’t expected it, not from Iwaizumi, especially not now.

But there was something in that touch that felt strangely comforting, something that made him feel… secure. It wasn’t possessive or forceful—just a quiet assurance. Iwaizumi didn’t say anything, but the simple squeeze of his hand on Oikawa’s thigh spoke volumes. It was like he was saying, I’m here. I’ve got you.

Oikawa swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as he tried to process the unexpected tenderness of the gesture. It was the kind of reassurance that he hadn’t realized he needed, but now that it was there, it felt like the world had suddenly slowed down, like everything was grounding him in this moment.

His heart beat a little faster, but it wasn’t from anxiety or fear. It was from something else—something warmer, softer. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

What is this? he wondered, a small frown tugging at his lips. He could feel the warmth of Iwaizumi’s hand through the fabric of his jeans, the steady rhythm of the squeeze that seemed to be saying, It’s going to be okay.

Oikawa’s hand reached down instinctively, fingers brushing against the top of Iwaizumi’s hand, just to make sure it was real, just to reassure himself that he wasn’t imagining it. And for a brief moment, Oikawa didn’t feel the need to say anything. The silence between them was enough.