iwaizumi's inner monologue

From the moment the sirens blared behind them, he should have known. From the moment flashing red and blue lights painted Oikawa’s face in the dim interior of the car, he should have questioned it. But he didn’t.

He was too focused on the road, on the weight of Oikawa’s presence beside him, on the way their breathing synchronized as they pushed the car to its limits. He was too caught up in the rush of the escape, in the way Oikawa called his name like it meant something more than just a warning, in the way Oikawa moved like he belonged there—like he had always belonged there.

But now, sitting behind these cold, rusted bars, he remembers it all. The way Oikawa didn’t even flinch when the cops found them. The way his hands didn’t tremble when he grabbed Iwaizumi’s arm to steer them in another direction, guiding them through alleyways as if he had known the layout of the city better than he should have. The way he didn’t once ask, Why are they here? because, god, he already knew. He had known all along.

And Iwaizumi had been blind.

He hadn’t thought about how Oikawa never once panicked. How he never once looked at Iwaizumi with the same frantic fear everyone else did. How he never asked where they should go, because he already knew the answer. Because he had led them there. Because he had set them up.

The realization sinks in like a blade pressed slow against his chest, carving through everything he thought was real. Oikawa—his Oikawa—was never really running with them. He was running them.

A trap.

Iwaizumi exhales shakily, running a hand down his face. His fingers tremble, and god, he hates it. Hates how his chest caves in, how his lungs refuse to work properly, how the back of his throat burns with something raw, something devastating. He trusted Oikawa. More than anything, more than anyone. And in the end, it had been Oikawa who put them here.

But the worst part?

He still fucking loves him.

Even after everything. Even after the betrayal. Even now, as he grips his knees, his mind playing the image of Oikawa over and over again, standing in front of them with guilt-ridden eyes, a silent confession hanging between them. Even now, when he knows that Oikawa was the reason for everything falling apart.

Iwaizumi clenches his jaw, forcing himself to take in a slow, painful breath.

Oikawa Tooru was a trap.

And Iwaizumi had walked right into it.

Iwaizumi leans back against the cold concrete wall of the cell, pressing his fingers against his temples as if that could somehow dull the throbbing ache in his skull. It doesn’t. Nothing does.

The others were quiet now, scattered across the small space they had been thrown into, the weight of their situation settling over them like a suffocating fog. Hanamaki sat with his back against the metal bars, arms resting over his knees, expression unreadable. Matsukawa was next to him, head tilted back, eyes closed as if that could drown out the reality of where they were. Suna fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve, while Kiyoomi simply watched, unreadable as ever, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

They had been loud earlier—angry, frustrated, throwing curses into the air like they could undo what had already been done.

But now, after seeing him, after watching Oikawa stand there on the other side, looking so fucking broken yet still shackled to Meian like a puppet—there was nothing left to say.

Iwaizumi exhales, staring at the ceiling.

He keeps replaying the last few seconds over and over again. The moment their gazes locked, the moment he saw the tears welling up in Oikawa’s eyes, the silent plea buried beneath layers of regret. He thinks about how Oikawa took a single step forward—toward them—before Meian’s hand clamped down on his wrist and yanked him back. How Oikawa didn’t even struggle. Didn’t even try.

Because he couldn’t.

Iwaizumi grips his hands into fists.

He wants to hate him. God, he wants to. He wants to scream at him, curse his name, swear to never fucking forgive him. Because Oikawa put them here. Because Oikawa had a choice, and he chose this.

But no matter how much he wants to blame him—he knows the truth.

Oikawa didn’t choose this.

He was forced into it.

And that makes it so much worse.

Iwaizumi bites down hard, his jaw clenched so tightly it feels like his teeth might crack. His nails dig into the skin of his palm, blunt crescents marking his flesh, but it isn’t enough to ground him.

Because the truth is, he should have fucking known.

From the moment the sirens wailed behind them, from the second Oikawa didn’t flinch when the cops showed up, from the way he didn’t even ask how they knew where to find them—he should have known.

Because Oikawa was always the first to panic, always the one who would yell and curse and throw a fit when things didn’t go his way. He was the one who would argue and demand answers, who would question every little fucking thing.

But that night? Oikawa didn’t question a goddamn thing.

Iwaizumi exhales shakily, his head falling back against the cold wall. His throat burns.

He should have fucking known.

And the worst part?

He didn’t.

Because Oikawa Tooru—the person he loved, the person he trusted—was a trap.

A beautiful, goddamn devastating trap.

But instead of seeing the warning signs, instead of questioning the way Oikawa had gripped the wheel too tightly, the way his voice had sounded a little too forced, the way his eyes had flickered with something unreadable—Iwaizumi had believed him.

Because he always fucking did.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how much the world changed, no matter how much the universe tried to rip them apart—Oikawa was still Oikawa.

And Iwaizumi had loved him too much to even consider the possibility of betrayal.

A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. His hands are trembling.

God, he didn’t even see it coming.

He thinks about the way Oikawa had looked at them through the bars, the way his lips had parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. The way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach out, but he was already too far gone.

And Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa knew, even then, that there would be no way to fix this.

That no matter how much he begged, no matter how much he tried—some things could never be undone.

But God, he still fucking loves him.

It’s the cruelest part of it all. The one thing he can’t seem to rip out of his chest, no matter how much it’s killing him.

Iwaizumi rubs a hand down his face, trying to exhale the weight pressing against his ribs. But it won’t leave. It just sits there, heavy and unrelenting, reminding him over and over again that no matter how much Oikawa has done, no matter how deep this betrayal runs—his heart refuses to let go.

Because it’s Oikawa.

It’s always been Oikawa.

And even now, after everything, Iwaizumi still finds himself searching for an answer—any answer—that makes it hurt less.

Because the truth is, Oikawa wasn’t just some boy he met on the streets. He wasn’t just a pretty face behind a pop star’s mask. He was the one who made Iwaizumi laugh when life felt too suffocating. He was the one who clung to him during late-night drives, the one who turned whispered conversations into something sacred.

He was the one who made Iwaizumi feel alive.

And fuck, maybe that’s why it hurts so much now.

Because how do you stop loving someone who once held your entire world in their hands? How do you forget the way they looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered? How do you erase the warmth of their body pressed against yours, the way their voice softened when they said your name?

How do you stop loving someone who became a part of your fucking soul?

Iwaizumi presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

He can’t.

Even after everything. Even after this.

He still loves Oikawa like he’s never known how to love anything else.

It was always going to be Oikawa.

Not the cops. Not the syndicates. Not the countless enemies chasing after him, waiting for him to slip, to bleed, to fall.

No—it was Oikawa all along.

The realization sits like lead in Iwaizumi’s stomach. Heavy. Suffocating. Final.

He exhales shakily, staring at the ceiling of the holding cell, as if the answer to all of this is written in the cracks and grime above him. But there’s nothing. Just emptiness.

Just the truth.

Oikawa Tooru, the person Iwaizumi let into his world, into his heart, was the same person who tore it apart.

And maybe he should’ve seen it coming. Maybe, deep down, he did.

Because Oikawa had always been the kind of storm that could wreck a person if they let him get too close. He was wildfire, beautiful and destructive, the kind of thing you could never tame no matter how much you wanted to.

Iwaizumi knew that. He knew that.

And yet, he still let himself burn.

Because that was the thing about Oikawa—he was worth the ruin.

Iwaizumi closes his eyes, inhaling slow, steady, even as his chest aches with something unbearable.

It was true.

Oikawa would be the one to ruin him.

And the worst part?

Iwaizumi would still let him.

Iwaizumi grips his fists, nails digging deep into his palms as if the pain could ground him, as if it could make this all hurt any less. But it doesn’t. Nothing could.

Because it was always Oikawa.

The betrayal should’ve tasted bitter. It should’ve made him seethe with anger, should’ve made him curse Oikawa’s name like a goddamn poison on his tongue.

But all he feels is devastation.

Oikawa had smiled at him that night. Had looked him in the eyes, touched his wrist the way he always did, whispered trust me in that quiet way only Iwaizumi understood. And fuck, Iwaizumi did.

He trusted Oikawa with his life, his future—his everything.

And Oikawa handed him over like it meant nothing.

He thinks back to that night. The way Oikawa didn’t flinch when the sirens came. The way he already knew which roads to take, which alleys to avoid, where to run because he fucking knew.

God.

Iwaizumi swallows back something thick, something close to a scream.

Oikawa had been leading them into a trap. Into this very cell. Into this fucking moment.

Had it been difficult for him? Did he hesitate, even for a second?

Did he care?

Iwaizumi wants to believe he did. That Oikawa isn’t a monster, that he isn’t just some selfish bastard who threw them all away to save his own skin. Because that’s not who Oikawa is.

At least, not the Oikawa Iwaizumi fell in love with.

But love—love is nothing against this. Love is not enough to fix what’s already been shattered.

And still. Still.

Even after everything. Even after the betrayal, the lies, the destruction—

If Oikawa reached for him now, Iwaizumi knows.

He would still take his hand.