It was hard not to notice the thin white lines on Oikawa's wrists. Sometimes his arms moved too fast to notice, but when he set, they seemed to shine under the fluorescent lights of the gym. 

Most people either ignored them, or didn't see him play, and therefore, never saw them at all. He seemed happy enough. What reason would he have to do something like that? Why would he even think about it?

The ones who ignored it deemed it too awkward, or too personal, of a topic to breach. Most times it was both. 

Some scars were newer than others, but Iwaizumi tried his best to check on his best friend as often as possible. He tried to make it seem inconspicuous, but he had never been very good at that. That was Oikawa's forte, after all.

Sometimes he would go over to find his friend just staring at the blade. He wasn't crying or cutting or even bleeding. He just stared until Iwaizumi knocked it out of his hand and took it to his own house like he had the others. He knew it didn't help much, but he didn't know what else to do. Oikawa could always just go down to the kitchen and grab a knife. He could go to the dollar store and buy a pack of five. 

They were so easy to get, and so hard to destroy. 

The whole team worried, but every time they tried to help, Oikawa shut them out. He would overexert himself at practice, even to the point of putting himself out of the game. They didn't know why he would do this to himself. 

Only Iwaizumi knew how much he disappointed himself. How much he doubted his own ability. How much he hated every flaw in anything he did. How much he envied others' natural skill. Only Iwaizumi knew. 

That is, until a newcomer came along. 

---

Hinata Shouyou had experience with self-harm. Not on himself. No, he had no idea why someone would do that, but he was always willing to help. He didn't care who they were, everyone deserved to be helped. 

He always tried his best not to pry. They deserved their privacy, and he was invading that enough by doing what he did to help. But sometimes they would just break. 

It was hard to stay stoic and quiet in such a tender, intimate moment. Sometimes he would end up drying their tears as they spilled their life stories or just let out everything they had been feeling. It was always them, and if they didn't want to talk about it again, he was willing to agree to that. After all, it was their life, and he was just invading it. 

His mother had told him once that sometimes the best way to get to someone who seems far away, is to just crash through anything in your way. 

He tried to do that to a certain extent, but his mother could be even more zealous than him at times. 

Everyone deserved to be helped, everyone deserved to be happy. He tried his best to live like that. No matter who needed his help, or why they needed it in the first place. That wasn't his place. It was no one's place, really. But especially not his. 

---

He first saw them at the practice match against Aoba Jousai. They were clear as day, even on his pale skin. He wanted so badly to help, but he never got the chance. 

He never asked anyone about them, or pried to see if they had seen them as well. He knew they had. They were almost impossible to miss. 

After the game, there had almost been a chance. He had almost chased after him. He could do what he normally did in just a few minutes. A few moments really. But his team had hurried him away before he could. He guessed they thought he wanted to pick a fight. And he did, but that could come after. 

His mother had told him once that if someone was meant to be in your life, they would be there. She always seemed to talk in inspirational sayings, but he loved her all the more for it. 

So he waited. 

He helped some people. After all, that was what he did when he wasn't at volleyball. He helped people. The ones who thought that the only answer was pain. That the only way to live was to die. 

He had a job in the summer babysitting some of the local kids. The mother's on the volleyball team always trusted him. 

All the money he made that summer had been gone in an instant. He could help people now. 

---

The next time he saw him was at an official match. The scars were still there. He thought he saw a few newer ones too, but he couldn't be sure. He had only gotten a glance before, and when he had confronted the team after the match, he was wearing a jacket. 

The game seemed to drag on. The third set going into a deuce didn't help either. It seemed like the game would never end, that they would play forever, until the end of time. It seemed like it would go on and on.

That is, until it stopped. 

After such a long game, the end seemed too abrupt. Too quick. Even if the dive seemed to last forever. As the ball hit the floor, the world crashed back into him, knocking the wind from his lungs. 

They were out of the competition. This time. 

---

After the game, Hinata somehow managed to catch Oikawa alone. 

He seemed to be thinking about something, and Hinata was hesitant to interrupt. He watched for a few moments before the older boy looked up at him. There weren't tears in his eyes or on his face, but that was because he had run out a long time ago. He had seen too many people like Oikawa to not know. 

A hug. That was the first step. The first obstacle to crash through. 

Oikawa seemed shocked at the hug, but accepted it, nonetheless. He wrapped his longer arms around Hinata's small frame and his body shook. He was crying. But even without looking, he knew there would be no tears. 

He stepped back and pulled something out of his bag. 

He said nothing, asked nothing. That was one obstacle he would go around. He was already destroying whatever peace he had culminated, and he didn't want to overstep too much. 

He held up the small temporary tattoo, a towel, and his half-full water bottle. 

Without asking, he initiated step two. 

Grabbing Oikawa's first arm, he peeled away the film on the small tattoo and stuck it to his arm. He then unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and wet the towel, dabbing it onto the paper. He peeled it off after a few moments and patted it try. 

Without a single word, he repeated the actions with the other arm, placing the tattoo right on the scars. 

He smiled when he was done. They were small volleyballs. 

Fitting, he thought, that those were the ones he had thought to bring. 

"If you cut again, you'll ruin the tattoo." Was all he said before giving both hands a squeeze and throwing his biggest, brightest smile at Oikawa. 

He walked away, not waiting for a response he wouldn't get. He never did, but that wasn't why he did it. 

He glanced back at him. The look on his face spoke for itself as Oikawa stared at the matching marks on his arms. 

That was why he did it. 

---

A few months later, on his birthday, Oikawa got a package in the mail. 

Inside was so many volleyball tattoos that he couldn't count them all, and a note. 

Good luck.