Iwaizumi leaned against the wall of the elevator lethargically. He held the strap of his bag loosely as it leaned against his leg, suddenly too heavy to keep on across his shoulder. Why in the hell he and Oikawa chose to live on the 10th floor was beyond him. He was regretting the decision as each beep of the passing floors sent sharp, stabbing pains through his skull. The prospect of his bed called to him enticingly.

It had been a terrible day. He woke up late and ran into someone on his way to class, spilling his coffee all over his notes.

During his clinicals, he was observing one of the trainers with rehab for a patient who only recently recovered from her shoulder surgery enough to start physical therapy. All he needed to do was watch so he could take notes on different types of treatment plans for shoulders.

The universe was out to screw him apparently because the pain was a bit too much for the poor girl and she ended up throwing up down Iwa’s chest.

To top it all off, when he was writing notes for one of the certified trainers a little later, black spots started popping in and out of his vision and his upper arms started tingling. Anxiety immediately settled in his chest. Of course; the only way to end such a terrible day was with a migraine.

Now, here he was, an hour later, standing in the elevator, hating his very existence as the pulsing behind his eyes increased and nausea made his stomach churn.

Finally the doors to his floor opened and he stumbled forward, fighting his vertigo towards his apartment. The hall lights blinded him.

His fingers fumbled with the keys as he leaned against the door and when he finally got the door open, he all but fell inside. He dumped his stuff messily by the door (Oikawa would yell at him later for that) and made a beeline for his bedroom.

Iwaizumi could have cried when he finally got to his room. He didn’t bother with the lights and collapsed onto his bed. His head pounded relentlessly. He curled into a ball and whimpered.