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The new apartment isn’t as big as Tooru had hoped for, but it’s a start.
It’s a fifteen-minute walk from the high school and a half-hour drive from the hospital, situated in the quieter parts of the normally-bustling city. Their next-door neighbors are a married couple well in their sixties on the right and a single mother with an energetic five-year-old son on the left, both of whom received Tooru and Hajime warmly when they moved in two days ago. Until now, their fridge is full of homemade pastries and sweets given to them as house-warming gifts.
It’s a really good start, so far.
This late morning, Tooru pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth and watches Hajime try to make sense of the contents of their fridge. It’s a peaceful kind of scene, a familiar one composed of breakfast for lunch and half-hearted scolding to get down from furniture not meant for sitting. Sunday, Tooru thinks. No work, no immediate responsibilities, no outside worries. It’s just them.
“I swear we bought eggs yesterday,” Hajime mutters, practically disappearing into the fridge. “Why are there so many sweets in here?”
Tooru picks another chocolate from the box. “Hana-san brought us more yesterday, remember? It would’ve been rude not to accept.” He extends his leg and nudges at the back of Hajime’s thigh with his sock-covered feet, because the floor is cold and the morning is cold and Tooru is cold. “Iwa-chan, come here.”
Hajime sighs and gives up on his search for eggs or, at this point Tooru suspects, anything that would make for an acceptable breakfast. While Tooru appreciates the effort Hajime puts into keeping the both of them healthy and as well-fed as two grown men can manage, there are other more important things in life. Like keeping warm on a cold Sunday morning, for example.
“Here,” he says, extending the chocolate caught between thumb and forefinger as some kind of lure. “Say ah, Iwa-chan.”
Hajime shuts the fridge door with his foot and steps close. He rolls his eyes but obediently parts his lips, and Tooru slides the half-melted chocolate into his mouth, pushing the sweet further past teeth with his index finger until he’s certain it sits, melting, on Hajime’s tongue.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Tooru asks, after licking the excess chocolate from his thumb. He watches the way Hajime’s jaw works as he rolls the chocolate around in his mouth, a thoughtful expression passing over his face.
“It’s really sweet,” Hajime says, after a short pause. “It tastes like something you’d like.”
Tooru takes another chocolate and examines it, holding it between them. “I take it that you’re not going to help me finish this box, then.”
Hajime catches his wrist and wraps calloused fingers around delicate skin. His palm feels rough, much like how Tooru’s does, thickened and conditioned after years of playing volleyball. He guides Tooru’s hand towards his face and takes the chocolate into his mouth, blushing faintly as he does.
Tooru smiles. “You don’t have to force yourself to eat them, Iwa-chan.”
“I’m not letting you eat all of that by yourself,” Hajime mutters around the chocolate. He chews it this time, too impatient to wait for it to melt, and swallows. “There are two more boxes in the fridge and you’ll get sick if you try to finish them all, especially without having eaten a proper meal first.”
“You really are a mom sometimes, you know that?” Tooru teases, delighted when he sees Hajime’s lips twist in that certain way it does when he’s torn between scowling and smiling at Tooru. “How about we call Makki and Mattsun over to help us eat all those sweets?”
“They’re still on their honeymoon,” Hajime reminds, reaching for a chocolate and absentmindedly holding it up to Tooru’s lips. “Or, pre-honeymoon. Whatever. But they won’t be back until Wednesday.”
“Right.” Tooru chews the chocolate slowly, thoughtful. “What about Kyouken-chan and Yahaba-chan?”
“Do you really want to invite our former underclassmen over when we haven’t even finished unpacking?” Hajime asks, swiping at the corner of Tooru’s mouth with his thumb. Tooru is pretty certain there wasn’t even a smudge there to begin with, but he’s not going to point that out. “Besides, we did plan on inviting everyone over by the end of the month. We can just save the chocolates till then.”
Tooru hums, only half-listening. Somewhere along the way, Hajime’s palm has settled itself over the curve of Tooru’s cheek, thumb tracing over the line of his jaw. Outside, people are probably wandering the streets while huddled in jackets to protect them from the morning chill. Or perhaps they’re sitting in cafés with mugs of steaming coffee to fight the cold, but right now, in this kitchen of their new apartment with the heater still in the stages of kicking in, Tooru feels warmer than anyone else.
“You’re smiling,” Hajime observes.
“So are you,” Tooru says back.
The hand slides down and fits against the space between his neck and shoulder, leaving a trace of warmth in its wake. “We should unpack. The living room is still half-covered in boxes.”
Hajime doesn’t make a move to go, though, his other hand instead settling over Tooru’s hip even as he starts listing off whatever else needs to be done. Tooru tunes the words out and focuses instead on the familiar sound of Hajime’s voice. He pinches the material of Hajime’s shirt between his fingers, a hideous purple thing with a cartoon dragon print, something that Tooru bought for him on their second anniversary.
“Tooru.” The sound of his name brings Tooru’s attention back to the present. He blinks slowly as he lifts his gaze to meet Hajime’s.
“Yes, Iwa-chan?”
Hajime sighs, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I said we really need to start.”
Tooru feels his lips quirk, lets them pull up into a smile of his own. Yeah, he thinks. He’s had a lot of starts with Hajime.
* * *
The apartment is small and the wall separating the two cramped bedrooms might as well be made out of paper. The faucet leaks unless the knob is turned just so and the floorboards leading to the bathroom creak at the drop of a hat. All the furniture are secondhand and of questionable taste, the kitchen only big enough for a stove and a sink and a small square of a table.
Tooru loves living here.
He loves waking up too early most mornings because the water coming from the bathroom is too loud or the things in the kitchen keep accidentally clattering onto the floor. He loves lying down on the couch with the middle sagged from several previous tenants’ weights, all while flipping through the limited channels of their television. He loves going to sleep knowing that he’s not alone.
Because for every crappy thing that he has to put up with regarding their living conditions, there Iwaizumi is, right by his side. It’s him in the shower or making breakfast that Tooru wakes up to, it’s his lap that Tooru’s head is pillowed on as they bear through long runs of reality TV, and it’s his steady breathing that Tooru falls asleep to.
Tooru loves living in their apartment, because he loves living with Iwaizumi.
Tooru loves Iwaizumi.
“This is my first time living in an apartment, Iwa-chan!” he says the first night, squeezed between the table and the wall of the kitchen as Iwaizumi puts away the dishes. “And so far it’s been really disappointing! I already miss my fancy dorm room.” He’s teasing, of course, and they both know that.
Iwaizumi snorts and puts the last of the plates away. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I sure hope so.” Tooru pretends to eye the peeling wallpaper with distaste. “We need to do some serious redecorating, though. I won’t stand for this choice of wallpaper.”
“We can do whatever you want,” Iwaizumi says easily, drying his hands.
Tooru blinks at him. “You’re oddly lenient tonight, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi’s face turns red at that, a sight that Tooru has always loved. He tries to turn his head away, pretending to examine a spot on the wall, but Tooru can see how his ears are burning. “When have I ever really denied you anything, Oikawa?”
Tooru closes the space separating them in one easy step. “You usually put up more of a fuss about it, though.”
Iwaizumi’s expression is more under control when he turns to look at Tooru, though he still looks slightly embarrassed. Tooru is just trying to decide whether it’d be better to tease Iwaizumi further or just drop it, when Iwaizumi lets out something of a frustrated breath and mutters, “I’m just really happy, okay?”
Tooru blinks. “What?”
Iwaizumi blushes even more. “That you’re here, I mean. I’m happy that you’re here. With me.”
Now Tooru can feel himself starting to blush as well, embarrassed and touched and so fucking in love he just—he does the only logical thing he can think of and kisses Iwaizumi, who meets him halfway, because after knowing each other practically their entire lives, they’re pretty much in perfect sync by now.
“Yeah,” he breathes when they pull away, just for a moment, “me, too.”
* * *
Tooru starts with the box full of knickknacks that they’ve accumulated over the years, even before they got their first apartment together when they were still starry-eyed university students. He rummages through the box and pulls out a seven-inch Godzilla action figure, surprised to find it there. It’s supposed to light up when the button on the back is pressed, but it’s no longer working even with a replacement of batteries.
“I can’t believe you still have this,” he says, turning his head over his shoulder so he can see Hajime where he’s pushing a display table against the wall. “How sentimental of you, Iwa-chan.”
Hajime blushes and reaches for the nearest solid object that’s not the table he’s pushing, which just happens to be a couch pillow. He throws it at Tooru’s face with deadly accuracy, and Tooru laughs as he uses his arm to block it at the last second. The pillow falls onto the ground and Tooru picks it up, throws it right back at Hajime.
More couch pillows join in, and soon the two of them are shoving boxes aside and jumping over furniture. Tooru yelps as a pillow hits him against the side, quickly followed by another on the face. He flails and sputters, wondering if that’s a feather he’s feeling in his mouth when there are hands suddenly grabbing his wrists and making him drop his fluffy feathered weapons.
Hajime’s panting, smiling face comes into view, and Tooru’s fingers twitch with the urge to pull him in for a kiss.
“I win,” Hajime declares, breathless.
Tooru tries to struggle out of Hajime’s grip, just to be stubborn. Hajime’s fingers tighten for a second before releasing, and then Tooru’s being lifted from the ground as Hajime grabs him around the waist.
“Iwa-chan!” Tooru shrieks, trailing off into laughter as he manages to pull one arm free and shoves at Hajime’s shoulder. His feet touch the floor once more, and the hold around his waist loosens.
Tooru feels breathless as he dips his chin just the slightest bit in order to look Hajime in the eye. The both of them have grown taller after high school, Tooru now towering over 188cm, but Hajime’s never really caught up (at least he got in the 180’s, Tooru thinks, even if it’s just a centimeter over the line).
“So tiny, Iwa-chan,” he says. Grins.
Hajime scowls. “Shut up.”
“Sorry,” Tooru says, even though he doesn’t mean it, even though he knows Hajime knows he doesn’t mean it. He leans down and does what he’s wanted to do since their not-breakfast an hour ago, feeling Hajime’s small smile against his mouth.
“This is why we never get anything done,” Hajime mutters. Tooru can feel the breath he huffs out right against his lips. “You’re such a menace.”
“Sorry,” Tooru says again, even as he leans in for another kiss. Hajime indulges him for all of ten seconds, before he resolutely pulls away and says they really need to finish unpacking.
Tooru goes back to his box and rummages through it. He finds a volleyball keychain and a yellowing paper envelope containing Polaroid pictures of the team from high school, given to him at their graduation by Yahaba who at the time had taken a brief interest in photography. There are letters from their Aoba Johsai team, a handmade pale blue string bracelet with the tips frayed, DVD cases of Tooru’s favorite sci-fi films, and—
“What is this?” He wonders out loud, pulling out an old tape from the pile, sealed in a clear container. The label dates back to sixteen years ago with their names written below, and after a second Tooru recognizes it to be in his mother’s handwriting.
Hajime appears beside him and examines the tape. “I don’t really remember?”
“Is it from your things or mine?”
Hajime frowns. “I… don’t know.”
Tooru lets out a breath and takes the tape back, turning it in his hand. “We don’t really have the equipment to play this, do we?”
“We only have a DVD player, so no.” Hajime pulls his phone out from his back pocket and checks the time. “We can figure that out later. Let’s finish unpacking first.”
“But Iwa-chan! Mystery!”
“Later, Tooru.”
Tooru pouts, but obediently sets the tape down. He knows he’s not the one who put it in the box, and if Hajime says he didn’t either, then Tooru believes him.
Which only leaves one other person who could’ve possibly put it there when they were packing.
* * *
“Mom, I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Just checking on my son,” comes his mother’s voice from the other end of the line, partly-sheepish and partly-doting. “Now, have you finished unpacking everything?”
“Just about,” Tooru lies, using his shoulder to hold the phone against his ear as he wrestles with the zipper of his bag. His clothes spill out on his bed, and he sets his phone on speaker so he can put it down and work on organizing his closet.
“Have you met your roommate yet?”
“Yeah,” Tooru says, picking up an old Aoba Johsai practice shirt and tracing over his former high school’s name with his thumb.
“What’s he like?”
Certainly not like Iwa-chan, is Tooru’s initial thought. But he made a promise to himself and to Iwaizumi that they’d at least try to go without bringing the other up for as long as they could, because they both deserve the chance to grow individually. Tooru knows it makes sense, but it still doesn’t make the situation any easier.
“I haven’t really gotten the chance to talk to him yet,” Tooru says, staring at the shirt in his hands.
His mother hums. “Something tells me you’re not talking about your roommate, Tooru.”
That startles a laugh out of Tooru. He shakes his head and folds the shirt, setting it aside for now. “A mother’s intuition is so scary,” he says. “But I haven’t actually talked to my roommate yet.”
“And Hajime-kun?”
Tooru pauses. “I—no. We haven’t talked since yesterday.”
Another hum. Tooru forces himself to keep on folding his clothes, just so he can have something else to focus on. Before, when he would be so near his limit while practicing his serves—and this is something Tooru’s only learned to admit to himself recently, that he had been overworking himself—his movements would become more automatic than anything. He’s practically ingrained the space of a court into his brain, committed each tiny detail to memory so much that it’s become something like a part of his natural system.
Sometimes he would tune out and just let his body take over, because his mind would be too busy with something else. All he relied on was the familiar feeling of the ball on his hand, the resounding smack against his palm, and the squeaking echo of his sneakers against the floor.
This feels a bit like those times, relying on a practiced movement as his mind flies somewhere else.
Finally, his mother’s voice comes through the line, crackling slightly. “I know what you two are trying to do, Tooru. And I don’t think you’re wrong, but it doesn’t need to be sudden. That’ll only make it harder.”
Tooru lets out a breath. It trembles, and he chides himself for it. He considers lying, pretending that he doesn’t know what his mother is talking about, but then… there are only two people who Tooru can be completely honest with, really.
“I already miss him so much,” he whispers, fingers digging into fabric. “We just saw each other yesterday after we got off our train, but I already miss him. Isn’t that scary?”
His mother is quiet for a moment, thinking. Then, “You’ve been with him your entire life.”
“I know.” Tooru forces his hands to start moving again, still gripping the fabric too tightly. “And that’s—it shouldn’t be like this, I think. We both think, actually. I should be just fine without him, right? I shouldn’t have to rely on him completely.”
“I understand.” His mother’s voice is gentle. “But you’re not going to grow into your own person in just one day, Tooru. You can’t force it so immediately.” There’s a short pause, and Tooru knows not to interrupt because his mother has something more to say. She seems to be considering her next words, the silence dragging on for a second more, before finally she asks, “Do you want to call him?”
Tooru laughs. It comes out sounding wet, embarrassingly enough. “I’ve wanted to call him since we parted ways in the station yesterday. I wanted to call him when I got here. I wanted to call him when I woke up this morning.” He blinks, lets out a breath. “I want to call him right now.”
His mother laughs, gentle and soothing. “Call Hajime-kun tonight. One phone call a day shouldn’t hurt, right? And don’t hold back from texting him.”
“But how is that supposed to—”
“Let it happen naturally. Don’t force your separation like this, because it’ll only put a strain on what you two have.”
Tooru thinks about that. Maybe he can call Iwaizumi tonight. Maybe they can talk this through more. Maybe his mother is right.
“Okay, mom. I’ll try.”
“I love you, yeah, Tooru?”
“I love you, too, mom.” Tooru wipes at his eyes and smiles. He reaches for another shirt and stops when he sees what’s on top of the pile. “Mom.”
“Yes, dear?”
Tooru picks up the faded blue sweater that he stole from Iwaizumi some sleepovers ago. “Did you put this in my bag?” He doesn’t even need to specify what he’s talking about, because he knows she’s the only culprit. She’s the only one who ever helps Tooru pack anything, ever.
Her answering laugh confirms this.
* * *
“You two are so domestic, it’s gross,” Hanamaki says, not even a minute after entering the apartment and inspecting his surroundings.
“I agree,” Matsukawa backs up, without even having to look up from where he’s taking his shoes off by the door. “It’s sickening how married you two are.”
Tooru chokes on a breath.
“Are you, by the way?” Hanamaki grins, now inspecting the framed photos arranged on the display table of the living room. He lifts one of Tooru and Hajime as kids, sitting on the root of a large tree with multi-colored bandages plastered over their scraped knees, muddied fingers holding an equally muddy volleyball. “Because if no, then you really should be by now, and if yes, Issei and I are gonna be so pissed that we weren’t invited to the wedding.”
“You can make up for it by buying us both a lifetime supply of Whatever We Want,” Matsukawa pipes in, approaching Hanamaki to look at the framed photos for himself. Then he says, in that tone of his that’s an odd mix of sarcastic and sincere, “Aw, you two were adorable.”
“That’s it, get out of my house.” Tooru points dramatically at the door. “Not even five minutes here and you’re already harassing me.”
“We missed you, too, Oikawa,” Hanamaki says, making no move to leave.
Hajime emerges from the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist. “If you two have that much energy to spare, then go help me finish dinner.”
“Ooh, Iwaizumi. What a good husband.”
“Shut up.”
The others arrive not much later, carrying different food items with them. Tooru just about kisses Yahaba when he sees that he brought him the really good (and really expensive) kind of milk bread, but refrains from doing so and just settles with crushing his former kouhai in his arms because Kyoutani and Hajime won’t appreciate that. Probably. Kunimi and Kindaichi brought creampuffs, though Tooru suspects it’s more for Hanamaki than them. This suspicion is confirmed when Hanamaki immediately takes the box from Kunimi’s hands and declares him to be the cutest underclassman ever. Watari announces that he has wine.
“Nice place, Oikawa-san,” Yahaba says, shrugging out of his coat and looking around the apartment. “Cozy.”
“I’m thinking more ‘domestic’, actually,” Kunimi comments. Both Matsukawa and Hanamaki raise their hands for a high-five.
“Where’s Iwaizumi-san?” Kyoutani and Kindaichi ask at the same time, which Tooru finds hilarious. He jerks a thumb towards the general direction of the kitchen and watches as his underclassmen eagerly shuffle towards where the former ace is.
“Cute,” Matsukawa says.
“Aren’t you threatened, Oikawa?” Hanamaki asks.
“Please,” Tooru snorts, at the same time Kunimi says, “He shouldn’t be,” and Yahaba chimes in, “It’s not as alarming as it once used to be.” All three look at each other, then burst into laughter.
Watari shakes his head, smiling. “So, did we miss anything?”
“Ah,” Matsukawa says, grinning lazily. “We were just discussing the date of Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s wedding.”
Yahaba gasps. “Oikawa-san, you’re engaged?”
“What?” Tooru laughs, willing down a blush and blindly aiming a kick at Matsukawa’s direction. He ends up hitting Hanamaki instead, which, same difference really. “No! Makki and Mattsun are just teasing.”
“You really should be engaged by now, though,” Watari comments, casual as anything, as he inspects the framed photos. Those seem to be getting a lot of attention, Tooru notes.
“That’s what we were saying,” Hanamaki and Matsukawa say in perfect unison.
“Please don’t tell me you two are going to end up dancing around the topic for much longer than necessary, again,” Yahaba sighs. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of high school.”
“Or middle school,” Kunimi adds flatly.
“Mean!” Tooru waves his arms around, incredibly flustered. He needs to get the situation back under control. “You’re all very mean and I regret ever inviting you to step into my home!”
Hanamaki looks like he’s about to shoot an excellent comeback at that, but then Hajime is calling for them from the kitchen and the topic gets dropped in favor of food. Tooru sighs as he lets the others head to the kitchen first, but then Yahaba stops in front of him, looking thoughtful.
“It really is quite odd that you two haven’t tied the knot yet,” he says.
Tooru crosses his arms against his chest. “Well, not everyone can be like Makki and Mattsun, just openly flinging their feelings about to everyone in the room. Or you and Kyouken-chan, even!” He looks pointedly at the engagement ring wrapped around the base of Yahaba’s finger.
Yahaba blushes, but waves it off. “I mean it, though. At this rate, Kindaichi and Kunimi might even get there before you two do.”
Tooru surprises himself with the half-laugh, half-snort that comes out of his mouth in response.
* * *
Yahaba looks very unimpressed. Tooru can’t really blame him.
“Listen, Oikawa-san. I get why you’re freaking out right now—”
“I’m not.”
“—but I really do think that you’re blowing this situation way out of proportion because there wasn’t even alcohol involved—”
“It felt like I was drunk, okay.”
“—and.” Yahaba pointedly lifts an eyebrow. “It was really obvious that the both of you wanted to do it, anyway.”
Tooru groans and buries his face in his hands. Had it been anyone else, he would have never allowed himself to appear so undignified and despaired. The only other person he’s ever openly showed less-than-pleasant emotion to outside of family is Iwa-chan, but for reasons rooting back to the previous night, he can’t confide in his best friend. Not this time.
Unfortunately for Yahaba, being the backup setter and next in line for captaincy meant spending a lot of time with Tooru, which has somehow evolved to also include sessions wherein he’s made to swear in secrecy as Tooru stresses over his life. Tooru would feel bad for dumping all of this on his adorably-reliable kouhai, but he’s a seventeen-year-old teenager with emotions and a need to vent them out.
Today’s topic: last night’s kiss.
“I just can’t believe I kissed Iwa-chan,” Tooru bemoans, agonized. “Do you know how long I’ve been dreaming about kissing him, Yahaba-chan? Way too long.” He flutters his hands around to emphasize his distress. “And I finally got to experience the real thing, but that wasn’t how it was supposed to go!”
“Oikawa-san, please calm down,” Yahaba says.
“He probably hates me right now,” Tooru whines.
“Oikawa-san, I can assure you that right now, Iwaizumi-san is most likely also despairing at Hanamaki-san about how he shouldn’t have kissed you and that it was a mistake and that it was supposed to happen differently, which means that the two of you are just really wasting your time worrying about it when you could, I don’t know, be having a redo of the kiss that fits your standards more.”
Tooru peeks at Yahaba through his fingers. “You really think that?”
“Of course!” Yahaba looks like he’s moments away from throwing his hands up in exasperation. “He did kiss you, after all!”
“Um, no.” Tooru pulls his hands away from his face and frowns. “I’m pretty sure I kissed him.”
“He met you halfway.”
Tooru blinks. “How are you so su—”
“We were all there!” This time Yahaba does throw his hands up, before visibly composing himself once more. “We all saw it coming and trust me, Oikawa-san, he wanted to kiss you just as much.”
“I’m—” Tooru tries to make sense of this. If he’s going to be honest, he hasn’t really given much thought to the events that led up to the kiss. It’s like his memory has been fixated on the kiss itself, which probably has a lot to do with how much he’s been obsessing over the thought that he’s messed everything up.
But now he really tries to think back on it. They had been about to sleep after a grueling day of training, when someone suggested that they tell ghost stories around a campfire. Tooru thinks it was Hanamaki. They used pillows in place of an actual fire and dragged their futons around the pile, and the stories began. It started out boring, Tooru remembers, but then by the time it was Matsukawa’s turn he asked for the lights to get turned off and, paired with his tone and the content of his story itself (something Tooru absolutely does not want to recall), all hell broke loose.
Someone shrieked and threw a pillow at Matsukawa’s face to get him to stop. Another someone hit the first someone with a pillow to get him to shut up. A third someone loudly declared a pillow fight.
The next thing Tooru can remember clearly, past all the fluff and cotton in his face, is slipping on a lone pillow case and falling on Iwa-chan, because Iwa-chan saw him slip and was there to catch him in an instant. He remembers tumbling onto the floor and kneeing Iwa-chan on the thigh, because Iwa-chan somehow managed to arrange the placement of their bodies upon impact so that Tooru wouldn’t hit his right knee against the floor. He remembers a few grunts of pain and strangled laughter and looking down at Iwa-chan and Iwa-chan looking back up at him, stars in both their eyes, a second’s pause, and Tooru leaning down while Iwa-chan leaned up and—
Tooru pushes the door of the storage closet open determinedly. “I have to go.”
Yahaba nods. “That’s the spirit.”
“Thanks, Yahaba-chan.” Tooru ruffles his underclassman’s hair and marches out, determined to find Iwa-chan and have a proper second first kiss with the love of his life.
* * *
“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Hajime says, face flushed up to the tips of his ears. Tooru isn’t doing any better, really.
“What?” Hanamaki protests. “But I have so many more embarrassing stories of when you two were pining over each other.”
“Same,” Yahaba says, picking at the sweets Tooru has laid out on the table for dessert. He’s using his left hand, Tooru notices, and he’s ready to bet that his former backup setter is holding hands with Kyoutani underneath the table. If they keep teasing him and Hajime, Tooru is going to bring that up as a diversion.
“Don’t even get me started on when we were in middle school,” Kunimi adds, yawning. “You two were way worse back then. Right, Kindaichi?”
“Uh,” Kindaichi laughs, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t… I didn’t really notice?”
Kunimi blinks once. “Well, that was probably because your crush on Iwaizumi-san was all you could think about.”
Kindaichi chokes on air and waves his hands about as the entire table bursts into laughter. “I—I did not! I did not have a crush on Iwaizumi-san!”
“Hmm, maybe you still do?” Matsukawa says, just to be an ass. Hanamaki high-fives him.
“I have a boyfriend!” Kindaichi exclaims, leaning forward on his seat and looking incredibly flustered. Said boyfriend finally takes pity on him and pulls him back with a hand on the shoulder, patting him on the back after.
Tooru shoots Matsukawa and Hanamaki a dirty look. “Is it your life mission to embarrass everyone you know?”
“Only the ones we care about,” Hanamaki says, grinning.
“I’m not sure if I find that incredibly sweet or incredibly annoying,” Hajime says, deadpan.
“I think it’s just annoying,” Kyoutani huffs.
“Oh, Kyoutani-kun.” Hanamaki’s grin widens. “Don’t even get me started on you.”
Kyoutani glares at his former upperclassman, but doesn’t offer a response. It’s the smart thing to do, really, considering Hanamaki and Matsukawa know just about everything there is to know about everyone in the room. Tooru has always prided himself in being incredibly observant, which is something other people have also pointed out about him, but he thinks that’s mostly true in terms of how his teammates—whether the ones he has always worked with or new ones during practice matches—perform on the court and how he could best set to them, and how much trouble an opposing team would give them in an official match.
Of course, he was the first to figure out when exactly Hanamaki and Matsukawa started dating, and he’s always known about his underclassmen’s cute little crushes on each other, but Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s knowledge on the topic of their former teammates’ love lives goes way beyond simply knowing the basics. It seems that when it comes to embarrassing stories in this regard, their knowledge is endless. They’ve seen and heard a lot of gossip, probably even started some on their own.
“It’s too bad,” Watari says, almost absentmindedly, “that Hanamaki-san and Matsukawa-san never get embarrassed about these things.”
“True, true,” Tooru nods solemnly. “It’s just not fair! How are we supposed to get you back for all the embarrassment you’ve caused us?”
“Really,” Hajime agrees, huffing.
“The key, my friends,” Hanamaki says, standing up as though he’s about to impart some really valuable piece of wisdom, “is to not be stupid about your feelings.”
“I second that,” Matsukawa chimes in.
“That’s not helpful,” Yahaba remarks. “Like, at all.”
Tooru throws a piece of chocolate at Hanamaki to show his agreement with Yahaba.
Once all the food is gone and the night begins to get too dark, Tooru goodheartedly kicks everyone out of the apartment with a promise to hang out again sometime soon. He’s somehow managed to convince everyone to drop by the high school he coaches at by the end of the month for a practice match, too.
“Call us when you’ve decided on the wedding!” Hanamaki yells just before they descend the stairs, and Tooru has to assure Komiko-san next door, who happens to be watering the small potted plants lining the railing in front of her apartment, that he and Hajime are not getting married and that his friend is just kidding.
She seems rather disappointed by this news, and Tooru blushes furiously as he wishes her a good night. He shuts the door behind him and lets out a sigh, but he can’t quite stop himself from smiling. Hajime is there suddenly, touching a gentle hand to his shoulder.
“Tired?”
“Yeah,” Tooru admits, but he’s still smiling. “You must be, too.”
Hajime just smiles. “I’ll go run you a warm bath.”
Tooru grabs Hajime’s wrist just as he turns to go. He feels warmer already. “Will you join me?”
Hajime rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Is that even a question?”
Tooru smiles, and he shifts his hold on Hajime’s wrist, lets their palms press together so that their fingers can slot against each other’s perfectly, like they always have.
* * *
Somewhere along the way, holding hands with Iwa-chan has become natural.
It starts as something for reassurance, because playing volleyball in middle school means longer hours spent after classes for practice and going home when it’s already dark. It’s a mostly safe place, but sometimes the streets seem too narrow and the lampposts are too dim and they’re too tired to talk, so the only reminder they have that they’re not walking alone is physical contact. Shoulders brushing with every step, arms bumping along the way, and then hands held together—it only seemed natural.
Then it turns into something that goes beyond simple comfort, when Tooru starts practicing even harder and challenges his limits. Iwa-chan will often find him alone in the gym, and he’ll lead Tooru off the court with a force that masks just how concerned he is. But his hands are gentle when they examine Tooru, and his palm, although starting to thicken and roughen as well, has always felt soft somehow when it fits against the skin of Tooru’s reddened palm.
And then it just becomes a reminder, something the two of them can hold onto when things get too difficult, when they’re overpowered by Shiratorizawa regardless of how hard they try, and when they’re feeling like young kids again trying to hide from monsters they can’t see in the darkness of their rooms. It becomes second nature to reach out, after waking up from a nightmare, to find the shape of Iwa-chan’s hand in the dark and just hold on.
Three months before they’re meant to graduate middle school, Iwa-chan finds Tooru sitting on the root of a large tree near the lake where they used to play as kids. He doesn’t say anything, and Tooru budges slightly where he’s sat in a silent invitation for Iwa-chan to sit.
The lake glitters underneath the sun, and Tooru wonders whether it’s always been like this. Whether it will always be like this.
“What are you thinking of?” Iwa-chan asks, finally, when the silence stretches on for too long.
Tooru pulls his knees up to his chest and shrugs, asks, “What happens after this?”
Iwa-chan makes a noise, like he’s frustrated but also expecting this. “So you’ve been avoiding me because of this?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Tooru pouts.
“Yes, you have,” Iwa-chan insists. They’re both too stubborn for their own good, but Tooru guesses that’s a good thing. No one else can match his head better, and had Iwa-chan not been as firm as he is then no one would’ve prevented Tooru from hurting himself by practicing too much.
Tooru hugs his knees tighter and doesn’t say anything.
Iwa-chan sighs. “What else is going to happen? We graduate. We go to the same high school. We keep playing volleyball.”
Tooru’s fingers clench for a second, before relaxing.
“You’re an idiot, you know that,” Iwa-chan mutters, reaching over and wrapping his fingers around Tooru’s wrist. Tooru watches, transfixed, as Iwa-chan smoothes out his palm and uncurls his fingers, running his thumb over the small crescent marks left on the skin where Tooru’s nails have bitten into from clenching his fist too tightly. “I told you I’m gonna be stuck with you for a while, because unfortunately for me, getting rid of you is not that easy.”
His ears are red, Tooru notices, a tremble so slight in his hands Tooru would not have noticed it if he weren’t so attuned to all of Iwa-chan’s movements.
“And of course we’re gonna keep playing in the same school, honestly,” Iwa-chan mutters, his own grip tightening on Tooru’s hand briefly, like he doesn’t want to let go. “You’re so stupid for even worrying about this.” Then he fits his palm over Tooru’s, and their fingers fall together seamlessly, like they’ve been made to hold each other.
Tooru stares at their hands, a feeling making itself known. Warmth settles in his chest, large and soft and all-too-present, fitting itself between the spaces of his ribs and occupying the place where his heart and lungs are supposed to be.
Tooru turns his gaze to Iwa-chan’s blushing, frowning face, a face he’s known since his earliest conscious memories, and he knows.
He’s in love with his best friend.
* * *
“You did this, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Tooru, I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tooru stares at the CD in his hand. His face feels hot. “Mom.”
“Okay, okay.” His mother sighs, and it crackles through the phone. “Did you watch it?”
“I had to get it converted first,” Tooru says, blushing even more. “We don’t have a player for the old tape.” He had to ask Yahaba for help in searching for a place that converts old tapes into newer formats, and when he saw just what exactly was inside, he had to literally buy Yahaba’s silence with the promise of paying for a third of the catering service to his and Kyoutani’s (third) engagement party. Yahaba had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, but Tooru didn’t want to take any chances. He needed to make sure he had his former kouhai’s full loyalty.
“Has Hajime-kun seen it?”
Tooru feels his face twist. If he were to face a mirror right now, he doubts he’d be able to accurately describe his expression. “He… hasn’t.”
“But why?”
“He still hasn’t come home from work. I think he needs to stay an hour longer in the hospital today.”
“But you’ll definitely show it to him once he gets back, right?”
Tooru closes his eyes. “Mom, please—”
“Tooru.” There it is. That mom voice.
Tooru swallows the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat. “I—okay mom. I’ll show him once he gets home.”
“Good.”
Which leaves him with roughly an hour more to emotionally prepare himself. He decides the best way to ignore his nerves is to occupy himself with a task, so he opens their fridge and digs around in search for something simple he can cook. After pulling out some eggs and a block of tofu, he tells himself to remember Hanamaki’s words from a week ago. The key is to not be stupid about your feelings.
“Easier said than done,” Tooru mutters, turning the stove on and plugging in the rice cooker. He turns around and finds the CD on top of the table where he left it upon storming into the kitchen, and after debating with himself for a minute he decides to just leave it there for Hajime to find and ask about on his own.
It simultaneously feels like forever and too soon when Tooru hears their door open, followed by Hajime’s usual, “I’m home.”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Tooru calls past the lump in his throat, and decides to start preparing the table before he can do anything stupid like collapse on the floor in nervous mortification. Hajime looks slightly surprised when he finds Tooru aggressively scooping rice into bowls, and Tooru forces himself to loosen his grip on the rice ladle. “Uh, welcome home. How was work?”
“Tiring as usual. A patient came in with a twisted ankle, he was too eager to practice without even stretching properly. I think he plays basketball.” Hajime steps beside Tooru and glances at the food Tooru prepared. He makes a pleased noise when he spots the tofu. “You cooked?”
“I was bored.” Tooru shrugs, like it’s no big deal and he hasn’t been stressing himself out for nearly the entire day. “Now go get changed so we can eat.”
“Yes sir,” Hajime chuckles, leaning in to place a kiss against the corner of Tooru’s mouth. Tooru loosens up a little and bumps Hajime with his hip, shooing him away with the rice ladle.
The nerves ease out of Tooru as dinner passes. It helps a lot that Hajime is there now, humming appreciatively at Tooru’s cooking and kicking him playfully underneath the table. His eyes, however, have drifted towards the CD case curiously a few times now, so Tooru is more or less prepared for it when, once the food is done and they’re setting the dishes in the sink, Hajime asks about it.
“What’s that, by the way?”
Tooru lets out a slow breath. “Do you remember the old tape we found in one of the boxes?”
Hajime is silent for a moment, like he’s trying to remember. Then he nods.
“I asked Yahaba-chan to help me find a place where I can get the video transferred into a CD.” Tooru nudges his chin towards the case. “I thought mom might have put it there, since she has a habit of sneaking into my things when I’m packing, and when I called her earlier she made me promise to make you watch it.”
“What is it?” Hajime asks.
Instead of answering, Tooru just motions for them to move to the living room. Hajime follows him out, slightly apprehensive now. Tooru has no idea whether he still remembers the content of the CD since they were still really young when it was filmed. If he’s going to be honest, he’s nearly forgotten about it himself until he saw the video—it feels less like a memory and more like a dream, a photograph that’s faded around the edges that makes you wonder whether it really happened when you look at it.
He turns their television and player on, then pops the CD in.
The video starts with an unfocused shot of the ground, leaves and flower petals scattered on the earth, and then a woman’s voice is speaking, “Okay, are you boys ready?” The camera then moves up, and there Hajime and Tooru are, standing side by side and looking much like themselves yet at the same time not, at seven years old, flowers weaved into their hair and dressed in their best clothes at the time.
“Oh my god,” Hajime says, and there’s something like disbelief and laughter and wonder in his voice.
Tooru can relate. He reaches for Hajime’s hand.
* * *
“Hajime-chan, do you know what marriage is?”
Tooru watches Hajime pick up a rock the size of a coin and throw it into the lake. It skips three times before sinking into the water, creating ripples on the surface. “Isn’t that when two people decide to spend the rest of their lives together?”
Tooru nods eagerly. “Yeah! But I think you also need to get along really well and love each other very much.”
“Well duh.” Hajime picks up another rock and weighs it in his palm. A glass jar rests by his feet, empty. “How else are they going to be able to stand each other if they don’t get along? Isn’t marriage forever or something?”
“I think so,” Tooru says, kicking his sandals off so he can sit down on the grass and dip his feet into the water. He thinks of the conversations he overheard from the other kids in his class, girls giggling as they talk about which boy they want to be their husband when they play house and boys nudging each other as they point out the prettiest girls in the playground. Oddly enough, Tooru’s never felt the urge to join any of them, especially the boys. Neither has Hajime, he thinks.
Hajime throws the rock into the lake, but it doesn’t skip, instead sinking immediately into the water.
“Hey, Hajime-chan.”
“Yeah?”
Tooru twists his feet together, feeling cold brush against his ankles and slip between the spaces of his toes. “We should get married.”
Hajime snorts, bending down to look for another rock. Tooru feels a sudden pang of something at that response, and he thinks it’s silly to ask, after all. From what he’s seen, all the boys only want to marry girls, but Tooru can’t see himself spending the rest of his life with any of them. Sure, he gets along with them well enough, but—but he can’t possibly choose them when he already has Hajime-chan.
But. Maybe Hajime would want to marry a girl, too. Tooru touches the bracelet Hajime made for him, pale blue wrapped around his wrist, chest heavy with something he can’t identify.
(And it isn’t until years later that he’ll realize what this feeling was—insecurity, mixed with something else, something that he’ll never want to feel again.)
Just as he’s about to take it back, Hajime says, successfully finding another rock to throw. “We’re too young to get married, silly.”
Tooru looks up quickly at that.
Hajime isn’t looking at him, though, throwing a rock once more. He’s frowning. “And how are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives together when we don’t even live in the same house?”
“We can get our own house!” Tooru replies, feeling a smile split across his face.
“I’m pretty sure that would cost money.” Hajime sits down beside Tooru, probably getting bored of throwing rocks. “We don’t have money yet, idiot.”
“Mean!” Tooru pouts. “Why do you always have to call me mean things, Hajime-chan! And why are you so against my dream?”
“Shut up,” Hajime shoves Tooru on the shoulder, but then he doesn’t take his hand away. Looking closer, Tooru realizes that his sun-kissed cheeks look pink. “And I said yet. Could you at least wait until we’re adults?”
Tooru blinks. And then he can’t help himself—he throws himself at Hajime, who’s taken by surprise. The two of them crash into the shallow part of the lake, and Hajime shouts at him but Tooru is too busy laughing to care. He feels happy.
“So you promise to marry me when we’re older?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hajime tries to shove Tooru off of him, shivering slightly at the cold. “I’m all drenched now. If I catch a cold, I’m never going to talk to you again. And if you catch a cold, I’m never going to play volleyball with you again.”
“Mean!” Tooru exclaims, but the effect is lost because he’s laughing.
Hajime, after grumbling under his breath, finally gives in and cracks a smile of his own. “As if I’d want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else.”
Tooru’s laughter dies down, eyes widening slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Hajime flicks him on the nose. “I mean, who’s supposed to pick up after your mess?”
“Hey.” Tooru shoves at Hajime’s shoulder, but he can feel his lower lip trembling and his eyes prickling.
Hajime blinks. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”
“What? No!” Tooru stands up quickly, water splashing around them. He wipes at the moisture on his face, subtly brushing away the forming tears in his eyes as well, and shakes his head quickly. “What makes you think I’m going to cry?”
Hajime just shakes his head, but Tooru can see him smiling. He pushes himself back up on his feet again, shaking water out of his hair like a dog. Tooru yelps, bringing his arms up to shield his face, and Hajime kicks water at him.
“Hajime-chan! Stop it!”
“It’s your fault we’re all wet in the first place!”
“But you’re the one getting us more wet!”
“Serves you right!”
Tooru runs out of the lake, half-screaming and half-laughing, as Hajime chases after him. They return to Hajime’s house after a while and get scolded, but even that doesn’t do anything to bring Tooru down from his good mood. After they change into dry clothes and Iwaizumi-san confirms with Tooru’s mother that he’s staying over for dinner, they go up to Hajime’s room to play.
“Hey, you still have this!” Tooru exclaims, picking up the Godzilla action figure he gave Hajime for his last birthday.
“Of course I still do,” Hajime says, like it’s obvious. He jumps onto his bed and yawns. “I didn’t get to catch any cool insects today.”
“Don’t worry, there’s always tomorrow, Hajime-chan! I’ll even come with you again.”
“You’re the reason why I couldn’t catch them.” Tooru opens his mouth to protest, but then Hajime is adding, “Not that I really mind. We can do something else tomorrow.” He hums, thinking. “Maybe we can have a ceremony, but not a real one.”
Tooru blinks. “A wedding ceremony?”
“Yeah.” Hajime yawns again. “But just a fake one. We can have the real one when we’re older.”
Tooru stares at Hajime, letting the words sink in. Then he’s jumping up and onto the bed, shaking his best friend by the shoulders. “Hajime-chan is the best!”
Hajime looks flustered. “You don’t have to be that happy about it.”
Tooru just smiles, sitting down beside his best friend. “But I am! I’m so happy, Hajime-chan! We can do it by the lake, what do you think? I’ll even ask my mom to help us plan, it’s going to be so great!”
“Whatever.” Hajime looks away, face red. “I’m fine with anything.”
“Yay! Hajime-chan really is the best!”
Hajime rolls his eyes, but bumps his shoulder against Tooru’s in response.
* * *
“Hey, Tooru.”
“Yeah, Hajime?”
Hajime sleepily murmurs something underneath his breath, before pulling Tooru closer to his chest with the arm he has wrapped around Tooru’s waist. “We should get married.”
Tooru turns his head slightly and presses his smile against their pillow. “Yeah, we should.”
The new apartment isn’t as big as he had hoped for, but it’s quickly becoming home.