Archive of Our Own ^beta

You calling my name is a twisted game,

‘Cause it wears me down until I love you more.

.·:* *:·.

"You're in love with him."

There is no lilt in Hanamaki’s voice to indicate that he is asking a question, and Hajime is sure that he doesn't quite mean it like one either. It is a statement, a truth, slowly unravelling like the petals of a rose during a sunny day. Hajime feels bared, feels like Hanamaki has hammered his chest open and slowly, painstakingly, with the use of only 5 words, ripped each of his ribs out to expose his heart.

Hanamaki is relaxed. Nothing in his posture indicates that he is even aware of the effect those few words have had on Hajime's conscience. He's casually staring out the bus window, his hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot cocoa (his consolation prize, he'd called it), as if they were both discussing the weather and not the only topic that makes Hajime's very foundations shake with insecurity and hope alike.

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah."

Hajime's never been good at lying, anyway.

.·:* *:·.

Meeting Oikawa Tooru was a life changing experience for Hajime.

Tooru himself isn't like the comet everyone expects him to be, crashing into Hajime's side in an explosion that throws him off his own orbit, no. He's more comparable to the subtle tilt of a planet's axis, a magnetic pull that leaves Hajime off balance without any idea how he ended up this way. It's a tiny shift, one that he wouldn't be able to notice unless he looked back to every one of their moments together, now too many to count, too treasured to look into with the critical mind of one attempting to understand their relationship.

Looking back on it, Hajime cannot pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love. He can, however, remember the very moment he realised that his heart belonged to his extravagant best friend.

.·:* *:·.

It was their first match together, in the middle of their second year at Kitagawa Daichii. The chants of the audience rang clear across the court, the smell of sweat mingled with the scent of rubber  and the subtle lemon tinge of deodorant, and Tooru shone bright on the court, setting perfectly for upper and underclassmen alike. Hajime could see the fires burning behind their eyes, could see just how in sync the team was, how terrified their opponents were.

It was then that their ace's ankle snapped on the landing of his second jump serve rotation, leaving his screams to be the only sound left echoing across both their court and the one adjacent to it.

It was Hajime’s first time being substituted. The coach shoved him onto the court, not really caring much about his position or where Hajime was headed, focused instead on the injured third-year as they dragged him out of the gym in a stretcher.

Tooru, who had been the team's official setter for a season already, placed a slender hand on Hajime's shaking shoulder, and beamed at him.

"We're finally playing together, Iwa-chan!" he exclaimed, patting Hajime on the shoulder twice before pulling away at the whistle's call to take his respective position in the centre of the front line. He turned to face the referee, tilted his head, and looked back at Hajime.

Hajime met his eye and something had clicked in him, a spark running along his skeletal structure and kickstarting his heart. A connection, almost palpable, crackled between the both of them, and linked both their bodies, their minds, their souls together. Hajime's heart was pounding so hard he feared it would flutter out of his chest, and for a moment he thought perhaps it was because two hearts were beating within him.

His, and Tooru's.

His face must've been red, or maybe he'd been staring for too long, because Tooru, cheeky as ever, feigned a kiss and blew it Hajime's way, before winking and turning to face the enemy team as the sharp sound of the whistle signaled the continuation of the match.

Hajime thought, right then, that he really wouldn't have minded a kiss from his best friend.

.·:* *:·.

"Does he know?"

Hajime can’t help his curiosity from getting the better of him.

Hanamaki shrugs. “If he has, do you really think he’d tell us?”

Hajime considers this for a moment. Tooru is generally private with his feelings, with things that he considers personal. He hasn’t shared much to Matsukawa and Hanamaki, preferring to keep them at arm’s length, to preserve their relationship as something light hearted and refreshing.

“No,” he finally admits, tilting his head to the left.

Hanamaki snorts. "Well," he says, "if Matsukawa and I noticed, there is a chance he’s noticed. He’s a damn clairvoyant when it comes to us, I can’t imagine what it’s like with you.”

Hajime snorts, bitter. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff he misses, honestly.”

Hanamaki hums, his fingers drumming a random rhythm against top of his cup. The sound echoes dully, like the pounding of Hajime's heart in his ears.

"Well," Hanamaki finally says, turning his attention back to the window, “I’m no Oikawa expect, thank God, but I don’t think he knows. If he did, it’d be kind of an asshole thing to pretend nothing’s wrong.”

Hajime tilts his head to look up, at the plastic handles swaying from the bus' ceiling and the fluorescent lights.

Would Tooru willingly ignore his feelings? Hajime cannot imagine a situation where Tooru would deliberately ignore anything this important, this earth shattering for the both of them.

Tooru was most likely used to Hajime's feelings. It was a normality to him, to have Hajime care, to have Hajime wherever he wants him, no matter the situation. Love comes in different shapes and sizes, but at the end of the day, that's all it is. A feeling, an attachment, a red string that ties Hajime to Tooru, and Tooru may have noticed that link, but may also not see its colour.

"Who knows."

“Well, there’s always the chance he reciprocates your feelings.”

The words spear through Hajime’s ribs. He’s afraid to look down, now, afraid to see the red seeping through his uniform shirt, blooming over his chest like a rose under the sun, right above where his heart hurts the most. There’s no way Tooru feels the same. It’s impossible.

He’s about to retort as much when the bus slows to a stop, at the side of the road, and he gets distracted watching a girl attempt to chase it from down the street, raising her hands to catch the bus driver's attention. He relates to her, on some level. Tooru's always moved forward without looking back.

"That's my stop," Hanamaki says, snatching his attention, and he stands up. As he awkwardly shuffles out of his seat, his bag presses into Hajime's face and the latter sputters, earning a weak laugh from Hanamaki.

"Good luck finding him, anyway," he says, as the doors flip open and people begin filing out of the bus, one by one, two by two. "Though you don't really seem to need it."

Hajime bids him goodbye with a smile that, for once today, feels sincere. The weight of a defeat doesn't fade immediately, but spending time with Hanamaki has always left Hajime feeling refreshed.

.·:* *:·.

Many would expect Hajime and Tooru's relationship to have bloomed on the court, but it was never quite the case. Tooru is an entirely different person when he stands on the polished wood of the gym. He shows a side of himself that everyone gets to see. He layers confidence and pride alike atop himself, wears them like a king would his mantle, his crown. And Hajime stands with the king, a Lionheart, a protector and a fighter.

Hajime has been alongside Tooru his entire life. Their companionship cannot be limited to the boundaries of the court, not when Hajime was there for Tooru's first scraped knee, and Tooru was there for the first time Hajime broke his arm.

Hajime has seen Tooru in all his states, from sick to drastically embarrassed. He's defended Tooru from overbearing parents at the park, and Tooru, in turn, has valiantly defended him from the bees he is so allergic to.

In the end, Hajime would say that the court is perhaps one of the lesser significant parts of their relationship. On the court, they are ace and setter, an inseparable duo that has risen up the ranks of fame and whose names now make their opponents quiver in fear, a team whose silent communication shadows even the most coordinated teams.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa are names whispered like secrets among the spectators sitting at the bleachers, and hissed in horror by those who are to go against them.

Their volleyball duo may be feared, but it is not them. It is not all they are.

Hajime sees Tooru stripped bare, sees him viciously picking at callouses until they bleed, vision obscured by tears as he berates himself for not being good enough, for not being able to hold Aoba Jousai's weight on his shoulders, each and every time.

And Tooru, in turn, watches Hajime beat himself up over losses just the same. He watches as Hajime zones out during their lunch period, thoughts set on not the mistakes that he made, but what he can improve for next time.

Until, well, there isn't a next time.

It's almost 8 PM by the time Hajime finds him, after walking down countless streets and checking out each and every one of their hideaway spots. He’s sitting on a park bench, alone. The sky above their heads is dark, the promise of an oncoming storm shadowing the night sky like a cloak.

"Sorry, Iwa-chan," Tooru apologises thinly the moment Hajime is within earshot. His hands curl in on themselves, the blood draining from the skin covering his knuckles, and Hajime knows he's going to have to buy cotton buds on their way home, and some antiseptic for the puncture marks that are bound to appear on Tooru's palms, caused by his very own nails. "I know I'm pathetic when I get like this."

"You're never pathetic," Hajime states, sitting himself down next to Tooru with an exaggerated sigh. The bench rattles under his weight, jostling Tooru. Tooru gives him a tiny smile, before he turns his attention back to the bare tree branches swaying in the wind.

Share the weight of your feelings with me , Hajime wants to beg when he hears Tooru's first hitched breath. Let me carry some of your burdens .

Instead, he presses his palm to Tooru's back, a silent testament that he is here, that he always will be. He splays his fingers and rubs a slow circle along the protrusion of Tooru's shoulder blade, feels Tooru's body rattle with sobs beneath his touch. Neither of them move for minutes that bleed into hours. The first few drops of rain begin to fall, and the sound of Tooru's crying is drowned out by that of cold drops hitting the pavement.

Hajime only moves when Tooru finally calms down, when he heaves a deep breath, and turns his gaze to meet Hajime's. His eyes are red, and shiny, but they've regained some of the steel-like strength that makes Tooru who he is. Some of his fire burns behind those brown irises, and Hajime hums, content.

Baby steps.

"We should go see the game tomorrow," he says.

Tooru scoffs, wiping his nose with the end of his sleeve. "I'll be upset no matter who wins."

Hajime bats Tooru's hand away from his own face and digs into his pocket for a tissue. When he finds one, grateful that the packet kept them dry, despite the rain, he hands it over to Tooru. Tooru doesn't thank him out loud, but the way their fingers brush and linger against each other's when he picks it up says everything Hajime needs to know.

"You're shitty. Watch and learn from your losses. Isn't that what the coach told us to remember?"

Tooru shrugs, blowing his nose into the tissue. "Perhaps," he says, once he's done wiping himself clean. He balls up the tissue and stuffs it into his own pocket. He perks up, then, brushing off his insecurities for a moment to look at Hajime quizzically. "Rather, Iwa-chan, how did you know I was here?"

"Dunno," Hajime replies. "Had a hunch."

Tooru smiles, an honest, subtle curve of his mouth. "You know, Makki says you have an Oikawa sensor."

Hajime sputters, dropping the half emptied-packet of tissues onto the floor. "That's stupid," he grunts, bending down to pick it up. “Like I’d ever have that with you.”

Hajime really doesn’t want to admit the percentage of his attention and time that he dedicates to Tooru. Just as he begins straightening up, he feels a soft pressure in the middle of his back. He freezes, watches from the corner of his eye as Tooru runs a finger along the length of his spine, the touch feather light.

"You're the best, Iwa-chan," Tooru says, softly.

I love you , Hajime wants to reply. It’s difficult, not letting his mouth run free, purely on his emotions.  No matter the way Tooru's small smile is making Hajime's heart beat out of time, and Hajime’s sure that his cheeks are bright red, unused to such sincere praise, Tooru cannot be his. Not the well respected, smart, talented second son of the Oikawa family.

Instead, he lifts his hand and buries it in Tooru's curls, relishes, albeit silently, in the small chuckle that escapes between Tooru's wet lips.

.·:* *:·.

“Show me your hands,” Hajime demands the moment they step into the warmth and security of his bedroom. Tooru, who is in the process of tugging off his sopping wet shirt, watches him with wide eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights, his face half covered by the teal material. He struggles out of it, and carefully folds it into the towel that Hajime had handed to him earlier.

“Why would you want to see them?”

Hajime levels him with a deadpan glare. “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t notice you’ve been picking at them? Show’em here,” he says, extending his hands out, palms facing up. The bandaids that he’d bought on the way home weigh heavy in his back pocket. “Come on,” he insists, when Tooru simply cradles his fingers against his bare chest.

“Can I at least put on a shirt first?” Tooru queries weakly. Hajime flushes a deep red, he can feel it in the warmth suddenly gathering beneath the skin of his neck and cheeks, but nods nonetheless, dropping his hands back to his side.

Hajime knows where Tooru’s propensity to hide his problems, his anxieties, his wounds comes from, so he doesn’t push. Tooru isn’t perfect, and if Hajime is the only person in the world who is aware of that fact and respects it, then so be it.

He forces himself to relax, his shoulders to droop, his fingers to uncurl. He watches Tooru put on a hoodie, deliberately avoiding Hajime’s gaze. By the time he’s slipped on the sweater -- Hajime notices that it doesn’t belong to Tooru, but to him -- there are tears brimming in his eyes again.

“I’m not going to get mad,” Hajime assures him.

“I know,” Tooru replies, just like he does every time they have that conversation. He’s still teary, though, still ashamed. He sits himself down at the edge of Hajime’s bed, and folds his hands in his lap. “You never do.”

“Because I never am,” Hajime reminds him, kneeling before him. Slowly, Tooru reveals his hands, exposing the small cuts on his palms from his earlier breakdown. Hajime’s breath hitches as he reaches over, softly running a finger over the unmarred skin, avoiding the bleeding cuts. It’s always a moment of weakness for the both of them, when Hajime treats Tooru’s wounds.

Tooru, for letting himself be vulnerable, and Hajime, for the same. More than once has Hajime found himself pressing teary eyes against Tooru’s hands, more than once has Tooru held him with those very hands, as he cried out his frustrations, his anguish, his doubts alike. They never speak, during those moments.

Tooru watches Hajime pull a cotton swab from his back pocket, and the bottle of disinfectant.

“So that’s what you bought,” Tooru whispers.

Hajime hums his assent, soaking a part of the swab in the clear liquid and placing the bottle down on the floor by his feet. He then gently takes Tooru’s right hand in his, and begins dabbing at the cuts. When he’s satisfied enough with the cleaning, he reaches back again to pull out the box of bandaids.

Tooru watches him intently, as he carefully presses the plasters against the skin of his palm. Hajime’s gentle side always reveals itself during moments like these.

It isn’t a sudden change, and it certainly doesn’t seem like Hajime has adopted another persona, but it is a part of him that he tends to keep private. Solely for Tooru, as it were. He feels as if it is the one thing that makes him feel special, in the eyes of someone who can never see him as more.

Hajime clicks his tongue, his hold on Tooru’s hands unconsciously tightening, and the latter tenses beneath his touch at the sudden pain. Hajime lets go immediately, an apology at the tip of his tongue, but when he looks up, Tooru is smiling down at him. His eyes are glassy, probably from tears - Hajime has already determined that he’s probably going to cry again once or twice today - and his cheeks are dusted a soft pink.  

Is he getting a fever? Hajime wonders. They’d stood in the rain for a while, and then had walked home. Hajime had towelled Tooru dry immediately, but they’d probably been under the rain for an hour, now that he thinks about it. That was definitely enough time to get him sick.

Slowly, he reaches to press the back of his hand to Tooru’s forehead.

It doesn’t seem that warm to him. Hajime glances back at Tooru, whose attention has shifted from him, to his hand. “What are you doing?” he asks.

Hajime pulls his hand back, the skin where it had come into contact with Tooru’s warmer than normal. Maybe he wasn’t the best person to judge Tooru’s body temperature, considering his rises considerably whenever Tooru does so much as look at him. “You were looking at me all weird,” he grumbles. “I thought you were getting a fever. Your face is all red, and stuff.”

Tooru looks surprised for the briefest moment, his mouth falling slack and his mouth shaping around a tiny, perfect ‘o’. Then, as quick as the expression had appeared on his face, it gives way to a smile when Tooru chuckles to himself, although there is a bitter edge to his laughter. Something Hajime cannot quite place has tucked itself away in the curl of his lips, and he squints, studying his best friend as Tooru drops to the floor and begins unfolding the futon.

“A fever, huh,” Tooru muses, spreading himself out on the newly washed material. “That must be it.” His sweater rides up, over his hipbone, and Hajime wishes he could simply reach out, press feathery touches to the pale skin. Instead, he climbs into bed, and pushes that thought the furthest away from his consciousness as he can.

“That must be it,” he hears Tooru repeat, before reality fades out.

.·:* *:·.

When Hajime wakes up, groggy, the skin of his cheeks  of tears dried up on his cheeks, Tooru is long gone, the futon folded properly and carefully.

He vaguely remembers muffled sobs.

.·:* *:·.

When Hajime steps out of the dark, damp hallway and into the stands, the first thing that greets him are the bright lights of the gym, the squeak of sneakers against the wood, and the smell of sweat, coupled with the tangy scent of air salonpas.

He glances down at the court, where he should be. His gaze stops on Kageyama, bent over double and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Their underclassman stands where Tooru is meant to, where he has stood countless times, and lost countless times. Where Hajime had hoped to take him one last time, where he’d hoped to finally win, finally prove that strategy could win against pure talent and force.

He wonders how Tooru feels, watching Kageyama stand where he should have. Hajime wonders if Tooru found it in himself to blame him, as he should.

A small voice at the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like Tooru’s, when his nose is blocked from crying, immediately tells him that it isn’t your fault, at the very moment of our loss, the other team’s six were simply stronger, you couldn’t have done anything about it. You’re a reliable ace and you know it, Hajime.

Hajime does know, deep within his subconscious.

That didn’t stop him from lying awake that very morning, tears streaming down his face, wondering whether he should have practiced harder, done more jump serves alongside Tooru, practiced his receives, worked with Kyoutani on spiking within bounds, or worked with Kindaichi on blocking crosses.

The loss does bother him, it bothers him a lot. He won’t play with his team, anymore, won’t stand on the court as Aoba Jousai’s ace anymore. But that’s not what puts weight on his shoulders, forces them to slump, defeated.

Hajime has always wanted to win with Tooru by his side.

I’ve just been a weight strapped to his foot this whole time, haven’t I? he thinks, the words tasting bitter despite the fact that he will never dare speak them aloud.

As if on cue, Ushijima scores a point so impressive the entire gym goes quiet, as if Ushijima’s strength had the power to freeze time itself. What would Tooru feel like if he’d set to someone this incredible?

Hajime watches the point register on the Karasuno players’ faces, shock, anger and admiration alike, and quickly backs away from that train of thought, mentally slapping himself, like Tooru would if he ever heard those words from Hajime’s mouth.

Tooru would lose it if Hajime ever confessed to feeling this way, he knows. He’d cry and scream and stomp his foot, refuse to acknowledge that he stands on another level than any of the players on the court. Hajime simply can’t agree. Although he himself will not deny being a skillful volleyball player - he was Aoba Jousai’s ace, after all - Tooru has always stood above everyone.

Hajime knows this.

He knows it’s true.

He’s just keeping an open mind, he tells himself. There’s no harm in considering the fact that perhaps, Tooru would do better with someone like Ushijima as his ace. A reliable ace, one that can score points during crucial moments in matches-

He tears himself away from the sight of his conquerors and glances up at the rows of seats. He knows Tooru will have come to watch the match. It’s no question. Tooru hasn’t been one to mope around and pity himself, not when he knows there’s a million things to learn from the way Karasuno and Shiratorizawa alike play out the game.

He spots him up high, on the furthest seat away from the massive amount of Karasuno students who have come to cheer on their team. Tooru is curled in on himself, a scarf -- when the hell did he get that? -- wrapped around his neck, and his new pair of glasses perched on his nose. He’d texted Hajime that he was going to pick them up, early in the morning, and that’s why he had left without saying goodbye. Hajime knows that wasn’t the whole reason, Tooru found great pleasure in disrupting Hajime’s sleep when he could, but let it slide nonetheless.

Tooru needs outlets, places where he can think on his own. He likes mindlessly wandering through store, through streets, window shopping and letting the flow of the crowd carry him places.

He must’ve done that this morning.

Hajime sighs softly as the whistle announces that Shiratorizawa has forced their way to yet another point. It seems that, genius within their team or not, Karasuno are not immune to the sheer power and intimidation that Ushijima Wakatoshi, and the rest of his teammates hold. He makes his way up the stairs, taking them two by two, and stops right behind Tooru.

“Ah, so you did come,” he says, and Tooru jolts on the spot at the sound of his voice. Hajime steps over the seat, grunting as his foot lands on the floor, almost throwing him off balance. “I thought you said you would be mad no matter who won or lost.”

“Oh, definitely,” Tooru replies. “But no matter who wins, I still get to see the loser’s face. It’s the little things.”

“You really are a shitty guy,” Hajime retorts without skipping a beat, and plops himself down in the first available spot.. Tooru shifts, imperceptibly, closer to him.

“I can’t sit around feeling sorry for myself,” Tooru points out. “I thought this could be a first step.”

Hajime hums. “Kageyama’s looking like a third set in a row is going to be rough for him.”

Tooru chuckles, leaning back into his seat. “Well, he is working with a monster.” He tips his chin toward the court, where the shrimp is jumping and running around just as fast as when he was facing Seijou, if not faster. “Keeping up with someone like that must be taking its toll.”

.·:* *:·.

It’s in the middle of the third set that Tooru seems to realise the distance between them. His eyes carefully study the empty seat between the both of them, before sliding up to Hajime’s face. Hajime is pointedly ignoring him.

“What’s with the seat?” he queries, leaning over it and smushing his cheek against Hajime’s arm. Even though the two layers that he is wearing, Hajime can feel the heat from the point of contact creep up his arm and to his cheeks. “Hmm, Iwa-chan?”

There’s a glint in his eyes, something that wasn’t there when Hajime first arrived. Hajime can almost hear the cogs running in Tooru’s head as he tries to process Hajime’s strange behaviour. Hajime half wants to shove him off and tell him that he’s not the only one who’s been acting strange, between the two of them.

The other part of him wants to run his fingers through those soft locks of his, wants to press kisses beneath Tooru’s eyes and tell him that they’ll both be okay.  

Instead of doing either, Hajime simply grunts. Tooru pouts, before he pulls back, returning to his seat and muttering something to himself about Hajime’s caveman tendencies.

.·:* *:·.

No matter how much Tooru insists that Karasuno definitely has potential to defeat Shiratorizawa, now that Kageyama had found himself a place, Hajime does not expect Karasuno to actually win against the reigning champion. Ushijima had always seemed like an impassable wall to him. No matter how much of him Hajime chipped away, he would still tower over Seijou, over anyone daring enough to challenge him.

But now, now someone had managed to overcome this mountain of a player, of a team. They hadn’t managed it without effort, of course, but it still stings to watch the third years of Karasuno’s team cry on each other’s shoulders as they slowly come to terms with the fact that they’d won, that this isn’t where their high school volleyball career ends.

Tooru glares down at the court, watches Ushijima gather with his team around coach Washijou, his expression as unreadably passive as ever. “Why doesn’t he look more angry than this? He just lost for the first time, he should look more stricken.”

“What should he look like?” Hajime grumbles. Tooru takes a while to respond, watches as Shiratorizawa’s number 8, a kid whose name Hajime always had trouble remembering, bursts into tears.

“Like him,” Tooru points at the boy in question. “Positively heartbroken. Absolutely shattered. His last season’s been cut short, after all.”

“Give him a break. Ushiwaka clearly experiences emotion differently than you do. Not everyone can be a crybaby.”

“That hurts my feelings, Iwa-chan,” Tooru snips, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just want to see him as devastated as he’s made me -- us -- feel, the past 6 years of our lives.”

“You’re so shitty.”

Tooru bristles, pushing his bottom lip out in a pout, before turning his attention back to the court. They watch, for a few following minutes, as Karasuno pile atop each other, much like they’d done after their match against Seijou, and cry into each other’s arms.

Hajime feels marginally less angered by Karasuno’s surprising win than he would’ve if Shiratorizawa had won, had asserted their dominance as the champion of Miyagi. It feels good to know that Ushijima can still be defeated, even if he wasn’t the one to prove it.

“Let’s leave,” Tooru finally murmurs.

“What?”

“Let’s go!” Tooru almost shouts, and he stands abruptly, hiding his face from Hajime’s view. It’s too late though: Hajime can tell that he’s trying, and failing, to keep it together. “I would rather die than see the award ceremony. Scratch that. Seeing Tobio-chan with a medal will most definitely kill me, and I want to spare myself the pain.”

.·:* *:·.

“That little chibi-chan,” Tooru says, the moment they step out of the building and into the biting winter air, “he’s interesting, isn’t he? He kind of makes you want to toss to him. Sure, he’s a bit of a monster, but I think I can keep up, even if I can’t pinpoint like Tobio-chan can.”

Hajime feels a sting, an unreasonable one, he knows, in his chest. It tears through his ribs and slashes across his heart, leaving it open, bare, bleeding. Would Hinata be a better ace for Tooru than he is? Would he be able to adapt more easily to Tooru’s changing tactics? Would he be more dynamic, more interesting, better to work with?

“Is he the kind of ace you want?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can even filter his jealousy, his insecurities, his anxieties out of them, and Hajime barely resists the urge to rip out his own hair. Tooru’s steps slow to a stop. Hajime doesn’t stop with him, keeps walking, determined not to look at the expression Tooru is making. In all his days, he’d never imagined that this is how he’d end up revealing his inner turmoil.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru calls out after him. He’s still frozen on the spot, not moving, Hajime knows.

He keeps walking.

“Iwa- Iwaizumi!”

Hajime flinches at the sound of his last name slipping from between Tooru’s lips. He keeps walking.

“Hajime! ”

Hajime almost stops, there. He’s never spared much thought about what his given name would sound like in Tooru’s voice, on Tooru’s lips, because he grew up hearing it. Now, though, now it sends an electric shock running through his veins and setting his heart on fire.

He stumbles, trips over his own feet and has to catch himself on the nearest lamppost. It’s enough for Tooru to catch up to him, though, to wrap those infuriatingly long and pretty fingers around his wrist and hold him in place, to prevent him from running away.

“Iwa-chan.” Tooru doesn’t force Hajime to face him, he simply holds him there. “Iwa-chan, is that what you think?”

“How could I not?” he responds, gruffly. “There’s a hundred guys out there who’d be better than I-”

“You know that’s not true.”

Hajime does, but it is near impossible to come to terms with that. Not after they lost. Not after Hajime had to fall asleep to Tooru’s muffled sobs into his spare pillow. Not after he’d woken up alone.

“It’s difficult to think that way,” he admits. “When we keep losing. When I-- when I keep dragging you down like this.”

Hajime expects Tooru to headbutt him, maybe. Slap him around and tell him he’s being stupid and selfish, that the team’s performance doesn’t ride on his back. Because that’s what young, and naive Hajime had done to him, all those years ago. Tooru had always needed sense to be knocked into him somehow, through harsh words and feigned aggression. Tooru’d forgiven him the very second he’d apologised, but Hajime always felt a little bad for bruising his nose like that.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Tooru to press his forehead into the space between his shoulder blades. Hajime’s breath audibly hitches.

“I’m sorry,” Tooru finally says, “that you feel that way.”

Hajime freezes.

“But that’s-- you’ve always been what I needed,” Tooru continues. Hajime’s heart is thrashing wildly in his chest, and he has half a mind to pull away from Tooru, before the latter hears it, frees it.

“You’re the best ace I could have asked for, the best teammate I could have asked for, the best vice captain I could have asked for…” Tooru chuckles. His laughter sounds wet. “I mean, who else would’ve done all the paperwork for me? Who else would’ve fed lies to Mizoguchi-kun when I was late to practice because of my fans? Who else would’ve kept the Mad Dog in control?”

“Dumbass,” Hajime retorts, releasing the breath that he’d been holding for god knows how long in a single sweep. What else could he say?

Tooru slowly pulls away from him, and this time, Hajime turns to face him, fully aware that his cheeks were very, very obviously red. Tooru is looking down at him from behind his glasses, a soft smile playing on his face. “You were--” Tooru swallows thickly, interrupting himself, before his eyes lock onto something behind Hajime. “We didn’t choose the wrong path.”

He then turns around and begins walking again, resolutely looking anywhere but his best friend. Hajime can feel warmth blooming in his chest, slowly spreading upward and curving his lips into a grin, gently heating up his cheeks. Hajime has a lot of regrets about this last match, but going to Aoba Jousai, joining their volleyball team, fighting alongside Tooru, making new friends, are all memories that he will forever cherish.

“Of course.”

.·:* *:·.

The rest of the walk home is a quiet one. Although that is no strange occurrence between the both of them, this one is terse. Tooru is not humming to himself under his breath, and there is a slump to his shoulders that is defeated.

Hajime, on the other hand, cannot stop thinking. No matter Tooru’s assurances that Hajime is the only, the best ace he could have asked for, he can’t stop thinking.

He thinks about the implications of their loss. He thinks about the way Aoba Jousai’s volleyball team will begin moving forward, without them, without Tooru as their captain. That after-school practice will no longer consider them. That their season is officially over.

He thinks about Tooru doing the same as the other members on the team. He thinks about Tooru moving forward, always moving forward, like he does, like he has been raised to do. Nothing stands in Tooru’s way, not even his own insecurities, no matter how large, and Hajime wonders if Tooru will begin moving away from him, moving forward at a pace that not even he can keep up with.

It is hard to imagine a world where Tooru wouldn’t turn around and wait for him to catch up.

Hajime doesn't really want to think about a world like that, anyway. 

.·:* *:·.

Applying to universities is exhausting.

It gets busy, to the point that, even after seeing him almost every day, after spending some afternoons together revising, Hajime finds himself missing Tooru.

Tooru spends the next few weeks cancelling plans, missing school and off-season practice to disappear off to god-knows-where to attend interviews and tests alike, with his parents pushing for prestige, for perfect. Taking their expectations in stride, Tooru takes test after test, he comes back with a beaming smile and yet another offer for a scholarship in Tokyo, Iwa-chan! and spends more time studying than he did with Hajime, which is something neither of them are used to do.

Studying without each other is weird, perhaps even weirder than not walking home together. After spending so many crunch weeks together, it feels strange to study without Tooru’s classical music softly playing the background, without him groaning and moaning at Hajime’s side about the stupidity of calculus.

Hajime, too, keeps himself busy, although nobody but his parents are aware, taking tests left and right, making plans for a near future that he knows he may regret, but would be best for him.

Now, now they wait for their results, for their invitations, for those letters that tell them if they made it into their preferred program, and while they wait, they find themselves with free time on their hands that they do not know what to do with.

.·:* *:·.

The next time they are able to attend practice happens after their gruelling revision sessions, after falling asleep at their desks more than once, after stepping out of their last university entrance exam with the carefree demeanour of a broken student.

The crisp February wind whips against Hajime’s face, as he rushes from the main school building to the gym. Tooru runs alongside him, his delighted laughter echoing around the both of them.

He’s always loved winter. Scarves, heavy sweaters, hot chocolates, and sitting around the kotatsu, mandarin peels scattered on the table, and hot tea steaming next to them are all images Hajime immediately associates with Tooru. He can’t walk past a christmas lights arrangement without stopping to take a photo, because he knows it will make Tooru happy.

Anything to make Tooru happy .

Hajime scoffs at himself. He should make that his motto.

“Do you have everything?” he queries, kicking the ground to get rid of the snow clumped on the soles of his shoes. Tooru hums in assent, proudly holding up a white box for Hajime to see. He knows there’s a cake in there, decorated and most likely holding a very cheesy, very grandiose message for Yahaba and the rest of the Aoba Jousai team.

Glancing down, Hajime notes that his bag is also filled to the brim, a familiar flash of white and teal peeking from within.

Hajime smiles, turning away so Tooru will not tease him about him ‘going soft’, as if he hasn’t always been when it comes to his best friend, and pushes the doors to the gym open. The familiar smell of sneakers, of sweat, the sound of rubber hitting wood, of setters and spikers calling out shots alike greets him. Immediately, he is hit by a wave of nausea, nostalgia digging its talons deep into his heart.

It’s only been a few weeks, but it already feels like years since the last time Tooru tossed to him.

Tooru rushes into the room, greeting everyone cheerily and throwing his bag at Hajime. He catches it, grumbling to himself about not being a damn mule, Shittykawa.

“Hi everyone!” he sing-songs, and Hajime can see their coaches calling the other members of the team to gather around him. “Today’s a little bit of a special day!”

It is something only he has come up with. The previous Seijou captain had simply handed Tooru the uniform and told him to take care of the team, to bring it to great heights and make their opponents shiver at the sight of their school’s name on the roster.

Tooru, however, has planned something a little more dramatic. After using Hajime as a weapon of persuasion to get Mizoguchi and Irihata-sensei to agree to this event, Tooru had begun to pan out an entire ceremony, involving cakes, a grand speech about Yahaba’s next captaincy, and, knowing him, tears.

The team members of Aoba Jousai slowly gather around the both of them, curious about what’s in Tooru’s box, and what Hajime could possibly be holding. It becomes very apparent the moment Tooru requests for all of them to gather in a circle, much like they had back during timeouts, at crucial moments in matches.

The regular members of the team immediately know what’s happening. Kindaichi’s face scrunches up with a few indiscernible emotions, but the most prominent is sadness, and Watari gives Hajime a sympathetic look.

Hajime, too, the rest of the team, most likely, feels sad at having to see the third years leave this part of their lives behind, at seeing their team already moving on without them.

“I brought some cake,” Tooru points out, showing them all the white box, “so that we can all deal with this influx of emotion by stuffing our faces.”

He smiles at the rest of the team, all of them chuckling to themselves at the promise of a good time. He bends down, placing the white box at his feet, and gestures for Hajime to hand him the gym bag. He opens it up until the captain’s uniform becomes fully visible to the people around them. Their coaches remain silent as Tooru stares down at it for a few seconds, his expression completely blank.

“But first,” he says, to gather his bearings, “we must get through the tough part.”

Yahaba is already blinking back tears by the time Tooru has carefully freed the uniform from the confines of his sports bag. “This,” Tooru says, and his expression is gentle, as he turns back and faces Yahaba, “this is not just a uniform.”

Yahaba’s bottom lip quivers.

“It’s a symbol, Yahaba-chan,” Tooru continues, lips curving upward in a small smile. “It’s a symbol of leadership, and one of experience. When you wear this uniform, you embody the entire team. You represent not only your teammates, your underclassmen, and your upperclassmen, but those who came before us as well. It’s a whole lot of pressure for a bunch of fabric, don’t you think?”

Tooru chuckles, though he sounds like he is in mild disbelief. He does not look at Yahaba, his gaze firmly fixed on the number one spread across the shirt. It’s no longer his, and Hajime knows Tooru is slowly coming to that realisation. Just like Hajime will never wear Aoba Jousai’s number 4 on his back again, Tooru has to give up his own title, his own ambitions for this team, and place them somewhere else. Yahaba nods. A single tear escapes his right eye, rolling down his cheek.

“But it’s a nice weight,” Tooru finally points out with a sight, “and one that you are perfectly suited to carry.”

This time, Tooru does glance up at their new captain.

“From captain to captain,” he says, unfolding the uniform and revealing the entirety of the shirt, the captain’s number, the school’s name branded in teal across its back, bright and bold, “I ask that you wear this proudly. Wear this like a king wears his crown, and aim to achieve what I couldn’t.”

Yahaba reaches with shaking fingers to grab the shirt by the cut of the shoulders. Clutching it to his chest, the number one crumpling beneath his hold, he thanks Tooru, bowing deeply. A few droplets hit the floor near his feet, and Tooru tuts at Yahaba.

“Now, now, Yaha-chan. As much as the ladies enjoy a man who can express his emotions, this is a little-” he yelps, the sound echoed by a volleyball bouncing along the floor.

“Stop embarrassing him, idiot,” Hajime growls, already reaching for a second ball in the cart. Tooru laughs, lighthearted and free.

“Iwa-chan, are you cutting this ceremony short because you’re jealous of the attention I’m giving Yaha- ow!”

Hajime rolls his shoulder, cracks his neck, then picks up yet another volleyball as a threatening gesture more than anything. Tooru raises his hands in surrender, laughing airily and announcing to the rest of the team that he still has to fetch a knife to cut the cake.

Hajime had forgotten about the ceremony itself. He’d been too busy trying to study Tooru, trying to see whether he was feeling alright, giving up his captain’s uniform. He hadn’t shed a single tear, unlike Yahaba, who was fervently wiping at his eyes through wet chuckles.

He seems okay, Hajime notes. But with Tooru, nothing is ever quite like it seems.

.·:* *:·.

The next day, Hajime wakes up to a letter. It is one that he hoped for, of course, but the expectation does nothing to soften the blow of his own world shattering right in front of him. He doesn’t even feel like celebrating.

His fingers ghost over the name of the university, before he stuffs the letter into the pocket of his pants and immediately asks for a meet up with his friends. Matsukawa replies first, perturbed by Hajime's sudden call for socializing. Although it is not rare for Hajime to show up to their meetups, it is rare for him to initiate them.

Tooru is the second one to reply, calling up Hajime and saying that he has something to take care of in the morning, but that he could join them for dessert at a cafe somewhere in the city centre.

I've been really wanting to taste that chocolate scoop they have! he says, voice high and bubbly, and Hajime finds himself smiling down at his laptop at the sheer enthusiasm Tooru can express toward the smallest things. It seems that perhaps he feels better than he did yesterday. Immediately Hajime feels grim at having to burst that bubble.

Hanamaki is last to respond, insulting the entire group chat about their tendency to wake up too early, and asking Tooru exactly how he can be so chipper when it isn't even 1 PM yet. The chat then dissolves into the usual banter between the other three third years, with Tooru valiantly spamming Hajime’s notifications with a flurry of emojis in retort to Hanamaki’s jabs. Hajime briefly interrupts them to send a quick place and a date to meet and promptly shuts off his phone.

He's craving fast, unhealthy food. Something to drown out the void slowly opening up in the pit of his stomach.

.·:* *:·.

Matsukawa takes a bite of his burger. His jaw works as he chews on it slowly, with the same cadence that he has doing anything but volleyball. There is an air about him that is entirely relaxed, or laid back, as it were. It is a feeling that makes it seem as if Matsukawa couldn’t care less about anything happening around him.

Hajime knows that Matsukawa most likely cares the most out of the 4 of them.

The din of the fast food restaurant seems quieter, under his unwavering stare. Like he has Hajime trapped in a bubble and won’t let him escape until he’s dealt with every single thread tying him to this uncomfortable situation.

The biggest of those threads, of course, is Tooru, and Hajime’s feelings for him.

"You two have always been together, right?" he asks, before picking up a napkin and dabbing at the corner of his mouth. "Can't imagine the effect it'll have on Oikawa when you tell him that's not going to last. He seems like the clingy type."

He is , Hajime wants to answer. But he also wants to come clean and say that the clingier of the two is probably him. He may be Tooru’s anchor, but the anchor is what is attached to the ship, not the other way around.

Hajime fights the almost overwhelming urge to reach into his pocket and rip his acceptance letter to pieces.

He imagines Tooru will most likely react with anger, first, and then denial. Finally, the tears will come, and Hajime will have to explain himself, perhaps even come up with an excuse as to why he went and attended his entrance exams without telling his best friend.

Getting accepted was the biggest slap in the face for him. A reality. It solidified his plans, his one sided plans, to not follow Tooru to Tokyo, against what they’d decided together.

It’s a selfish plan to allow me move on , is what Hajime should be saying, if he wants to be honest with both of his friends. Because the closer I am to him, the deeper I sink.

"It's the best for the both of us," Hajime settles for claiming, instead, meeting Hanamaki's skeptical gaze head-on. "We-- we rely on each other too much."

It’s a weak excuse, and Hajime is well aware of it. There’s no world in which Tooru relies on him too much. There’s no world in which Hajime sees Tooru only as a pillar and nothing else. They’ve only bettered each other, and Hanamaki knows this. The whole team knows this. Matsukawa looks just as skeptical, although he is not voicing any of his thoughts, content with simply chewing silently.

“What stopped you?” Hanamaki asks, and this time, his voice is soft. It’s gentle, almost pitying, and that, coupled with his strange facial expression has anger boiling at the pit of Hajime’s stomach. “What stopped you from just, moving in with him? From living together?”

Hajime places down his burger, his previous hunger forgotten.

“He’s going to move on.”

Hajime states it like a fact. The moment Matsukawa opens his mouth to argue, Hajime silences him with a lifted hand.

“Listen to me,” he bites. “He’s going to move on. Not stop being my best friend, I don’t think it’s possible, after all we’ve been through. And I’ll be damned if I give up that title to anyone else. But he’s going to find someone. Someone that isn’t me.”

Hanamaki’s brows draw together.

“Everyone lets go during their university years. They experiment, they date for short whiles. Tooru’s going to bring home a different person each week, maybe. Or he’ll find someone to settle down with, and I can’t be there to witness it.”

Hajime doesn’t want to elaborate on how much it would destroy him to watch Tooru fall in love again, to stand by his side as he discovers the differing stages of relationships and breakups alike. Because he’d do it. He’s that dumb. He’s that whipped.

“Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki begins, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Oikawa has already had a girlfriend, and you’re still--”

“I know he’s already had a girlfriend,” Hajime snaps.

Hajime tries his best to block out the memories of Tooru’s first and only girlfriend, the memories of her pressed up to Tooru’s arm, her fingers linked with his, her lips pressing soft yet insistent again Tooru’s cheeks, his lips.

It hurt. It hurt to watch them together, but she made Tooru happy, so Hajime endured it. It’s not like he could run away, after all. Same school, same team, same neighbourhood, there’s only so much Hajime could do to avoid seeing them together, like that.

When they broke up, Hajime knew something was wrong.  No matter how nonchalant Tooru acted when it did happen, shrugging it off as a mutual thing, he’d burst into tears that very evening, letting the material of Hajime’s blazer soak them up.

When Tooru came to him with a broken heart, Hajime tried his damndest to piece it back together. And he would, again, and again, no matter how much it would ruin him inside to watch Tooru run to and fro between people who aren’t him .

Matsukawa raises a brow, slowly chewing on his burger. Hanamaki looks like he wants to keep on arguing, but is definitely holding it back. Matsukawa glances at Hanamaki, evidently trying to say something silently, and the latter promptly leans back in his chair with a frustrated sigh. He crosses his arms over his chest, and huffs out another angered breath, glaring off to the side.

Hajime doesn’t like this foreign tension there is between the three of them, a tension caused by the fact that he can clearly tell the duo is hiding something from him.

Hajime expects Matsukawa to start placing down his own arguments to back up Hanamaki’s, once he’s swallowed the last of his burger. Instead, he turns to Hanamaki, steals one of his french fries, and Hajime watches with a timid smile on his face as Hanamaki lunges at Matsukawa, a string of insults on his lips.

.·:* *:·.

Tooru joins them later, just as he promised, when they are aimlessly walking down the streets of Sendai's city centre. Hajime's eyes catch on a small charm in a display window, an owl pokemon that Tooru had been raving about for a while now, and briefly considers buying it before Tooru can catch up to them. However, a small "Iwa-chan!" echoes across the street, and Hajime watches, heart pounding, as Tooru bounds his way across the road without watching out for potential cars.

"Are you stupid?" Hajime berates loudly the moment Tooru is close enough to grab, and the latter laughs airily over his angry words. Hajime doesn’t let go of the front of Tooru’s shirt, even as Tooru drapes an arm over his shoulders and squishes their cheeks together.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa eye them both warily, before they make their way into the very shop that Hajime had been considering buying the keychain from. Tooru lets go of Hajime and follows them inside, without giving Hajime any details about his morning. He looks like everything is fine, but there’s that very specific pull at the corner of his smile that tells Hajime something is wrong.

Strange, Hajime thinks, but expected, considering the events of the day prior.

Hajime takes his cue to follow, too, although the moment he steps through the doors, he takes a sharp turn right and grabs one of the keychains from the stands before either Hanamaki, Matsukawa, or worse, Tooru notice. He makes his way to the counter and places the -- Mokuro , he reads off the tag -- down in front of the cashier.

She smiles at him, bids him welcome and thanks him for his purchase. He awkwardly hands her the money, never quite sure whether to tell her to have a good day or not, considering he's clearly expecting to remain in the shop for another 30 minutes, due to his friends' tendencies to roam around without buying anything.

In the end, he wishes her well and slinks back into the depths of the shop in search of Tooru. He finds the latter eyeing a scarf, tiny blue pokeballs peppered across it in a random pattern.

"It's cute, don't you think?" Tooru queries, sensing Hajime's presence without even turning away from his find.

You're cute , Hajime wants to say, and his heart begins pounding in his ears at the mere idea of giving Tooru compliments that are genuine rather than backhanded. He wonders what Tooru’s reaction would be. Would he blush, sputter, hide behind his hands and whine about Hajime’s silver tongue? Would he smile, grab Hajime’s hand and agree with him? Would he roll his eyes, call Hajime a smooth talker, and kiss him?

Instead, Hajime says, "Of course you'd think so.”

.·:* *:·.

“I still want to eat ice cream,” Tooru states when they step out of the store. The Pokeball scarf is newly wrapped around his neck, courtesy of Hajime, since Tooru, as usual, hasn’t brought any money to their outing. His smile is slightly more genuine however, small flashes of real happiness peeking through his guarded exterior.

Hajime wonders what happened in the morning.

“And who’s going to pay for you?” Hanamaki retorts, gesturing to the scarf. “Iwaizumi already paid for that and I’m pretty sure he’s broke by now.”

When Tooru turns to look at him expectantly, eye sparkling with hope, Hajime shrugs. “True,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t have much left. Couple hundred. Enough for the bus ride home.”

Tooru’s shoulders visibly sag, and he pushes his bottom lip out in a pout.

“Mattsun’s going to pay for me, right?” he teases, and he takes a few steps forward in order to pat his friend’s shoulder. Matsukawa sighs in defeat, earning himself a glare from Hanamaki.

“Which shop?” he inquires tonelessly.  

.·:* *:·.

Tooru’s eyes follow those who walk by the large windows of the shop, and Hajime’s eyes follow the small shifts in Tooru’s facial expressions. He drinks it all in, like a parched man in an oasis, watches from the way Tooru’s lips quirk in a small smile as he gets lost within his own world, to the way he squints against the sun as it begins setting, reflecting off the glass panes of the building across the road.

Tooru did end up getting the scoop, although the shopkeeper handed it to him in a cone, despite their plans to stay in the shop to eat it. Vanilla and chocolate ice cream piled atop each other, and to decorate it, caramel and flakes of white and dark chocolates alike. Something about the dish screams Tooru , and Hajime can’t stop smiling as he watches him happily chip away at it with a spoon, chirping to Hanamaki and Matsukawa about this and that.

He vaguely registers his friends’ conversation, something about the newest hero in Overwatch, and as Hanamaki argues with Matsukawa on the potential danger she poses to the balance of the game, a movement in the periphery of his vision steals his attention. Some of the cream drips down the cone and along the angle of Tooru’s finger, unnoticed by everyone around the table but Hajime himself. He fights the urge to lean across the table, to kiss it off, to lick it off, and instead reaches for one of the papery napkins at the centre of the table.

He flicks it over to Tooru.

When Tooru doesn't react, eyes trained on someone on the other side of the window, Hajime sighs and grabs the cone out of Tooru's hand.

"Hey-" Tooru snaps, but then notices the small puddle of cream on the table. "Oh."

"Oh," Hajime echoes.

Tooru chuckles sheepishly, picking up the napkin and dabbing away at the trail of vanilla cream running down his hand. It leaves his hand sticky, and he grimaces down at it, flexing his fingers to test out the sensation. Hajime’s mouth waters at the sight of tendons moving beneath skin, of residue ice cream sticking to Tooru’s fingers. Looking back up, he catches Tooru’s gaze, and holds it for a split second.

It feels like the world around them fades out to nothing as they look at each other, the din of the restaurant around them suddenly muted, Hanamaki’s movements in slow motion, before something flashes behind Tooru’s eyes, quick as lightning. Hajime feels his cheeks burn, and looks away, suddenly fascinated by the crowds walking by the window.

Tooru stands abruptly, the screech of the chair against the floor snapping both Hanamaki and Matsukawa out of their conversation.

“Toilet!” he squeals, and then he’s gone, weaving his way through the mass of customers waiting for a seat. Hajime doesn’t watch him go, opting instead to bury his face into his arms and heave a tiny, tiny groan of despair.

.·:* *:·.

“I still have to go shopping for strings,” Tooru tells Hajime as they step out of the cafe. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are walking ahead of them. Hajime is already losing the both of them in the crowds of people walking down the street.

It’s a common occurrence. After spending time together, they rarely actually say goodbye to each other. Rather, they drift apart, and only realise they’ve gotten separated when they get back home.

Hajime can’t help but wonder if university will be the same for Tooru and him. Whether they will drift apart, slowly, imperceptibly, until one of them notices the distance and their world comes crashing down around them. He thinks of the letter, burning a hole into his skin from the confine of his back pocket.

“Let’s go, then,” Hajime says, gesturing in the general direction of the music store. “Did you already wear out the last set?”

Tooru grimaces. “I think they sold me a bad pack,” he grumbles, pushing past a group of girls. One of them takes a single look at Tooru’s face and her eyes widen, before she roughly tugs on her friend’s sleeve. Hajime walks past them slower, listening to the high pitched squeals of Look at him! and He’s so handsome!

“So you did have money on yourself,” he notes, the moment he catches up to Tooru. The street leading up to the shop is less crowded than the one they were previously walking down, and they can walk side by side without jostling people. His shoulder brushes Tooru’s, and sparks run along the length of his arm from the point of contact.

He pulls away.

“I did,” Tooru admits with a wink, before he pushes the doors to the shop open. Hajime steps inside after him, and immediately relishes in the muted feeling that fills the store, a welcome change to the bustling of the streets outside. On their left, a shopkeeper instructs a first time buyer on different types of pianos, and the sound of the customer testing out the keys is the only noise echoing along the walls.

Hajime slowly eyes the different violins. Tooru has one of the larger ones, though Hajime doesn’t really know what kind he prefers. He’s always played wonderfully, even when he was learning and Tooru’s parents shoved him out into the garden to practice, Hajime’d always thought he sounded beautiful.

Tooru makes a beeline for the string instrument section, completely ignoring the chipper greeting he receives from another shop attendant.

“You’ve been playing a lot?” Hajime queries gently, leaning against the shelf, while Tooru scrutinises the different packets of strings.

“It helps,” Tooru replies quietly, and that’s all Hajime needs to know.

.·:* *:·.

They sit next to each other on the bus. Tooru usually keeps a respectful distance from Hajime when it comes to sitting together. Many wouldn’t expect it, but Tooru has never been tactile, with anyone, not even Hajime. He shies away from casual touches, tenses under other people’s fingers, cannot even get a massage without coming out anxious and sweaty.

He often drapes himself over Hajime for theatrics, but when it comes to the both of them, Tooru is entirely satisfied with simply leaning back against Hajime’s side and spending time that way.

“Can you come over?”

Tooru looks away from the window for a split second, before turning his attention back to the scenery rolling past them.

“Sure.”

“I have something to tell you.” The letter is as heavy as lead in his pocket, like it’s too much to carry, almost, and he won’t be able to stand up from his seat when they reach their stop. He feels glued to this moment in time, where the peace between Tooru and him is fragile, and yet stable, where trust hasn’t been broken yet.

His statement seems to intrigue Tooru. He shifts back, pressing his hip against Hajime’s. There are a ton of small changes in his expression, so fast that Hajime cannot classify all of them.

He wonders what Tooru is thinking.

“Mom made curry, too,” he adds, as if he even needs to give Tooru more of a reason to stay.

“Am I sleeping over?”

“If you want.”

“Let’s not use the extra futon this time, okay, Iwa-chan?” Tooru asks, turning back to the window.

Hajime flushes at the idea of sleeping pressed up against Tooru, but he’s too selfish to pass up that opportunity. Not when Tooru is offering, a rare occasion in itself.

“Of course.”

.·:* *:·.

"What's the big, important, amazing thing you needed to tell the great Oikawa-san about, then?" Tooru teases, the moment they step through the threshold of the Iwaizumi household. Hajime bites his lip.

"My room," he grunts, shucking off his shoes. Tooru eyes him, for a while, leaning against the wall, his forefinger still half wedged between his ankle and the back of his shoe. Hajime pointedly turns away from him, putting on his slippers. He silently heads into the house, knowing Tooru will follow anyway.

By the time Tooru enters his bedroom, there's not an ounce of confidence in his stance anymore. He hesitantly makes his way to Hajime's bed, and sits at the corner, his legs together and his hands folded in his lap.

"Really, Iwa-chan," he says, softly. "You're scaring me."

I'm scared too , Hajime thinks. Terrified, even.

He slowly pulls out the letter from his pocket, and hands it to Tooru. "This," he states, "this is why I wanted to talk to you."

Tooru reaches for the envelope with shaking fingers, and plucks it from Hajime's grasp without letting their fingers touch. Hajime bites his lip, hard enough that it hurts, and he thinks he might taste blood. He watches Tooru slip the letter from it and unfold it. His eyes first widen, and then dull as he keeps reading. Hajime expects tears, expects Tooru to look up from the letter and ask him why he’d kept this all hidden, but Tooru remains quiet.

When he finishes reading, Tooru lets his hands drop to his lap, where the letter hangs from his limp fingers. They both watch each other in silence, as if assessing, as if, for the first time in their life together, they don't quite know what to say.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru breathes, looking at Hajime for one second before his eyes fall back to the page, “you got into Tohoku’s medical program?”

Hajime rubs the back of his neck. His skin burns beneath his touch. “Yeah.”

“Hajime,” Tooru says, and Hajime jolts at the sound of his name slipping from between his best friend’s lips. Tooru grins, finally looking up to fix him with a stare both piercing and tearful. “That’s amazing!”

This isn’t something Hajime expected Tooru to register. After all, Hajime himself had focused solely on what this would do to their friendship, and expected the same from Tooru.

“Huh?” he replies eloquently. Tooru’s eyes are glistening as he puts the letter down, before he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Hajime’s back and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“You’re going to do great,” Tooru murmurs, his hands gently skating up and down Hajime’s back, the touch so light Hajime is half afraid he’s imagining it, that it’s a cruel joke his mind is playing on him. Tooru’s breath is warm against his skin, soothing, and Hajime slowly, hesitantly raises his arms to clutch at the back of Tooru’s sweater.

“Oikawa,” he whispers, and Tooru hums in reply.

I’m here .

“Oikawa,” Hajime repeats, and his voice breaks at the end of his best friend’s name. Just as suddenly as their world was rearranged, tears begin to well up in his eyes. He doesn’t fight them. After all, he’s never been one to stave off the inevitable, and instead lets them freely roll down his cheeks, lets his own hitched breaths ripple through his body as Tooru holds him.

.·:* *:·.

"So then," Tooru says, once they pull away from each other, once Tooru has sat back on the bed and picked up the letter once more. He thumbs the edge of the sheet, folding it in on itself until the signature at the bottom of the page is covered. “We’re going our separate ways?”

“Seems so,” Hajime replies, right before blowing his nose.  

Hajime selfishly wants Tooru to smile with wicked intent, before announcing that he, too, had been looking at Tohoku university. There’s no way, of course, not when a full scholarship in the university of Tokyo is waiting for him, with the promise of an easier step into the pro-life, with the promise of professional guidance and of teammates aiming for the national team, just as he is.

He knows Tooru will be happier in Tokyo, and although it should also make him happy, the mere idea of their separation becomes more painful by the second. When he looks up, Tooru has started crying again, although silently. Tears drip onto the paper in his hands, and Hajime gapes at his best friend.

That is not the reaction he expected. The second time today. It frustrates him, to think that in a mere few weeks he’s lost his grip on Tooru’s emotional complexities this badly.

“Is that what you want?” Tooru queries, his voice so small Hajime feels like any movement of his may shatter it. Hajime shakes his head, before he quickly shuffles over to where Tooru sits, taking both of his hands in his own. He squeezes Tooru’s fingers. They feel so cold compared to his.

“Of course not,” he breathes. “I just-- it’s university, and you’ll be busy, and Tohoku’s medical program is said to be merciless and I--”

Tooru whispers his name, for the third time that day. He takes a sharp breath, and his bottom lip quivers with his next words. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“Oik-”

Tooru shakes his head, squeezing Hajime’s hands back. “Please, don’t. Anyone else,” he hiccups, “anyone else can leave, I don’t care, but not you. Please. Not you.”

Hajime panics. Tooru often cries around him, of course. He’s a crybaby, what with tears being the first resort for most things, from broken fingernails, to losing his spoon in his cereal bowl, but it’s never been like this. Tooru rarely cries because of Hajime.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, and the words feel like tar dripping from between his lips, viscous. He can’t believe he has to reassure Tooru about this of all things. About his loyalty, when it is the last thing Tooru should believe can slip between his fingers. “That’s not what I want at all, I’m sorry I made it seem that way.” He grips Tooru’s fingers like a lifeline, like they’re the only thing keeping him afloat in this current of uncertainty. “You’re gonna have to do better than that to get rid of me.”

The joke falls on deaf ears.

“Don’t leave me,” Tooru begs, and Hajime’s heart twists on itself, curls up and tries to hide behind his stomach, because the sight of Tooru this destroyed, this affected by something he said is almost too much. He never wants to hurt him.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Text me every day.”

“I will.”

“And we have to skype a lot.”

“Yes.”

Tooru heaves a sigh.

“And we have to see each other during long weekends. And during the holidays.”

“I promise,” Hajime murmurs. Tooru smiles down at him, through the tears, through the snot, and he’s never been more beautiful, really.

His hand moves up to stroke Iwa’s jaw, thumb pressed to the apple of his cheek. His skin is still cold, and Hajime wants to reach up, lace their fingers together, warm up Tooru’s hand with his own. He wants to kiss Tooru’s knuckles, one by one, watch Tooru’s cheeks flood a pretty red.

“Thank you,” Tooru says.

Hajime smiles.

"Always."

.·:* *:·.

Falling asleep like this is easy for the both of them. It’s a habit. They’ve slept together since the age of two, and never really stopped, unless either of them needed space. Despite the fact that Hajime has had the same bed for over five years now, and that the both of them have grown much too big for it, they find a way to fit together beneath the covers, feet tangled, chests brushing. From this distance, Hajime can smell Tooru’s shampoo, and the strange lavender and wheat concoction that he slaps on his hair every night.

Hajime can feel his heart beating in his throat. It’s hard to breathe, like this, when with each exhale he takes, his feelings threaten to spill from his mouth.

Tooru falls asleep first. He always does, and Hajime is always left staring at his face, wondering what it would be like to wake him up the following morning with feather light kisses along his cheeks, down his jaw.

Tooru’s face is slack, relaxed. There isn’t a crease between his brows like earlier, when he’d been concentrating on his video game. His lashes fan out against his cheeks, a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin in the moonlight. They’re pretty. Hajime’s always liked his eyes, liked the way his lashes frame them, liked the way they bring out the light brown of his irises, and  the fire that burns behind them.

He’s beautiful, so beautiful , and Hajime, just like all the other girls and boys in Tooru’s fanclub, has fallen straight into his web, with no hope, with no want, with no need to escape.

Tooru’s lips are parted around soft exhales and Hajime wants nothing more than to scoot closer and kiss them, to finally find out what Tooru tastes like, to find out whether his lips are as soft as they look, whether that chapstick he puts on really works as well as Tooru claims it does, to find out whether it tastes good, whether that’s why Tooru keeps licking his lips when they walk home together.

Tooru’s breath hitches, snapping Hajime out of his reverie, and his next exhale brushes Hajime’s cheek. He scrambles backward, his own breathing coming in short, panicked bursts. When had he gotten so close?

He takes a final look at Tooru’s peaceful, sleeping face, before he buries his head under his pillow and resolutely turns away from the sight of his best friend, from the feeling of Tooru pressed so close to him.

.·:* *:·.

Tooru is always so animate when he talks.

It fascinates Hajime, because it’s a blatant opposite to the way he acts at home, to the composed, quiet person he becomes when around Hajime’s parents, when around his own parents. It is a massive difference from the sleepy Tooru that hangs around Hajime’s house on Sunday mornings, and from the Tooru that whines into his microphone because Hajime didn’t protect him and he died again, peel for your supports, Iwa-chan!

It’s a welcome change, however. Hajime likes each and every Tooru: the polite one, the relaxed one, the sleepy one, the excited one, the one who opens up during their late night sleepovers and confesses insecurities and hopes alike, and finally, the one he becomes when around his friends.

Tooru may slip masks on and off for different people, but what makes him inherently him, what screams Tooru to Hajime, has never changed. It is that fire burning behind his eyes, that smile as bright as the sun, those pink cheeks and those soft, soft hands.

“Are you even listening?” Tooru snaps, jolting Hajime out of his thoughts.

“No,” Hajime admits, because honesty has always been his strong suit, and it’s a common occurrence for him to zone out while Tooru babbles about something or other.

Tooru huffs. “You’re supposed to back me up here, Iwa-chan,” he says, a sense of urgency pushing on Hajime behind his words. He’s not quite sure what Tooru is even asking for.

“About what?”

Tooru crosses his arms over his chest, and tilts his head toward Hanamaki, who has clearly moved on from their previous argument. “Well it doesn’t matter anymore,” he huffs. “You’ve been weird lately, Iwa-chan.”

“What?” Hajime snaps, immediately irritated by the accusation. “I haven’t changed one bit.”

You’re the one acting weird, he wants to say.

“Yes you have,” Tooru insists, turning his head away. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“How the hell have I been acting any different?” Hajime retorts, flicking a stray piece of rice at Tooru’s head. “You’re overthinking things.”

“I never overthink,” Tooru snaps back, watching the grain of rice fall to the floor. Hajime is ready to keep on arguing, but Hanamaki places a hand between the both of them.

“Alright, will you two just kiss and makeup already?” he asks in the most disinterested tone Hajime has ever heard. He snorts, but Tooru sputters. Instead of joking about it, as Hajime expects, he stands up, glaring down at Hanamaki, and then leaves the room in a flurry.

Hajime watches him go. “The hell is up with him?” he asks, although anxiety gnaws at his stomach, and he curls in on himself a little more, imperceptibly. Did the idea of kissing him upset Tooru this much?

“I don’t know,” Hanamaki admits. “But he sure as hell is pissy today.”

.·:* *:·.

Their walk home is tense. Tooru hums under his breath, some new pop song that Hajime has heard through social media, and still has a skip to his step, but there is something inherently off about his behaviour. Like everything he’s doing is completely robotic, mechanical, on autopilot.

When they reach the end of the street, Tooru misses a step, and loses his balance. Immediately Hajime reaches for him, snatching the back of his uniform in his hands and pulling him back, until the both of them are stumbling backward from the combined force of Hajime’s tugging, and Tooru’s wild flailing. Tooru’s shoulder collides with Hajime’s, and one of his hands flies up to clutch at Hajime’s forearm.

The both of them stare at the floor, where Tooru would have landed, had Hajime not caught him, for a long while.

Finally, Tooru releases his iron grip on Hajime’s forearm.

“My saviour,” he chirps, turning to face Hajime. Hajime is ready to berate him for being sarcastic about something that could have been seriously dangerous, but the words promptly die at the back of his throat when he looks up and meets Tooru’s gaze. There’s a wide smile on his face, the same one that he wore when Hajime got them tickets to watch the premiere of the newest Star Wars movie.

It’s an elated smile, a complete opposite to his behaviour that whole day, one that showcases a happiness specific to when each and every one of Tooru’s thoughts are in the exact place they should be.

It’s a rarity, even to Hajime, and he can feel the weight of it hitting him straight in the chest with the strength of a battering ram. He unconsciously raises a hand to check that each of his ribs are still in working condition, because it seems like they’ve all melted away, making way for a heart that feels so swollen with emotion that it’s bound to burst from his body.

I love him, Hajime thinks, feeling a little breathless. God damn, I love him.

.·:* *:·.

It’s two days before graduation night that Tooru knocks on Hajime’s door at one in the morning.

Hajime is not sleeping yet. The end of the school year being so close, he’s taken to spending his free time playing video games until he can barely keep himself awake. Tooru normally joins him, but this time, he hasn’t answered his phone since a little bit past their usual dinner time.

Hajime thought nothing of it. Tooru’s been working on a graduation speech, and is keeping in contact with his future team in Tokyo, spending time in online seminars and preparatory group calls. Where Hajime is taking the time to wind down, Tooru is still as busy as ever.

Hajime can see now, staring at his best friend’s face, that tonight was certainly not the case.

“Oikawa?”

He keeps his voice quiet, mostly because the rest of the family is asleep, but also because the text he received two minutes ago is daunting. Tooru doesn’t make it a habit to show up in the middle of the night, especially not during the week. This sets a hundred alarm bells ringing at the back of Hajime’s mind. Tooru looks fragile before him, like his carefully built facade might shatter if Hajime speaks too loudly.

It’s another one of those nights. He can’t remember the last time this happened.

Tooru looks at the floor, sniffling softly. “Can I come in?” he asks, his voice paper thin. Hajime steps aside immediately, letting Tooru -- he’s barefoot -- step inside.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Tooru responds, though he doesn’t give Hajime his signature everything-is-okay-even-if-it-isn’t smile. He’s here to talk about it, he’s just not ready to, not quite yet.

They climb up the stairs, and tiptoe to Hajime’s room. Tooru takes in the open game screen and his shoulders sag a little. “Sorry,” he says, gesturing toward the computer, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Hajime says, keeping his voice quiet. The normally silent whirr of the computer suddenly sounds deafening between the both of them. “I was just going to turn it off anyway.”

“That just means you were going to sleep, which doesn’t make this any better,” Tooru gripes.

Hajime sighs. “You sleeping over?”

Tooru takes the time to mull over his words. The sudden change of subject is a snap in the right direction, shoving Tooru out of his self-pitying state and toward opening up, the way he wants to. “If you don’t mind,” he finally acquiesces.

“As if you’ve ever cared about that.”

Tooru snorts. Another step in the right direction. “Well you’re not wrong.”

Hajime gets up from the chair and heads for his closet, with the intention of getting the spare futon, when Tooru grabs his arm.

“If we could- if I could sleep in your bed,” Tooru says. “That’d make me feel better.”

Hajime can feel his cheeks heating up, and he’s grateful for the darkness of his room. Were Tooru in any other state of mind, he’d probably have picked up on it, and teased him for getting flustered, but right now, right now what Tooru needs is support, and if that comes in the form of sleeping pressed up to Hajime, then Hajime won’t complain.

“Sure,” he breathes. “It’s whatever.”

Tooru smiles at him, a tiny little curve upward of his lips. It doesn’t look good on him, not that reserved, almost self-conscious look. “You okay?” Hajime asks, again, just for good measure. He’s not pushing, terrified of making Tooru uncomfortable, but seeing him in this condition always sets off Hajime’s every instinct to protect his best friend. It’s been that way ever since Hajime met him, all those years ago, with his big, teary eyes and a broken umbrella.

Tooru sighs. “Iwa-chan,” he begins, falling back into the Hajime’s bed with an ‘oof!’, “why are you my friend?”

Hajime stares at him. Is that a serious question? he wants to ask. It seems absolutely unbelievable to him that Tooru would wonder why Hajime’s stuck around this whole time, but judging by Tooru’s earlier behaviour, he knows this isn’t something he can shrug off with a joke, or with a teasing jab at Tooru’s intelligence.

“What do you mean?” he inquires instead.  

“I mean, if you were here just because of volleyball, then you’d have left already, since the season is over,” Tooru explains, as if the words coming out of his mouth are purely logical and not the most far-fetched conclusion Hajime has ever heard. “But you’ve stuck around, which means you’re my friend for another reason, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is. I’m not a good person, I’ve achieved nothing, I’m not that interesting, people out there call me shallow and I- is it because I’m popular? I’ve noticed an increase in girls confessing to you so I guess-”

“Whoa, whoa, Oikawa,” Hajime cuts in, hopefully interrupting Tooru’s self-destructive train of thought as well. “Is that what you really think?”

Tooru stays quiet, resolutely looking at the ceiling and not at Hajime. Hajime gets up from his chair, and leans over Tooru, forcing his best friend to meet his eye.

“Oikawa?”

Tooru is still looking at the ceiling, but Hajime can tell from the twitch in his jaw that it’s getting harder and harder to feign nonchalance.

“If you won’t reply to me that’s fine, but you don’t get to interrupt me, then,” Hajime states, before plopping down on the bed next to Tooru. “Here’s how I see it. You’re an incredible person. You’re smart, sure, and you’re good at volleyball, yeah, but that’s not why I’m your friend. I’m your friend because you’re kind, and you put other people’s happiness before your own despite the fact that you act like a selfish brat.”

Tooru chuckles. “But I’m not selfless,” he insists, and Hajime figures this probably comes from a joke, a tiny droplet from a teasing jab causing the pot to overflow. Tooru knows to laugh at himself, but there are times when even jokes can rip through one’s chest like a well placed insult. 

“True. You’re an ass 90% percent of the time,” he admits, “but I wouldn’t call myself your best friend if I didn’t like that part of you, too.”

To many, Hajime's words may not seem like much, but to the both of them, this is the most heartfelt confession. Hajime is a person of action, he does, rather than says. It’s rare for him to sit down and try to order his feelings into something coherent, into something that can be heard.

“That’s not very sweet, Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispers, but there’s an inkling of a smile on his face, the tiniest little curl at the corner of his mouth, and Hajime knows he’s hit the right spot.

“You’re a real dumbass, too, questioning the legitimacy of our friendship,” at that, he pinches Tooru’s nose, earning a nasally, whiny protest from him, “but I have no reason to leave you behind. You’re important to me.

Tooru grabs Hajime’s wrist to pull his hand away from his face, giggles bubbling past his lips, his smile bright even in the darkness of the room. Once Hajime drops his hand back down to the bed, distracted by his best friend's beauty, Tooru raises his hand, and runs a slender finger along the length of Hajime’s forearm, the touch featherlight.

“You’re the best, Iwa-chan,” he says.

Hajime clears his throat, looking away from Tooru’s satisfied smile. “Shut up.”

“Is that a mokuro ?”

The sudden change of subject startles Hajime. He follows Tooru’s gaze to the place where he’d left the keychain on his windowsill after buying it. He still hadn’t gathered the courage to give it to Tooru. Though the fact that Hajime spoils his best friend is no secret between the both of them, it’s very rare for Hajime to buy presents for him without Tooru’s knowledge.

“Yeah,” he replies, instead. “I bought it for you, actually.”

He feels sheepish admitting it, and the lingering feelings from their heartfelt discussion does nothing to ease the terse, electric atmosphere between the both of them, crackling along his skin and gathering where Tooru'd touched him. Hajime is about to call it off, say that it was probably something stupid to do. After all, who pampers their best friend like that?

But Tooru’s face lights up.

“You bought it for me?” he asks, voice cracking mid-sentence.

“Yeah. It reminded me of you. ‘Cause you spent 3 hours the weekend after our last match just starting new games on Pokemon so you could get the shiny version of… whatever that is.”

“A mokuro ,” Tooru repeats for him.

“Right, yeah, that.”

Tooru wraps his fingers around the little figurine, smiling down at it like one would at a newborn puppy.

Hajime loves him.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru sniffles. Hajime immediately recognises the sound, and barely has the time to prepare himself before Tooru’s barrelling into his chest, tears, snot, sobs and all. Hajime wraps his arms around him, a smile on his face and laughter rumbling in his chest.

He loves him.

He loves him so much.

.·:* *:·.

Graduation comes with a hurricane of emotion that Hajime was in no way prepared for.

He expected teary goodbyes, sure, but not the amount of nostalgia that hit him right off the bat. He didn’t expect his heart to clench, just about as painfully as it normally does when he stands around Tooru, as he makes his way through the school gates to find a goodbye message to all the third years printed across a banner and laid out for the whole school to see.

He doesn’t expect to find sudden beauty in everything about the school, from the building, to the trees in the courtyard, to the closed gym doors.

Everything he’s lived with Tooru is embedded in this otherwise everyday landscape.  

Perhaps Hajime feels this way because April is a beautiful month. It brings a certain air of ethereality around the school, around graduation. As if he’d wake up tomorrow and have to go to school again, telling Tooru of this strange dream he’s had where their lives together actually ended. Tooru would laugh from behind his scarf, would place his hand on Hajime’s shoulder and tell him that that would never happen.

But it is happening. The temperatures have begun warming, the air is no longer a sharp knife that digs into Hajime’s skin, but a gentle caress that announces the mid-way between spring and summer. It is April, and they are graduating.

Sakura petals pepper the streets and dance with the wind, as if wishing them nature’s farewell. There’s one of them in Tooru’s hair, right now. A soft pink petal, trapped between silken locks.

Hajime can’t take his eyes off of it. He wants to run his hands through Tooru’s hair, wants to feel Tooru lean into the contact and hum contentedly. Instead, he tears his attention away from his best friend, from the flock of both girls and boys attempting to say their goodbye to him, for the final time.

The final time.

Hajime’s heart twists at the mere idea. He’s lucky, he supposes. He’s still going to get to see Tooru, he’s still going to talk to Tooru, and Tooru himself is already planning for the both of them to call weekly. He isn’t in Tooru’s fangirls’ shoes, where this is really the last time they’ll get to talk to him, perhaps for a few years, perhaps forever.

But Tooru doesn’t have much time left in Miyagi at all. In fact, he’s due to leave three days after their graduation ceremony, with a pre-university training camp to attend. Hajime can feel their time together slipping between his fingers like sand at the beach, and he’s powerless to hold on. Tooru, as always, is powering forward, leaving Hajime to clutch at his sleeve and beg for him to slow down.

Not this time, though. Hajime refuses to hold either Tooru or himself back any longer.

Kindaichi and Kunimi walk up to him, bleary eyed. Kindaichi’s eyes are red, but it doesn’t look like he’ll cry anytime soon, which is a relief to Hajime. He’s never been good with tears, contrary to popular belief. He knows how to handle a crying Tooru, but that’s the limit to his skill.

“The team won’t be the same without you, Iwaizumi-san,” Kindaichi says with a small bow. Hajime chuckles. He raises a hand and places it firmly on Kindaichi’s shoulder, hoping to be comforting.

“You’ll make Aoba Jousai a great team, Kindaichi,” he says. “You too, Kunimi,” he adds, turning and meeting the gaze of his perpetually uninterested underclassman. “Don’t undersell yourselves too much. You’re skilled players, all of you, and Yahaba will be a reliable captain, Kyoutani a reliable ace. You’ve nothing to worry about for next year. Go and kick some Karasuno ass, okay?”

“Ah--” Kindaichi begins to retort, but is interrupted by Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s laughter. They both drape an arm over Hajime’s shoulders, forcing him to stumble forward a bit.

“You two going to miss your loveable senpais ?” Hanamaki quips, reaching over to pinch the bridge of Kindaichi’s nose. The teasing gesture brings a small smile, almost unnoticeable, to Kunimi’s face.

"Of course!" Kindaichi manages, voice slightly altered by Hanamaki's hold on his nose. 

“No,” Kunimi retorts at the same time, in a voice just as disinterested as usual, though the curl of his mouth is betraying him.

Matsukawa clutches his chest in mock injury. “I cannot believe our underclassman would break my heart like this.”

“Unbelievable, Mattsun,” Hanamaki continues, pressing his palm over his heart and nodding solemnly. Hajime rolls his eyes.

“You don’t need to hold on to me to talk to them, you know. I’m not a coat hanger,” he growls, shrugging the two arms off.

“Of course we know that, Iwaizumi. Coat hangers have to be tall to be functional,” Hanamaki teases. Hajime feels irritation and happiness alike grab ahold of his heart. He slaps Hanamaki’s arm.

“Remember that I don’t need to be tall to kick your ass,” he huffs.

“Harsh, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa immediately retorts.

“He’s always been cruel, that one,” Hanamaki bemoans, clutching the spot where Hajime’d hit him. “You’re lucky you won’t have to live under his violent tyranny anymore, Kindaichi.”

Hajime feels a familiar twitch in his forehead, and his fingers itch to wrap around a volleyball and fling it at high speed at both of his teammates heads. Unfortunately, they’re standing in the courtyard, and not in the gym. Kindaichi opens his mouth to retort, but is immediately interrupted once again, though it is by Tooru’s loud laughter this time.

“Iwa-chan!” he calls out, and Hajime looks around until his eyes land on that single petal, still stuck in his hair.

He vaguely notices his four companions walk away from the two of them, most likely distracted by more classmates and friends wanting to say goodbye, but the majority of his attention is now focused on the brief flash of light pink peeking from between Tooru’s curls.

“Goddamnit,” Hajime grumbles. Tooru bounds over to him, grin bright as ever. His hair flutters in the gentle breeze, but that does not free the petal at all. If anything, it looks like it’s slowly burying itself deeper into the mop of brown locks, taunting Hajime.

It’s becoming harder and harder for Hajime to stop himself from plucking the damn thing out, just to prove his superiority. A measly petal will never win against him, damnit.

In a sudden burst of courage, fuelled by the irrational need to compete with stationary objects for Tooru’s attention, Hajime reaches up, softly threading his fingers through Tooru’s mop of brown hair. It feels like silk under his calloused fingers, and Hajime can’t help but let his touch linger, fingers running along Tooru’s scalp, until he’s cupping the back of Tooru’s head, his nails scratching beneath the thin curls at the nape of Tooru’s neck.

“Iwa-chan?”

At the sound of Tooru’s voice, Hajime pulls back, as if burned.

“You had a sakura petal,” he brings the offending object down into Tooru’s view, giving himself something clear to focus on, something that isn’t the way Tooru’s gaze bores into his face. He can feel his face burning, knows there’s no excuse for what he’s just done.

This is it , he thinks. I’ve done it now.

Tooru looks down at the petal, and then back at Hajime. “Thanks for that,” he says softly. In the gentle light of the morning, his skin looks like it glows, cheeks tinted pink and lips cherry red.

Instead, he looks down at the floor, feeling bashful. Right as his gaze reaches the level of Tooru’s chest, though, he does a double take, feeling his stomach drop down to his feet at the sight before him, soft curls and pink cheeks forgotten.

The second button of Tooru’s uniform blazer is gone.

.·:* *:·.

The rest of graduation passes by in a blur. Hajime robotically accepts his certificate, and barely listens to the other students’ speeches.

Tooru has given his button away to someone. Why else would it be gone? Hajime can’t think of another logical reason. He feels humiliated, more than anything. Like someone has dumped a cold bucket of water over his head, forcibly changing the tint of his glasses from rose to grey. He’d forgotten the inevitable, and it had come to slap him in the face, with the cold sting of reality.

Tooru was bound to fall for someone.

Here he’d been, feeling competitive over a damn petal. He’d ran his hands through Tooru’s hair so tenderly, thinking of nothing but kissing those beautiful lips, and while that was happening, Tooru’s mind was on someone else.

Hajime wants to bury himself alive. Wants to disappear from the surface of the planet and leave his every worry, feelings, relationship behind. He can’t believe he was that careless, that comfortable expressing something he should have been keeping a tight lock on.

Tooru babbles about this and that the entire way home, evidently unaffected by the prior events, but Hajime doesn’t register any of it. He bids Tooru goodbye at the gate of the Oikawa household, and walks home, feeling defeated on a day that should celebrate his victory over the high school curriculum.

It hurts. It hurts so bad knowing someone out there holds Tooru’s attention, that someone out there has his second button and the promise of his affections.

It hurts knowing that person isn’t him. It hurts to know that they will probably never understand Tooru better than he does.

It hurts to know that they will most likely approach Hajime for advice about how to handle Tooru, and Hajime, the self-destructive, whipped person that he is, will gladly give that information away, knowing that they are going to make Tooru happier than he could ever wish to.

Anything to make Tooru happy.

.·:* *:·.

That night, Hajime cries so hard that not even a pillow and a blanket can hide his sobs from his mother’s ear. He’s blowing his nose into the third tissue of the evening when she raps on his door softly, before stepping inside.

“Hajime,” she murmurs, and he bursts into a fresh round of tears at the mere sound of her gentle voice, dropping the tissue and holding his arms out for her. She makes her way to his bed immediately, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Her nightgown feels soft against the skin of his face, and she’s warm as she envelops him in a hug.

“I know you’ll miss this, that you’ll miss your friends, and that you’ll miss him ,” she whispers into his hair. “But remember that neither of you are leaving all this behind for good. He’ll come back. He always has.”

.·:* *:·.

Saying goodbye to Tooru on the train platform is difficult.

Hajime had prepared himself, of course. He’d spent countless nights planning for this very moment, writing up scripts in his head about what he could possibly say that would show Tooru, with words, how much he was going to miss him.

Tooru had been so obvious about his own feelings on their separation, about his reluctance to go their different ways, about his coming to terms with the necessity of it, for both their sakes. He’d talked about it non-stop, had told Hajime that he was going to miss him, really miss him, and all Hajime had been able to give back were a few non-committal grunts.

“Text me on LINE,” Tooru says, clutching the hem of Hajime’s sweater. “And tell me everything about your first day.”

“I will,” Hajime assures him, grasping his other hand, running a gentle thumb across the soft skin of his knuckles. The thoughts of the second button, of their affectionate relationship being strange are all pushed out of his mind in favour of savouring the last moments he’s going to have by Tooru’s side for the next few months.

They’re interrupted by the loud whistle of the train, and the conductor loudly asking for all passengers to climb on. Tooru pulls back hesitantly, taking one step toward the train, before he looks at Hajime.

“I’ll miss you, Iwa-chan,” he says, honest.

“I’ll miss you too, Oikawa.”

A sad smile twists Tooru’s mouth, before he lunges forward to wrap his arms around Hajime’s shoulders for the last time. Hajime hugs him back, squeezing his arms around Tooru’s waist until Tooru wheezes, patting his shoulders and begging Hajime to calm down, through strained laughter. Hajime doesn’t want to let go, though, even as the conductor insists for all passengers to get on, and Tooru’s mother anxiously calls her son over.

Tooru is the first to pull back, lifting both of his hands to squeeze Hajime’s cheeks.

“Don’t be a stranger, Iwa-chan,” he says with a beaming smile, giving Hajime’s cheek a last pinch, before he’s turning away, running into the train.

The doors close behind him with a hiss.

Hajime already misses him.

.·:* *:·.

It’s strange, waking up, checking his phone and finding nothing more than a simple ‘arrived safely!’ text from Tooru. Hajime waits until 10 AM, Tooru’s usual wakeup time, hoping for his phone to blow up with notifications, but they don’t come. His gaze sweeps over his room, and he is hit with a strange feeling of unfamiliarity in a place he should be calling home.

This isn't the home that he knows, not anymore, because the largest part of Hajime's home has left, now. 

The knowledge that Tooru has officially left Miyagi, has probably already unpacked everything (because he never owned much more than a violin, a computer and a few volleyballs) sits heavy at the back of his mind, preventing him from lifting his head, from getting up and moving on himself.

By the time his clock switches over to 1PM, Tooru still hasn’t called. Hajime forces himself out of bed, trudging down the stairs and into the kitchen.

When his phone rings, as he tiredly watches his lunch spin around in the microwave, he almost runs to it. When he picks it up, Tooru’s name flashes on the screen, and he heaves a sigh of relief. Not hearing from Tooru for an entire day had done more to him than he wants to admit.

Shakily, he picks up. “Yeah?”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru’s voice is chipper, but rough, on the other line, and the sound of it seeps into Hajime, warmth spreading from his chest along his limbs. The hard line of Hajime’s shoulders relaxes, and he leans against the kitchen counter, a small smile curving his lips. Tooru’s most likely just woken up. “How was your night?”

“T’was alright,” Hajime replies. “I played a little with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Did their usual bullshittery.”

“Double Hanzo combo kind of bullshit?”

Hajime laughs. “Yeah, they tried that. We had fun, though, so it’s alright.”

He can hear Tooru chuckle on the other end of the line, before he hears some rustling. Is Tooru still in bed? Did he call the moment he woke up?

“Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah,” Tooru admits. “I thought I should call you. After all, Iwa-chan can’t stand a day without hearing from me.”

“Shut up,” Hajime growls, embarrassed by the accuracy of Tooru’s words.

“You know it’s true,” Tooru teases. Hajime doesn’t deny it.

“How did you settle in?” he asks instead. “Did you unpack everything? Meet your flatmates?”

There’s a moment of silence, before Tooru starts to laugh, loudly, into the receiver. Hajime frowns, wondering whether the phone is twisting Tooru’s voice, because he sounds close to hysterical, when he’d been so mellow, so sleep-relaxed just a moment ago.

“Iwa-chan you would not believe who I’m rooming with.”

“I thought it was the Karasuno captain. Sawamura?”

Hajime waits for another few seconds as Tooru giggles to himself, before he takes a sharp breath.

“There’s him, of course. But there’s someone else too!”

“And who is that?”

Tooru inhales loudly, like he’s preparing to scream. Hajime takes the phone away from his ear, just a tiny bit, as a precaution.

“It’s Ushiwaka-chan!”

Tooru follows his exclamation with another explosive round of giggles, though now Hajime notes that his manic laughter is most likely justified.

“Can you believe it, Iwa-chan?”

“Honestly?” Hajime replies, cupping his hand over his mouth to muffle the laughter trying to escape him. “Yes. Karma.”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru screeches, and Hajime stops holding back, letting his loud guffaws of laughter echo around the otherwise empty kitchen. The microwave beeps in the background, forgotten. “It’s not funny! This is a serious situation! My arch- don’t laugh at me, oh my god! My archnemesis is sharing the same flat as me! He’s going to see my shower hair!”

As Tooru keeps on wailing, Hajime dries the tears of laughter gathered at the corners of his eyes.

Maybe this won’t be so hard after all.

.·:* *:·.

It is.

Skyping every day soon proves to be an impossibility. From the get-go, Hajime’s homework load has been incredible, to the point that when Tooru calls him, all he’s able to offer are a few non-committal grunts here and there, too concentrated on his work to really listen to what his best friend has to say.

Tooru doesn’t have it easy either. The one time Hajime manages to clear up enough time to have at least one skype call with Tooru for the week, Tooru comes in looking bedraggled and exhausted. Hajime insists he sleep, that he take the hour they’d planned to talk to each other and use it to nap.

Tooru vehemently refuses, although he does fall asleep at his desk anyway, within the first ten minutes of their conversation. Hajime acquires quite a few ugly (adorable) screenshots of Tooru’s sleeping face, so he doesn’t feel like the opportunity was simply wasted.

It’s been three weeks since then.

Hajime glances at his computer screen, at the thin green circle indicating that Tooru is offline. It’s been that way for two days straight, now.

He misses him. He misses his best friend. He misses waking up to Tooru knocking against his window, or Tooru sitting at the kitchen island downstairs and chatting amicably with his mom. He misses hearing ‘Iwa-chan!’ every day and he most definitely misses the regular, daily conversations they had back in highschool, back when seeing each other every day was the norm.

Tooru misses him too, and perhaps that is the most painful aspect of it. Tooru makes it known, says “I miss you” just about as often as he says “Iwa-chan” over the phone, over LINE texts.

And it hurts, because Hajime feels like Tooru will never miss him as much as he misses Tooru.

.·:* *:·.

[From: Shittykawa]

          Iwa-chan (╯✧▽✧)╯ ☆.。.:*・

[To: Shittykawa]

          What

[From: Shittykawa]

          We found a cat that looks like you!

          [img]

          [img]

          [img]

          It’s famous in the west apparently! They call her Princess Monstertruck!

          Dai-chan found her

          Isn’t she cute?

[To: Shittykawa]

          You are literally the shittiest human being in existence.

          How the fuck does that even look like me.

          It’s horrid

[From: Shittykawa]

          Mean!

          I even made the effort to text you about this wonderful discovery and you treat me like this ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡

[To: Shittykawa]

          You’re dumb.

When Hajime shuts off his phone, he’s met with his own reflection, with the brilliant smile he’s been aiming down at the screen this whole time. He places his phone face down on the table. Hanamaki looks at him over his homework, raising a single, questioning brow.

“Fuck off,” Hajime grumbles, covering his mouth with his hand. He can’t stop smiling yet.

“Oikawa?”

Hajime clears his throat. “And if it is?”

“Let me guess.” Hanamaki leans back into his chair. “He’s telling you that he misses you.”

“Not quite,” Hajime smirks, triumphant that for once, Hanamaki doesn’t hit the nail right on the head. It’s getting tiring, the accuracy with which Hanamaki assesses their relationship. Hajime half wishes he was right about Tooru’s side of things.

“He’s thinking about you, then.”

God damn it.

“Shut the fuck up.”

His ears are still burning when he picks up his pencil.

.·:* *:·.

The red digits on the clock to his right have just flicked over to 2:59 A.M, Hajime pouring over biology textbooks and stray papers from his classes, when he receives a mysterious text.

[From: unknown number]

          this is sawamura daichi . oikawa’s been locked up in his room for three days and i havent seen him except at practice. he looks as radiant as usual, but i was wondering if there was a specific procedure for this kind of thing?

Hajime rolls his eyes. Tooru had mentioned having an important physics test coming up. This was the usual protocol.

Kick his ass , he replies curtly, before placing his phone down on his desk. He waits until he sees the three little dots that indicate Sawamura is typing up a reply before the worry and guilt wins out.

[To: unknown number]  

          He can generally he can be taunted to rest with food breaks. Milkbread, chips, chocolate, that kind of stuff. Remind him to keep hydrated and to eat full meals though. He can take care of himself most of the time but he does have incredible singular focus. He forgets he’s human and then it’s a disaster for everyone.

The three little dots fade as the text is received. Hajime stares at his screen, unblinking, until his eyes burn, before Sawamura sends back a single text, so fast that the program hadn’t even been able to register that he’d been typing.

[From: unknown number]

          haha

Hajime can’t really imagine Sawamura laughing down at his phone. Flicking back up to the text that he sent, Hajime wonders if what he laid out is somehow funny.

[From: unknown number]

          ill try to get him to eat and drink something, then. i was just wondering if it was some kind of a

There is a pause in their conversation. Hajime waits patiently for Sawamura to formulate his sentence. The three little dots appear and disappear as Sawamura thinks it over.

[From: unknown number]

          an issue I should be aware of i suppose. as his flatmate.

Hajime can’t help but smile at Sawamura’s sensitive efficiency.

[To: unknown number]

          Don’t worry. Thanks for contacting me.

He can’t even put his phone down before he begins typing up again.

[To: unknown number]

          Has he been okay? I don’t want to sound overbearing, but, well, I’m worried. Best friend’s job and whatnot.

Sawamura takes a while to reply. Hajime watches, too afraid to blink, to even breathe, as the three little dots pop up on his screen again.

[From: unknown number]

          apart from his strict grocery regimen, hes been great. well if you consider his constant bickering with ushijima “great”.  

Hajime snorts. He’d expected that much.

[To: unknown number]

          I can only imagine.

[From: unknown number]

          these two are a menace on the court though. we hope to face you sometime!

Hajime’s smile falls off his face. While Tohoku may have an impressive medical program, his volleyball team is as disorganised as Aoba Jousai was when he was still a first year. Facing off with Tooru this year would be a miracle, considering they’d have to both get to nationals in order for it to happen.

This is without considering the fact that Hajime barely has enough time to attend practice three times a week, with the amount of work his lectures and labs put him through. He no longer has the time to single-mindedly play volleyball like they used to in high school, and is alright with his path diverging from the sport, no matter how much he still loves it.

That doesn’t change the fact that his promise to face off Tooru with all he’s got now feels like a lie, though he technically has no control over it at all.

He wonders if Tooru is still hoping for it.

.·:* *:·.

“You’re seriously missing something here, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki insists, pointing at him with his straw. A drop of strawberry smoothie hangs precariously from its end, and Hajime watches it wobble when Hanamaki leans forward, before he looks back down at the DS in front of him. “Look harder.”

Hajime can’t tell what he’s seriously missing.

“Why don’t you just tell me the answer?” Hajime asks through gritted teeth. Matsukawa studies their exchange silently, although he does place a hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder when the latter makes to speak up again.

“Let the idiot figure this out,” he says, and Hanamaki, with a wicked smile, nods and goes back to his food. “Come on, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa continues, lazy smirk stretched across his mouth, goading him into a reaction, “it’s really not that hard.”

“You simply have to point out a weakness in either testimony, or, well, find the liar,” Hanamaki adds.

“They’re all technically lying.”

“See that’s your denial speaking.”

“No, I’m serious. Look, the waiter claims that the other two witnesses are lying, but if he’s telling the truth, then all three are lying, because the chef-”

“That makes no sense.”

“Will you let me finish ?”

“The waiter’s the liar,” Matsukawa supplies.

“That can't be true!”

“He is! He’s calling the other two liars, when they’re clearly telling the truth. Think back to the chef’s testimony. He supports the performer’s. Then you’ve got evidence that supports both the performer’s, but also what the chef was saying about time the kitchen window was broken. The waiter may not be guilty, but he’s at least hiding something.”

Hajime squints at his two friends, before begrudgingly picking the corresponding character. The character on the screen smoothes down his blue suit, smiles triumphantly, and begins placing down, albeit more eloquently, the exact same details Matsukawa has just pointed out.

“Unbelievable.”

“Remember, Iwaizumi-kun,” Matsukawa says, wicked intent hidden beneath the curve of his smile, “the end goal is to find the culprit, but your current goal is to find a weakness in one of their testimonies. A liar, as it were. Someone preventing your defendant’s happy ending.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re talking about something entirely different than the puzzle,” Hajime grumbles, and groans at the back of his throat when both Matsukawa and Hanamaki look at him with expressions of feigned innocence. Hanamaki takes a large gulp of his drink, slurping loudly, and Matsukawa rests his chin on the table, back curved like a cat after finishing its milk.

“Iwaizumi,” he teases, “that is a serious accusation. We were simply helping you move forward with your video game.”

Hajime glares at the both of them, and snaps the DS shut.

.·:* *:·.

It hurts.

Hajime glares at the picture that he has, pinned on a cork board above his desk, of him and Tooru together. It’s his favourite picture, because Tooru is looking at something outside of the frame, something that must’ve amused him, because he’s grinning. His smile is so beautiful, on that picture, the kind that crinkles the edge of his eyes and makes him look brighter than the sun could ever be.

The dull pain in his chest, the one he’d gotten used to over the years, is getting worse. He’s falling deeper and deeper into the web of feelings that he’s developed for Tooru, and the more he struggles against it, the tighter the strands wrap around him.

Hajime used to scoff at the saying “distance makes the heart grow fonder”, because he never really believed that he was capable of feeling any more for his best friend

He was wrong, evidently. To the point where he’s made it a habit to jump at his phone whenever it rings. He often finds himself disappointed, not recognising the number on the screen or finding that it is his physics tutor calling him, and not Tooru.

When Tooru calls him in the morning, he feels proud. When Tooru calls him during the tiny breaks that he manages to catch between classes and training, he feels special. He lets himself hope, just a tiny bit, that even though they’re far apart, and that they’re both moving on with their lives, that maybe Tooru still thinks about him a lot.

Just as he shakes himself out of his hopeful trance and comes back to reality, to the fact that Tooru could have anyone he wants, should he wish to, his phone rings. Immediately, Hajime picks it up, looking away from the picture, and finds himself surprised at the flash of Tooru’s name on the screen. A quick glance at the time tells him that this is usually the allotted hour that Tooru takes to practice for himself.

He picks up.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Evening, Iwa-chan.”

“How’s it going?”

“Sawamura-kun told me to take a break,” Tooru breathes into the receiver. He’s speaking quietly, gently, like he would back when they had sleepovers, when they were sharing secrets beneath blankets peppered with starlight. Behind Tooru’s voice is the familiar squeaking of sneakers, and the sound of the ball bouncing back and forth on the varnished gym floor.

The fact that Tooru is willingly listening to his friend’s advice warms Hajime’s heart. He’s glad that Tooru is no longer alone, that he’s surrounded by people who work as hard as he does, by people who understand his drive, his hunger to win and improve, and by people who can moderate just how much he pushes himself, should he ever lose sight of what’s important.

The knowledge that Sawamura and Ushijima are the people around Tooru eases Hajime’s conscience, despite their previous relations. Sawamura has a good head on his shoulders, and takes care of Tooru where Hajime cannot anymore. The two ex-captains’ friendship seems to have developed from opponents to mutual admiration.

What surprises Hajime the most is the development between Tooru and Ushijima. Despite their frequent arguing, Tooru has become increasingly defensive of him, to the point where he reportedly punched someone in the face for badmouthing him.

“Look,” Tooru’d explained that night, after getting out of a terse meeting with the peaceful communications counsellor, “he’s an asshole, and a stubborn mule, and I don’t really understand what goes on in that stupid head of his, but only I’m allowed to make fun of him for it. ”

Hajime could empathise, considering those are his exact feelings concerning Tooru. Were anyone to insult him, Hajime would gladly send them running away with their tails between their legs. Nobody could insult his best friend but him.

Tooru sighs into the receiver and Hajime can make out the sound of sneakers on the floor, and a quick shout of ‘get out of the way!’.

“My knee hurts,” he admits, and Hajime resists the urge to stand up.

After all, what is he going to do? He’s not in the same city, not in the same high school anymore. He can’t simply run to the Aoba Jousai campus and pick up Tooru, help him ice his knee to reduce the pain. He leans back into his chair.

“Have you been taking care of it properly?”

Tooru exhales shakily. “I think I pushed it too hard to make it into second string.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

Breathy laughter. “You’re right.”

“Is it okay though?”

“Yeah,” Hajime can hear the rustling of clothing as Tooru no doubt assesses his condition. “It hurts, but it’s nothing a little bit of rest can’t fix. I’ll just take it easy when the season’s over, not push it too hard.”

There’s another lull in the conversation as the both of them reflect.

“So, who’re you facing tomorrow?”

“Ah, there’s no match.”

“No match?”

“We lost, because these idiots are overlooking Ushiwaka’s potential!” Tooru barks, startling Hajime. “He’s better than our current ace by a mile and-” someone shouts something to Tooru, and he quiets down, whispering the next few words to Hajime, like a secret, “and they’re keeping him on second string! They were planning to leave him on third string, and would have, if I hadn’t pushed. It’s like he means nothing! ”

Hajime’s brows raise at the statement. “You’re not upset that they’re keeping you on second string?”

Tooru huffs. “Well, no. I’m mature enough to realise when I’m not good enough, and our current setter is better than me. I’m not going to complain about having front row seats to watch a role model play. Our ace doesn’t even compare to Ushiwaka, and as much as it pains me to say it, this team needs him.”

Hajime grins at Tooru’s resigned tone.

“Don’t worry. You’ll take over and be captain in no time, and Ushiwaka won’t let them hold him down for long. If anything, he’ll just work harder, won’t he?”

The words taste bitter on his tongue, even though he does believe them with all his might. It isn’t that Hajime still feels like he is in a rivalry with Ushijima. After all, he’s left his high school volleyball career behind as a nice memory to look back on when he feels down, but there is something upsetting about Tooru speaking of ‘his ace’ and not referring to Hajime.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs, suddenly, “I feel like I’ve made a mistake.”

Hajime takes a while to process the words, letting their conversation slow to a halt. “Pardon?”

Tooru inhales shakily. “Nothing, nothing. I’ve gotta get back to practice. Don’t slack off now, Iwa-chan! Summer’s almost here!”

.·:* *:·.

[From: Shittykawa]

00:00

          Iwa-chan!!!!! Happy birthday!!! 

          I’m sorry I can’t be there for my poor lonely iwa-chan (つ﹏<)･ﾟ｡

          I’ll make it up to you when I come home, I promise!!!!

[To: Shittykawa]

7:38

           Did you really just stay up until midnight on a Tuesday to wish me a happy birthday

          You’re a dork

          But thanks

[From: Shittykawa]

8:55

          I’ve always been there at midnight to wish you a happy birthday!

          Not about to give up!

          Have a good day Iwa-chan~! (๑>ᴗ<๑)

          Make sure to say hi to your family too!

[To: Shittykawa]

8:57

          Yeah, I will, thanks.

          Take care of yourself out there okay

          Have a good day too

.·:* *:·.

[To: Shittykawa]

00:00

          Hey, happy birthday.

          Wish I could say that in person.

[From: Shittykawa]

00:01

          Awww, Iwa-chan! Wishing me happy birthday exactly at midnight! How cheesy!

         o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

         I’m free later today, so maybe you can say it to me over skype!!!

[To: Shittykawa]

00:05

          Why did I let myself naively think you’d be asleep.

          Spend your birthday nicely, okay

          Do things you want

          If that includes skyping me, then sure.

[From: Shittykawa]

00:10

          Iwa-chan I always want you to be part of my day!

          I'll call you at 7?

[To: Shittykawa] 

00:11

          Yeah

          Okay

.·:* *:·.

Their summer holidays arrive in a flash.

Tooru disappears from the radar, dealing with his own final weeks of the term before their first big break, and Hajime is so busy that he actually manages to push his best friend out of his mind for long enough to hand in all of his papers, essays and tests on time. They only have the time to call each other once, and it reminds Hajime just how much he misses having Tooru by his side during stressful academic moments.

It was always better when Tooru was there to alleviate the mood, to tell Hajime he’s smart, or that he’s dumb, just to give Hajime the opportunity to focus on something other than the hundred calculus problems laid out before him. It was always better when he was there to crack jokes about biology and complain about chemistry, to bring him snacks and drinks and fall asleep at their kitchen tables.

Now, Hajime finds himself alone, or with Hanamaki’s company, the two of them grumbling to each other about getting lunch and their lack of sleep.

Sleep.

By the time Hajime gets out of his final exam, all he wants to do is sleep. He trudges into his house, half-heartedly announcing his presence, stumbles up to his room, drops his bag on the floor at the corner of his bed, and falls face first into the sweet embrace of his comforter.

When he wakes up, the sky is dark, despite the length of the days. He blindly reaches for his phone, finding it at the bottom of his bag, and silently curses himself when he tries to turn it on, but all that greets him is a warning message about the 5 remaining percent of his battery. He didn’t charge it, he’ll have to do that before he goes out with Makki and Mattsun like they’d planned.

His eyes slide down to his notifications. He has three missed calls from Tooru, and a few text messages berating him for not answering his phone, as well as announcing his arrival back to Sendai the following evening.

Hajime smiles down at his screen, at the flurry of emojis and happy faces that Tooru has sent him.

He misses his best friend, sure, but he hopes that will only make their reunion sweeter.

.·:* *:·.

“He’s coming back tomorrow, right? Just in time for pool season.”

“Yeah.”

Hanamaki taps the table with the tip of his fingers, glancing around the joint, before leaning in close enough that Hajime can feel the ghost of his breath against his cheek. It’s uncomfortable, sending shivers down his spine, but not the same shivers as when Tooru leans his head on Hajime’s shoulder.

It’s a premonition: Hajime is conditioned to know when stupidity is bound to leave his friend’s mouth.

“You should tell him,” Hanamaki whispers. Hajime takes a moment to process Hanamaki’s advice. After a few seconds, he still hasn’t figured it out.

“Pardon?”

“Oikawa! You should tell him how you feel.”

Hajime immediately leans away from his friend, the scrape of his chair ringing loud across the restaurant. Thankfully, it simply blends in with the rest of the busy cacophony that accompanies city-centre burger joints.

“That’s ridiculous, and I’m not going to do that.”

“Are we going to ignore the fact that he’s been single this whole time?” Matsukawa interjects, placing a hand between Hajime’s and Hanamaki’s faces. “You said he’d experiment. He hasn’t even tried. Clearly he’s waiting for someone to make a move, and maybe that someone is you.”

“I don’t care that he’s been single,” Hajime retorts. “He’s been busy as hell, he can barely stay awake for our weekly skype calls, I can’t imagine him trying to juggle a love life on top of that. And he’s not waiting for me. What the hell gives you that idea?”

“But what if,” Matsukawa notes, over Hanamaki’s amused squawk of ‘weekly skype calls?! ’, “that love life includes someone he’s already made time for. Like you.”

Stop it, Hajime wants to say, thinking back to the missing second button of Tooru’s uniform blazer. He may not even be single. He may very well have moved on, right under my nose.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Hajime says, instead, and he tries to push as much sincerity into his words as he can, “but I can promise you that confessing won’t do shit for us. You don’t know him like I do, and I can tell you that our friendship will be ruined, if not worse because of my feelings. I’m not going to let that happen.”

I’m too selfish for that.

Matsukawa retreats, leaning back into his chair, and picking up a fry between his thumb and forefinger. “Sure,” he says, bringing the fry up to his eye level and studying it with narrowed eyes. “Sure.”

.·:* *:·.

Hajime is watering his mother’s flower arrangements when Tooru walks down the street, dragging a small suitcase behind him. When he spots Hajime, Tooru excitedly waves at him, before announcing that he’d be coming over soon.

Hajime patiently waits, staring at his unmoving computer screen for an hour, until he hears knocking on the front door. Hajime does not barrel down the stairs like an animal, just to open it before any other member of his family can.

He doesn’t.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru chirps, spreading his arms wide.

Hajime immediately lunges, wrapping his arms around Tooru’s waist and picking him up. “God I missed you,” he mumbles into Tooru’s chest, unable to keep a firm grip over his feelings in the heat of the moment. He feels the vibrations of Tooru’s laughter against his cheek, and wishes he could put Tooru down, kiss him senseless, show him exactly how much he’s missed him.

But the memory of that second button haunts him. The prospect that perhaps, Tooru has been dating this whole time, and their usual affectionate banter may be halted, once again. Their hugs are few and far in between, but they always hold meaning, and Hajime’s been finding it harder and harder not to let his own feelings seep into them.

“I missed you too, Iwa-chan,” Tooru replies, his voice a gentle caress against Hajime’s skin, complemented by warm hands wrapped around the back of his neck. It sounds much better in real life than across a computer screen.

Nothing compares to the real thing.

Nothing.

Hajime puts Tooru down, and they both make their way back into the Iwaizumi household. Tooru talks about his trip here, about an old lady who fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and drooled all over his sweater. Hajime snickers at the mental image of a Tooru, too polite to shove her off, afraid to wake her up, but disgusted by the growing pool of saliva on his clothing. Tooru slaps his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be laughing at my unfortunate circumstances, Iwa-chan!” he whines. “Anyway, I had to change and take a super long, decontaminating shower before I came here, so that’s why it took me so long.”

“Dumbass you know I don’t care about that. I’m just glad you’re here,” Hajime immediately replies, sitting himself down at his computer. Tooru flops down into his bed, sighing into the blankets.

“Smells like my Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, and Hajime promptly turns to the computer to hide his blush. Hajime loves many things about Tooru, but there is one thing Hajime can’t stand: his inability to filter his thoughts. Especially when he’s tired, travel weary and high on the happiness from finally being back home.

Don’t make me hope for things I can’t have, he mentally begs, glancing back at Tooru, who’s made himself at home in Hajime’s comforter. The otherwise dull, throbbing pain at the centre of his heart comes back threefold at Tooru’s words, and he bites his bottom lip to stop his feelings from dripping out of his mouth.

.·:* *:·.

“I’m only staying for a week,” Tooru announces to Hajime. His legs hang off the edge of Hajime’s bed, and he slowly kicks at the air, pressing his toes against the cage of the portable fan places on the bedroom floor. Hajime looks away from his screen to scrutinize Tooru with narrowed eyes. “Coach wants us back in Tokyo on Wednesday for a training camp.”

“So you’re spending most of your summer training?”

Tooru hums. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“I just thought--” Hajime tries to quell the frustration that rises up his throat at Tooru’s feigned ignorance. Tooru knows exactly what he’s thinking about. “I thought you hurt yourself trying to get into second string. If you work any harder now-”

“Iwa-chan, I can take care of myself,” Tooru snaps. “The coach has me on a strict training regimen that includes customary stretches for my weaker knee. I’m not going to run myself to the ground. I’m not a scared 15 year old boy anymore.” His voice lowers, softens. “You made sure of that.”

You’re barely 3 years older than that, Hajime wants to argue, but a part of him also knows that Tooru is stronger, so much stronger than the person he was back at Kitagawa Daiichi. Three years is a long time, when put into perspective. Whether or not Hajime wants to take care of Tooru, he has to trust him first and foremost, has to believe in Tooru’s judgement of his own capabilities.

“I know that,” he replies, quietly. “I still worry. Part of the job and all.”

The heavy atmosphere in the room dissipates along with the tension in Tooru’s shoulders. “I know, Iwa-chan,” he breathes. “I just-- it frustrates me when people treat my knee like a weakness. I wear a brace, that doesn’t make me incapable of playing at my best.”

“I know it doesn’t,” Hajime immediately responds, booting up his video game. “It’s not a weakness. And I trust you not to turn it into one.”

“I know, Iwa-chan.” Hajime can feel Tooru’s smile in the words spoken to him, even though his eyes don’t leave the screen, where a playable character stands, proud. “That’s why you’re the best.”

.·:* *:·.

Tooru wakes him up at 7 the following morning.

“Iwa-chan!” he shouts, charging into Hajime’s room and diving face first into Hajime’s bed. “Let’s go running!”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Hajime growls, struggling to pull his blanket back over his shoulders as Tooru attempts to rip it off him. Does the bastard not remember that they spent their whole night playing video games? “Go run on your own.”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whines, dragging out the vowels of Hajime’s nickname. “You’re not supposed to reject the best friend that you miss so much this easily!”

“I’m very easily rejecting his stupid ass idea to go running in the morning.”

“Please, Iwa-chan!” Tooru begs, shifting his weight, and then the bed dips around Hajime as Tooru throws a leg over his waist, straddling him. Hajime’s face heats up immediately, and he clenches his teeth, willing himself not to overreact, no matter how natural it feels. Tooru’s weight on him is safe, comforting, warm. He wants to stay like this forever, wants to touch Tooru, place his hands on Tooru’s waist and gently kiss his neck, convince him to stay like this, instead of go running.

Tooru’s hands move from his forearms to his shoulders, and he begins violently shaking Hajime again. The magic of having Tooru so close fades immediately, and Hajime throws an arm out to hopefully hit Tooru somewhere that’ll make him back off.

Hajime’s hand collides with Tooru’s cheek, and he yelps, falling to the side. Hajime bounces along with him, and slowly, very slowly, raises his head from his pillow, opening a single eye, to find himself face to face with Tooru. His cheeks are red, his eyes shiny, and he’s biting his lip to suppress a grin. His hair is tousled, tufts curling against his cheek and forehead, some sticking up at odd angles.

God, he’s beautiful.

Hajime breathes out a defeated sigh. “Give me 20 minutes?”

.·:* *:·.

Running together in the morning brings back memories of their time together in middle and high school.

Hajime doesn’t reminisce. After all, it’s only been a few months since their graduation. The novelty of university has worn off, but now Hajime looks to the future, much like Tooru does. His high school years are still fresh in his mind, not quite well worn memories yet, just treasures kept for later.

It’s a quiet time, between the both of them. They work on regulating their breathing, on putting each foot in front of the other, on looking forward and not back. Tooru speaks up only when he asks whether Hajime wants to run into Sendai, or into the forest path behind the city. Hajime chooses the forest.

It’s cooler beneath the trees, and there’s less temptation to stop by a combini and purchase ice cream with the spare change he knows is still in his pocket, from his last run to the grocery store. It jingles with every step he takes, and he has half a mind to throw it out, but knows Tooru would make a big fuss out of wasting a few hundred yen.

They stop when they reach the spot where the path begins going uphill. Hajime bends over, bracing his hands on his knees, and focuses on reining his breathing back to normal. Tooru, on the other hand, looks barely affected by their hour of exercise. His breathing is light, there’s only a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, and he’s standing without effort, hand resting on a cocked hip, gaze sweeping along the path and the trees around them.  

“How much does he work you?” Hajime wheezes.

Tooru turns to him, tilting his head. A bead of sweat runs down his cheek. “Who?”

“Your coach.”

Tooru smiles. “Oh, him. He’s difficult. Works us like horses. Though I suppose I have to be thankful to him that I’m not a gross, gasping pig like you are right now, Iwa-chan!”

“I will end your life.”

“You would never.”

Hajime makes an unconvinced sound, glancing around his surroundings. The light of the morning sun filters through the leaves, landing in scattered spots on the gravel path, bathing the rocks in a golden glow. The sound of birds echoes from all around them, though they sound close, most likely above them.

It would be romantic, he thinks, was he not sweaty, out of breath, and contemplating murder.

“Depends,” he retorts, gesturing around them, “here, nobody would find the body.”

Tooru feigns horror, draping a hand over his forehead and swaying on the spot in mock-nausea, a picture perfect damsel in distress. “Whatever shall I do? Stuck here in this dark forest-” Hajime snorts, “-at the mercy of this violent brute!”

“Dumbass,” Hajime barks in an attempt to be threatening, but he’s having a hard time keeping his mouth tugged down into a frown, and soon, the both of them are breathlessly laughing at each other.

“I missed this,” Tooru confesses. “I can’t really talk like that around Dai-chan. He’s way too savage- don’t laugh! He hurts my feelings more than you do. And Ushiwaka-chan is… well, Ushiwaka-chan. Wouldn’t know a joke if you slapped him in the face with it.”

Hajime looks at Tooru. “You still call him that? Even after getting over your whole ‘I’ll crush him’?”

Tooru runs his fingers through his sweaty bangs. “He will always be Ushiwaka-chan to me. No amount of friendship will change that.”

The I miss this too remains silent between the both of them, acknowledged.

.·:* *:·.

They find themselves at the open clearing that has served as their hiding spot ever since they were old enough to venture out of their neighborhood. The grass has grown out of hand, reaching the middle of their calves, as opposed to the trimmed park it used to be back in their childhood days. Tooru takes three steps into this mini jungle, and then promptly falls over.

Hajime’s first reaction is to laugh. Tooru does, too, chuckles rumbling through his chest, and then rolls over on his back. He lifts a hand, and crooks his finger in a come-hither motion, to beckon Hajime over.

“It’s surprisingly comfortable,” he says. Hajime shakes his head in amused exasperation, but doesn’t argue.

“Thought you didn’t like bugs.”

“I don’t.”

 “You know this place is probably crawling with them, right? Ants, beetles, that sorta thing. You sure you want to risk your perfect coiffure?”

“Oh shut up,” Tooru snips. “So long as they’re not bees and are not threatening your life, I’m alright for now.”

Hajime chuckles, lying down next to him and making himself comfortable, stretching his legs out. The grass feels cool against the overheated skin of his neck, arms and legs. It feels like they’re back to being children, when bugs were the scariest things they had to face.

“I missed your birthday,” Tooru says, quietly. Hajime knows he’s kicking himself for it, probably has been ever since he left for Tokyo knowing neither of them would be able to spend time together on their birthdays. Hajime has never really treasured his, never considered the date special, but Tooru likes celebrating, likes counting down to events and national holidays, so he's always indulged him. 

“I missed yours,” he retorts.

Tooru sighs. “Just sending a text didn’t feel good enough. I wanted to get a present for you, but I didn't know what to get. I'll make you a cake when I come back during the winter.”

Hajime laughs. “Alright. Don't kill me, please.”

Tooru bristles. "As if my cooking has ever harmed you! You love it when I cook, don't lie." 

“In your dreams, master chef. You have years to go before I love anything that you make."

"Have I mentioned that you're the worst yet? Because you're the worst, Iwa-chan."

Hajime chuckles. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Speaking of me being the worst, I actually got you a birthday present. A new brace."

"Oh!" Tooru shuffles closer to him. "Mine has been getting so smelly lately, it'll be nice to have a fresh one. Thanks, Iwa-chan! Can't wait to use it."

Hajime hums. He'd agonised over what to get Tooru for his birthday for the longest time, though he did end up settling on something volleyball related. Hajime wanted this one gift to be special, wanted it to be something that Tooru wouldn't be able to forget. He'd seen a few video game figurines that Tooru would no doubt have been ecstatic to add to his collection, and Hajime strongly considered buying it, because nobody else really knows just how passionate Tooru gets about his games. But Hajime also wants to see that Tooru still wears Hajime's touch, even if isn't intimate. 

So he'd settled on the brace.

There’s a moment of silence between the both of them, comfortable, as they contemplate the near future. He closes his eyes, breathes in the clean forest air. It smells like grass, and morning dew, and the sun is nice and warm against his face, a contrast to the cool grass against his neck. He can hear Tooru shuffle by his side, and he wonders if he’s ever felt more at peace than at this exact moment.

“You look tired, Iwa-chan,” Tooru notes.

“That’s because I am. Can’t remember the last time I slept properly.”

A pause.

“Sorry for waking you up so early this morning.”

He knows Tooru is half pouting, half honestly remorseful.

“It’s fine. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have come. Besides, you’d get lost without me anyway.”

Tooru doesn’t reply, though Hajime doesn’t expect one. They both know that, without each other, they’d both get a little lost, out there, where life suddenly seems a lot grander than it was when high school level volleyball was all they thought about.

As the silence stretches between them, Tooru begins humming, a soft tune that Hajime thinks he recognizes from an American TV show they used to watch together. The Japanese dub was horrible, but the storyline was entertaining. Something about girls saving the universe together, through friendship, through budding love.

Tooru always loved that show. He’d come to Hajime’s house and yell about it being on the TV, and they’d both watch it together. Tooru would grasp his hand tight when the fights occurred, and when the protagonists discussed feelings, when it was revealed that the heroes, too, had weaknesses, Tooru would link his arm with Hajime’s, and lay his head on Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime, too, loved it. For different reasons than Tooru, though. He loved it because it brought a smile to Tooru’s face, confidence to his step, and a flush to his cheeks. He loved it because, when he reached the age of 13 and realised that maybe, maybe he was different than others, it taught him that it was alright.

Because where his friends looked at magazines and rated the different women showcased, Hajime wanted to rate each and every one of Tooru’s smiles, from most beautiful to most breathtaking.

“I’m proud of you, Iwa-chan.”

“Huh?”

“I’m just,” Tooru flounders, pulling at the grass beneath his fingers, “I’m proud of you. For moving forward like that. For working toward your goals. For -- for taking on something difficult and,” he pauses, “and making it through, without telling me that you can’t do it. You’re the best.”

“Oikawa?”

“Yeah?”

“That was so cheesy.”

“Rude! I was living in the moment! I was letting myself sink into the atmosphere, opening up my heart and soul to you! I was being sensitive and honest!”

“Oh boy, a rarity.”

“Shut up! You went and trashed my effort! Idiot!”

Hajime laughs, a bright, open sound that surprises even himself, so much that he cuts himself off abruptly. He glances at Tooru, wide eyed, and Tooru looks at him with the same expression on his face, before he smiles too, a few giggles slipping from between his lips.

“Oikawa?”

“What is it?”

“I’m-” Hajime’s breath hitches in his throat as he considers his next few words. He could do it all right here. Hanamaki’s words echo inside his head, like nothing else is occupying his thoughts but Tooru: confess, confess!

I love you, he could say. I’ve been in love with you for quite a while, actually. You’re beautiful, inside and out, and I am so lucky to be your best friend. Even if I want more. Your laugh makes me feel like I’m melting. Your smile keeps me alive. Those past few months have been torture, not just because I miss you, but because I probably miss you more than you’ll ever miss me.

“I’m proud of you, too. For everything you’ve managed so far. For everything you’ll achieve. I’m proud that you didn’t let your rivalries stand in the way of your success, and that you got over your high school grudges this quickly, this seamlessly. You’ll be an Olympian in no time, and you can bet your bony ass I’ll be cheering from the front row.”

“Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re so cheesy! If you wanted to capture the great Oikawa-san’s heart you j- ow!”

.·:* *:·.

Having a single week out of the next 4 months to spend with Tooru makes Hajime feel as if their time together is slipping through his fingers, like sand.

On the final day of Tooru’s stay, after many days spent together simply lying on the porch of the Iwaizumi household, two fans pointed at the both of them and ice cubes melting on their bare chests, Tooru asks for the both of them to go back to that ice cream shop.

“Aren’t you kind of upset that your summer’s being taken away from you like that?” Hajime asks over his scoop of ice cream.

Tooru digs his own spoon into his massive arrangement of chocolate, vanilla and caramel ice cream.

“Not really,” he says with a shrug. “I mean I’m having fun, our team is good, and Ushiwaka isn’t as intolerable once you’re on the same side of the court as he is. Our captain is friendly, our official setter has a load of tricks that he promised to teach me when we reached the camp, so honestly, I can’t wait!”

“You don’t miss Miyagi?” Hajime asks. He does not do it with the intention of making him feel bad, he’s simply surprised that Tooru, who had never spent any time outside of the Miyagi prefecture before moving out to Tokyo, is adjusting so easily to a life away from everything familiar to him.

“Of course I do,” Tooru replies easily. “Every day I wonder if I didn’t make a mistake moving away. But right now, Tokyo is where I should be.”

.·:* *:·.

Hajime returns to school wishing he’d spent more time in bed.

Classes pick back up in full speed the moment Hajime even steps foot into a lecture hall, and he quickly finds himself swamped with so much work that he wonders why he didn’t take it easy during the first term, where the teachers still had an inkling of mercy left in them.

It helps, to have something to take his mind off Tooru.

It helps, to have something to focus on rather than the strange pressure building in his chest with each passing second.

.·:* *:·.

“Iwaizumi-kun?”

Hajime looks up at the person talking to him. She’s a cute girl, brown, curled hair cut in a short bob. He recognises her from his calculus class, but he also knows that she is part of the Tohoku girls’ volleyball team.

“Yeah?”

She smiles at him, her cheeks tinted a pretty pink. “I’m Michimiya Yui,” she introduces herself, “I was wondering, since you always walk around on campus alone and you look pretty, sorry, lonely? God, that makes it sound like I’m stalking you, I’m not, I swear. I just see you around a lot.”

Hajime chuckles as she fumbles through her words. “It’s alright,” he assures her.

She takes a deep breath, before continuing. “Anyway, my friends and I usually go out on Fridays. It’s only 5 of us, not too big of a group, but you know, we go around the city’s restaurants and rate them out of 10. Our goal is to visit every single one by the end of our four years here, uhm, I feel like you’d like it with us, so I was wondering if you’d like to join us sometime?”

Sounds like something Tooru would do, is the first thing that pops up into Hajime’s mind. The thought warms his chest, though. Maybe it’ll feel familiar to spend time joking around like that.

“Yeah, actually. Sounds fun. When are you guys going out next? I’ll see if I can join you.”

She grins at him, before she pulls her phone from  her pocket and quickly scrolls through something, no doubt her calendar. “Friday?” she finally asks.

Friday is the day his skype call with Tooru is usually scheduled. Hajime’s sure he can juggle both.

“Yeah, that should be fine.”

.·:* *:·.

Friday rolls around, and Hajime couldn’t be in a better mood. His call with Tooru was alright, although he did have to cut it short for this date with potential new friends, but the pressure in his chest alleviated, just a tiny bit, when Tooru’s face lit up at the mention of Hajime’s new friends.

That evening, Hajime has more fun than he has had in months. Michimiya’s friends are nice, introduce themselves as ex-Karasuno students, though Hajime doesn’t recognise any of them from the boy’s volleyball team.

They share Hajime’s sense of humour, and he integrates very quickly into their group. Soon, two of them have their arms slung over his shoulder, the three of them taking up the entire sidewalk, as they explain their rating system for the restaurant.

“If it’s a burger joint,” one of them says, “then we rate the bun, the service, but also the mustard.”

The service? In a burger joint? Hajime can’t wait to tell Tooru about how weird these guys are.

“Not the ketchup?” Hajime queries. The guy shakes his head.

“Nope, the mustard. Ketchup is gross either way.”

Hajime imagines the thousand arguments Tooru would have against that, and he briefly considers defending the condiment simply for Tooru's honour. Quickly, the thoughts melt into questions such as how Tooru would get along with these people, whether he’d help Hajime settle in, whether they’d approve of him, whether he'd approve of them.

“If it’s a ramen shop, ‘scuse me, if it’s a ramen shop, then we rate the squishiness of the noodles.”

Hajime raises a questioning brow. “Those are some weird… criteria.”

One of them shrugs. “Part of the game.”

Hajime chuckles. These people make no sense, but this kind of humour reminds him of his high school years, of spending time with Matsukawa and Hanamaki back when they were just first years, and getting used to each other. He likes this feeling, likes to be shown that he belongs somewhere, even without Tooru by his side.

Michimiya’s laugh is melodious, and it sounds like Tooru’s, and he spends most of the evening trying to hear it, again and again.

.·:* *:·.

Every waking moment alongside Michimiya reminds Hajime just how much he misses Tooru.

Not that she reminds him of Tooru, herself, despite the fact that their laughter is similar, but because their interests are the same. Hajime wonders how much fun Tooru would have during their outings. He finds himself missing the casual, horrible banter that they throw at each other, the teasing jabs, the off hand insults.

His friendship with Michimiya has solidified into something strong, and they spend a lot of time together, revising together when Hanamaki and Matsukawa cannot join him, eating lunch together when they share a pre-lunch calculus class, and going out together every Friday, with the ragtag bunch of ex-Karasuno students that Hajime has somehow become a part of.

Their friendly conversations and teasing jabs are there, they often make fun of Hajime for his moonstruck expression whenever he looks down at his phone, and wonder what his girlfriend's name is. Hajime keeps the joke running, doesn't really want to tell them that he's pining after his best friend, has been for years, and they keep their teasing lighthearted. 

They're a nice distraction from his abundant school work, and they're definitely a refreshing start to the weekend, right before Hajime tackles essays, papers and labs alike. 

But they're not Tooru.

None of them give him the same sense of comfort, of safety, that tells him simply be yourself, Hajime, good or bad, I’ll still be here, like Tooru does.

.·:* *:·.

It hurts, being in love with your best friend.

Hajime is intimately familiar with the ache, the dull pain in his chest, throbbing with each beat of his heart. It started all the way their middle school years, back when Tooru started receiving all those confessions, and Hajime was unsure whether he’d come back, his fingers laced with a pretty girl’s.

It continued through high school, with Tooru as popular as ever, as handsome as ever, as charismatic as ever.

But it gets worse over time.

The longer Hajime spends with a mere few texts as their communication, the larger the void in his chest grows, threatening to swallow every part of him.

It’s a fragile peace, being in love with your best friend.

Hajime has spent years perfecting the solid ground that he stands on, a stable, familiar place where his feelings for Tooru do not stand in the way of their friendship. He's spent years keeping those affectionate thoughts under lock and key, somewhere where no one could find them, not even himself.

Now, though, Hajime finds himself in an unfamiliar place. The distance that Tooru has placed between the both of them, unintentionally, simply by moving, has carved potholes, placed tripwires everywhere Hajime tries to find stability. It has exposed Hajime's feelings, not only to outsiders, but to himself, forcing them into the light.

He finds himself waking up, sweat sticking to his sheets, the last remnants of his dreams clinging to his consciousness, the feel of Tooru’s lips against his, three words whispered in Tooru’s voice, a ghost of a touch, of a sound; a lance through his heart.

He finds himself bent over the toilet bowl, his feelings rising up his throat like bile, and wondering whether his pain would end should he just confess.

He finds himself unconsciously smiling blearily at Tooru's video feed, wanting nothing more than to reach across the screen and hold his best friend tight. 

It's dangerous, being in love with your best friend. 

.·:* *:·.

“I think I should head off,” Tooru tells Hajime, his voice dipping into a whisper. “We have to be up for practice at 6.”

Hajime glances at the clock at his bedside, the ominous 2:24 AM glaring back at him. “What the hell are you doing up, you idiot,” he grunts, half heartedly. He’s tired, too. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, to keep focused on the laptop screen in front of him, but any time spent with Tooru, whether digitally or not, is a luxury that he isn’t willing to give up.

The only thing he can currently see is tufts of Tooru’s hair, brown curls peeking from the corner of the screen.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Tooru admits, words muddled with fatigue. “We didn’t get to call last week.”

Hajime hums, can’t control the giddy smile that takes over his face at Tooru’s admission, at the confirmation that he is still important to Tooru. He chuckles to himself, waving his hands in front of him as if he were attempting to whack the back of Tooru’s head for being so damn cheesy.

“Go to sleep.”

“I will.” There’s a shift on the screen, and Tooru’s face, paled by the blue light of his own laptop, comes into view. He has dark circles under his half-lidded eyes, and his mouth is hanging open, drool shining on his chin from when he dozed off a few minutes ago, but he’s so goddamn beautiful, even like this.

“I miss you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, a small smile playing on those pink lips of his, though they currently look purple in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Miss you too,” Hajime slurs, belatedly, eyes closed of their own volition, “I love you.”

Immediately, the exhaustion that was weighing him down against his bedsheets vanishes, making way for horror. He sits up in a flash, terrified that Tooru has heard and processed his words, but the screen of his laptop is dark, the call ended a minute ago.

He presses a hand to his chest, where his heart thrashes against his ribs, fighting their tight confines, like a caged animal who's had its first taste of freedom.

Oh God.

.·:* *:·.

Anxiety plagues his every waking moments after his incident. He only has four weeks to go before he can see Tooru, before he can see his best friend and alleviate the pressure in his chest, the one somehow forcing him to be honest with himself, but he's terrified.

Terrified that he'll spill everything accidentally, that a sleep muddled mind will screw him over once again. Terrified that he'll accidentally tell Tooru that he loves him, again. Terrified of Tooru's reaction, of the expected awkward laughter, and inevitable cut contact. 

Every time he says goodbye to Tooru, he makes sure to be curt, polite. He tells Tooru that he misses him, but does not let himself say anymore, lest he open his mouth only for his heart to jump out of it.

He amps up what feels familiar, throwing insults where he would have thrown an endeared compliment, and it feels natural, a little. He doesn't let his guard down, though, reads, and re-reads his texts, barely mutters his goodbyes before he's hanging up the phone, doesn't turn on his camera anymore, during skype calls, because he's always grinning like an idiot, and Tooru isn't dumb, he's not blind, he'll see, he'll see, he'll see, and if that ever happens, Hajime's peace will shatter. 

.·:* *:·.

The last month of the trimester is brutal. He'd been warned by a few alumni that it wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but Hajime wasn't prepared for the first year of medical training to be this difficult, especially considering that he wasn't even studying medicine yet. Hajime finds himself buried under school work, unable to leave the library for most nights, simply trying to fit as much knowledge into his brain as he possibly can before the finals start. Hanamaki gives up studying with him, because dealing with a grumpy, sleep-deprived, coffee driven Hajime is apparently a death sentence that he is not willing to test. 

Hajime is spending his second night in a row in the library, about to fall asleep, when his phone buzzes, startling him into some kind of coherent state. Hajime glances at the screen, seeing Tooru's name.

[From: Shittykawa]

          Iwa-chan!

          Did you know giraffes have four stomachs

Hajime smiles. Tooru has always been like this, sending Hajime strange late-night texts with useless trivia, but that's what he does before going to sleep. He browses wikipedia pages, obscure conspiracy theory sites, watches documentaries on deep sea marine life, and then sends everything that he finds interesting to Hajime. 

The smile drops from his face at the familiar ache tugging at his heart, with more force than it did back when they were first separated. He wonders if it will ever fade, if he'll ever be able to talk to Tooru without feeling like he walked himself into the sharp end of a sword. 

Hajime places the phone back down on the table, leaving his response for later, when he’s less susceptible to heartache.

But, two hours into his gruelling biology and chemistry revision session, he forgets to reply after all.

.·:* *:·.

[From: Shittykawa]

          Iwa-chan!!!!! Call me!!!!!

          Right now!!!

[To: Shittykawa]

          What the fuck shittykawa I’m in class

          Is it important

          Do I need to take a bathroom break

          Yo, asshole, at least reply

[Call: 23:44 minutes]

[To: Shittykawa]

          Can’t believe you made me skip the end of my calculus lecture just so you could brag.

          You’re so shitty.

I love it when you do tho

I love seeing

You sounded so cu

          Congrats though

          You’re gonna kick ass at nationals.

You’re amazi

I love y

Don’t train too h

Be care

I’ve always believed in

[From: Shittykawa]

          ヾ（〃＾∇＾）ﾉ♪

          Support me, okay!!!!?????

[To: Shittykawa]

          Who do you think I am

          Of course I’ll support you

I love

.·:* *:·.

“You gonna skip today?” Michimiya asks as Hajime walks her from their lunch date to their calculus lecture.

“Yeah,” Hajime admits. “It’s nationals, you know, it airs live during the day and I-”

She rolls her eyes, playful. “You need to see him, you need to support him, yes, we’ve heard it all, Iwaizumi-kun. Go on then,” she interrupts herself by punching him in the shoulder with all her strength, sending Hajime stumbling into the wall, “support your boyfriend!”

Hajime inhales sharply, and accidentally chokes on his spit. He doubles over, clamping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from spitting everywhere. A few students around them jump back, before awkwardly shuffling around the both of them. Michimiya hovers, however, her hands gentle as she places them on Hajime's shoulders, trying to process his reaction, trying to make sure he's not dying. 

“My what ?” Hajime wheezes.

“Your,” Michimiya seems more hesitant, now, “your boyfriend?” She slaps a hand over her forehead, groaning. “I’m so sorry! It’s the way you talk about him, you know, you smile like-- oh god, I don’t know, my brother, when he talks about his girlfriend, or me, when I think about-- I assumed and you know what? I shouldn’t have, and I’m so sorry. ”

“No,” Hajime says, smiling despite the way his chest aches at the admission, “no, it’s alright. I just didn’t expect that. But, yeah, we’re not dating. He’s just my best friend.”

“Just?” she queries, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” Hajime murmurs, the pressure in his chest returning full force, curling around his heart and squeezing until he feels like it might snap in half. “Just.”

.·:* *:·.

Hajime loads up the live stream before he’s even taken off his coat. He plops down at his desk, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of his neck from how stifling his room is, and watches as the web page loads, slowly.

The live stream cameras are currently focused on two commentators, introducing Tooru’s team, as well as the opposing team. Hajime looks at the timer beneath their names, at the 20 minutes left until the match starts. Hajime begins absentmindedly unzipping his coat, shrugging it off, entirely focused on the screen, eyes searching for the familiar flash of Tooru’s unruly hair.

It takes an hour until Tooru is called to the court, although Hajime does catch a few snippets of him here and there, waiting on the bench.

Tooru looks regal as he runs onto the court, waving at someone up in the stands. The line of his shoulders, the way he holds his head high, he's proud, beautiful, confident. He takes his spot as pinch server, though Hajime can tell that he still hasn’t gotten into his game mode, because his eyes are wandering, mapping out the court and spotting the cameras around it.

Chuo's white and blue uniform looks good on him, if not slightly unfamiliar. The number 18 is printed across his chest, different from the proud 1 he used to wear back in Aoba Jousai, but no less impressive. Hajime’s eyes wander, lingering on the long lines of Tooru’s legs, impressive even through a screen, and catch at the white brace on his right knee. It’s the one he’d given Tooru for his birthday, a stark white compared to the cream coloured one Tooru’d worn down.

Hajime hides his grin in his hand, huffing out silent laughter into the curve of his palm. What the hell, he thinks. Why does that make me so happy?

Tooru waves to the stands again, most likely to some girls that have come out to watch the game. The commentators begin prattling out facts about him, that he’s a first year, that his volleyball career is impressive, that he was crowned the best setter in Miyagi during middle, and the best all around player in high school, before coming to Tokyo for his scholarship at Chuo, ready to take on the world.

Tooru catches the ball, bounces it a few times in front of him, before getting into position, holding it out in front of him. It’s then that Hajime sees it, the complete transformation that Tooru goes through during a game. There are no traces of the goofy, silly Tooru who loves milk bread, who drools in his sleep, and cries when he loses his spoon in his cereal bowl. His gaze hardens, focusing on the opposing team, the fire normally simmering beneath those irises blazing bright, even through the screen. A shiver runs down Hajime’s spine. He loves this side of Tooru, the one ready to overcome, to destroy, to conquer.

Tooru tosses the ball into the air, takes two steps, before he’s in the air, his hand coming down against the ball with a thunderous clap.

Hajime’s mouth drops open at the speed with which the ball travels to the other side of the court. The spectators immediately begin shouting about the service ace, off the libero, no less!, and Hajime finds himself hooting and hollering into the silence of his house, thankful that his parents aren't here to hear him, throwing his arms into the air and kicking at his desk, excitement coursing through his veins like he, too, is part of the game.

He is so proud. Proud that Tooru can finally show off his skills, proud that he can be on the court, alongside other future pros, that he can show the rest of the world just how much this sport means to him.  

.·:* *:·.

When Tooru calls him after their first two wins, Hajime doesn’t pick up, too distracted by the beautiful sight of his best friend on the court, rewinding the video only to be met with Tooru’s feral grin, again and again.

.·:* *:·.

They lose on the third round.

Hajime bites into his bottom lip so hard that it bleeds, feeling the stress of Tooru’s team like he is part of it as well. Ushijima is pulled out during the first set, replaced by another player, no doubt the ace Tooru had complained to Hajime about before. Hajime can see what Tooru meant by the difference in the both of them, and why Tooru doesn't particularly like him.

Where Ushijima is reliable, an ace that a setter would feel safe tossing to, the current ace of Chuo is a seesaw in terms of power and dependability. He's unpredictable, and Hajime notices a few times in the game where the lead setter is simply hesitant to toss, weakening the overall bond between the players on Chuo's side of the court.

When Tooru is brought in as a pinch server, he misses his only serve, at a match point, costing his team the second set.

Hajime knows he’ll blame himself for it.

That day, Hajime is the one to call, though Tooru doesn’t pick up at all.

.·:* *:·.

Tooru disappears once for a few days, after his loss. Hajime lets him mourn, lets him freak out, though he does check up on Tooru through Daichi. He finds that it's easier to talk to the former Karasuno captain. Sending him texts doesn't make Hajime feel like he's waking up a dormant monster, wrapped around his heart, forcing it to curl tighter and tighter until his heart is no longer functional. 

Tooru reappears after a few days, sending Hajime the usual, easy flowing hundreds of texts, although each time Hajime thinks of replying, a familiar pressure returns to his chest, forcing him to put his phone down and wait until later, when he no longer feels like throwing up just at the mere thought of his best friend. Except, there is no later, and the texts pile up, to the point that if Hajime tries to answer all of them, he'd be writing an essay the size of a thesis. 

Hajime has never been good with feelings. He was good enough at handling them in high school, when Hajime could see Tooru every day, when he was Tooru's anchor, when Tooru relied on him, and he relied on Tooru. But now, now they're both expected to move on, to find the greater things in life, and Hajime doesn't find anything, really. He finds himself lost, finds himself fumbling blindly through emotions he's never thought himself capable of having. 

Hajime isn't good with feelings, has never been, so he runs. 

Tooru does send him a few worried messages, a few have I done something wrong? and please talk to me, but Hajime simply uses the excuse that he is busy. After all, he's not lying. School has buried him under work, and he really does need to focus on his homework, not on just how much he wishes Tooru was here to curl up in his arms. 

.·:* *:·.

“He’s coming back soon, isn’t he?”

“Like, next week,” Hanamaki says, whipping out his phone and scrolling through his recent texts. “Yeah, next Wednesday.”

Hajime freezes. He didn't know, but considering the pile of texts that he'd been putting off answering, Tooru has probably told him so a few times. He resists the urge to slap himself, or to slam his forehead down on the counter in front of him, opting instead to chew his chicken with fervour. 

Stupid, he berates himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He's been such a terrible best friend, but he doesn't know what to do anymore. He's dug himself a hole he can't even think of crawling out of, and Tooru stands outside of it, confused, hurt, maybe. 

“Did you know?” Hanamaki asks.

Hajime shrugs.

“Oh my God," Hanamaki groans, pressing his forehead against the table. "You two are so stupid." 

"Oi." 

“Have you even seen his Twitter lately?" Hanamaki leans forward, sliding his phone across to Hajime. The screen rests on Tooru's twitter profile. Hajime reads the description of his account and scoffs at how suave Tooru's made himself sound. Cool beauty my ass, Oikawa. He hopes that, even from Tokyo, Tooru can feel how unimpressed he is. 

"Scroll down," Hanamaki instructs him, "all he does is bitch about-"

"I don't check his Twitter," Hajime immediately grumbles, although he absentmindedly scrolls down a few tweets. His eyes land on a photo that Tooru posted the day prior. It's a selfie, of him and Ushijima. "I don't even have an account!" 

“Seems like he’s getting along well with Ushijima,” Matsukawa points out, interrupting their argument. He's also scrolling through Tooru’s Twitter profile. “They have a whole two selfies together!”

“Character development,” Hanamaki replies around a mouthful of noodles.

Hajime snorts. Matsukawa grins, turning his screen around and showing the exact photo that Hajime was looking at. Tooru has his signature peace sign pressed into his cheek, and to his left, Ushijima stands, looking into the camera with a facial expression as stoic as ever, although, Hajime notes, there is a slight tilt to his lips. Like he’s smiling. The caption reads “Ice cream date with Ushiwaka-chan~!”

He looks good. Cute. Something twists in Hajime's stomach, and he pushes his bowl of udon away, hunger fading.

“I still hate that guy,” Matsukawa says, matter of fact, shutting off his screen and dragging Hajime's bowl closer to him.

“Why the hell are they eating ice cream when it’s almost Christmas?”

Matsukawa raises an eyebrow, before shrugging, picking up Hajime's untouched chicken and taking a bite out of it. Hajime kicks his stool. He watches Hanamaki scroll through more of Tooru's profile, before he evidently gets bored, pushing his phone away and digging into his own food once again. Hajime waits for Matsukawa to finish his chicken, before he reaches into the bowl and pulls out some of the left over noodles.

“Are you alright with this?” Matsukawa suddenly asks. Hajime watches him, a single noodle hanging from his limp mouth, before his gaze flicks to Hanamaki, who has the same question in his eyes.

“Are you kidding?” he replies, quickly sucking up the noodle. “If there’s anyone I’m scared of, it’s not Ushiwaka.”

“You’re not jealous?” Hanamaki questions dubiously.

Of course I am, Hajime wants to reply. Whenever he hears Ushijima’s name fall from Tooru’s mouth, he wants to hang up, wants to disappear. Ushijima gets to see Tooru everyday, gets to see him in the mornings when he eats breakfast and gets to see him asleep on the couch when he stays up too late watching those ridiculous documentaries of his. He gets to see Tooru cook, he gets to see Tooru on the court, he gets to see Tooru stepping out of the shower with his hair all curled up.

But he’s not supposed to have feelings for his best friend.

“Not particularly,” he grumbles, turning back to his food.

.·:* *:·.

“Tooru called. He told me you weren’t answering his texts but that he’s taking the 5 o’clock train. Are you going to pick him up?” his mother asks, placing the folded laundry at the edge of his bed. The pile slightly tips over when she pulls her hands away from it, and Hajime watches as a single pair of socks are tipped off balance and land on the floor with a quiet thump.

“Yes,” he replies, glancing up and focusing on the tiny bobblehead figure still sitting on his windowsill. It was originally Tooru’s, actually, one that he’d won at the arcade, back when they were barely old enough to venture out there on their own. Tooru’s mother had been adamant on not letting her son close to the roads, but after a few tantrums and a few promises on Hajime’s side, she’d reluctantly let her son go.

Tooru had bragged about winning that damn figure all the way home, cradling it against his chest and laughing as he poked the bulbous green head and watched it wiggle on the spot. Hajime, back then, felt upset with the figure for an inexplicable reason. He thought perhaps it was because Tooru’s attention had been so easily snatched away from him.

That very day had been the same day Hajime had collapsed with the flu, and Tooru had relinquished his ownership of it in the blink of an eye.

It'll save you, Iwa-chan ! he’d declared, proudly handing the figure over to Hajime, who could barely raise his hands to take it from him.

It hadn’t miraculously healed him, and Hajime had remained bedridden for an entire week, but like everything with Tooru, the thought behind an action says a million things more than the action itself.

He’d stared at the figure, placed on his windowsill, for a long moment, before a grin had taken over his face and he’d whispered a single sentence to it.

“I win.”

.·:* *:·.

Hajime arrives a whole ten minutes before the train from Tokyo is scheduled to arrive. Feeling sheepish, Hajime buys himself a warm drink from an available vending machine, and sits down at a bench.

He zones out until the screech of the train coming to a half snaps him out of his thoughts. He jumps up, the can of warm coffee still in his fingers, still full, barely touched. When people begin filing out of the train, Hajime walks to the third car, knowing full well Tooru is going to walk out of it. He never sits down in any other, always makes sure to show up way early so he can claim an early seat.

Tooru likes control over small things like that.

When he finally does walk out of the car, with a cream coloured beanie over his head and a dark blue plaid scarf wrapped around his neck, Hajime feels like running to him. He feels like barreling straight through the crowd of people coming down from the train, simply to wrap his arms around Tooru's waist and pick him up, twirl him around, muffling his laughter in the navy blue material of Tooru's coat, just as they’d done during the summer.

But if he does, he’ll kiss him.

So instead, he raises a gloved hand, and waves it, watches recognition settle across Tooru's features.

And, as always, after recognition comes that smile. It's the slow, bright one, the one that rises in intensity much like the sun in the early Sendai morning, the one that warms the skin of Hajime’s cheeks and the place where his heart rests. It’s the smile that Hajime has missed the most.

There’s a distant look in his eyes, though, like his mind is up there in the clouds with the sun, and not quite here, down on Earth, where Hajime is.

"Iwa-chan!" Tooru calls out over the cacophony of the crowd, feet carrying him forward despite the fact that Hajime knows he’s not really looking at the people in front of him, not even him.

"Oikawa," Hajime says, in turn, when Tooru is close enough to hear. Tooru's suitcase drags along the station's paved floor as he pulls it behind him, and the sound cuts short when he stops, merely a meter away from Hajime. It’s a lot more distance than he usually would leave.

"I missed you," Tooru says, and within those words, Hajime notices a tiny waver. Tooru sounds like like he stands on uneven ground, testing each of his steps and each of his words, and Hajime feels a sudden twist of worry, at the bottom of his stomach. He looks down at the floor.

“I missed you too,” he replies, an honest admission.

When he looks up, Tooru is watching him with an unreadable expression. Hajime presses his lips together, wills himself not to reach over and cup Tooru’s cheeks, press a small kiss to the corner of Tooru’s mouth.

“Don’t seem too eager to see me,” Tooru quips, a contingent jab at Hajime’s facial expression. Hajime considers punching him in the shoulder. That would be normal, for the both of them, he reasons.

He settles for slapping Tooru’s hands away from his suitcase, muttering ‘idiot,’ under his breath. Tooru chuckles above him.

“Mean,” he whines, “you’re not supposed to call me an idiot the moment I get off the train.”

“If you stop being an idiot, maybe I will. Until then, you can count on me being honest.” About some things, at least.

Tooru huffs. “Here I am, making the whole trip back for you, and this is how you treat me.” He lets Hajime pull his suitcase along, though, always has been one to push tiny little things like that onto Hajime, the bastard. Hajime’s always welcomed them openly, has always loved spoiling him too.

“I will throw your suitcase into the nearest trash bin, don’t think I won’t.”

Tooru drapes himself over Hajime’s shoulders and whines loud into his ear. “What did I ever do to deserve such a brutish welcome?”

Hajime rolls his eyes, but when he meets his own image in the window of a nearby shop, and is greeted with the bright grin curling his mouth. Tooru meets his eyes in the reflection, before pulling away from him.

Hajime tears his attention away from his own smile to glance at Tooru, who has started to fiddle with his fingers, pressing them against his palms. He’s not wearing gloves, the idiot, never really does when he knows Hajime is around to keep him warm anyway. They’re bandaged, his left hand’s ring finger and middle finger wrapped together.

Are they broken?

When did Tooru hurt them?

“I really did miss you,” Tooru says, quiet, uncertain.

"You know I did too. Miyagi's something," Hajime blurts, worry bubbling past his lips at the sight of an injured Tooru, "but it's not the same without you."

"Iwa-chan," Tooru breathes, before lifting his scarf to hide the beam of his smile, the flush on his cheeks a bright red, "I never took you to be such a smooth talker."

As easily as that, they've fallen back into their usual routine.

.·:* *:·.

Their bus ride is silent, although Tooru is visibly exhausted from his travels. Hajime finds two seats for them, and keeps watch on Tooru’s luggage above their heads. Tooru leans his head on Hajime’s shoulder, and falls asleep ten minutes into the ride.

He changed his cologne, Hajime notes, leaning his own head against Tooru’s and inhaling that scent. It’s a nice change, he thinks. It’s sweeter than what he usually uses, but it remains something that undeniably screams Tooru, like the last day they spent together during the summer, with caramel and vanilla and chocolate, sweet laughter and a confession printed on the inside of Hajime’s lips, too afraid to come out.  

The bus rattles, and Hajime ends up with a mouthful of Tooru’s hair. He briefly panics, thinking that the movement was enough to wake up Tooru. Tooru shifts, sighing, but remains asleep.

Hajime sighs, and lets himself relax once again, lets himself enjoy the small, intimate moment.

.·:* *:·.

[To: Shittykawa]

          When are you coming back to Sendai?

I miss

You haven’t replied to my

I need

[From: Shittykawa]

           Tomorrow!

           We went to an inn up in the mountains, so I had no cell service.

           But there was an onsen and I am ☆.｡.:*~refreshed~｡.:*☆

[To: Shittykawa]

          Oh

[From: Shittykawa]

          Aww, did poor little Iwa-chan miss me?

[To: Shittykawa]

          Not a chance.

Of course

          And call me little again and I’ll break your legs. We’ll see who’s short then.

[From: Shittykawa]

          Mean! I need those to be an Olympian, you know? You brute !

          And denial is bad for your health, Iwa-chan!

          I know you missed me ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)

          Don’t worry, the great Oikawa-san is coming home just for you （*＾3＾）/～♡ 

.·:* *:·.

Despite the fact that Tooru was cheery over text, he looks terrible when Hajime sees him next. His smile is made of plastic, a pale imitation of the real thing, even when it’s blinding and over exaggerated. His actions are robotic: he teases when he has to, and he laughs when he has to, but otherwise he looks distant, chewing absentmindedly on his burger. He looks like when he first stepped off the train, a week and a half ago.  

“Are you feeling alright, Oikawa?” Matsukawa asks.

Tooru’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, before he plasters yet another blinding smile on his face. Hajime almost slaps it off.

“Just fine, Mattsun, why do you ask? Are you worried about your former captain’s well being?” He punctuates his statement by clasping his hands together and batting his lashes at Matsukawa, who rolls his eyes, .

“You do seem kind of weird, though,” Hanamaki pushes on. “Like a robot or something.”

Tooru sighs. “I’m feeling fine,” he says, his smile dropping from his face. “I’m just tired. Nationals were rough, we only got to the third match so the coach is pissed, and I’m glad to be home.”

“Oh, lighten up, Oikawa!” Matsukawa exclaims, clapping Tooru on the back. “It’s Christmas Eve! You should be celebrating, not remembering your demon-coach’s words!”

Hajime stays quiet through the exchange, even as Tooru smiles and agrees with Matsukawa. He notices the way Tooru’s hands shake when he picks up his burger. He notices the way Tooru plays around with his food more than he actually eats it.

He’s lying, or at least, partially so. He’s hiding something from the three of them, and Hajime is determined to find out what it could possibly be.

.·:* *:·.

“You wanna watch a movie or something?” Hajime asks, hanging up Tooru’s coat in the hallway.

“Sure,” Tooru replies, mind aloof. He steps into the living room and immediately heads for the sofa, picking up one of the throw pillows and curling up around it.

He looks disheveled. His glasses are perched on his nose, as opposed to the contacts he usually wears outside, and the curl to his hair suggests that he hasn’t blow dried it.

Hajime decides to let him be. Tooru hasn’t come to him for help yet, and so he simply tells Tooru to pick a movie, before heading into the kitchen to cook up some pop-corn. By the time he’s pulled the pack out the microwave and poured its contents into a bowl, Tooru is already back to being curled up on the couch, the movie’s menu screen at the ready.

Hajime doesn’t recognise it-- Tooru has always been into weird dramas and romantic movies, with plot lines involving huge love declarations and love triangles. Hajime doesn’t appreciate them as much, but he admits the fantasy is nice.

After all, the one pining always gets their lover in the end.

.·:* *:·.

“You’re not feeling okay,” Hajime points out, after the third sniffle in a row.

“I’m fine,” Tooru gripes.

“You’re not,” Hajime counters, immediately. “You’ve been going from being on the verge of tears - and honestly nothing sad or cute or whatever is going on in the movie right now - to just downright glaring at the screen. And that’s not mentioning the fact that you look like shit, no offense-”

“Offense taken! ”

Hajime sighs. “And Hanamaki wasn’t wrong. You’re acting weird. Like you’re on autopilot or something. It’s okay to be tired, but if you’re this exhausted you shouldn’t be spending time with us. You can use my bed if you wan-”

“It’s nothing.”

Tooru’s voice is quaking, like his very foundations are breaking down. He’s upset.

“Is someone hurting you?” Hajime asks, because Tooru has always been like this. The moment something is wrong, really wrong, he locks himself away, builds up defences and lets Hajime chip away at them for days before he finally reveals his problems. When Tooru’s shoulders visibly tense, Hajime swallows thickly. “Is it your parents again? Are they telling you-”

“It’s not my parents.”

“Is it someone from your team? Oikawa you have to talk to me-”

“Talk to you?” Tooru suddenly snaps, cutting Hajime short. Hajime shuts his mouth with an audible click.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, feeling like he’s just been put in the spotlight, blinded and fumbling. He’s the one who’s supposed to know exactly what’s going on, what’s wrong, he’s supposed to know when Tooru is feeling off. And now, now he feels like someone who barely knows Tooru, attempting to figure him out.

It feels wrong.

“I have been talking to you!” Tooru spits. “Every day! You’re the one who should be talking to me, because avoiding me won’t solve anything!”

Hajime feels guilt drop like a rock into his stomach, forcing it to plummet to the floor. He’s the one who’s been hurting Tooru. Of course he is.

“Oikawa, I promise, I haven’t been avoiding you. I really was-”

“I don’t know what you call deliberately not responding my messages and my calls, but that’s what I would classify as ‘avoiding’.”

Hajime sighs.

“I was busy,” he attempts, weakly.

“Bullshit. Is it something I did?” Tooru queries, and there is a thin thin, glistening sheen over his eyes. His voice wavers over his next few words. “Did I hurt you somehow? Is this whole long distance friendship too much? Am I too clingy? I can change, I promise, you just have to tell me-”

“It’s not that at all,” Hajime interrupts, anger replacing the worry that’d permeated his every thought. In a flash, he finds himself furious -- at himself, for making Tooru feel unwanted, and at Tooru, irrationally, for doubting their friendship, for doubting himself.

"Then what is it, Iwaizumi?” The use of his family name stings, and Hajime flinches at the sound of it, sharp, cutting. Tooru is hurt, too, but that doesn’t stop the angry fire from spreading up into Hajime’s chest and corrupting his words. He thinks of the missing second button, of the confessions, of Tooru moving on, moving forward. It hurts.

It hurts.

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps. “You haven’t told me everything that’s happened to you, so you don’t get to make these demands of me. My life doesn’t revolve around you.”

“I have told you everything,” Tooru insists, hurt flashing behind his eyes. “What is going on, Iwa-chan?”

“Nothing! Nothing is wrong!”

“Is that how it’s going to be?” Tooru queries, but his tone isn’t the high and mighty one Hajime expects. His voice is quiet, defeated, flimsy as parchment paper, folded up, tucked away between his ribs. “You’re not going to tell me what’s obviously bothering you?”

His next breath is shaky, and Hajime can see in the quiver of his shoulder, in the flutter of his chest, that he’s going to cry. Tooru covers his face with his hands, but that only makes the sound of his first hitched breath echo within the curve of his palms.

He’s hurt. Tooru’s hurt and it’s his fault. Hajime feels his anger evaporate, his brain shutting off, at the sight of his best friend, hurt, crying, because of him .

The rational part of himself, the one saying that letting his heart take over would ruin everything, turns quiet. Letting his emotions take the lead for the first time in years, Hajime takes a deep breath, and slowly reaches over to his best friend, circling his fingers around Tooru’s wrists.

“It’s because I love you, alright?” he breathes, pulling Tooru’s hands away from his face. “I love you, and there's a million reasons I can’t have you, and it hurts. Every time we spoke I thought I’d spill it. I did actually say it accidentally, a few times. I was scared to ruin everything, our friendship, what we already have, and what I don't want to lose, and so I- I ran.”

He feels stupid admitting this. He's scared to elaborate, scared to make it sound like he's regretting the time he's spent alongside Tooru without being able to hold him, because no matter how painful those moments were, there is nothing about their relationship that he regrets. And so, he remains quiet, biting his lip even as Tooru stares at him, bewildered. His mouth hangs open, and when he blinks, a few more tears drip down the curve of his right cheek, blotchy, and red from scrubbing. Hajime waits with baited breath for the moment where Tooru realises the magnitude of his words, the amount of weight they hold.

“Really?” Tooru murmurs.

“Yeah,” Hajime admits. His chest feels completely empty, but something is weighing down on his stomach, forcing his throat to constrict around the words. “For a while.”

Tooru keeps staring at him. His eyes flicker, from meeting Hajime’s gaze, down to the lips that Hajime has pressed into a thin line, and then back up, to Hajime’s burning cheeks, to his eyes, back to his mouth. Hajime knows Tooru’s assessing him, trying to figure out whether he’s lying, and it stings.

Hajime squirms, uncomfortable, letting go of Tooru to fold his hands in his lap. There’s not an ounce of disgust in Tooru’s expression, but he looks so shocked, so out of his mind, at the moment, that Hajime feels like he’s been pushed in front of an oncoming train, waiting for the moment where the consequences of his words hit him in full force.

“Now that you made me say all this to you I- I’d like some space,” Hajime takes a deep, shuddering breath, “if that’s alright.”

“Hajime-”

“I’m serious, Oikawa.” Hajime’s having a hard time enough keeping the tears at bay, keeping his voice level. “Please leave me alone.”

Tooru must recognise something in his expression, the pleading, the need to be on his own for a little while, because he stands up from the couch, gives him one last pitying look, and leaves without any further argument.

By the time the door clicks shut behind him, Hajime is biting into his fist, tears freely running down his face.

.·:* *:·.

When Hajime opens his eyes, he’s greeted by a few Merry Christmas messages from his university friends.

He doesn’t have the energy to respond to them. He flips his phone over, and buries his face into his pillow. He doesn’t have the strength to face this day, a day normally meant for celebration, a day that his mother expects him to spend with Tooru.

Tooru.

He wonders what Tooru thinks of him, now. Hajime knows for sure that his confession didn’t disgust Tooru, but he also knows that Tooru wouldn’t outright reject him either. He’d simply pull away, discreetly at first, and then all at once. He’d stop answering messages, he’d find things to keep him occupied during the holidays, suddenly be too busy to give Hajime the time of day.

He’d act exactly like Hajime did for the past months. Guilt coils in his stomach, festering, and Hajime audibly groans into the fabric of his comforter, fresh tears blurring his vision. He’s such an idiot.  

He’s familiar with regret, has many things he wishes he could have done differently, but confessing to Tooru really takes the cake.

He has half a mind to punish his own heart for doing this to him, for taking control.

“Hajime!” his mother calls up the stairs, interrupting his pity session. “Tooru’s here!”

Hajime doesn’t want to see him. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he doesn’t want to see Tooru’s face. Doesn’t want to hear Tooru’s voice, or his laughter, or see those beautiful, sparkling eyes, bound to be shadowed by pity.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru’s melodious voice echoes from downstairs. Hajime groans. Of course his mother would let him in. She doesn’t know that Hajime has single handedly ruined their friendship with a few words, the night prior. “Iwa-chan we’re going out!”

What.

“No.”

“Yes we are!” Tooru sing songs, throwing the door to his room open and making a beeline for the closet. “We’re going to an amusement park and I won’t take no for an answer.”

He punctuates his statement by throwing a pair of jeans, a shirt and a sweater into Hajime’s face.

“Chop chop!”

Hajime begrudgingly sits up, suddenly nauseous. Tooru’s presence stifles him, makes him feel like someone had forced him to swallow his feelings and digest them. But everyone knows you can’t digest something that has festered for so long.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he states, and Tooru hums.

“Don’t take too long. We’re meeting Makki and Mattsun in an hour.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. Leave it to Tooru to plan things last minute like this.

Leave it to him to follow along anyway.

.·:* *:·.

Despite Hajime expecting the worst, the day goes by uneventfully.

Tooru acts more normal than he did the day prior. He latches onto Hajime’s arm and drags him around the different stalls, cooing at small stuffed animals and kicking ass at the basketball games.

They queue up for an hour waiting for cotton candy, but Hajime deems it completely worth it when Tooru smiles like a kid on Christmas day, which he technically is, the moment he receives his candy in the shape of a flower.

They walk along the park, hand in hand. Tooru’s fingers are long, and slender, and so, so cold compared to Hajime’s perpetually warm hands. They feel right, laced with Hajime’s, like the space between his fingers were meant exactly for Tooru’s to fit.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki drag them all to the more daring rides, although Tooru decides to stay out of that and simply wait for them. When Hajime comes out dizzy, Tooru holds his hand and lets Hajime steady himself using his shoulder.

“Iwa-chan everyone knows you’re an old man,” he teases, when Hajime presses a hand to his mouth, trying to smother both his elated, adrenaline-fuelled laughter and his urge to hurl, “if you have heart issues you shouldn't ride these- ow!”

They eat more street food, and Hajime has to wrestle Tooru away from the ice cream stands, because it’s goddamn Christmas, you idiot, you’ll make yourself sick!

The rational part of Hajime’s mind is telling him that Tooru is probably building up the courage to reject him. He’s being extra nice, extra tactile, is going along with Hajime’s every whim, and Tooru is only ever nice when he’s planning something.

This is kind of fucked up, he wants to say. For you to do this when you know how I feel.

But another part of him, the one he’s been squashing down since the beginning of this whole ordeal, is telling him to wait it out. Tooru does nothing without purpose, especially not when it concerns their feelings, or their friendship. He wouldn’t play Hajime like a violin, no matter how cocky and selfish he sometimes acts, no matter how beautiful he sounds when he plays the instrument.

By the time the sun has long set, at 6 PM, the group of them have gone three times through each ride, and have indulged in Tooru’s more childish antics, using the teacup rides and the other, more mellow ones, for his own amusement.

When Hanamaki suggests taking the bus back to the city to eat dinner, and then go home, Tooru looks outraged.

“We haven’t been on the Ferris Wheel yet!” he complains, tugging on Hajime’s arm. “We have to go!”

“Okay then,” Hajime replies, although he knows Tooru is terrified of heights and this is probably a bad idea. He doesn’t particularly care, at this point. Anything to prolong the time where Tooru acts like he actually wants Hajime by his side.

.·:* *:·.

Perhaps he should’ve cared more.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa don’t follow them into the small cab, feigning rollercoaster-sickness, and Hajime ends up pressed up against Tooru, on the too-small bench , legs touching, awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze. The wheel begins turning, and Hajime feels more than sees Tooru tense up, placing his feet on the metallic floor as flat as possible.

They remain as such, until their gondola stops, midway between the bottom and the top spots of the wheel. When the cabin sways on the spot, a few dozen meters above the floor, Hajime finds himself at a loss of what to do, what to say. Tooru is warm, pressed up against him, and he smells good, and if Hajime could stop thinking for one goddamn second, maybe he’d actually be able to enjoy this rare, intimate moment.

That’s when Tooru decides to speak up.

“How did you know?”

Hajime looks down at the floor, at the park. Everyone looks so small, from here, so insignificant. It puts into perspective just how massive his problems seem. From high up here, though, they look like nothing. Like a speck of dust. Maybe he can do this.

He shrugs. “It just made sense. I didn’t want to just be your best friend. I wanted to be your best friend who kissed you, and hugged you, and stuff.”

There’s a moment of silence as Tooru ruminates Hajime’s words. Hajime doesn’t look up.

“I love you, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime’s gaze locks onto one of the smaller rides.

“Do you remember Runa-chan?” Tooru turns away from him, cheeks blooming red. “She confronted me about it. Said I didn’t need her because I already had someone who was meant for me. Or well, she said something along those lines, anyway. I was so,” he shrugs, “so scared when she pointed out how obvious it was that I liked you. I thought you’d find me weird.”

“I would never.”

“I guess I always knew that.” Tooru laughs. It’s a small, amused chuckle. Melodious, compared to the way Hajime’s heart is beating, an ugly, hopeful sound, right in his ears. “How long have you known, though?”

“A few years,” Hajime lifts a single shoulder in a shrug, “I realised it when we were at Kita Ichi. You blew me a kiss and I wanted to punch you.”

“Iwa-chan, that’s not very romanti-”

“But I also… I really wanted you to kiss me. For real.”

Tooru shuts his mouth with an audible click. The ferris wheel starts up again, and Hajime feels the cubicle swing, feels Tooru edge ever closer to him. Hajime still doesn’t understand why Tooru insisted they get on this ride. After all, if Tooru wanted to talk, about this, about anything, Hajime would listen.

No matter where they were.

“So that’s how you knew.”

“Yeah.”

“I think,” Tooru continues, and his breath fogs up the glass on his right, obscures some of the city, small pinpricks of light, stardust scattered across the plains and the hills around them, from Hajime’s view, “I think I’ve known for a while too, maybe.”

Hajime doesn’t need to reply — Tooru can tell simply by his silence that Hajime understands what he’s saying. So he keeps going, as usual, as their relationship dictates, because Hajime communicates silently but he also knows that Tooru has never been satisfied with just gestures, with just words.

When Hajime looks up, Tooru has reached over to the glass, pressed his fingers into the fog that his own breath had created, and begun dotting out the eyes of a smiley face.

“But it’s a slow process, no?” he queries, as if searching for reassurance in a place he knows he cannot get it, not right away, anyway. “Falling in love. It’s a gradual fall. I needed-- I needed to be sure, you know? So I never made a move. I dropped some hints, here and there, but you always interpreted them some other way, so I thought you just didn’t want me to be in love with you. And then these past few months you stopped replying to me and I thought, 'I've done it now!'”

Hajime inhales, the sound sharp. “I'm so sorry. I didn’t want to let myself hope,” he confesses, quietly, his voice almost inaudible, compared to his breathing. “I fell for you so hard and fast I don’t even remember what it was like before. I thought you were just… acting like a friend, and then it- it hurt talking to you, and I didn't know what to do.”

Tooru’s finger slips at the end of the smiley, twisting its mouth from a smile to a grimace. They both look at it, until the fog fades and the only trace of Tooru’s artwork left behind is the smear of grease against the glass.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“Why’s that?”

“I made you wait.”

“You make me wait all the time.”

“There’s a—“ Tooru whirls around, glaring at Hajime through teardrops and thick lashes. “There’s a difference between standing you up, and making you watch as I—“ he gestures wildly, trying to communicate his point, “as I fumble around, figuring myself out, hurting you in the process!”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” Hajime growls. "I chose to stay by your side."

Tooru’s gaze locks on something behind his head. Hajime sighs, leans back into the seat, and their cubicle dips with the change in weight. Tooru's hand immediately latches onto his arm.

"I did," Tooru argues stubbornly, scooting ever closer to him. “I could’ve just taken the dive and told you.”

“That doesn’t mean you made me wait,” Hajime repeats. “I wasn’t waiting for anything.”

Tooru sighs. His chin quivers. Tooru’s always let his emotions get the better of him, and when Hajime spots the first tear sliding down his cheek, he deliberately lets his heart take the lead, this time. He worries his bottom lip, before he gently raises his hands, to cradle Tooru’s cheeks with the lightest touch he can muster. Tooru’s skin is cold under his fingers, and he shifts, ever closer.

"I feel like I've wasted so much of our time," Tooru admits, voice breaking halfway through his sentence.

This is a moment to be calm. What Tooru needs right now is not Hajime’s usual bravado, not his aggressive affection. This isn’t the time to be knocking, shaking, screaming sense into him. Hajime knows.

Tooru’s never been good at exposing his own weaknesses, despite wearing his heart on his sleeve, and right now, he is terrified.

Scared not to be enough. Scared to be told to man up. Scared to be invalidated.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hajime pulls him closer, until their foreheads are pressed together.

“That’s stupid,” Hajime whispers.

A few more tears escape Tooru’s eyes, gliding down until they disappear against Hajime’s skin, but he laughs, in the face of Hajime’s eloquence. He reaches up, too, pressing his fingers to the underside of Hajime’s jaw, stroking the curve of his cheek with a thumb. The two of them stay that way, simply breathing each other in, mapping out the shape of each other’s faces with gentle, hesitant touches, like they are seeing each other, really seeing each other, for the first time.

Suddenly, his eyes light up, and he pulls away from Hajime’s touch with a tiny, almost inaudible gasp.

“Here,” he says. He reaches into his coat’s breast pocket and pulls out something. It glints in the neon lighting of the cubicle, but Hajime doesn’t catch what it is. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, actually, but I wasn’t sure-- well, Makki told me to take the jump, I actually think he’s getting really tired of me, so...”

He chuckles wetly, reaching up with his free hand to hastily wipe his face. He then holds his hand out, and Hajime mirrors the action, though his palm is facing up where Tooru’s is facing down. Tooru drops the object into his hand, and Hajime’s eyes widen.

“I know that’s not really formal protocol, since you’re supposed to confess on graduation day with this,” he inhales loudly, whispering a soft this is so scary to himself before he continues, “but I couldn’t do it that day because everything was so- and then yesterday I wanted to, because you told me you loved me, but you kicked me out. So- so I thought I’d give it to you today.”

His cheeks are a bright red under the white light, and Hajime can’t help but reach over with his free hand, and softly run his knuckles along Tooru’s soft skin. Tooru meets his gaze, deep brown clashing with emerald, and uses his fingers to close Hajime’s hand over the button.

“Iwaizumi Hajime, I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’ll let me.”

The cabin stops again. This time, they’re at the top of the wheel, looking down on the city like they themselves are two stars, resting up in the sky. Tooru especially, looking so bright, so sheepish at that moment, eyes repeatedly flicking between Hajime’s hand, squeezing the button so hard it hurts, then Hajime’s face, then the floor. He’s too cute. Too beautiful.

Hajime decides to look at Tooru. Really look at him, as if taking him in for the first time. Everything starts to fall into place, like a game of tetris gone on for too long. The gentle touches, Tooru’s red cheeks when Hajime took care of his hands, Tooru’s broken heart, the worry, the fight.

Tooru bites his bottom lip, the movement catching Hajime’s attention, and there’s nothing he wants more than to lean over, and kiss it, kiss Tooru until his lips are as cherry red as when he uses that damn chapstick.

He looks back up to meet Tooru’s gaze. He doesn’t have to imagine, anymore, does he?

He leans forward, watches Tooru’s eyes widen a fraction, before they slide shut, anticipating. With the green light he needs, Hajime closes the distance between the both of them, pressing his lips to Tooru’s.

There are fireworks.

Perhaps those stupid romance novels Tooru loves to read have a point, because Hajime’s heart thrashes against his ribs, swells with each beat, until it bursts. He feels so light, like his feelings have lifted from the pit of his stomach, where they’d rested for so long, icy, dangerous, and have shattered into a thousand colourful specks, stars against his skin, his bones. He tries to gather every ounce of his love, pour it into this kiss, so Tooru will know exactly what Hajime wants, what he needs.

Tooru smells like the blueberry chapstick he’s so insistent on using, and the candy cane he ate earlier, and Hajime cannot wait to taste it. His lips are so soft, so pliant, and Hajime presses harder into the kiss, before swiping his tongue across Tooru’s bottom lip, not quite requesting entrance, but simply relishing in Tooru’s jerk, in his shaky exhale against Hajime’s cheek. His hands shake as he pulls Tooru closer, touch quivering over the angle of Tooru’s jaw.

Tooru’s fingers slide from his cheeks and into his hair, nails scratching against Hajime’s scalp, and he whines into the kiss, needy. Hajime doesn’t let go of Tooru’s face, strokes along flushed skin and relishes in the way Tooru melts into his touch.

“That answer your question?” he murmurs once he pulls back, grabbing the back of Tooru’s neck to press their foreheads together, again, his thumb stroking along the soft skin under Tooru’s eye.

“I don’t know,” Tooru replies, a cheeky smile curving those (wonderful, tasty, soft, red, plush) lips. “I’m going to need a more specific answer.”

“Idiot,” Hajime breathes through a huff of laughter, before he leans in, capturing Tooru’s lips in a kiss again, and again, even as the cabin shifts and the ferris wheel begins turning once more. He’s not scared, anymore, because Tooru tastes like the first bite into a freshly baked cupcake, feels like the warmth under a kotatsu while the snow falls outside, and Hajime thinks, if there really is any type of heaven, it’s right where he is.

.·:* *:·..

They step off the ride with their fingers intertwined. Tooru’s hands are soft, and cold under his, and Hajime thinks that nothing has felt as perfect as this moment does, right now, with Tooru humming a song to himself, the taste of his lips still fresh on Hajime’s tongue, and with the promise of more, so much more to come.

If Matsukawa and Hanamaki notice the change in their atmosphere, in their attitude, the tiny little shift in their relationship that is as universe shattering as a supernova, they don’t make a show of it.

After all, this was bound to happen.

Hajime would never let anyone love Tooru more than he does.

.·:* *:·.

Sometimes you make it impossible, but 

I wanna go and get lost with you, my love 

I want you to give me all of you

.·:* *:·.

Fin.