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“Have you ever kissed anyone, Iwa-chan?”
The question was followed by an all-encompassing silence, only punctured by the whirring of the fan and the fluttering of paper in Hajime’s notebook.
“Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Tooru slithers off Hajime’s bed, landing on the hardwood floor with a dull thump. Hajime tips his head down more, hoping that if he can’t see the impish grin it will cease to exist. He taps his pencil against the notebook, hums loudly even though he’s not a fan of singing, as if he can somehow block out what he knows is coming.
“You like Keiko-chan, don’t you?”
“None of your business.”
Tooru sighs dramatically, slings himself halfway across the table, fiddles with the edges of Hajime’s chemistry papers as he grins up at him knowingly. “You can’t deny it, Iwa-chan! The love bug is buzzin' through the spring air! And it looks like you got bit pretty bad—“
“I’m going to choke you.”
Tooru laughs, leans back, rests his arms on the surface of the smooth wood and props his chin in his palm. He’s still smiling that horrible way that Hajime knows generally serves as a prelude to something embarrassing or dangerous, usually both.
“So, I just had an awesome idea. Since you’ve never kissed anyone—“
“I never said that I’ve never—“
“—and since you like Keiko-chan, and since there’s a possibility she likes you too—“
“What? Who told you that she likes m—“
“—I was thinking it would be in your best interest to practice.”
Hajime hesitates, not liking where this was going. “Practice what?”
“Kissing, of course! You’re looking at the number-one ranked kisser at Aoba Johsai! You’d be learning from a true professional!” Tooru says, his arms flung out wide with evident pride and he's practically sparkling.
And that’s when Hajime understands, when he can finally foresee this indisputable trainwreck up ahead.
“Wait, wait, wait, hold up.” He scowls, finally concedes that he’s not going to be getting any work done and sets his pencil down in the crease of his notebook. “Are you saying you want me to practice kissing? With you?”
Tooru groans as if he’s talking to someone slow. “Honestly, Iwa-chan. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer!” He leans closer again, eyes alight with enthusiasm and mischief. “Just imagine Keiko-chan’s pleasant surprise when she goes in for that first spark of romance and discovers that Iwaizumi Hajime knows his stuff!”
Hajime rolls his eyes, picks up his pencil again in a clear message to end the conversation. “I’m not kissing you, shithead.”
Tooru laughs again good-naturedly, sits up straight before leaning back against Hajime’s bed. He tugs the edge of the top afghan, drapes it over his shoulders like a cape. He pokes his fingers through the gaps in the weaving, waggles them at Hajime playfully. “I’m in a giving mood, Iwa-chan. This chance won’t come around again. No matter how you beg, or plead—“
Hajime opens his mouth in sarcastic realization. “Oh, well, when you put it that way. You’re absolutely right.” He puckers his mouth. “Here, do my lips look too dry? I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
Tooru’s on his knees now, leaning forward and squinting. “Hmm, maybe a little—“
“I’m going to kill you.”
“I’ll give you till the count of ten to make your final decision. Choose wisely! One, two, three…” He holds up one finger after another, his voice rising warningly with each number.
“For the last time, I would rather shove a cactus up my fucking—“
“Seven, eight, nine! Nine and a half! Nine and three quarters!” Tooru’s nearly shouting, waving his nine fingers in Hajime’s face. “Nine point nine nine nine nine nine—“
Hajime slaps the frantic digits away, scrubs his hands up and down his face with exasperation. “Jesus Christ. Okay, okay. Fine. Please teach me the ways of kissing, sensei.” He looks across the table at the crinkled and blank worksheets crushed under Tooru’s elbows. “But you really need to work on your homework afterwards.”
Tooru leaps to his feet. “I thought you would never ask! Here, Iwa-chan, get on the bed. It’ll set the mood.” Then he scampers off to flip off the light switch in what must be an attempt to create ambiance, even though daylight is still streaming in through the window and Hajime can hear his mom singing to herself downstairs.
Cursing under his breath, he heaves himself up from the floor, his leg tingling slightly from the awkward positioning. He sits himself down on the much-softer bed, criss-crosses his legs and waits for Tooru to join him.
He’s surprisingly completely and totally calm. He guesses it has something to do with the fact that the boy that's now making a blanket nest across from him needed his help going to the bathroom from kindergarten until second grade. There was literally nothing Tooru could do or show him at this point that could throw him off in any way.
Tooru finally settles, actually preens his hair for a moment and straightens his shirt collar and Hajime snorts.
“Ok, ready?” Tooru claps his hands together, puts on his serious-business face.
Hajime shrugs. “Sure.”
“I don’t know what level you’re at right now, so let’s just start with whatever you think a good kiss would be! Then I’ll help you revise your technique!”
“Whatever.”
Hajime looks at Tooru’s mouth. It’s pink, and his lips look soft. Probably. He has a vague inkling as to what it’ll feel like—he’s had over-excited relatives smack him on the lips more than once—this couldn't be that much different, right? He could only hope it wouldn't be nearly as slobbery or repulsive.
He takes a steadying breath and leans forward, Tooru leaning in to meet him halfway, and they kiss.
Hajime thinks it’s safe to say that it’s about as far from familial kisses as one could get. He thought he would be prepared, he thought that it wouldn’t surprise him—he definitely wouldn’t think that he’d like it—but he does. He's nearly alarmed by the little zing that runs down his spine when their lips meet, but he figures it's just a side-effect of Tooru's arrogantly-assured expertise. Because it is nice, he hates to admit. It’s even softer than he expected, and extremely warm, and there is no unnecessary slobber whatsoever. He vaguely notices that Tooru is loosely holding his hand on the bed between them. After a few seconds, Tooru makes a low hum and they separate with a soft wet noise.
“Mmm, no, no, all wrong.” Tooru huffs against his mouth, leans back and frowns contemplatively. “You’re too stiff, Iwa-chan. Let loose those lips! Relax!”
Hajime bristles. “That’s easier said than done, asswipe!”
“See, this is why we practice! Wanna try again?” Tooru says, waving off the insult. He’s drawing little shapes into Hajime’s palm with the tip of his thumb and it tickles.
“Fine.” Hajime huffs.
“Just follow my lead.”
Trying to keep in mind Tooru’s advice, he doesn’t enjoy the second time as much, as he’s too busy trying to relax, which stresses him out even more. He has his eyes tight shut, and he’s squeezing the hand in his harder than he should be as he attempts to concentrate.
Tooru briefly leans back, but Hajime can still feel his lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. “We have all the time in the world, okay? So don’t worry so much.” Tooru whispers before kissing him again, and he makes a surprised sound in his throat when he feels a hand gently cup his face. The warmth on his cheek and jaw make him involuntarily unwind, and so when Tooru opens his mouth, just a bit, he finds that it’s easy to comply with the movement.
This is so different and foreign; Hajime’s having a hard time trying to keep up. He doesn’t know if he should be mimicking Tooru’s movements or if he should be moving his mouth on his own, but soon the thoughts fade into the background as he focuses on the physical sensations.
It actually feels good. He doesn’t know why, because it’s just his mouth, and he thought the only pleasure he could get through his mouth was from agedashi tofu. But it feels good, almost comforting. But that part’s probably just because it’s Tooru, who he’s known since before he cared to remember things. His very presence was synonymous with naps under the sun and warm milk.
He thinks that maybe he wouldn’t mind doing this more often.
After a few minutes he feels something wet and smooth run along his bottom lip, and when he realizes it’s Tooru’s tongue he gasps and his eyes snap open, his body jerking backwards, separating them. Tooru’s eyes are still closed, and he opens them slowly to look at Hajime. His lips are bigger and redder than when they started, and Hajime numbly touches his own with his fingertips to see if they’re in a similar state.
Tooru blinks a few times, looking dazed, before he smiles—the real one, the one that he rarely shows to anyone but Hajime— and slips his hand out from Hajime’s death-grip.
He hops off the bed, reaches for the ceiling in a stretch, his back popping loudly. “Mmm, I think we’ve accomplished a lot today. We can try some more tomorrow. Now, about the Japanese History assignment…”
~*~
Hajime has a hard time telling himself to stop thinking about it.
But he figures that’s a normal reaction, right? He just had his first kiss, and his second, and…well, he lost count after that, since they had to keep stopping so Tooru could critique. Your first kiss was a big deal, and you only get one first kiss your whole life. So it was natural that there was almost never a single second the next day where Hajime didn’t feel phantom lips against his, a warm palm cupping his jaw. Never mind the fact that it just so happened that those lips belonged to his best friend, who he had sudden trouble making eye contact with.
He sees Keiko in the hallways, talking to her friends, and when she catches him watching her she smiles. He blushes.
Later in the day during practice, Tooru praises him for a successful spike run right down the edge line. He briefly places a hand on the back of Hajime’s sweaty neck and gives it a soft squeeze before letting go.
His face is hot from the exercise, he tells himself.
~*~
“Ready for round numero dos?”
This time, Hajime’s palms are sweating and his heart is being faster than its normal pace. He doesn’t like the change.
“Yeah, I guess.”
Tooru pushes against Hajime’s shoulders. “Lean up against your pillows. I’m gonna sit in your lap.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
“The more realistic the practice, the better the reality! Honestly, are you and Keiko-chan gonna be sitting criss-cross-applesause on your bed like middle schoolers? I don’t think so. So unromantic. No passion.”
Hajime bites his lips and sighs, scooches until his back is pressed against soft, fluffy pillows. He wriggles until he’s completely comfortable, stays still as Tooru hitches one leg across Hajime’s lap, sits back until he’s seated on Hajime’s thighs. There’s a sizable gap between their bodies, and Hajime's grateful.
His hands hover awkwardly, fluttering forward like he’s going to touch Tooru and then retreating. “Where should I…?”
“Hips, Iwa-chan.”
Tooru grabs Hajime’s wrists and guides his hands to rest on his waist, just above the band of his khakis. Hajime can feel the warmth of skin seeping out from underneath Tooru’s shirt and he swallows, throat dry. There’s a weird feeling in his stomach—he doesn’t know what it is, and it’s pissing him off. Looking up at Tooru watching him makes it worse, makes it feel like an imaginary hand is pinching his insides. Tooru braces his hands on Hajime’s shoulders for balance.
“Just a heads up, I’m for sure gonna be using tongue. I don’t want to freak you out again.”
“Uh, okay.”
And then Tooru leans in, and immediately Hajime is taken off guard. He must have been babied yesterday. Tooru’s rougher today—he keeps Hajime’s lips moving with his without slowing, his movements almost aggressive. Within seconds Hajime feels that weird sensation again, that slick warmth prodding at his lips, and his mouth is already open but he opens a little wider, lets Tooru’s tongue inside his mouth. It glides across his front teeth, slipping further until he feels the sensation against his own. Almost as if by instinct, he pushes back, forces Tooru out and the hands on his shoulders slip around to come together behind his neck, and he feels him inching forward on his lap.
Like before, Hajime finds that it feels really good. His own hands are pressed flat along Tooru’s sides, fingers splayed wide, and he unconsciously rubs them back and forth, up and down. He feels hot skin make contact with his pinky fingers and his stomach leaps realizing he must have accidentally ridden up Tooru’s shirt.
He’s distracted when he feels teeth sink into his bottom lip to tug gently, and several things happen in quick succession. The first is that he reflexively makes a noise—one so embarrassing he immediately feels heat rush to his ears with mortification. The second is that as Hajime all but moans, Tooru pulls himself closer, his chest flush against Hajime’s as well as his lower half. Hajime’s too startled and bewildered to react, but when he realizes a firmness is rubbing into his lower belly his breath stutters into Tooru’s mouth.
“What—“
And then Tooru's lips are gone, and so are the hands around Hajime’s neck and the weight in his lap has evaporated into thin air. Hajime opens his eyes to find Tooru sitting warily at the end of the bed, his knees pulled up to his chest defensively. Meeting Hajime’s eyes he smiles but Hajime can tell it’s one of his fake ones—there aren’t the usual crinkles around the eyes. Hajime hates this smile.
“Sorry, sorry, my bad! I got a little carried away. But hey, you’re getting pretty good, Iwa-chan.” He laughs, scratches his fingers distractedly through brown curls.
Hajime furrows his brows, his heart beating erratically. Tooru’s face is red, the flush patchy around his cheeks and Hajime watches as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and he takes a deep breath.
“I—“
“Oh, I just remembered! My mom said she wanted me home by six, so I’m gonna get going. I’ll see you tomorrow, Iwa-chan.”
And Tooru grabs his bag off the floor and slips out of the room before Hajime can choke out a reply.
~*~
He tries not to think about what happened mostly because he doesn't know how he feels about what happened.
Did it disgust him? He doesn't think so—the roil in his stomach when he thought about the weight in his lap didn’t feel like it came from any form of revulsion.
It had been an accident. Tooru had probably been picturing himself kissing one of the girls at school to make kissing Hajime easier, and his body had gone off on its own accord. Hajime can’t blame him for that. He was a guy, and he knew just as well as everyone else how uncooperative and unexpected the teenage body could be at times.
So he decides to let it go and forget that part even happened. What he can’t forget, however, is that he actually wants to keep practicing.
But just as he’s firm in his resolve to make sure the two of them continue their after-school agenda from the past few days, he hits an unexpected roadblock.
It seems like Tooru is avoiding him.
His suspicions begin early in the morning the next day. He shows up at Tooru’s gate at six in the morning like he usually does so they can walk to morning practice together. He loiters around for a few minutes, kicks around at stones before heaving an exasperated sigh and stalking up to the front door.
It takes a while, but finally he hears dull thumps from inside and the door is opened by Tooru’s father. He’s fastening his tie around his neck, his hair still uncombed and his eyes heavy with sleep.
“Hajime-kun? Bright and early like always, I see.” He says with a sunny smile, his words a little thick in his mouth.
“I’m sorry to bother you Oikawa-san. Is, uh, is Tooru here?”
“Ah, nope. I don’t think so. Tooru!” Mr.Oikawa turns to bellow up the stairs. The two of them wait silently for a moment, hearing no reply, before Mr. Oikawa turns back to Hajime with a regretful smile.
“I guess he went to practice earlier than usual.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks. Sorry for bothering you so early in the morning.”
Mr. Oikawa grins, gives Hajime a playful push as he starts off the doorstep.
“You could never bother us here, Hajime-kun! Have a good day at school!”
“Thanks.”
By the time Hajime arrives at the gym, he is truly in a foul mood. How dare Tooru not even bother to tell him he was leaving early, and subsequently waste Hajime’s precious time. It’s not like they walked together every single day.
He slides open the heavy metal door with more force than necessary, his eyes immediately cutting across the court in search of flying volleyballs originating from an obnoxious, infuriating and completely inconsiderate asswipe.
Except the gym is empty save for two first-years bumping a ball back and forth next to the ball cart. The both of them let the ball smack against the waxed flooring and they wave to Hajime cheerily.
“Good morning, Iwaizumi-senpai!”
“Morning. Have either of you seen Oikawa?”
They look at each other for a brief moment contemplatively, then they simultaneously shake their heads.
“Nope. Sorry.”
He grunts in reply, then heads to the club room to dump his backpack before practice starts. When he gets back, he sees that a lot more people have arrived—he sees Hanamaki and Kindaichi, most of the other starters and club members but no sign of the captain. He sighs, glances at the clock. There’s only two minutes before practice needs to start.
“Hey, first-years! I know we still have a few minutes but could a couple of you start putting up the net? It’ll save us more time for drills.”
“Sure thing, senpai!”
Hajime takes off his jacket, folds it and lays it near the wall by his water bottle. He crosses one arm over his head in a stretch, rolls his ankle in circles as he becomes more and more agitated. If Tooru ends up being late there would be blood.
He watches the large hand on the clock tick, and as it nears the top again, signifying the last minute passed, the doors leading to the hallway that houses the locker rooms burst open and out strides the captain, looking completely unruffled and too chipper for this early in the morning.
“Okay, everybody! Ready to begin?” He chirps, and the team replies in a chorus of sleepy assent. “Great! I want five laps around the gym then circle up for stretching!”
Hajime frowns, begins jogging across the court to intercept him.
“Hey, Oikawa! Where the fuck were you?”
He knows Tooru can hear him—heck, his loud voice echoing among the squeaking of sneakers is a bit grating to his ears as well, but the captain makes no sign of hearing him. Instead, Tooru waves down a first-year starter, beckons him to jog alongside himself.
“Ah, Kunimi! I need to talk to you!”
Hajime shrugs and decides to confront him later, starts jogging beside Watari and the two of them begin aimless chatter to pass the time. All he wants is an explanation and an apology. He can be patient.
But it’s one thing for Tooru to pretend he doesn't hear Hajime when he’s being directly addressed, and completely another when it’s clear that he’s being devoid of any acknowledgement he exists whatsoever. The lack of eye contact becomes such a reoccurrence that Hajime finally realizes within the first fifteen minutes that he’s being ignored. Or, to be more accurate, he’s being avoided.
Throughout practice Tooru doesn't meet his eyes, doesn't speak to him, doesn't even look at him—Hajime watches his eyes, sees how they completely skip over him during the drill instructions. The only time he looks in Hajime’s direction is when he’s deciding the best angle for a toss, when Hajime screams at him from across the court “bring it here!”
But it’s also evident that Tooru’s off his game today. Most of his tosses are pitifully generic. Usually he adjusts his tosses to best fit the player at hand, but today all of them are for the most part the same height, the same angle, and it’s throwing everyone else off. He looked normal initially, but upon Hajime’s close inspection he notices that his eyes look glazed, and the skin under his eyes is a light lavender. Hajime is caught between his conflicting desires to both wring his neck and just help him through whatever the hell’s going on.
But he can’t catch him after practice, either. He’s like an eel. Just as Hajime opens his mouth to call him over, another teammate or other distraction would catch his attention for just a moment, and by the time he looked back Tooru was gone.
This continues all day through school, all throughout evening practice and by the time they’re out at five Hajime is at his wit’s end.
He has no choice. It’s time for physical force.
He hates to do this, to ambush Tooru when he obviously just wants Hajime to leave him alone, but their relationship doesn’t work that way. If something is bothering one of them, they talk it out. There’s never been a need for them to have secrets and they’re sure as hell not going to start now.
Hajime makes sure to leave the club room first after changing. He makes the first few turns into their neighborhood, plants himself behind a telephone pole and waits. Within five minutes, he hears the sluggish footsteps crunching against stray bits of gravel. He’s completely still until he can see the figure in the corner of his eye, and then he pounces. In a flash, his arms are around Tooru’s neck in a headlock, and he squeaks in surprise.
“I-Iwa-chan!"
“Hey, fuckwad. Why have you been avoiding me? And if I get a bullshit answer, I’m gonna start pulling out those pretty eyelashes.”
“No! Don’t!”
“You got five seconds. Five, four, three—“
Tooru sighs, relaxes the grip he has on the arms around his neck and sags back into Hajime’s chest. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’m just tired, Iwaizumi-kun.”
Hajime’s eyes open wide in surprise, and he releases him, holds onto his shoulders and spins him around. The tired part was obvious—he had been able to see the purple eye bags from across court. But his skin was also lacking its usual luster, and if his eyes weren't deceiving him it looked like Tooru had just rolled out of bed without fussing with his hair.
“I was thinking this earlier, but you really look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks. I just want to go home and take a nap, okay?"
He won't face Hajime directly. He seems antsy, his posture tense, fingers drumming against his leg in a way Hajime knows means he's nervous.
Hajime frowns, lets his hands drop from Tooru’s shoulders.
“So we aren't we practicing today?”
Tooru side-eyes him, his face showing his evident exhaustion. “What do you mean? We just—“ and he abruptly goes quiet, his eyes huge and now it’s Hajime’s turn to look away down the street, a blush spreading down his neck and his face twisted in a scowl.
“Oh.”
Hajime scratches his cheek. “Look, if you’re gonna teach me something, don’t just piss out whenever you feel like it.”
Tooru looks a lot less tired all of a sudden. “It’s just…I didn’t think that after, uh, you know. That you’d want to—“
“Yeah, well, you thought wrong.”
The both of them are quiet for a moment, and Hajime shifts on his feet. “My mom’s making curry tonight.”
“And I’m invited?”
“Aren’t you always? Idiot.”
At that Tooru grins, and he turns and begins walking down the street towards Hajime’s house.
“Sounds good, Iwa-chan.”
~*~
It becomes a part of Hajime’s schedule.
Right after evening practice, the two of them would head to Hajime’s house and Tooru would tow him up the stairs, force him on the bed and then they would kiss for long intervals. Every now and then Tooru would pull away to add a comment or suggestion, but then they were at it again until they had to start their homework or Hajime's mom called them down for dinner.
Hajime gets more confident, and Tooru almost never critiques him anymore. It’s just comfortable, and most of the time they end up on their sides, Hajime’s arms around Tooru’s waist, kissing lazily until one of them would wake up from their daze and mention the assignment due the next day. Most of the time, that person was Hajime.
A couple weeks into this arrangement, Tooru makes a rare separation, and although their lips are still brushing as he speaks Hajime still huffs impatiently. “Can we, uh. Can I sit in your lap again? I’ll be more careful this time.” He says, breathless. It's still early, so they're just sitting like they were the first time they had done this, their knees brushing, Tooru's hands in Hajime's hair.
“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Hajime replies, doesn’t loosen his arms from around Tooru’s waist as Tooru shifts onto his knees, climbs up. Without a bunch of pillows behind his back this time Hajime is caught off guard by the sudden weight, and then his back is being pressed into the mattress with hands pressed firmly into his shoulders. A little laugh puffs out warmly onto Hajime’s face, smelling like blue raspberry candy.
“Oops. Sorry, Iwa-chan. Let me—“ Tooru wriggles, presses harder into Hajime’s shoulders like he’s trying to right himself. In turn, Hajime tightens his arms.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. C’mere.”
Tooru stops moving, sinks into him more instead. “Okay.”
He can feel Tooru smiling against his mouth. One of his hands slides up from Hajime’s shoulders to hold onto his throat, fingers so gentle, thumb directly over his pulse and Hajime knows his heart is so much faster than he’s comfortable admitting. He doesn't care that Tooru is laid out between his spread thighs, doesn't care that they’re touching in every way they shouldn't be.
Hajime doesn't know how long they keep it up. All he knows is that he never wants to stop.
The both of them freeze as they hear Hajime’s mom calling the two of them down for dinner. Hajime sighs, reluctantly releases his hold around Tooru’s waist. Tooru sits up, a weird expression on his face, and he looks to the door. As they were kissing on the bed the sun had begun setting—it was a lot darker now, and the only obvious light was the bright orange strip showing beneath his door.
“…we should go eat.” Tooru says, looking glum in a way that Hajime doesn't understand.
“Yeah.”
Hajime hears him take a deep breath, and he lets it out unevenly. “You've gotten really good. You’re probably almost as good as I am now.”
“Really? That’s good, I guess.” Hajime doesn’t know where this was going, but he doesn’t think he likes it. There’s a long pause, and something is making him feel tense. It’s in the air, thick and muggy, making him feel choked.
“I mean, I don’t think there’s anything else I could teach you. We…uh. We probably don’t have to practice anymore. “
There it is. Hajime didn’t know that’s what he was dreading, but now that it’s said he wants Tooru to suck the words right out of the air.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
No. This isn’t what he wants. But he doesn’t have a choice, does he? He’s accomplished what he’s set out to do. If he doesn’t need to learn anymore, what was the point of practicing?
It’s quiet again for a moment, and then Hajime hears Tooru swallow. “Are you going to ask her out?”
Hajime hesitates, and then says, “Probably.”
You’re lying.
“Cool.”
Hajime stands from the bed, stretches his arms over his head. “I’m hungry. We should go down.”
“Actually, Iwa-chan…um. I’m actually not feeling all that hungry right now. So…I think I’m just gonna head home for the night.”
“You sure?”
Tooru smiles, and immediately Hajime feels vaguely nauseous, because it’s fake, fake, fake.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Hajime doesn’t really want him to go. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation—when he comes right down to it, there’s no one else in the world whose company he wants more than Tooru’s. But it’s never left him feeling so sick to his stomach, watching Tooru shove the books they hadn’t even cracked back into his backpack. It feels like he’s saying goodbye in more ways than one, and it pisses him off.
He doesn’t know what he wants to say as the two of them troupe down the stairs, and as Tooru slips on his shoes Hajime’s brain is frantically telling him to do something, but since he doesn’t know what that is he can only stand there, agitated and probably losing his mind.
“’Night, Iwa-chan.” Tooru says, opening the door, and Hajime is desperate. He reaches out, latches his hand around Tooru’s wrist, keeping him still.
“I—“ he starts, all of a sudden flustered and Tooru turns to him. What was he doing? But Tooru's face looks a little more open, his eyes brighter and Hajime plows on. “Uh, thanks. You’re a good friend.”
No. That was wrong. That wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not only does it leave him so unsatisfied he could scream, but the bleak expression on Tooru’s face says it all.
“No problem. Bye-bye.”
And then the door drifts shut, and Hajime eats his dinner, each bite bland as he wonders what’s wrong with him.
~*~
Hajime had found himself thinking less and less of Keiko through the past few weeks. He used to think about her a lot—about the two of them going on dates, about holding her close and making her laugh that tinkling bell-laugh that made his heart skip a beat.
He finds that she’s steadily been getting replaced by hair the color of chocolate milk, by infuriatingly smug smiles, by lips placed softly against his that are definitely not hers.
These realizations bring about panic.
What the fuck was going on with him? Why was he getting so worked up over the fact that he wasn’t going to be practicing with Tooru anymore? The whole point was to practice until he was efficient enough on his own. There was literally no reason to keep it up. No reason that made any sense, at least.
He walks around like a zombie the day after their arrangement ended. He hadn’t been able to sleep well the night before, tossing and turning, and it had been too hot in his room, even with the fan blowing directly into his face. He had stayed awake until the early hours of the morning, just staring at his ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark planets and stars Tooru had gifted him when he was still full-swing into his alien obsession. He just hadn’t been able to get his brain to shut off, as he remembered what he had been doing on his bed just hours prior.
Looking like death the next morning, he had picked up Tooru on the way to morning practice as usual, and this time the both of them were too exhausted to chat on the way to the gym. If he was being honest, Tooru looked even worse than he did. For some reason the rims of his eyes were a little red and puffy, and he refused when Hajime offered him allergy medication. He said that he had stayed up late watching the recordings of their opponent’s matches again, and Hajime had let them leave it at that.
It was Friday, and since everyone had worked hard during morning practice they had been granted the evening off. He desperately wishes that wasn’t the case. He needs a distraction. He can’t be sitting in his room for hours with nothing to do, staring at his pillows and blankets and remembering. It’ll drive him crazy.
He’s feeling out of control. If he knew what was causing this, then he could fix it. But he was completely in the dark, so he was forced to continue on, swimming in circles as he chased down a solution that didn’t feel real.
Hajime opens his shoe locker dully, begins toeing off his school shoes and reaches inside for his outdoor brown loafers.
“Iwaizumi-kun!”
He startles. He glances around in a daze before his eyes settle on a fast approaching-figure, at least a head shorter than him with bright pearly teeth, the bow around her neck prim and neat.
Komura Keiko.
Immediately, Hajime braces himself for the horrible flush that creeps up his neck whenever Keiko so much as looks at him. To his surprise, it doesn’t come. His heart rate is slightly accelerated, but there’s no hot flash, no mish-mash of thoughts clogging up his brain.
“Hey, Komura.”
Keiko stops right in front of him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and she smiles.
"Are you free this weekend?" She asks, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and Hajime blinks stupidly. Normally he spends the weekends with Tooru, but for some reason he has the strange feeling that this weekend will be different. He doesn't know what it was, but something's changed between them since last night. Their interactions are almost awkward, halting and everything their relationship isn't. The few occasions they've spoken today felt to Hajime like walking on eggshells, overly careful and quiet, and just thinking about it makes him feel sick to his stomach. Without Tooru to hang out with, he'll most likely do some homework, stare at the ceiling for unreasonable amounts of time and sulk over the state of his life.
"I guess so." He says, unconscious of the slight scowl on his face.
“Then would you like to go with me?” She asks in a rush, shoves a few slips of paper towards his chest and Hajime stares in surprise. He reaches out and gently takes the paper from her hands to read the cool blue lettering. They’re coupons for ice skating. He frowns.
“Go with you?”
“Yeah! Go to the ice skating rink with me! Oikawa-san said that you liked ice skating but didn’t have anyone to go with…” she trails off, top teeth nibbling her bottom lip. Hajime sees that just across her cheekbones is a pretty dusting of pink. She was so cute. But her eyes were the wrong shade of brown. And though her lips were as pretty as the rest of her, red and bowed and smiling, he couldn’t summon up any inking of a desire to kiss them. What if she didn’t taste like candy, like he was used to? Her hair was long and sleek, and he found it beautiful, but the thought of his fingers carding through short hair, soft and brown like chocolate sounded so much more appealing. And…
What the fuck. What the fuck was wrong with him.
He shakes his head, the panic from before welling up inside him, and he desperately tries to force it down. “Oikawa…?” He croaks, and he has to clear his throat.
“Mmhmm! He had these coupons, and he gave them to me, so I figured that. Um. It would be fun for us to go together!” She’s smiling nervously, tapping the tip of one of her shiny black shoes against the tile.
Hajime freezes, his mouth flapping idiotically and he feels all his brain cells disconnect from each other at the same time. “You...you want to go ice skating with me?” He can’t keep the genuine astonishment out of his voice. This was what he wanted. He’s been dreaming of this moment for years. He wanted this, right?
She laughs. “Yes, I do! So, what do you say?”
And he can't believe himself, but he hesitates. The affirmative words he should be saying are being held back in his throat, building up into an uncomfortable pressure. “I...”
Say yes. You better fucking say yes, Hajime.
His mouth opens hesitantly.
No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare—!
“I’m sorry, Komura. But…uh. Oikawa was probably just being a prick. I’ve never ice skated in my life.” He says awkwardly, sweat beading on his hairline and he clenches his fists at his sides.
But that’s okay! You can learn! She can teach you! Picture the possibilities, Iwa-chan! Hand holding! “Accidental” slips that result in a passionate embrace!
Hajime just wants his inner Tooru to shut the fuck up for two seconds as he tries to work this out. Komura Keiko was (if he’s reading the situation right) asking him out on a date. So what was his deal? Why the fuck wasn’t he tripping over his tongue trying to say yes as fast as possible? He’s been practicing his kissing for weeks now, just so that he could impress her should an opportunity like this arise.
The thought of his daily routine with Tooru causes the butterflies he hadn’t been able to summon talking with Keiko rise to the surface, and he finds that with it comes a certain kind of hunger that leaves him nearly breathless.
As his dream girl stands in front of him, he wants to be kissing Tooru. In this moment, he wishes he was kissing his best friend instead.
Oh.
He had his answer.
The panic in his chest disappears like clouds slipping away from the sun to bathe his thoughts with clarity. The answer had been so simple, so painfully obvious he was actually embarrassed of himself.
While he had always called Tooru his best friend, in a way Hajime always thought they were the wrong words. They sounded too flimsy to him, too impermanent and breakable. What they had wasn't measurable by a simple label. They've slept in the same bed since they were five, beat the utter crap out of each other more than once, shared blood, sweat, and tears over a sport they both devoted themselves to. In a way, the feelings that are now making Hajime feel lightheaded seem almost like a natural progression. Maybe this had just always been bound to happen. He had always loved Tooru. He just never anticipated that he'd love him in this way. This way that makes Hajime want hold Tooru to his chest forever, this way that makes him want to run his fingers though his stupid pretty hair and kiss him so hard he can't catch his breath. And while Tooru may not feel the way he does, it doesn't really matter, does it? No matter what may happen between them, that love, that first and pure love that runs all the way down to the marrow of Hajime's bones will never go away.
Tooru will always be his best friend, but he will always be more than that, too.
He feels so relieved he feels nearly delirious, and his legs itch because he needs to go hunt Tooru down, to do what he doesn't know. But he still had to settle this with Keiko. The girl he spent two years of his life watching from a distance who now stands in front of him hopefully, and he has no remnants of the feelings he had only weeks ago. No. Those feelings now belong completely and irrecoverably to his best friend.
Hajime runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly, grimaces at himself. “Sorry if I’m being presumptuous—and if I am, you can laugh at me, it’s okay. But if…if you wanted to go on a d…a date with me. I can’t. Um. I think…I think I like someone else.”
She doesn't laugh. She stares up at him for a moment, wide-eyed, then she looks down at her shoes, lowers her hands. She takes a deep breath, lets out a little laugh even though it sounds forced.
“It’s...okay. I understand. Is...” She hesitates for moment, biting her lip briefly before she continues. "Is it him?" She asks so quietly, and when Hajime can just stare at her in shock because how the hell did she know when I didn't know? she just nods to herself, his silence seeming to answer her question. "Thought so." And she smiles at him, and he’s relieved to see that although it’s small it seems genuine.
“Thank you, Komura. You’re a great person.” And he means it. Lord knows he means it. But she’s not the one he needs.
Keiko smiles at him again before she’s surrounded by a flock of her friends and spirited away from the shoe lockers and out of the building. Hajime lets out a heavy breath, finishes changing his shoes, grabs his bag and follows the flow of students out into the free world.
He knows what he needs to do now.
He needs to kick Oikawa Tooru’s ass.
~*~
“You know I can’t ice skate!” Is the first thing Hajime yells as he bangs open the door of Tooru’s room to find his target listening to music on his bed, expression akin to a deer in the headlights. Hajime lunges for him, hands reaching for his neck and Tooru yelps, dives out of the way at the last second and falls off his bed in the process. He scrambles, begins crawling under the bed to hide but Hajime grasps his ankles and yanks him back out.
“Uncle! Uncle! Iwa-chan, have mercy!”
Hajime sits on Tooru’s back, scrubs his knuckles through thick brown hair and ignores the consequent wailing. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Did I ask for your help? Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Asskawa!”
“But it was for your own good!” Tooru yells, kicking and trying to buck Hajime off.
“I don’t give a fuck! It’s my life! Don’t go screwing around with it!”
And all of a sudden Tooru stills, panting, and he buries his face in his arms. “I’m sorry.” he mumbles. Hajime sighs, stands up and drags Tooru’s study table closer to the bed. He lifts the little TV off the dresser to set it on the table instead, drops a controller on Tooru’s back as he plugs in the ancient Nintendo 64.
“We’re playing Super Smash Brothers. I call Kirby.”
He climbs onto the bed, bringing his controller with him, and he makes himself comfortable, sets a pillow across his lap and leans against the wall. After a moment Tooru raises himself from the floor, quietly climbs up as well and sits next to Hajime.
They select their characters and play a few rounds. Hajime actually really sucks at this game, but he knows Tooru likes it so he endures the endless beat-down, grits his teeth as he loses game after game.
“So when are you going?” Asks Tooru as Link uses his sword to blast Kirby off into the black abyss of space.
“Going where?” Hajime grunts, waits for his next life to boot up before he runs at Link and attempts smashing him with his stupid-ass hammer. He’s easily avoided before getting treated to a round-house kick to the face.
“On your date.”
“I’m not.”
Tooru’s eyebrows furrow, and he lowers his controller. “What do you mean, you’re not?”
Hajime sighs, lowers his as well, watches as their characters bounce in place on the screen. “What was unclear about what I just said? I’m not going on a date with Komura. She asked me out and I said no.”
Tooru whips his head around. “What.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know it’s crazy. But I just can’t picture myself being with her anymore. So thanks for that.”
Tooru frowns, bites his lip nervously. “Iwa-chan. I mean, if you think you need to practice more, that’s fine with me.”
“No, I don’t want to practice.”
“Then what—“
“I want to be kissing you because I want to be kissing you. Not to practice for somebody else.”
Hajime looks at him, blood boiling under his cheeks because he’s so embarrassed. But Tooru’s just staring back at him quizzically, no sign of comprehension at all and Hajime fidgets.
“Iwa-chan…I don’t under—“
“God, for being so popular, you’re thick as fuck.” Hajime takes the pillow from his lap and whacks Tooru over the head with it. “I like you. So obviously I’m not gonna want to go out with Komura.”
He waits for a moment, and then can see the exact moment Tooru understands what he’s saying. His jaw drops and his eyes open so wide it’s almost funny, except Hajime doesn’t feel like laughing. He’s actually scared—there’s a possibility this won’t turn out well. Hajime firmly believes that the two of them have something that's untouchable. But that doesn't mean the rejection wouldn't hurt, doesn't mean that he wouldn't have to deal with months of awkwardness until time is able to patch up his wounds.
“Can you repeat that once more, Iwa-chan?” Tooru’s voice is barely over a breathy whisper, and his eyes are a little shiny and oh no, does he really hate it that much that he’s crying? Fuck. Okay, Hajime, just brush it off. Play it cool.
Hajime licks his lips nervously, turns back to face the TV, makes his little Kirby run back and forth aimlessly across the screen. “I like you, okay? Now can we please just get back to—“
But then he’s shoved onto his back, and when his eyes focus all he can see is Tooru, and the controller is being gently pried from his grasp to be unceremoniously tossed on the floor.
“No, we cannot ‘just get back to playing Super Smash Brothers’ Do you know why, Iwa-chan?”
Tooru’s arms are caging in Hajime’s head on either side, his face so close, breath warm and sweet like usual. Hajime’s never seen this before. He’s never seen this of Tooru. He’s never felt like he’s being overpowered by his mere presence; the way Tooru’s looking at him with that little strange smile. Hajime swallows.
“No, I don’t. Do tell.”
He freezes as Tooru dips his head, the tip of his chilly nose pressed directly to the shell of Hajime’s ear to speak.
“Because I’ve liked you since middle school. Because I’ve been pining, and yearning, and trying to pretend like it’s not there for years. Because the only reason I offered to teach you was because it felt like if I didn’t kiss you soon I was going to explode.”
Hajime sucks in a breath. He hadn’t expected this. He had come to terms with his feelings, mostly because a part of him knew they had always been there. Because he knew there was no one else he’d rather spend his time with. And now he knew there was no one else he’d rather be kissing, either. But he had no idea that Tooru had felt the same, and for so long. It almost makes Hajime feel guilty. All this time...
Tooru skims his nose along Hajime’s jaw as he continues to speak. “So no, we are not going to be brushing this off, Iwa-chan."
Hajime shivers, his heart thumping unsteadily. But this feels right. Tooru has always felt right. He unconsciously reaches up, brings his hands over Tooru’s broad shoulders, shirt warm over hot skin.
“Then what are we going to be doing?”
And Tooru lifts himself back up to meet Hajime’s eyes, and the smirk erupts into a blinding smile, warm brown eyes wet and Hajime’s throat becomes thick. Tooru lowers himself onto his elbows, rests his forehead against Hajime’s and closes his eyes.
“I have a few things in mind.”