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When Hanamaki asks him what type of girl he’d go for, Hajime shrugs. ”Dunno. As long as she’s chill.”
It’s Valentine’s day, and Tooru’s messenger bag is overflowing with confession letters; one of them in his own hand. Neat rows of tiny hearts cover the envelope. They took forever to draw. The letter itself is two pages long, and Tooru has put all the best stickers he’s collected over the years on it. There’s nothing chill about it.
Safe to say the letter stays in his bag.
Back at home and crying on the bathroom floor, the truth becomes brutally clear. Tooru is just like his letter. Too much. Dramatic. Desperate. How does he get away with that even as a friend? They’ll be at university soon and Hajime will make new friends. He’ll meet normal, chill people and marvel at how he put up with Tooru all these years. He’ll leave him.
It’s okay, Tooru thinks. There are months to go before graduation; there’s time to change. He can stop being the opposite of what Iwa-chan wants.
***
”Iwa-chan let’s go stargazing tonight, it’s been ages,” Tooru says brightly as he slings his practice bag over his shoulder and walks out of the gym. The night’s supposed to be clear, and it’s getting a little less brutally cold. He’s excited.
”I dunno,” says Hajime. ”I’m kinda beat.”
Now, old, annoying, high-maintenance Tooru would have pestered Hajime until he got his way. New, chill Tooru is different. He swallows his disappointment like bitter medicine, and says, ”Oh, okay. Some other time, then.” He gives an easy smile.
Hajime frowns, then bumps their shoulders together. ”No, let’s do it. I was just complaining.”
”Iwa-chan, if you’re tired you should rest,” Tooru says, like a nice person. Wow, I’m usually really selfish, aren’t I?
”’m not that tired.” Hajime’s has a confused smile on his face, a slight crease between his brows. One instance of Tooru not nagging, and he looks like the world is upside down. Yikes.
”You really don’t have to.”
”I want to.”
Tooru’s feet stop moving. ”Oh.”
Hajime rolls his eyes, then slaps Tooru on the back and gets going. ”Come on, bet you’re making us watch at least four episodes of Battlestar and we have homework, so move.”
Walking home starts with lights steps and smiles. It’s rare for Hajime to be adamant about wanting them to do something; he usually just sighs and concedes to being dragged along. Seems like he likes the new Tooru better already. Why’d I have to think that? Now Tooru’s smile is all strained.
***
When they leave the restaurant, street lights and neon signs have taken over from the sun in illuminating the avenue. Tooru’s full and warm from dinner at their favorite place. A biting gust of wind has him thinking the cozy feeling might be short-lived.
In about five seconds Tooru is freezing his ass off. It’s not like he doesn’t listen when Hajime tells him to dress warm, he just thought the hood of his jacket would be enough. It’s not, he was wrong, and now his ears are so cold they hurt. It’s seriously unfair how cold he runs.
Hajime runs warm, and he’s wearing a scarf to boot. It’s not wrapped around his neck a million times, like Tooru would’ve worn it; instead it hangs loose and open like he doesn’t even need it. Tooru could have that scarf. He’s whined and pleaded until Hajime conceded and threw it at him many times before. But that’s being annoying.
A tug on Tooru’s arm brings him to a halt. ”You’re freezing,” Hajime sighs.
”What? No, I’m not.”
Hajime plucks Tooru’s hand from where he’s crossed his arms in search of a sliver of warmth. ”Your fingers are fucking icicles.”
”They’re not and I’m fine.” Tooru snatches his hand back, and restrains himself from bringing it to his mouth and blowing heat on it.
Hajime shakes his head as he opens his bag and pulls out matching dark grey gloves and hat. It’s March. He doesn’t wear those this late in winter. ”Put these on.” Hajime shoves them at Tooru. ”Why didn’t you bring a scarf? Why can’t you ever listen?”
Any justification dies in Tooru’s throat when Hajime takes off the thick forest green scarf and loops it around Tooru’s neck as many times as possible. He tucks in the edges, and the best smell in the world hits Tooru. The smell of his best friend. God, he’s missed wearing Hajime’s clothes… He feels more at home in them than in his own.
”Thanks,” he whispers.
Hajime ruffles his hair. ”You run cold, idiot. Wear warmer clothes.” His hand slides down to Tooru’s shoulder and stays there the rest of the way home. Tooru feels warm through and through.
Until he remembers why Hajime is being so nice to him: for once in his life he isn’t being an annoying asshole. He bets Hajime is grateful to get a fucking break.
***
Tooru chews on his chopsticks and tries not to eye Hajime’s dumplings. Iwaizumi-san makes the best ones, and whenever they’re in Hajime’s lunch box, Tooru steals them. Only half of them! He knows Hajime likes them as much as he does, but sharing is fair. Hajime lives with his mother, after all. He eats her food all the time. Fuck, Tooru is selfish…
When Hajime swiftly loads five dumplings into his lunch box, he gawks.
”What? You’re fucking obsessed with them.”
Tooru only keeps staring. Hajime takes one and puts it in his open mouth.
After the choking and coughing, Tooru chews it down around a smile. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are cracking up. Hajime has his face averted, and Tooru admires his crooked smile in profile.
Nothing has ever tasted better.
It almost takes the bitter taste out of his mouth.
***
Lying bored on his bed, Tooru makes his fingers type out yet another paragraph. This is the last time you ever think about the history of bridges, he promises himself. What a waste of his dwindling time with Hajime.
As if in agreement, his best friend throws himself onto the bed with a force that has Tooru’s computer wobbling on his legs. He turns to Tooru and pinches his cable knit sweater between his fingers.
”This isn’t soft at all,” he says and frowns.
Then he freaking tugs his hoodie off, abs flashing, and drops it on Tooru’s stomach. ”You should wear this instead. It’s too warm for me, anyway.”
Tooru isn’t answering, because Tooru isn’t computing. The one-eighty from mind-numbingly bored to the most awake was a lot.
”Put it on,” Hajime urges.
Careful not to have his t-shirt ride up, Tooru removes his sweater. The moment it’s off, Hajime takes it from him and pushes the hoodie into his hands. It’s soft from wear, and the hems are frayed. Tooru revels in Hajime’s smell as he pulls it over his head. Once it’s on, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on his closet door. ”Looks good on me.”
Hajime hums. It’s enough to make Tooru’s breath hitch.
Later, when they’re watching a movie with Tooru’s head on Hajime’s shoulder, the comfort of the hoodie makes him reckless. He breaks his new rules and tentatively rests his arm on Hajime’s chest, fingertips peaking out from the green sleeve. He waits to be pushed away.
An arm is wrapped around his shoulders. Pushing his luck, Tooru splays his palm over Hajime’s hard belly. Warmth seeps through the thin t-shirt. Hajime doesn’t say anything.
I’ll do anything to keep this, Tooru thinks. I’ll be anyone.
***
”Do you want to come over tonight?” Hajime closes his locker. ”I kinda wanna see how the season ends.”
He did not just initiate them hanging out and say he wanted to watch Battlestar Galactica. But he did.
”Yes!” Tooru answers and jumps up and down, bag bouncing against his hip.
Hajime chuckles, ”Alright then.”
Tooru smiles, all wide. He will not be stupid and upset about how magical things come from beating down his over-the-top personality. It might come natural, but it’s not a good one.
That night Tooru’s awake on the spare futon in Hajime’s bedroom. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, he’s gotten his earphones plugged in and is frantically clicking around on his phone. There must be something to drown out the thoughts of his and Iwa-chan’s impending graduation. There’s nothing. Tooru’s crying.
A month ago it wouldn’t have gotten this far. He would have woken Hajime up, whined his way into sleeping next to him, pretended to fall asleep, and moved closer until he could feel Hajime’s body right there. Then he would’ve slept like a baby.
There’s a rustle.
”’Kawa?” Hajime asks around a yawn, and looks down over the edge of the bed, hair all mussed up. He’s lit up by moonlight and the streetlight outside the window. ”What’re you doing?”
”Couldn’t sleep.” Tooru keeps his eyes on the phone, so Hajime can’t see he’s crying.
”Shit, are you crying?”
”No,” he whimpers. His best friend’s sweet and concerned voice isn’t helping keep the floodgates closed.
Hajime sighs and it turns into another yawn. ”Get up here.”
”It’s okay.”
”It’s not. Now, come on.”
There is no alternate universe where Tooru needs to be asked more than twice to share a bed with Hajime. He stumbles up and sits down where Hajime has pulled the comforter aside. The sheets are crazy soft under his palms. He doesn’t know how Iwaizumi-san does it.
”Wanna c’mere?” Hajime opens up his arms.
Tooru can’t believe his eyes or his ears. Sleep must’ve come at last, because this is definitely dreaming. ”Like- Like you’ll hold me?”
”Shut up, idiot,” Hajime groans. ”Just get your ass here.”
Tentatively, Tooru lies down; head on Hajime’s shoulder and an arm resting lightly on his chest. He throws a leg over Hajime’s. He couldn’t resist. A gasp almost slips out when he’s pulled in close and snug by an arm around his shoulder and a hand on his waist. It’s so warm. Hand clutching a fistful of Hajime’s shirt, Tooru cries silently.
”What’s wrong?” Hajime whispers.
Tooru shakes his head. He’s making a gross little pool of snot and tears on Hajime’s shirt.
”Please, ’Kawa, I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
”I’m sorry,” Tooru says. He afraid he’s undoing all the hard work he’s put into being better for Hajime.
”No- Shit, don’t apologize. I just meant- Want you to be happy, is all. Fuck, Tooru, cry if you need to,” Hajime reassures and he sounds so sincere it breaks Tooru’s heart a little, and kind of puts it back together, and all in all leaves him befuddled.
”Don’t- want to be annoying,” he whispers.
”You aren’t. You never are.”
Even in his current state, Tooru huffs a bitter laugh at that. ”I always am.”
”I mean, sure, but not really, you know?” Hajime says like he’s saying something extremely obvious when he’s absolutely not.
”What’s that supposed to mean?” Tooru asks weakly.
”Wait, fuck.” Hajime scoots down so they’re face to face, Tooru’s head pillowed on his arm. There’s a crease like a crater between his brows. ”Shit. Oikawa, you know I don’t seriously think you’re annoying, right?
”But… you say I am. You say it all the time.”
”Oh god, fuck.” Hajime smacks his forehead. ”I don’t mean that.” He smooths his hand up and down Tooru’s arm, shaking his head with a horrified look on his face. ”’Course I don’t, you’re my best friend. Fuck, I’m sorry, ’Kawa. Wait. Is this why you’ve been acting weird?”
”Thought you’d like me better… if I wasn’t so bothersome.” Thought maybe you wouldn’t leave me then.
”That’s stupid. You are not bothersome.” Hajime spits out the last word.
”But I am. I’m clingy, needy, vain, loud-”
”Stop. You don’t get to-” Hajime takes a deep breath and looks straight into Tooru’s eyes. ”… talk about my favorite person like that.”
Tears well from Tooru’s eyes. Favorite. The word goes straight to his heart. Favorite? It doesn’t go with Hajime’s words on Valentine’s day; the words that led to a love letter abandoned for a promise to change.
”You- you told Makki you didn’t know what kind of girl you liked. You just wanted someone… chill.”
”That’s what brought this on? We were just talking about girls, Oikawa. It was nothing to do with you.”
”I know,” Tooru says dully. Then he says too much, ”You want the one you share your life with to be everything I’m not. And it’s fine, because it has nothing to do with me. I have nothing to do with the rest of your life.” His voice cracks on the last word.
Hajime is quiet. Tooru feels naked and x-rayed under his intently searching eyes. Any second now, he will see right through him. Tooru still can’t look away. It’s the first time they’ve ever stared into each other’s eyes for any extended time, and there’s green in Hajime’s brown eyes, and Tooru can’t stop.
Slowly and carefully, gaze unwavering, Hajime speaks, ”You can have as much as you want to do with the rest of my life.”
Tooru shakes his head. ”I want too much.”
”The more the better.”
”You can’t just say-”
”Ideally you’d have everything to do with the rest of my life,” Hajime says earnestly, like he wants to get something into Tooru’s head.
”I- I don’t understand.”
”Oikawa, do you like me?” Hajime breathes.
Tooru recoils. He feels his tears pick up steam, and squirms to hide his face. He’s so fucking dumb. Hajime knows. It’s all over now.
”I’m sorry.” Hajime catches Tooru’s face in his hand. ”I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put it like that. You’re always… it’s always you who has to do everything in our friendship. I meant to say…” He smiles. Tooru thinks he might die. He didn’t know Hajime’s face could look so soft, and it’s directed right at him. ”I love you. Please be my boyfriend.”
Tooru really can’t speak. He kind of feels like his brain has exploded, and isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to form words again. That’s okay, though; they’re already formed. He leans off the bed and digs into the darkest corner of his bag.
It’s still there: Tooru’s dramatic love letter. A little wrinkled and asymmetrically folded, but ridiculously affectionate all the same.
Fumbling, he finds and pulls the string that lights the bedside lamp and they both cringe at the sudden expulsion of darkness. Hajime blinks as he adjusts to the light, and keeps blinking when his eyes focus on what Tooru is offering him.
”Here,” Tooru whispers.
Hajime takes the envelope from his hands. He opens it carefully, like he’s handling some wounded bird. His eyes go wide as saucers.
As he reads, Tooru tries not to remember all the embarrassing things he wrote. He fails, but it doesn’t feel so bad. Because Hajime looks at the pages like they’re miracles. Every now and then he’ll take a break from reading to look at Tooru like he’s the miracle. By the time the pages are read, front and back, they’re both wiping at tears.
”Sounds like I get to be your boyfriend,” Hajime says, breaths coming shaky. ”Sound like I get to kiss you now.”
”But I’m gross.” Tooru sniffs and pouts.
A wide and crooked smile blooms across Hajime’s face. ”Whatever.”
Tears and snot and all, Hajime kisses him.
Tooru returns the kiss desperately. It’s clumsy; probably more uncoordinated than his first kiss ever. Their noses knock together painfully when he presses closer a bit too enthusiastically. He doesn’t worry all that much, though. Hajime is smiling too hard for him not to be reassured. And when he nips Tooru’s bottom lip it’s a blissed out daze from there.
”So you didn’t like me better when I tried to be… chill?” Tooru asks as he’s catching his breath from Hajime rocking his world with chapped lips and wandering hands.
Hajime shakes his head. ”I always like you. That doesn’t depend on how you’re acting. I’d like you in a coma - don’t you fucking dare, though.”
”But you’ve been so much nicer. You asked me to come over. I didn’t say anything and you just gave me your hoodie. You even took my hand when we watched The Grudge…”
”I had to when you weren’t doing everything for me anymore and I still wanted to be with you all the time. Was I supposed to go without holding your hand? Let you just be scared? Not see my clothes on you? No way.” Hajime smiles. ”They look too good on you.”
Tooru blushes. It’s hard to wrap his head around that Hajime apparently likes the way he looks. Maybe he’ll hammer it in, though. The way he looks at Tooru right now, he could do it with his eyes alone.
”But hey…” Hajime runs a hand through Tooru’s hair and rubs at the back of his head. ”I should’ve been doing all that all along. I’ve been an asshole, not pulling my weight at all.”
”It’s okay.”
”Like hell it is. I know you get insecure, I should have made damn sure you knew how much I cared. It just never crossed my mind you wouldn’t…”
Tooru climbs on top of him and weaves his fingers through his hair; shuts him up with a kiss. Iwa-chan was talking like he’s a bad friend. Tooru’s not-ruined knee would beg to differ. As would all the times he let Tooru talk endlessly about aliens and space. Tooru’s entire life, too. He’ll be demanding more sweet Hajime from now on, though.
”Are you saying,” he asks, ”You like my clingy?”
”Hell yeah.” Hajime flips them over and intertwines their fingers. ”I love it,” he smiles. ”I love you.”