Archive of Our Own

“ Would you rather be able to speak every language or speak to animals? ” Oikawa reads from the card, nose wrinkling. He smacks the card down onto the concrete in front of him with gusto. “This isn’t even fair. You guys all get to answer the easy ones.”

Matsukawa shrugs. “I think it’s just your terrible luck.”

Hanamaki grins. “You might just be the unluckiest person I know.” Then, “All languages.”

“All languages,” Matsukawa echoes. No one’s surprised when Iwaizumi replies that he would rather speak to animals.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa groans, “anyone. You could talk to anyone on Earth.”

Iwaizumi scrunches up his face. “Why would I even want to? Maybe I just love my dog a lot.”

“He’s got a point,” Hanamaki says, in all seriousness, though his eyes are crinkling from a barely contained smile. “I’d choose my dog over you all.”

Matsukawa watches him, chin cradled in one hand. He thinks that he could just sit here, for a while, like this, but then Oikawa is sagging sideways into his shoulder and pushing him a little. “Mattsun,” he drawls, the name drawn out, “your turn.”

Matsukawa half heartedly shoves him up and off and draws the next card from the pile. With the straightest face he can manage, he reads, “ Would you rather drink two litres of your own blood, or your friend’s. ”

“ What?!” Oikawa shrieks immediately, grabbing Matsukawa’s arm and yanking it over so that he can get a good look at the card. “You’re making that up.” When he sees the card, he groans and covers his face with both hands and slumps the other way, into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi pats his shoulder consolingly but grins a little.

“Does the blood drinking cause harm?” Hanamaki pipes up. Matsukawa looks over at him.

“What?”

“Like does the person who loses a liter of blood go to the hospital?”

“Two litres,” Iwaizumi corrects, “and I think you'd die if you lost that much blood. So probably not.”

“Oh,” Hanamaki says, then, “I guess my own blood.”

“Same,” Matsukawa and Iwaizumi say at the same time.

“I’d drink someone else’s,” Oikawa says, apparently recovered from the betrayal by the Would You Rather cards, and surprising no one.

“Yeah, but like, whose?” Hanamaki asks, squinting across the circle the four of them are gathered in at Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan’s,” Oikawa replies, and Iwaizumi says, “ Fuck no,” just as quickly.

Oikawa pouts. “Fine. I guess it’d be a mixture of everyone’s.”

Matsukawa is saved from asking the obvious question ( what the fuck is wrong with you? ) by the bell ringing, signaling the end of lunch.  They scoop up their trash and Hanamaki gathers all the cards into one deck, which he shoves into a side pocket in his bag. Chatting, Iwaizumi and Oikawa take the trash and head through the door leading from the roof to the rest of the school, back to class. Matsukawa waits for Hanamaki to finish with the cards, and they head in the same direction, down the cold stairwell and towards the senior hallway.

They part ways at Matsukawa’s classroom door. Matsukawa lets his gaze rest on his retreating back for slightly longer than necessary, wonders when Hanamaki’s going to start ironing his shirts–not that he has any room to say anything, honestly–and ambles to his seat. Moriyama shoots him a look, but graduation is in a month and Matsukawa is less than concerned with being late to Language and Composition. Moriyama begins the lesson the way he always does–back to the class, facing the board–which is where he’ll stay for the duration of the period.

Matsukawa allows his thoughts to wander–practically encourages them to. He doesn’t hate school, or even dislike it–school is where Hanamaki is, after all, the two so intrinsically linked that sometimes they’re one and the same, in his mind– studying for a test with Hanamaki, shooting straw wrappers at first years together, late nights and early mornings in the gym, so on and so forth.

It’s just, he can’t really see how studying the socio-political effects due to changing world conditions on 15th century poetry is going to help him, at all, so he thinks about their daily lunch /card game sessions instead.

It started with Oikawa announcing that he didn’t know poker and what was he supposed to do when he’s playing strip poker with girls in college? (To which Iwaizumi had nearly pushed him down the stairs and Boys too, Iwa-chan, don’t be jealous ) and–to be honest, none of them can play much more than Go Fish, (and they’re too lazy to learn anything else) and that had gotten boring after a few days, even when there was curry in the cafeteria that one time and Iwaizumi spilled some all over Oikawa’s cards.

So–they move on from playing cards. And then Matsukawa has the brilliant idea to bring his sister’s set of Apples to Apples to school–and it devolves from there. Currently, everyone likes Uno best, but the set is Oikawa’s, and he’s paranoid after the curry event and refuses to bring them more than once a week. Hanamaki’s Would You Rather cards are a close second.

It’s not such a surprise that they’re choosing to spend their free time playing games designed by children. The four of them have all taken their college entrance exams, and are pretty much set for after graduation plans. Volleyball is over, exams are basically over–all the third years are in a pre-graduation, post-school limbo at this point.

Moriyama doesn’t see it that way. According to him, poetry is the most important thing Matsukawa–and anyone else in the room–could learn, high school or otherwise.

Matsukawa begs to differ. His major is undeclared at this point, but he knows what it isn’t going to be. He sucks at literature.

--

Matsukawa thinks that sometimes, he has to give Oikawa more credit. He’s always known him to be a little too smart, a little too perceptive for his own good. He just thought he was better at hiding secrets than Oikawa is at finding them.

He starts to think he’s wrong when Oikawa starts looking at him consideringly. He brushes it aside at first–mistake number one–but Oikawa isn’t exactly... subtle. Clearly he wants Matsukawa to know that he knows something, judging by the copious winks and raised eyebrows sent in his direction during lunch, during their free block, during the passing period. He even starts trying to Matsukawa alone, to “talk”. Matsukawa can guess what he wants to discuss and avoids it at every possible chance.

Matsukawa realizes that he's well and truly cornered by Oikawa when they're the only ones at the shoe lockers at the end of the day. Iwaizumi’s there, at least, waiting a few feet away with his bag already in hand. Matsukawa steels himself for what's to come as he slips out of his school shoes and into his loafers. Everyone else is mostly gone–it’s just the three of them: Iwaizumi, playing a game on his phone, Oikawa, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Matsukawa, putting his shoes on as slow as humanly possible. Hanamaki’s absence is due to cram school.  

"Mattsun," Oikawa finally whines, long and drawn out. Iwaizumi winces. "How are you content to just sit on your love? We're graduating soon!"

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. "First off, graduation is months away. And second, I'm not in love with anyone. I like Hanamaki. There's a difference."

"Ah ha!" Oikawa says, pointing at him. "You finally admitted it!"

Matsukawa sighs, suddenly irritated. "There’s not much to admit. I didn’t deny anything in the first place, either." He closes his locker, grabbing his bag from his feet, and heads for the door.

"Call me Sherlock Holmes,” Oikawa says, ridiculously proud and butchering the name fantastically. “I was able to solve this case like a bloodhound tracking a scent.”

Matsukawa wonders if there’s ever a moment when Oikawa makes any sense. Iwaizumi, who starts to leave, says, "You're more of a Pekingese," and follows Matsukawa out the door, leaving a spluttering Oikawa behind.

"Sorry about that guy," he says, once they've left the school building and are walking towards the gate. "I don't want to make any excuses, but that's how he gets. It's not any of our business, anyway."

After going to school with Oikawa for close to three years, Matsukawa had pretty much figured that he'd act the way he did, but he nods anyway. "It doesn't really matter to me. I'm fine where I am." He knows Oikawa wouldn't tell Hanamaki anything, but even if he tried to meddle, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Probably.

Iwaizumi bumps Matsukawa’s shoulder with his own, and then they pause at the gate to the school to let Oikawa catch up.

When he gets to them, he complains about his hair being ruined from the twenty yard sprint (to which Iwaizumi replies that you can't ruin what's already bad) and then sinks into a sullen silence.

“Look, aren’t you going to–” Oikawa says, when he’s apparently decided that he can’t take the induced lull in conversation anymore.

He’t cut off by a violent Iwaizumi, but Matsukawa answers anyway. “Nope.”

And he leaves it at that.

--

Matsukawa sometimes wishes that he and Hanamaki lived closer. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are barely a street apart, and everyone on the team knows about their movie nights and how sometimes they just eat breakfast together, and how there’s a way that Oikawa can get into Iwaizumi’s second floor bedroom without a key or a ladder.

It’s not like that with him and Hanamaki. Not that he wants it to be–there’s something about Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s friendship where it wouldn’t work for anyone else–like the freak quick from Karasuno, or the details of the United States Constitution. Some things don’t make sense–they just work.

Practically speaking, though, if he and Hanamaki lived closer, they’d get to walk home together more.

Tonight is different. Tonight they’re going to have what some might call a “hang out” or perhaps a “sleepover.” Hanamaki has some shitty Bigfoot documentaries and they’re going to eat gummy worms and commentate like they’re news anchors or snooty film critics, and perhaps sip wine that they found in the back of the pantry like they’re connoisseurs of something or other. They’re both eighteen now and even though they know that they’re not hot shit, at all, it’s still funny to pretend.

Summer and graduation are fast approaching. It should be cold, beng March, but it’s almost pleasantly warm outside, despite what the calendar says. Matsukawa is thinking distantly that he’s going to miss these days, when Hanamaki’s shoulder bumps his own, uniform shirt slightly sticking to his post shower skin. He’s not on the team–none of the third years are, now–but sometimes they go to practice, just to feel that again. Matsukawa looks over to see Hanamaki grinning.

“Y’know,” Hanamaki says, stretching his arms above his head, “I don’t even get why Oikawa is the popular one. If this was an anime, I’d be the main character.”

The setting sun burns his edges gold, alights the sharp planes of his face. Matsukawa looks away, faces forward, towards the houses that wind out of sight.

“What makes you say that?” he replies easily, because things have always been just that, with Hanamaki. Even now.

Hanamaki drops his arms back down, points to his head with a flourish. “Pink hair, duh.”

Matsukawa smiles, hunches his shoulders a little as he adjusts his sports bag. “Haters will say it’s red.”

“Haters will say it’s strawberry blonde,” Hanamaki corrects.

“Or roan.”

He frowns. “The hell is roan?”  

“You know, like cow color. Pinkish brown.”

“ Cow color?”

“Horse color, whatever. It’s like a natural pink.”

“Thanks, Mattsun,” Hanamaki drawls, and Matsukawa–likes–loves–it, the way he drops sarcasm into two words, the way it’s just so and deadpan enough, and well–

Yeah.

Matsukawa clears his throat. “If you were the main character, who would I be?” Love interest? He watches their shadows–somewhere, along the way, they’ve fallen into step. Shadow-Makki-and-Mattsun’s arms swing in such a way that they might be holding hands.

“Comic relief,” Hanamaki says. “Ideally that would be me, but I can’t do it all.”

“That’s Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s job,” Matsukawa supplies, and Hanamaki nods.

What did he expect? No one is that smooth, much less Hanamaki Takahiro.

Plus, like, someone has to actually like you back to say that kind of stuff.

“Just kidding,” Hanamaki says after a pause. “I can do it all. You’re more of the Best Friend type, I think.”

“Corny,” Matsukawa says, but he’s smiling.

“Cheesy.”

“Sickly.”

“Sickly?”

“Like sickly sweet.”

“Ah.”

He can live with this.

"Hold on," Hanamaki says. Matsukawa looks back to see him stopped a few paces back, staring at the grassy area of the park they've passed every day for the past three years. "We won't be students for much longer," he says, crossing the street and dropping the bag in the grass.

"College students," Matsukawa counters, always rationalizing, but he follows.

Hanamaki flops down into the grass, arms spread wide. Matsukawa' bag joins Hanamaki’s, the only difference between the two a volleyball charm that Hanamaki swears is ironic. Matsukawa thinks that maybe he actually kind of likes it, but whatever.

Matsukawa sinks into a cross legged position, and follows the other boys gaze up. The lamps in the park drown out any stars that could be seen. Their view is mostly moths dancing in the yellow light.

"There are better places to stargaze, you know," Matsukawa says, although he doesn't mind the moths. He knows that they continually fly into lamps and stuff because they think it's the moon and are just trying to navigate. They sort of remind him of how his thoughts keep bumping into Hanamaki.

Which is such a cheesy thing to think that he almost laughs. "Like the field behind school," he says instead.

"Or the roof of my house."

"Or the hill overlooking the highway."

"Mm. There might be too many cars there."

They're quiet, then: "God, I can not wait to get out of here," Hanamaki sighs, "here" meaning "high school."

Matsukawa lays down, grass pressing against his back through his shirt, tickling the shell of his ear. "And yet," he says.

"And yet," Hanamaki echoes.

Matsukawa feels the same way, sort of. He's tired of high school. He likes Miyagi, but he's tired of that too.

He's not tired of his moments like this.

---

That night, Matsukawa falls asleep on the extra futon that’s a bit too short for his frame. Hanamaki’s ceiling isn’t any more interesting than his own, but he watches it anyway, for the sake of not watching the boy asleep in the bed beside him instead. The last few hours settle comfortably into the recess of his memories, all sour gummy worms and shaky footage of a guy in a fur suit running through some forest in America.

He wakes up early–something he can’t help, no matter how he tries. He doesn’t sleep well at other people’s houses, either.

Hanamaki doesn’t look that great, asleep. His already short hair is fluffed away from his head in all directions. He’s got creases on his cheek from his pillow case.

Matsukawa watches him for a moment more, then tugs his blanket over his head and tries to go back to sleep.

---

T minus two weeks. Matsukawa’s school life at this point is an unfortunate clash of two mental states: the part of him that knows that college starts less than a month after school ends, and the part of him that could probably live under a bridge and not care.

He can’t fulfill his dreams of a quiet riverside life quite yet, because at this point in time he’s supposed to look presentable. Seijou always throws a sports banquet for the graduating third years right before graduation. Everyone is supposed to put on nice clothes and eat nice food and listen to about a million speeches by the president of the school and the coaches and sometimes the captains. It’s hard enough for Matsukawa to look any good in something he wears every day,  much less a suit. He had to get it tailored–courtesy of his height– but he still feels like it sits awkwardly on him.

The school sets up long tables in the biggest gym the school has. The four of them–Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa–are seated at a table with some third years from the swim team and the wrestling club directly across and next to them.

The baseball team managed to make it to nationals this year before getting knocked out, and it’s all anyone can talk about. Iwaizumi hates all the baseball puns being tossed around, but Matsukawa privately likes them.

(Or maybe he just likes the way Hanamaki laughs into his cup every time someone makes them. But like, whatever. Details.)

For some reason Oikawa is making a speech, even though the volleyball team didn’t make it as far as they usually did. It stings a little, still, because it was their last year, but Matsukawa is content enough to root for Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s careers from a more mundane spot on the career totem pole.

Anyway, Matsukawa is pretty sure that Oikawa’s speech has more to do with his popularity with the staff and student body alike, although he’d be the first to say that he’s worked just as hard, if not harder than anyone. It’s a nice speech, great even, and Iwaizumi hangs onto every word. People genuinely clap when it’s over, and for a second Matsukawa remembers that OIkawa isn’t a loser with an alien obsession who’s bad at cards to everyone else.  

The moment almost kicks him in the chest–the sudden realization that it’s really happening, that it’ll be over soon. Oikawa is coming back down the aisle, and as he sits down, Matsukawa tries to memorize everything about the way they’re sitting, the way they look, how young they are.

The moment passes. The speeches continue. When they’re over and the caterers bring the food out, a girl from the table behind them over the back of her seat and congratulates Oikawa on his speech. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as Oikawa compliments her dress and she flushes.

The girl sitting from Iwaizumi laughs after the exchange is over and the other girl returns to talking to her friends. “You should hear the second years on the team talking about you. You’d think you’re famous or something, the way they swoon.” Matsukawa thinks she’s in Hanamaki’s class–he sort of recognizes her from when he visits Hanamaki during classes.

"Girls always think I'm hot," Oikawa says, doing his best to flip his hair when he really doesn't have enough to flip. It comes out as a sort of awkward head-twist.

"I don't know about hot," Iwaizumi grouses. "And they usually back away slowly when they realize what a loser you are."

“I am not a loser,” Oikawa whines, and Iwaizumi says smugly, “Yeah, like that.”

Later on a girl comes over just to ask for Oikawa’s number. When she leaves, Hanamaki makes a show of swooning. "Oh, Tooru-kun, you're so beautiful, do you have a Twitter? Or perhaps Instagram? I'm enamored," he says, fluttering his eyelashes excessively.

"Enchanted," Matsukawa suggests, chiming in.

"Enchanted," Hanamaki echoes, draping himself over Oikawa. “When I saw you on that stage, I fell in love,” he croons, leg on Oikawa’s chair. Matsukawa laughs, not caring when the captain of the tennis team looks over.

He’s gonna miss this.

---

Graduation is over in a rush. It feels fast, but Matsukawa almost falls asleep anyway. OIkawa, a few seats down, snickers when his head snaps back up.

When it’s over, they’re shoved out of the cool auditorium and into the courtyard. It’s an unusually warm day for late March in Miyagi, but the slight breeze keeps anyone from sweating. Oikawa is busy with almost all of the second and third year girls, but Hanamaki is at his elbow.  

"Hey," Matsukawa says, like it doesn't make him nervous. "I’m gonna miss you."

"Aw," Hanamaki says. "I’m gonna miss you, too." He waggles his eyebrows in a mock display of seduction.

Matsukawa laughs. "Salacious."

"Salacious." Hanamaki says the word likes he's savoring it. "Ten bucks says we could trick Oikawa into thinking it means something else."

"Oh, I'm sure he knows what it is already. "

"True. We’ll just have to find a different word."

We, Matsukawa thinks. “Lascivious.”

“Good one. Prurient.”

“Prurient?”

“It means the same thing.”

They’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind them. They turn together, and Matsukawa feels his stomach dip.

Crushes have never been painful for Matsukawa. He’s always been comfortable to watch from a difference. He’s never asked anyone out in his life, and he doesn’t exactly want to change that.

The girl in front of Hanamaki obviously has different plans.

For the record, Matsukawa thinks that it’s completely cliché. Graduation, last time they’ll wear their uniforms, cherry blossoms, crying parents, yada yada.  

Much like almost any situation that he finds himself in, Matsukawa uses this as a chance to practice his poker face. Like when he had accidentally walked in on a confession when he was trying to find a tutor after school. Or when Oikawa had tripped over a volleyball on his first day as captain. Or when he and Hanamaki had put soap in the showerheads and Iwaizumi had chased them down the hall to homeroom.

( Hey , Hanamaki had said, we could have used bouillon instead. )

(Matsukawa’s poker face had failed him at that point.)

This is sort of different, though, because it’s not funny–or at least, it won’t be funny when he tells it as a story later. There isn’t much of a story here at all, just a girl who likes his best-friend-slash-love-interest.

Love interest is such strong terminology , Matsukawa thinks, stepping away and making his way back through the crowd of excited classmates to find his little sister. He thinks he sees Hanamaki’s head turn towards him but decides it’s probably his imagination.

Couldn’t they, like, go somewhere more private? Like behind the gym, or the auditorium, or something. This is so public, what if he says no? Or what if he says yes? Where’s the privacy in that?

He thinks he sees Hana, but it turns out to be someone else. He knows his parents were by the entrance to the auditorium, but they’re not there now. Matsukawa’s height should really be helping him now, but it’s so crowded that it doesn’t make much of a difference.

What’s to like about Hanamaki, anyway? At least in a romantic way. His eyes are kind of beady. His hair is pink. He likes using words like “cereology” when it doesn’t apply just to see what people do. (It doesn’t work on Oikawa though.)

Oh. There she is. The crowd parts for an instant, and Hana is leaning against the school gate, phone in hand. She’s lanky like Matsukawa, but wears her curly hair longer. Everyone asks if she plays basketball, but he absolutely refuses to play sports. Matsukawa doesn’t blame her.

“Mom and Dad are taking pictures in front of the doors,” she says, not looking up. Matsukawa follows her head jerk to see that she’s right. Typical.

“What kind of parents take graduation pictures without the graduate?” Comes a voice a few paces away. Matsukawa is surprised to see that it’s Hanamaki because shouldn’t he still be back there, getting confessed to and then riding off in the sunset, or whatever? How long was Matsukawa lost in the crowd, anyway?

He’s caught up in the stupidest details, trying to see if Hanamaki’s second button is missing. Why would it be? Why wouldn’t it be?

“You good?” Hanamaki asks, pulling Matsukawa back to Earth.

“Huh? Yeah,” Matsukawa says, sounding, to his own ears, almost convincing.

“Okay...well.” Hanamaki stops suddenly, and Matsukawa finds himself looking over at him. “I guess this is it.”

“What, are we dying?” Matsukawa asks, and is relieved when Hanamaki grins. The air between them had felt stilted, somehow.

“Oh yes, it’s really tragic.”

“You might even say heartbreaking.”

“How about...cataclysmic.”

“Ooh . Ten points.”

Hana is watching them with a bemused expression.

“Well,” Hanamaki coughs again, “I better go. My parents have this reservation at a restaurant–you know, the weird French one–or maybe it’s Italian–so…”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa says, “See ya.”

“See you tomorrow. Or–not.” Hanamaki laughs, and Matsukawa does too, but somehow it doesn’t feel funny.

When Matsukawa gets home, he lays face first on his bed, wrinkling his uniform for probably the last time. High school is officially over, but he can’t bring himself to feel one way about it. It’s too tangled, to muddled.

---

College starts in three weeks, which means that they have two left in Miyagi. They’re all relatively spread out across the country; Iwaizumi, the closest, is staying in Miyagi, Oikawa in Tokyo. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are the furthest apart–Hanamaki in Hokkaido– “What do I wear on my legs? How do people stay warm ?”–and Matsukawa in Osaka–”You’re gonna come back with an accent ,” Oikawa cries when they’re celebrating his acceptance letter.

The distance feels like a cruel joke.

Because the four of them won’t be together until winter break, at the earliest, Oikawa suggests/demands that they spend the day at the mall. Iwaizumi, predictably, shoots down the idea. Just as predictably, Oikawa overrides his veto, and they find themselves at emerging from a dubiously good movie shown on a day that’s too cold for April.

“I’m starving,” Iwaizumi grouches, looking ready to pull Oikawa’s hair. He’s pissed about the shitty movie in a way that’s almost comical.

“I know, crying makes me hungry too,” Oikawa grins. “That last scene– heart wrenching .” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

“I’ve seen Bigfoot documentaries that were better than that,” Hanamaki pipes up, shooting Matsukawa a grin. Matsukawa’s stomach dips, in a good way.

Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “Bigfoot is so crude. American.”

“How could you say that about Iwaizumi’s cousin?” Matsukawa says in mock hurt. Iwaizumi glares while Hanamaki claps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi says, already turning to walk away. “You two get us a table. I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll go with you,” Oikawa says, jogging to join him. Hanamaki waggles his eyebrows at Matsukawa.

“Hey,” Hanamaki says, grabbing Matsukawa’s wrist and pulling him behind a large potted plant. Matsukawa allows himself to be led, ducks down so that they’re mostly hidden from the view of the passing shoppers. “Let’s see what Iwaizumi and Oikawa do when they can’t find us,” Hanamaki whispers, grinning.

“Probably call or text us,” Matsukawa says, but settles back on his heels to wait. The leaves of the plant, oversized and glossy, tickle his face. When he turns his head, Hanamaki is framed in green, profile stark against the plant as he peers through the leaves with a sort of delight that Matsukawa doesn’t get. It’s not that he thinks this is stupid cause it’s childish, or whatever, it’s just that he’s got other things on his mind.

Matsukawa isn’t sure when his feelings for Hanamaki started, but he’s pretty sure they weren’t meant to outlive this high school career. It’s throwing him, really, because they’re about to go and start new lives or whatever, and Matsukawa’s just realizing that he’s going to be hung up on a high school crush.

And it’s this whole thing again, and Matsukawa is suddenly struck with thought that this is just like Would You Rather. Only instead of the choice between never clipping your fingernails or toenails, it’s the choice between taking a step or not.

“I like you,” he says, just as Hanamaki says “There they are!” and turns to him. The smile that had been playing at the corners of his mouth instantly drops, and Matsukawa thinks that taking control of his fate for once was a horrible, horrible idea because he can’t decipher the look that Hanamaki is giving him, at all.

“What?” Hanamaki says after a long pause.

Matsukawa looks up, lets out a shaky breath. “Um,” is all he can manage, because, fuck, he never thought he’d actually do this and it’s harder than he thought it would be. “I said that–”

“ Youlikeme ?” Hanamaki exhales in a rush.

What does that even mean? What is Matsukawa supposed to do? Why did he do that?

Matsukawa can’t pose any of these questions out loud, so he settles for a nod, praying that it won’t be too embarrassing and awful and life ruining when Hanamaki rejects him and pushes him into the mall fountain or something.

“Okay,” Hanamaki says, “okay.” He sits back on his heels. “Okay.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal–” Matsukawa starts, feeling sort of sick. He isn’t sure what he expected but it probably wasn’t this.

“Wait, no,” Hanamaki says, rocking forward, “Oh my God, no, I just thought–I didn’t think–” He laughs shakily. “I didn’t think you would ever say that, so I’m just–” He gestures vaguely.

“Oh.” Matsukawa still feels sick. “Okay.” He moves to stand up, but Hanamaki catches his wrists.

“I’m doing this wrong. I mean, I like you too?” His face is red. It clashes with his hair.

Matsukawa sits back down. “You don’t have to–”

“I’m not ,” Hanamaki insists. “I just said it wrong. I do, seriously.”

“Solemnly?” Matsukawa says back, half out of habit.

“Earnestly,” Hanamaki replies, unusually serious.

“Oh,” Matsukawa says. He still feels sick, but for a different reason.

Making out behind a potted plant at the mall is easier to get away with than Matsukawa thought it would be. They emerge a few minutes later. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are facing the other way, thankfully. Matsukawa plucks a leaf out of Hanamaki’s hair and taps Oikawa’s shoulder with it. He spins around, half angry, half taken aback.

“ Makki ,” Oikawa says, nose wrinkling. “What happened to you ?”

Hanamaki grins, and Matsukawa can’t quite wrap his head around how happy and open he looks–how Matsukawa might just be the reason why he’s smiling like that. “You should have seen the other guy.”

Reason dictates that Matsukawa look away now, that he act innocent and pretend that his hair isn’t just as ruffled, that his cheeks aren’t slightly flushed, that he isn’t just as undeniably happy.  

Iwaizumi and Oikawa don’t seem to notice, and for once, Matsukawa is glad.

---

“Should we tell them?” Matsukawa asks, his shoulder pressing against Hanamaki’s. They’ve settled into the food court–Oikawa and Iwaizumi are bickering across the room, in charge of getting ice cream for everyone. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are in charge of watching everyone’s bags–well, Matsukawa was, but Hanamaki stayed behind so he wouldn’t get lonely. Not that Matsukawa would –he’s watched Hanamaki from afar for months now, and a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt–but he he’s glad he did. They’re sharing a bench that was probably wasn’t made for two former high school athletes, but Hanamaki is a solid warmth pressed against his side and he doesn’t mind, not at all.

Hanamaki hums thoughtfully. “I dunno. Do you?”

Matsukawa shrugs. “Maybe. I guess…” He finds himself trailing off.

Hanamaki nudges him. “You guess what?”

He shrugs again. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. I mean they’re our friends, but this is about–” He pauses, “Um, us.”

“See, this is what I like about you,” Hanamaki sighs happily, and Matsukawa tries not to think about how that makes him feel, because that would be cheesy and ridiculous.

(Cheesy and ridiculous is kind of how Hanamaki makes him feel, though.)