Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hayato smiles, because everything is fine. Everything is always fine, because Hayato has learnt that fine is something that he gets to decide for himself. He doesn’t need to be involved in anyone else’s chaos unless he chooses that same messy space for himself.

He can choose to be unhappy, or he can be happy. Both options are equally viable, because while everything is always fine nothing is ever perfect. There are little things that Hayato could bring closer to his heart that would drive him further away from his peaceful core. Or, there are bigger things – grander things that spin the world round on corruption and politics and greed – that he could allow to drag him down into bleakness.

He chooses happiness.

It is not the only choice he makes.

Hayato knows that he can choose to be friendly, or he can be a bully. Hayato knows more than most how easy it is to fall from one category into the other simply by uttering a single word.

Or, by not saying anything at all.

He chooses to be a friend.

There are other choices, important ones that shape his thoughts and motives into something that he thinks he can live with. Perhaps it would be simpler to pretend he doesn’t have a choice in these matters at all, but Hayato has chosen to take control of his own life instead of being a mere spectator.

And so, Hayato chooses for everything to be fine. He chooses to believe his friends are complicated but truly good, and he chooses to see little of the world beyond the four corners of the school grounds. He chooses to be as helpful as he can, because one day he will surely need help as well.

Just ... he won’t need help today. Because everything is fine.

Hayato smiles, and everyone chooses to smile with him.

Well, almost everyone.

***

The stupid idiot is doing it again.

Some days, Hachiman just wants to punch the useless, blond excuse for a sack of bones and guts and blood. It’s a course of action he always dismisses immediately. That sort of flashy, infantile behaviour is only likely to get him dragged into Hayato’s problems rather than free him from them. Still, he can feel the muscles in his fingers flex in invitation, and a thread of adrenalin stabs up his arms and prongs into his heart.

Hachiman forces himself to relax, allowing his fingers to uncurl until they’re just fingers again, instead of bullets slowly loading themselves into a gun. He’d probably lose, anyway. Screw that. He doubts he’d even be able to land a punch.

Hayato’s laughing (not really), and smiling (ha!), and then he’s-

No, don’t!

Oh, for crying out loud.

Hachiman sinks low into his seat as Hayato’s gaze ‘accidently’ slides over to him before returning to his friends.

Idiot. Does Hayato expect Hachiman to save him? Screw that. Does Hayato even know what he wants Hayato to save him from?

A dark, smudge of a smirk briefly slips onto Hachiman’s lips. Of course not.

***

Everything’s fine, however Hayato’s fallen into this odd little habit of losing time. It’s a little thing really, tiny little slips in concentration. One moment he’s deep in conversation about some surely important topic, only for his friends to have moved on to something else by the time he’s thought of something to add. Sometimes, sometimes he’s sitting down and having lunch and then he’s serving for the deciding set in a friendly tennis game, only-

He drags his gaze from the other side of the classroom (what had he even been looking at again?) and apologises. Yumiko is less than impressed, her eyes narrowing in scornful disdain. Except, except now she’s congratulating him on something, and they’re all planning something, and his gaze is drifting away again-

***

It goes on for months. Months! Oh, it starts nice and small, like all tsunami do. Just tiny little waves gathering a little steam. The occasional look, the odd smile. Hachiman doesn’t like making any kind of waves, not even tiny ones, and so he is as open to these uncalled for forms of affection as he is being gifted a wasp nest.

But then, Hayato starts getting weird. Or, weirder. Because, while Hachiman is as golden and pure as honey, that comes at a price. You can only maintain that silky sheen – that sticky taste – if you sacrifice other things. Like sanity. And reality. And dirty little thoughts that catch in your throat and cause your body to betray you, and then you maybe have to get a little bit creative when you’re alone at home-

Ehem.

Hayato has never been one for reality (or sanity), but this pathetic attempt to warp the world around him to pretend those dirty, sticky thoughts aren’t happening and that everything is fine is childish. Not that Hachiman is at all projecting his own dirty, sticky thoughts onto the other boy, because Hachiman is not an idiot. He owns his thoughts: good, bad and sticky.

Wait, where was he going with this?

Right.

Communication for Dummies, chapter 1: 87% of communication is non-verbal. The world would be a better place if all the llamas in his class would learn this simple, entry level lesson.

At the very least, Hachiman might get some peace and quiet. Hayato’s been screaming from the other side of the room all afternoon just through his body language, and he’s pissing Hachiman off. If you’re going to communicate so obnoxiously, at least do it somewhere private.

Oh, hell. What is Hayato up to now?

***

He’s not escaping, because there is nothing Hayato really has to escape from. Still, it’s nice to slip away from his friends every now and then, especially during lunch break. It doesn’t help that Hachiman has always been like a black hole, somehow sucking Hayato deep into his orbit even while sending out squiggly lines of angry dissent. Do black holes have squiggly black lines of dissent? Hayato isn’t entirely sure, although his manga seems to suggest that is the case. Perhaps the squiggly black lines are invisible in the real world, where there is maybe not the constant light to reflect off of them?

Hachiman definitely always has squiggly black lines of dissent, invisible or otherwise. Hayato dodges them with the candid good humour he always does, dropping down into the desk in front of him with a wide smile. Hayato’s smile falters slightly when Hachiman refuses to even glance up at him.

That’s ok.

That’s fine.

That’s Hachiman, and this is sort of how they do their strange friendship. Hayato knows this better than most, and it is fine and ok because Hayato decides it is.

So it doesn’t hurt at all when he says hello and Hachiman barely grunts in response. Some days, Hayato doesn’t even get that. Besides, one-sided conversations with Hachiman only appear that way to those who don’t realise that Hachiman is always listening when others talk.

“I was thinking perhaps we could all have a tennis game this afternoon,” Hayato starts cheerfully, already prepared to carry this conversation with only the occasional glare or nod for confirmation. “It’s such a nice day, and it’s been a while since we’ve played together.” Even though they see each other in class each day, something knots deep in Hayato’s gut when he realises it’s been weeks since they’ve spent any real time together.

“You’re being bothersome.”

The curt, sour response cuts through the air and severs Hayato’s rather pleasant grip on reality.

“I-“

Hayato trails off, because what can he possibly say? Hachiman has made his thoughts clear in the most cut-throat manner possible.

Of course. So stupid. He’s being pushy again, trying to shape Hachiman so that he fits nicely into Hayato’s world instead of respecting the fact that Hachiman has his own shape, his own space. How else should Hachiman possibly react to such a grotesque display?

Hayato smiles, because smiles are always the right response in moments like this. His smile means that the hurt that flares through his gut and spikes up his spine isn’t real, which is good. Hayato hates to think how much pain he would be in if that hurt was real.

He has ... he has things he needs to do before lunch break is over. Important things. Somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

“I’ll see you later, then!” Hayato says brightly, glad for once that Hachiman’s desk is so close to the door. He wonders if it is deliberate.

***

That idiot.

Hachiman doesn’t chase after anyone, least of flighty blonds with boundary issues. Anyway, they only have a short lunch break and he’s got better things to do.

Number one on his list: surviving his current encounter with Evil.

“We fix things,” Yukino says calmly, the lingering threat of death woven like delicate lacework into her words. Bitch. She shouldn’t even be in his classroom, anyway. How does she always know when these things happen? “So, fix him.”

“Tch.”

***

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Everything is always fine.

And then, Hachiman grabs him by the elbow when he tries to leave after class, sour eyes scouring away all that is fine and leaving behind a mess of complicated other-stuff instead.

***

“We need to talk,” Hachiman says dourly as the rest of the class spills out around them. Normally, their classmates would loving more than a potential showdown between the Golden Boy and the class golem, however it’s a Friday afternoon and even they have better things to do.

“Oh?” Hayato asks with that pathetic smile of his and kind, unassuming eyes. Hachiman can almost respect the amount of nerve it must take to put on this much of an act. “About what?”

What a surprise. Hayato isn’t going to make this easy. Hayato wouldn’t know what easy was if it danced in front of him in a short skirt and with a come-hither gaze.

Yeah, well. Hachiman is done playing the other boy’s silly, skittish games.

He grabs Hayato’s face, drags him down, and kisses him.

Like, actually kisses him. On the mouth. With a hint of tongue.

Hachiman maybe got a little bit carried away, but he’s proving a point so it’s ok.

“That,” he says thickly, because it turns out that Hayato has a rather lovely mouth. It’s a pathetic thought to have, and yet there is no denying that simple fact.

“I, I thought-“ Hayato drifts off, but at least that stupid smile is gone. Instead, Hayato looks like someone has dropped a house on him. It’s a look that suits him, what with him looking all dazed and confused and ruffled. “I didn’t really know,” he admits quietly, unable to meet Hachiman’s gaze. That is a good thing, because Hachiman isn’t exactly the king of eye contact on a good day. This is not a good day; this is a weird-as-fuck day. “I didn’t think anyone knew.” Hayato’s gaze flickers briefly over to Hachiman before scooting off to the left.

“You thought you were being subtle?” Hachiman doesn’t bother keeping the mockery out of his tone. “You’ve been broadcasting it on 150 channels, and for the low, low price of my sanity. The only reason why half the class isn’t aware of your fall into depravity and bad taste is because they’re so caught up in their own obnoxious webs of deceit that they can’t see anyone else’s.”

“I guess I’m kind of pathetic, huh?” Hayato replies with a dry smile. Hachiman watches, hypnotised, as Hayato brings his fingers up and brushes then lightly against the lips that Hachiman has just kissed.

But, yeah. Talk about stating the blindingly obvious.

“Absolutely.”

Hayato laughs, because of course he does. It’s impossible to insult the guy without him twisting it into some sort of weird bonding moment. It breaks the awkwardness between them, but then that just introduces a new sense of awkwardness now that the old one has been kicked out.

Arg.

“So ... uh. What now?” Hayato asks, as if Hachiman somehow has all the answers in the world. He always thinks Hachiman has all the answers in the world. It’s one of the idiot’s most ridiculously enduring traits.

Fix it, she said. It’s what we do.

Fine, whatever. He’ll fix Hayato and his stupid, sexy mouth and his shapely legs, his overwrought good will and his paint-by-number smiles.

“Dinner. Tomorrow night. You’re paying.” Hachiman’s eyes narrow dangerously. “There will be more kissing, so you better be prepared this time.”

And Hachiman hates all of Hayato’s smiles, so the quietly delighted one that he rewards Hachiman with is totally not one that appears in some of Hachiman’s more sticker dreams at all.

Damn it.