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There’s a single sliver of light, breaking through the tightly pulled curtains. It reaches the foot of the bed in a neat triangular shape, and Hajime’s eyes keep catching on it.
Tooru, on the other hand, is deliberately looking at the opposite wall.
They’re used to silences - or, well, they should be. This is uncomfortable, too cramped and stuffy and full of tension.
Hajime holds back a sigh. He’d promised himself patience.
He shifts in the plastic chair, his leg knocking against his bag. He pushes it back unconsciously - and then he stops. It’s his practice bag - and now it seems like he’s trying to hide it from Tooru, even though he clearly saw him walk in with it. Why didn’t he leave it outside? He’s not supposed to be flaunting-
He shuts off the thought with a frown. Overthinking almost as much as Tooru himself.
He wants to ask about the pain, but he knows the answer he’ll get. Tooru will snap and tell him to talk to the doctors if he cares so much.
It’s understandable, his rage. Doesn’t make Hajime less impatient with it, though. He knows Tooru would be better off accepting that there’s nothing he can do right now, rather than brooding like he is now. With the curtains drawn shut to block out the afternoon sun.
A beautiful day. Leaves rustling in the wind.
It’s Tooru’s favorite season.
At that thought, Hajime stands. Tooru tears his glare away from the lightly chipped white paint to look at him. He sees the brief flicker of fear, of are you leaving already? before Tooru buries it under an unconvincing layer of indifference.
“I’m taking you outside,” Hajime announces. “Come on.”
Tooru scowls. “No.”
He turns back to face the wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Like a toddler, Hajime thinks, walking over to the place Tooru is also deliberately not looking - a folded contraption of wheels and metal and cloth. A necessity, right now, but by no means an appreciated one.
“You need to get out of this room, Oikawa.”
He unfolds the wheelchair as he speaks, and Tooru’s scowl only grows, he knows without looking.
“I hate that thing.”
Of course he does. Who wouldn’t.
“Tough luck,” he says. “I’m not carrying you. Come on.”
He knows if he betrays all the compassion and (though he tries to suppress it) pity that he invariably feels, Tooru will hate him for it.
“I don’t want to.”
Hajime gestures to the obscured window. “It’s a nice day, and you’re getting fresh air.”
“Open the window, then.”
Hajime frowns at him, his patience slipping. Still, he doesn’t say that he took half the day off to be able to be here now - Tooru surely knows this. He doesn’t say that Tooru should be glad his injuries aren’t worse, either. Instead, he just stares at him for a moment, letting his shoulders droop just a little.
“...look. I know you don’t like being here. But they won’t let you go yet, so you might as well make the most of what you have.”
Tooru gives him a look that’s dripping with loathing - but Hajime knows it’s not directed at him. They hold each other’s gazes, and then he sees something give behind Tooru’s eyes. He lets out a sigh, and Hajime watches a little piece of him break.
“...fine.”
They’re not the only ones outside in the yard, but the other patients out strolling are few enough for things to remain relatively private and calm. A gravel path winds its way through the clusters of trees, flanked by occasional benches.
Hajime’s gaze catches on a woman in crutches, carefully wobbling along by herself towards the double doors he and Tooru just emerged from. She catches his eye and gives him a small nod, and he looks away. She wouldn’t want help if he offered it - much like the most people here, he figures. Much like Tooru.
He’s wheeling himself, didn’t even wait to give Hajime a chance to offer to push him. That’s just as well, Hajime figures - Tooru has always liked to be as independent as possible.
Right now he’s squinting a little in the brightness of unfiltered sunlight, and still has that same frustrated, exhausted expression on his face that comes from mental, not physical hardship.
Hopefully at least his medication is doing its job against the pain from the surgery.
“...you didn’t have to come,” Tooru says, slowing down near one of the benches. Hajime takes a seat, bringing them onto eye level.
“Bullshit,” he says immediately.
“It’s not, and you know it. I’m stuck here - doesn’t mean you gotta be.”
Hajime clicks his tongue. “Sure it does. Dumbass.”
There’s a declaration there, unspoken but no less real. I’ll always be where you are.
Tooru looks incredibly exhausted, and he’s no longer trying to mask it.
“That’s… I know you’ve got this loyalty thing, but I mean it. Just go, work, help your mom - you know she needs it, and she loves having you around and taking care of her.”
“Oikawa.”
“You’re not proving anything - and I don’t want you to watch me suffer here. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
Hajime flicks Tooru’s arm, hard.
“Ow!”
“Stop talking shit,” he huffs, crossing his arms.
“I’m not-”
“Fucking- okay. Listen to me. Really listen.”
“Iwa-”
“I said listen! Oik- Tooru.”
That gets his attention. His eyes widen.
“I know you think you gotta do this alone - like you do everything. And yeah, I’m not a doctor - but fuck, I’m still your friend, your partner, and I’m still with you. I’m not going to leave when it gets inconvenient. I know you're pissed, and believe me, I get it! But there’s never nothing you can do. Don’t even try to make me believe that.”
Tooru lets out a pained half-laugh.
“How are you going to heal me then, Iwa-chan? Huh?”
“...by making sure you don’t bury yourself in bitterness, for starters.”
Tooru bites his lip, as if he’s trying to stop himself from retorting something harsh. There’s conflict all over his face, and somehow he looks like he might burst into tears at any moment.
Hajime looks back, the way he knows he has to - determined, sure. Convince him otherwise.
“You… you don’t need to be here,” Tooru says finally - but he looks like he’s deflating.
“I’ll go when you tell me to,” Hajime says.
Tooru opens his mouth immediately to retort, to send him away, but Hajime holds up his hand.
“You don’t need me here. I know that. But… it’s okay to not want to be alone. I’ll be here as long as you want me to be.”
Tooru stares - and then it breaks.
There’s a tear, suddenly, trickling down his cheek, and he lets out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding it for years.
Hajime looks back, unchanged, constant. The way he knows Tooru needs him to be - the way he knows he can help. Defiantly, and steady as a rock.
Tooru blinks, clearly determined not to cry, but when he speaks, his voice betrays everything.
“Stay.”
He’s had his hands clasped in his lap, but now he’s reaching out, grabbing Hajime’s sleeve.
Hajime tugs away - sees the fear, sharp and instant - so he can lace their fingers together in his lap.
Tooru’s little gasp doesn’t escape him.
“...idiot,” he mutters. “Didn’t I tell you I’d always be there?”