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"Not like that." Hajime sighs, hands coming to rest easily over Tooru's. Shorter fingers guide longer ones over the knife, wrapping them around the hilt, pressing down on the blade at the perfect angle.
“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispers, his breath warm against Hajime’s cheek. “I…”
Hajime raises an eyebrow. “You what?”
“I think…” Tooru’s face turns down into a petulant pout, “that I can cut some fruit without you babysitting me!”
Hajime rolls his eyes. “Since when have you ever been able to do anything without me babysitting you?” he chides, but there’s a hint of playfulness to his voice. Tooru huffs, but doesn’t disagree - both of them know it’s not true, anyway. Though Tooru is a man-child, he’s capable enough to not fall apart if Hajime doesn’t look after him for a second.
That being said, Tooru is also completely capable of being a complete mess just to spite his boyfriend.
Tooru slices the apple - much neater this time, almost professional - into chunks, tossing it in the bowl and grabbing a pear next. Hajime goes back to peeling oranges and tearing off the rinds: Tooru loves them, but Hajime would much rather not choke while enjoying an otherwise perfectly nice fruit salad, thanks.
“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Tooru hails again, and Hajime lifts his head with mild annoyance.
“What-” he starts, but then he sees what’s in Tooru’s hand.
Tooru cocks his wrist playfully, fingers clutched tight around the chunk of mango that’s already dripping juice down his hands, tracing wet lines along his skin. Hajime’s brain goes straight to the gutter for a second before he remembers Tooru’s talents outside the bedroom… particularly those pertaining to throwing things…
His eyes widen, and he ducks just in time for the mango to hit the wall behind him. His shirt is not so lucky - Tooru tosses the second chunk before Hajime has time to think, and it splatters all over the dark green cloth.
Hajime growls, more out of exasperated fondness than annoyance.
“To hell with you, Oikawa! I can give just as good as I get!” he declares, picking up one of the strawberries that are lying just beside him and launching it straight at Tooru’s head. Tooru clearly hadn’t been expecting him to react so quickly, and as a result the carefully styled brown locks receive the full force of the strawberry that Hajime had been aiming at his face, turning a warm pink from the juice.
Hajime clucks his tongue in disappointment; he’d shot too high in his attempt to reach his boyfriend’s forehead. Damn tall people. Still, Tooru’s hair is as good a target as any - better, in fact, if you consider how obsessed he is with that raggedy mop of dead cells. Disappointment turns to sadistic joy: Hajime grins victoriously and dodges the next few pieces of fruit, Tooru’s aim skewed due to his rage. Finally, though, a rotten apple hits him straight in the chest.
So worth it, he thinks, the furious look on Tooru’s red face making up for the fact that he now has smelly old fruit trailing down his favourite shirt.
The food fight - fruit fight? - continues for well over an hour. At this point both of them have just started lobbying random things at each other, the cut fruit that had been deposited in the bowl already scattered all over the kitchen floor. Hajime narrowly ducks the kitchen mitts tossed at him, grabbing a balled-up towel covered in gunk from the cake they’d made that afternoon. Just as he raises it above his head, a heavy weight topples straight into him, warm and familiar.
Hajime blinks as the towel is yanked out of his hands, Tooru’s face replacing it. There’s a wide smile stretching his mouth from ear to ear, and something in his eyes that spells trouble, but Hajime can’t place it.
“Hi.” he breathes, dropping his head to place a long, tender kiss on Hajime’s lips, and Hajime instantly forgets everything but Tooru, hands coming up to pull him closer.
“Hi,” he whispers back when they come apart for air, all that’s on his mind Tooru’s eyes and smile and -
His vision is suddenly obscured by something sticky and sweet, sliding thickly down his face and all over his body. He can feel the lingering pressure of Tooru’s fingers as they release from slamming the cake - their anniversary cake - right into his face.
All thoughts of making out with his boyfriend gone, Hajime pushes Tooru off of him with a roar, finding his toned abdomen and mercilessly beginning the assault. Tooru’s gasps of laughter and “Stop, Iwa-chan! Hajime!" only make the experience sweeter.
They spend another hour like that, rolling all over the kitchen as two glorious messes, the cake that was on Hajime’s face having made its way onto Tooru too. At some point Hajime’s stopped tickling Tooru and is fighting him instead, roughhousing the way they used to as kids, and Tooru is giving it right back like they’re professional wrestlers or something.
Hajime doesn’t even notice when Tooru pins him to the ground, too breathless from the play-fighting and the way Tooru looks when he’s all covered in cake and fruit and looking absolutely silly, but with that fierce intensity of competition on his face. It strikes such an absurd contrast that would’ve seemed stupid on anyone else but just beautiful on Tooru.
He isn’t prepared for the, “Fuck, I love you,” that slips past his lips, but it doesn’t feel wrong - it’s like the words have been waiting in his mouth for all these years and he’s just setting them free now.
Tooru’s eyes shine softly. He doesn't need to respond; for all his pretty speeches, Tooru has always been more of an action person. From day one, he’s been showing Hajime just how much he loves him. It’s time Hajime stopped fumbling with his sentences and started showing it too.
So he lifts his hand and wipes cake off of Tooru’s cheek, kissing his boyfriend’s face all over and whispering all the words that he’s never known he wanted to say.