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Tooru had called Iwa-chan by his first name exactly three times in their lives. Only three times. They’d known each other since before Tooru had figured out it was better to wait till a person liked Tooru before introducing him to his alien obsession, and Tooru had only every called Iwa-chan Hajime three times.
As far as Tooru could remember, Iwa-chan had never called him Tooru.
“What?” Iwa-chan said, his eyebrows drawing together in that thoughtful way that Tooru tried not to find attractive and utterly failed at. Iwa-chan had the ball in his hands, his waist bent just enough to be awkward, and Tooru had been flexing his fingers, getting ready to set the ball Iwa-chan had been about to send his way.
“What?” Tooru answered.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Iwa-chan said, lowering the ball to his side, and honestly, he could cut glass with that glare. His serious glare. His ‘I know you’re not telling the truth, and I don’t appreciate it’ glare. It was sad that Tooru could read Iwa-chan’s mind, but he couldn’t call him by his first name. “You’re giving me a strange look,” Iwa-chan said.
“My face is never strange!” Tooru answered.
“Your face is always strange,” Iwa-chan muttered. “It is your knee?”
“My knee’s fine,” Tooru answered, suddenly glad they were the only ones that had stayed after practice, Iwa-chan promising to lock up the gym when they were done. If coach had so much as seen Iwa-chan look funny at his knee, he would have been watched for the rest of the week. And it wasn’t that Tooru didn’t appreciate their concern or that he didn’t understand why they didn’t trust him not to overwork himself, but he didn’t need handling. After your knee gives out because you don’t know how to take a break, you learn.
“If it’s not your knee—” Iwa-chan started, narrowing his eyes, and he still looked like he wasn’t about to let anything go, even though he didn’t actually want to know what Tooru had been thinking. Not really. Tooru didn’t even want to know what he’d been thinking.
“Do you want to practice or not?” Tooru asked, and Iwa-chan hesitated. Tooru could see his fingers tighten against the ball, his eyes flicking across Tooru’s face. Tooru didn’t know what made him decide to let their argument go, but he was glad all the same.
“Sure,” Iwa-chan shrugged, and Tooru blew out a breath as Iwa-chan threw the ball up.
The first time he called Iwa-chan by his first name was when they were in elementary school. Iwa-chan was already his oldest friend. His best friend, and even though Iwa-chan rolled his eyes at him and spluttered when Tooru called him Iwa-chan and shoved him when Tooru clutched his arm, Tooru knew he felt the same.
It was written in the way Iwa-chan had held his hand when he’d scraped his knees on the cement, letting Tooru cry against his shoulder and blubber about how he was going to die. Tooru could tell Iwa-cha cared by the way he watched alien movies for Tooru, sighing and putting the Godzilla aside just because Tooru had asked him. Even back then Iwa-chan had been too good for him.
It had actually been a mistake. He’d been thinking about Iwa-chan’s first name when it’d happened, and when he’d started talking the word had just slipped out of his mouth. They’d been in the middle of class, the teacher walking around and Tooru had started talking about the movie he’d watched the night before. Except he’d been thinking about how it would have been better if Iwa-chan had been there, and he’d been thinking about how he wanted to call Iwa-chan Hajime, and Hajime had slipped out of his mouth instead of Iwa-chan.
It had taken a good ten seconds for Tooru to even notice what he’d done, and when he did, he hadn’t thought it would really matter. Iwa-chan was his best friend. Was it that big a deal if he called him by his first name sometimes? If he judged by the shocked indignation on Iwa-chan’s face. Yes. It would be a big deal.
Tooru chattered for most of the walk home, making an effort to ignoring the silent way Iwa-chan studied him. Honestly, if Iwa-chan was going to try and analyze him, he could at least do it subtler. It wasn’t like he was going to figure anything out anyway.
“Can I stay over tonight?” Iwa-chan asked when they stopped in front of Tooru’s house. And Tooru wanted to say no. He wanted to be alone and wallow in the fact that Iwa-chan didn’t want him. Because really that’s all if came down to. Tooru wanted Iwa-chan so badly it made him feel like he’d just beaten Karasuno again at the idea of Iwa-chan saying his name. It made him want to wrap his tongue around the word Hajime and hold on, and Iwa-chan didn’t want that at all. In fact, he wanted the opposite.
“Sure!” Tooru answered, plastering on a smile he knew Iwa-chan would see through. Not that it really mattered; Iwa-chan would see through his smile no matter how hard he tried. “Do you need to ask your parents?”
“I already texted my mom,” Iwa-chan said, holding his phone up. “And I have clothes at your house.”
“Right,” Tooru said, stepping up to his front door and pulling it open. The smell of cooking food was already coming from the kitchen, his mother’s voice quiet as she called out for him.
His mother wasn’t at all surprised that Iwa-chan was there. She just smiled and made small talk across the table as they ate. Sometimes, he thought she knew more about his feelings than she let on, but she never said anything. Once they’d finished, Tooru led the way to his room, Iwa-chan thanking his mother behind him and his father calling goodnight after them.
“I’m in the middle of watching a match between Japan and Brazil,” Tooru said, shutting his door behind them. “Mind if we finished?”
“Sure,” Iwa-chan answered. He’d already sat down across Tooru’s bed, laying back on Tooru’s pillows and swinging his legs up. And Tooru tried not to think about how good he looked, relaxed as if there was nowhere else he would rather be.
Tooru looked away, ignoring the way his eyes stung as he turned on his TV. The disk from the night before was still in the player, and once it turned on, he started it over from the beginning.
“I thought you’d already started this?” Iwa-chan asked when the match came up, the players bowing to each other as they got ready to start their game.
“I did,” Tooru answered, sitting back on his heels. Iwa-chan hadn’t moved from his place on Tooru’s bed. It was where they usually watched movies from, and the fact that Tooru’s bed was small was usually the only excuse Tooru needed to drape himself across Iwa-chan, ignoring Iwa-chan when he grumbled. Tooru reveled in the times Iwa-chan would let his hand rest against the curve of Tooru’s back, pulling him closer.
But right then Tooru still felt like wallowing, and it was next to impossible to wallow when Iwa-chan was touching him.
“But I can’t let my Iwa-chan be confused,” Tooru said.
“It’s a volleyball match,” Iwa-chan said. “How confused could I get? And why are you still sitting on the floor? Get up here.” Iwa-chan scooted to the edge of Tooru’s bed, holding his arm out as if he wanted Tooru to tuck himself against his side.
As much as Iwa-chan grumbled and insulted him for being clingy, Tooru knew Iwa-chan didn’t actually mind when they cuddled. He would have pushed Tooru away or told him point blank to stop, but instead he pulled him closer. Still, it was so rare for Iwa-chan to blatantly hold his arm out and invite Tooru to snuggle against him as if it was something he wanted and not just something he put up with. As much as Tooru wanted to wallow in his own misery on the floor, he couldn’t resist crawling onto his bed and into Iwa-chan’s arms.
The second time Tooru had used Iwa-chan’s first name, he’d done it on purpose. They’d been in their second year of middle school, and they’d just finished practice, and Iwa-chan’s had been shirtless, his pants low on his hips, and Tooru had just started to realize that maybe he was a little in love with his best friend.
“I’m exhausted,” he said, yawning as loud as he possible could and stretching his arms above his head. His own shirt had been off, the rest of the team long gone. Iwa-chan hadn’t even looked over. “I mean, regular practice is enough, but man, I’m so tired now,” he tried again, twisting his back and flexing his stomach, and Iwa-chan still hadn’t looked.
“Then you should go home earlier,” Iwa-chan said, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing his practice shirt in his bag to take home.
“Hajime,” Tooru whined, and it had been a calculated move. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue or an accident or because he hadn’t known any better. He’d been trying to get Iwa-chan’s attention. He just hadn’t thought Iwa-chan would react quite like he did. Iwa-chan’s head jerked up, his hands freezing against the zipper of his bag, and he looked startled, wide eyed.
“What did you call me?” he asked.
“I—” Tooru stopped himself, because he hadn’t known what to say. I called you by your first name because I wanted you to look at me just didn’t seem like a very good explanation. “Nothing,” Tooru said, picking up his shirt and shoving it over his head. He’d wanted Iwa-chan to look at him, but he hadn’t wanted him to look at him like there was something wrong with Tooru. Like there was something wrong with using his first name. “Sorry,” Tooru said.
“Did you just apologize?” Iwa-chan asked. Now he sounded offended, and Tooru could just imagine his glare. His ‘I can’t believe you just did that and think it’s okay’ glare. It was usually one of Tooru’s favorites.
“Of course not,” Tooru answered, forcing himself to snort, to turn toward Iwa-chan and smile. “When do I ever need to apologize for anything, Iwa-chan?”
It must have been a testament to how shocked Iwa-chan had been that he just shook his head and turned away without saying anything.
When the match they were watching ended, Tooru almost thought Iwa-chan was asleep. He’d been so quiet. Even when brazil had scored off a combo play that had Tooru sitting up with a gasp, Iwa-chan had only crossed his ankles and agreed that it had been an amazing play.
Now that the disk had stopped itself, the TV dark as it waited for them to put something else in, Tooru didn’t know what to do. Iwa-chan’s arm was still around his shoulder, his hand resting against Tooru’s collarbone. Their legs were tangled together under the blanket Iwa-chan had thrown over them when Tooru had started to whine about being cold, and Iwa-chan’s other hand was resting on his waist, his fingers just at the edge of his pants.
“You should stop thinking so hard,” Tooru said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d tell me what’s wrong,” Iwa-chan answered, his breath blowing hot against the back of Tooru’s neck, and Tooru was suddenly glad Iwa-chan couldn’t see his face. It made it so much easier to lie when Iwa-chan couldn’t see his face.
“See, this is what happens when Iwa-chan thinks,” Tooru said, pitching his voice higher than he should have if he wanted to be convincing. “He starts thinking that—”
“Oikawa,” Iwa-chan interrupted, and he was using that tone. His serious tone. His ‘I’m concerned about you, so stop acting like an asshole’ tone. It was singularly unfair how completely effective it was against Tooru.
“It’s stupid,” Tooru said, and Iwa-chan pulled away from his back, pressing against his shoulder so Tooru laid flat on his back, Iwa-chan hovering above him. Tooru pictured them in this position on probably a daily basis, but somehow, he’d always thought it would be sexier than this.
“You’ve been upset about something for two days,” Iwa-chan answered, and Tooru stared resolutely at the ceiling as if that wouldn’t give him away. “How about you let me decide whether it’s stupid or not, because you don’t seem to be the best judge.”
“That’s mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru said, and his voice was still too high. Wrong, and Iwa-chan still didn’t move, his hand pressing down against Tooru’s shoulder in a way that Tooru didn’t know whether was supposed to be reassure or confining and somehow managed to be both.
“Just tell me, Oikawa,” Iwa-chan answered, and he must have been really serious to not have called Tooru by his name twice in a row. How strange had he been acting the past two days? Apparently way worse than he’d thought.
“I…” Tooru trailed off, and the hand not holding his shoulder brushed through his hair, smooth and affectionate, and how was Tooru supposed to lie to Iwa-chan when he was being so syrupy sweet. “I don’t like how you don’t like it when I call you Hajime,” he said, and the hand in his hair froze.
“You don’t… wait, what?”
The third time Tooru called Iwa-chan Hajime had been two days earlier. They’d been lying in bed, Tooru draped across Iwa-chan’s chest and Iwa-chan brushed a hand through his hair. The movie they’d been watching had long since ended, the credits rolling across the screen obnoxiously loud, but Tooru really hadn’t wanted to move.
He pressed his nose against Iwa-chan’s throat, his leg thrown over Iwa-chan’s waist, and even for them it was a suggestive pose. But Iwa-chan hadn’t pushed him away, instead touching Tooru’s hair and the back of his neck and his shoulders. Tooru could have stayed there for the next week. After which they had a practice match.
“We should probably take the movie out before it wakes your parents up,” Iwa-chan said, though he didn’t move.
“Leave it,” Tooru answered, wrapping his fingers around Iwa-chan’s shirt and holding on, as if that would have stopped him.
“Oi, shittykawa,” Iwa-chan complained, his voice too soft for him to really be upset. “Stop that. You’ll stretch my shirt.”
“But Hajime,” Tooru whined, and he hadn’t meant for it to happen, but he’d felt so close to Iwa-chan in that moment, and he’d been wanting to call him Hajime for years, and it had slipped. Iwa-chan went tense under him, his hand freezing against Tooru’s hair, and Tooru hadn’t needed to see his face to know he’d ruined the moment.
“What—” Iwa-chan started, but Tooru was already scrambling off him and heading for the TV. “Wait, Too—”
“You’re right,” Tooru interrupted him. “I should take the disk out.”
“You don’t…” Iwa-chan said. “Wait, what?”
“I told you it was stupid,” Tooru said, forcing himself to laugh, but he couldn’t move, Iwa-chan was still laying on top of him as if he was trying to hold Tooru down.
“Why do you think I don’t like it when you say my name?” Iwa-chan asked, ignoring him.
“It’s obvious,” Tooru answered, shoving his shoulder. Iwa-chan still didn’t move.
“It’s not obvious to me.”
“You’re always upset when I do it,” Tooru said, and he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Iwa-chan. He didn’t want to see the confirmation on his face. “You don’t like it.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t understand why you think…” he trailed off, and his hand tightened on Tooru’s shoulder. “That’s why you ran away from me? You thought I didn’t like it when you called me Hajime?”
“You didn’t,” Tooru insisted. “I could tell.”
“Well, you were wrong,” Iwa-chan said, and Tooru could tell from his voice that he was glaring. His ‘you’re an idiot’ glare. One of Tooru’s lesser favorite glares. Except Tooru wasn’t an idiot. He was, in fact, right about this. “I was just surprised. You never call me Hajime.”
“You didn’t like it,” Tooru said. “You didn’t like it in middle or elementary school either.”
“In middle… what?” Iwa-chan answered, and he sounded really surprised now. “You’re upset about something I did in middle school?”
“I’m not upset.”
“You seem upset.”
“Well,” Tooru said, ignoring the stinging behind his eyes and hoping they weren’t as red as they felt. “I’m not.”
“Oikawa, look at me,” Iwa-chan said, his voice gentle as he stroked his fingers through Tooru’s hair. Tooru sniffed and ignored him. “Tooru,” Iwa-chan said, and Tooru flinched, wrenching his gaze off the ceiling and onto Iwa-chan’s face. “See, it’s startling,” Iwa-chan said, as if he hadn’t just used Tooru’s first name for the first time.
“But—”
“I didn’t dislike it when you called me Hajime. It just surprised me.”
“But you’ve never called me Tooru before,” Tooru answered, and Iwa-chan immediately flushed. And even though he turned his face away, Tooru could tell he was still hiding something. “See, I knew you didn’t—” Tooru started.
“It was embarrassing,” Iwa-chan said.
“Oh,” Tooru answered, and he really wished Iwa-chan would get off him already. He’d been ready for Iwa-chan to tell him he didn’t like Tooru calling him Hajime. He’d been prepared for Iwa-chan to say they weren’t actually close enough to use their first names. He hadn’t expected Iwa-chan to say it was embarrassing. That Tooru was embarrassing. Though he supposed he should have been. It couldn’t have been easy to be around Tooru all the time.
“Not like that,” Iwa-chan said, and he shifted against Tooru, moving his lower body just enough that Tooru could feel him.
“Oh,” Tooru answered, feel the bush spread across his own face.
“It was embarrassing because I wanted to say your name a little too much,” Iwa-chan said, his face blazing red as he stared at the pillow over Tooru’s shoulder.
“But you never said,” Tooru answered. He felt like he was in shock. Or asleep. Or in an alternate universe. No way was Hajime Iwaizumi confessing to him while laying on top of him while his hard on pressed against Tooru’s leg. No way. It was like a wet dream.
“I thought you already knew how I felt,” Iwa-chan said, and even though his face was still red, he met Tooru’s gaze.
“You like me?” Tooru asked, just because it was worth being absolutely clear.
“I really like you, Tooru,” Iwa-chan answered, leaning his face closer. His breath blew across Tooru’s lips, and it was like a dare that Tooru didn’t know how to resist. He surged up, connecting their lips together and wrapping his arms around Iwa-chan’s shoulders. Iwa-chan tilted his head easily, correcting the angle to something much more pleasant.
Iwa-chan pressed him down against the bed, his hand stroking across Tooru’s scalp. Tooru nipped at Iwa-chan’s bottom lip, reveling at the startled gasp he received, and Iwa-chan opened his mouth for Tooru, letting him lick across his tongue. When Iwa-chan broke away from him to breath, Tooru relaxed back against his pillows with a more genuine smile than he knew he’d managed in a long time.
“So, Iwa-chan likes me,” he said, letting his voice trill out between them.
“Shut up, crappykawa,” Iwa-chan answered, his fingers stroking through Tooru’s hair.
“This means we’re dating now, doesn’t it?”
“Well, you’d better not go running off with anyone else after this.”
“And I can call you Hajime whenever I want?” he asked, and Iwa-chan blushed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.
“Whatever.”
“Hajime,” Tooru said, tightening his fingers on Iwa-chan’s shoulders. Iwa-chan’s fingers tightened in his hair, his face darkening even further in a blush.
“Shut up, shittykawa,” Iwa-chan said, his voice too hoarse for him to really want Tooru to stop.
“Hajime,” Tooru repeated, raising himself up to press his lips against Iwa-chan’s