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It had to have been early, with the way that the light coming through the gaps in the blinds was a hue of orange and pink, the white of Tooru’s bedsheets making it reflect on the walls. Hajime didn’t think Tooru had ever looked as beautiful as he did then.
Objectively, he was an ugly sleeper. His face was squished up against the pillow, lips pouty and slightly open and his bedhead was laughable- but Hajime couldn’t stop staring even if he wanted to. There was an aspect of innocence to him, like his skin was wiped clean and he could start again every time he woke up. He was fascinating to Hajime, everything about Oikawa Tooru was so enthralling he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of counting the moles on his neck or the scars on his hands or the freckles that danced across his cheeks and nose like someone had tapped cocoa powder on his face. With that thought, he let his fingers reach out and smooth over his eyebrows, eyelashes, anywhere he could reach, as gently as he could muster. Tooru’s nose twitched under his touch and he huffed out a laugh. He was just so pretty. He thought that was the best way to describe him (would he hell say that out loud though, he knew damn well what would feed into Tooru’s already overwhelmingly huge ego). Hajime moved to pick up his phone from the table on the side of the bed he was on, making sure that he’d never have to forget how Tooru looks at… 5:49 AM, as his phone read. The way his hair looked a little more red than brown and the flush of heat on his face made Hajime’s breath hitch because he really doesn’t understand how he got to be so lucky to be in that situation, even if Tooru’s leg was weighing down around his waist and there was a tiny bit of drool coming out the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t even bring himself to laugh because it was just so Tooru he could probably cry.
“Don’t ‘ave to keep staring at me, y’know.” Well, there goes his time of peace.
“You’re drooling,” He said instead of admitting to it, pointedly ignoring the way his heart rate picked up at Tooru’s morning voice (grumbly and soft. He thought he could listen to it forever). Tooru pouted in response, crease coming between his eyebrows when Hajime swiped it with his thumb.
“Time is it?” The room was still pink. Tooru looked ethereal.
“Like, 6 AM.” Tooru groaned.
“You wake me up at 6 AM after last night? Sadist.”
Ah, last night. Hajime almost forgot about the aggressive purple marks and teeth dents adorning his and Tooru’s necks and chests (and a few between Tooru’s thighs, for good measure). He just rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t wake you up, bastard.”
“Ah, so you don’t deny being a sadist?” Tooru finally opened one eye, and for it being so early in the morning, he still had that teasing glint to it.
“Wanna find out?” He raised an eyebrow Tooru just giggled (honest to God, giggled. Hajime might pass out).
“At least let me recover first, you big hooligan.” Hajime laughed at this, reaching over to smooth down Tooru’s hair which looked more akin to a cotton ball pulled apart than anything.
“Y’know, I like you better when you’re not speaking,” this was, of course, a lie that they could both see through because Hajime’s hand was still combing through his hair and he was scared his eyes were conveying an uncharacteristic amount of softness that he couldn’t bring himself to care about past the surface. Tooru sank into the touch, lips tugging up at the corners when his eyes fluttered shut again. He opened his mouth to say something probably sarcastic and sexual again and Hajime just tapped the back of his head with two fingers, promptly shutting him up. “Go back to sleep.”
“Just say you wanna admire me some more, Iwa-chan. Nobody’s gonna judge you.” Hajime groaned.
“You’re unbelievable.” His hands never let up on Tooru’s hair, who was letting out content little sighs every few seconds. He didn’t get an answer, because he was already flat out again. Oh well, Hajime thought as he let his arm drape over Oikawa’s middle. He may as well join him.
Something about the way they fit together, from the perspective of the outside eye, was nothing short of incredible. In every sense of the meaning, it was as if they were made for each other. Tooru would call it soulmates (so would the Spotify playlist he’d made Hajime three months earlier with the first track being Two Slow Dancers by Mitski and the cover being a focus on the hands from The Creation of Adam, sappy bastard) and Hajime would roll his eyes in secretive agreement because no matter how much everyone could see through it, he will not let up his stoic, anti-romance persona. Yet, if someone was to walk in on the scene of them with their heads so close they were breathing each other's second-hand air, Tooru’s leg wrapped around Hajime’s waist in a way that made them somewhat reassemble a koala and a tree trunk and the bed sheets an absolute mess from Tooru’s incessant kicking, it would be obvious that the suggestion of soulmates wouldn’t be too far off.
When Tooru woke again, Hajime was gone. Which scared him more than he’d like to admit, but the bed was still somewhat warm and his shirt was still on the floor when he went to inspect (which he then picked up and put on himself. Although he was taller, Hajime was so broad, so the button up hung off him in a way that he never wanted to forget) so he assumed he was just in the bathroom or the kitchen. He assumed correctly, when he smelled coffee and knew Hajime knew exactly how he liked it. He practically rolled out of bed, dragging his feet down the hallway and into the kitchen.
“Morning,” he sang as he lifted himself onto the counter, swinging his legs back and forth despite the coldness biting the backs of his thighs.
“Afternoon,” he corrected, “It’s 3 PM.”
“Wah, specifics, Iwa-chan. Is it my fault that you f-” he was cut off (very quickly, he might add. Hajime’s “Oikawa Reaction Skills” would never fail him) by Hajime moving between his legs and pulling him by the back of his neck to kiss him, more gentle than he expected.
“Am I gonna have to kiss you every time I want you to shut up, ‘Kawa?” His eyebrow was raised and the corners of his lips were tugged up. His lips were dry and Oikawa held back a retort about how he needs to use lip balm or they’ll just fall off, but it felt wrong seeing as he enjoyed kissing him so much.
“Well, I’m not gonna stop you,” his arms found themselves around Hajime’s shoulders when his fell to his waist, “But I think I’ll just be extra annoying. Also, ‘Kawa’s a new one. I like it more than Shittykawa,” he grumbled, scrunching his nose up.
“You would, wouldn’t you,” he mused, thumbs rubbing at his hip bones. “You look good in my shirt.”
“I look good in everything, thank you.” Hajime just reached over and handed him a mug with a roll of his eyes.
“Two shots, three sugars.” Tooru cooed and stroked his face with his thumb.
“Such a good little housewife, Iwa-chan!” The slap on the leg he got was well deserved, but was definitely harder than Hajime intended when he let out a panicked little “sorry!” and put his hand over to soothe it. Tooru just giggled, because it didn’t even hurt. Or it did, and he just didn’t realise because he was too busy trying to count the specks of brown in Hajime’s eyes.
Either way, he thinks he could definitely get used to this.