Work Text:
Hajime stares at the display of exquisitely designed glass bottles, each proclaiming to be the harbinger of beautiful, supple skin, and he has no idea which one he’s supposed to buy.
Due to unfortunate circumstances, Hajime finds himself in a specialty beauty shop, surrounded by an assortment of cosmetic products with various designs and colors and brands that he doesn’t recognize. There is so much to take in; the product labels of “skin illuminator” or “pore minimizer” or “hydrating emulsion” try to attract his attention, but they don’t help because Hajime can’t decipher the difference among them so he isn’t sure where to begin. For the nth time, he curses himself for this morning. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, though long enough for the upbeat, rapid-fire pop song to transition into a catchy R&B song and for a Beauty Associate to notice his desperate need of help.
The Beauty Associate, whose name tag identifies her as “Nina,” walks up to him with a ready-to-serve smile and asks, “Hi, how may I help you?”
Usually, Hajime would brush off these polite inquiries of assistance but this time, he feels so grateful. He’s out of his element, and he’s pretty sure that Nina can tell, obvious by the way she’s already asking follow-up questions.
“Are you looking for a moisturizer by chance?”
“Um,” Hajime starts, “I’m looking for a tall bottle, I don’t remember what it was but it was…red?” He rubs his neck, trying to recall the specific bottle that Oikawa uses religiously day and night, the centric item in his 8-step skincare routine. “The brand starts with an ‘S,’ I think.”
“Oh!” Nina claps her hands together, her eyes sparkling with recognition. “You must be talking about Shiseido,” she says knowingly and leads Hajime to another section, “it’s over here. Now, were you looking for a daily hydrating moisturizer, night firming cream, or perhaps a light essence for a finisher?”
Those words go over Hajime’s head, because while he moisturizes (yes, he does—he’s not that much of a caveman), he’s still a simple man with a less detailed approach to skincare compared to Oikawa, considering how he just buys the store brand lotion with Aloe Vera and uses it like it’s multipurpose.
More than once, Oikawa has complained how Hajime could get away with smooth skin despite doing the bare minimal and his frequent, brow-wrinkling scowls. It does seem unfair, in Oikawa’s defense, because Hajime can spend half as much money and time (and effort especially) on cosmetics or clothing and still wind up with a decent appearance, like somehow natural beauty is on his side and powering his casual appeal. When really, it’s just Hajime being frugal and lazy.
Thankfully, he spots the aforementioned bottle—an intimidating, rectangular glass bottle shaded in a bold red with a vertical label that reads, Revitalizing Essence—that is the root cause of this spontaneous, hasty trip and points to it, almost heaving out a sigh of relief. “I just need that, thanks.”
“Got it,” Nina says, moving behind the display counter, and because she’s been trained to provide the best customer service she can and seems to genuinely care, she adds, “May I also introduce you to this other product we have? It’s our latest release, a powerful concentrate with Sakura oil, coconut extract, and loads of Vitamin E.” She smiles, gesturing towards a mini bottle with fancy lettering and a sleek design before tapping her own face. “I noticed your skin has some dull notes, so this would be a nice complement to the—”
“Actually,” Hajime cuts in awkwardly, “it’s not for me.” He’s far from the target audience for these products, he knows that and probably so does Nina, but she seems unfazed, rather her smile grows wider, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Oh, then who’s it for? A special someone?”
His finger twitches, and Hajime fumbles for an accurate response, “Uh, yeah, it’s for—”
God, what does he call Oikawa at this point? His roommate? He could go with best-friend-since-forever for one because that is true, yet that label also seems inadequate to describe what they’re becoming to each other now, each day beginning to feel like a step closer to something on an entirely different level.
It doesn’t escape Hajime that choosing to live in close quarters with Oikawa, to share an apartment with him for the next four years, can be seen as a step forward of some sorts. He’s having a hard time defining his increasingly confusing relationship with Oikawa. Lines are getting blurred. While personal space was basically nonexistent from the start, since the moment five-year-old Oikawa declared Hajime to be his single accomplice in alien-hunting adventures (unfortunately for Oikawa, they didn’t find aliens in the backyard, but they did find cool bugs so Hajime was pretty satisfied), privacy is now an afterthought when Oikawa barges in on him whenever he wants. Hajime can’t speak for Oikawa, but he thinks the unspoken words between them are becoming tangible, if it’s not already evident in the ways he stares at Oikawa a little longer when he comes out from a shower or when Oikawa smacks his lips while eating ice cream.
Hard-pressed for a suitable label, Hajime receives his answer in the form of an autotuned, slick male voice singing,
“—call you my baeeeee—"
And there it is.
“—my bae,” Hajime finishes, just as the chorus finishes singing that word, and tries not to immediately regret his decision, because Nina positively lights up, looking like she’s ready to bombard him with even more questions.
“That’s so sweet!” she exclaims, clasping her hands together. “I don’t see many guys here shopping for their girlfriends. She must be so lucky to have you.”
Because it’s easier to just go with it and Hajime doesn’t want to subject himself to staying here any longer, not up for explaining to Nina and himself why his brain decided to allude to Oikawa like that or how Oikawa is not a girlfriend at least, he weakly nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, shifting his weight between his feet, then whips out his wallet in a clear sign denoting he’s ready to pay and go.
Swiftly, Nina rings him up, places his purchase in a white, branded shopping bag with red tissue paper sticking out, and hands him the bag with a bright smile after Hajime repockets his wallet. “And just for you,” she says before Hajime can flee, “I put in some sample face masks that I think you and your bae would like! They’re lightweight and enriched with antioxidants.”
Oikawa would definitely love those, and since Hajime knows he could have spent a longer, more excruciating time in the store, fighting a losing battle against shiny bottles, he gives a strong nod of thanks and makes a mental note to rate the store later.
_____________
On the train ride home, Hajime glares down at the shopping bag, his wallet somehow feeling lighter even though he paid with card. He sighs. Pulling out his phone, he clicks on the secret group chat that excludes Oikawa, titled 3chillzDudes, and shares his grievances, immediately eliciting responses.
(15:03) Hajime: so just dropped like ¥9000 for Oikawa
(15:05) Makki: wtf
(15:05) Mattsun: whipped
(15:06) Hajime: stfu
it’s not like I wanted to ok
(15:07) Makki: dude what bet did u lose
dat’s like 4 times u could have treated me n mattsun to ramen
or like 20 milk breads if u really owe Oikawa
(15:09) Mattsun: or 6 boxes of big boy condoms
just sayin
(15:09) Makki: true loll
(15:10) Hajime: well
it was all for a bottle
fml
Hajime cringes at himself, remembering what led him to his current predicament, and it doesn’t help that he can practically hear Makki and Mattsun cracking up through the phone screen, their texts full of laughing characters after he elaborated a bit more. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and scowls, recalling this morning.
It was dumb.
Routine-driven, consistent Hajime had forgotten to set his usual alarm on his phone last night so when he woke up, with thirty minutes to spare before his 8AM physiology class, he was a scrambling mess. After flinging his bedsheet over, he popped in and out of the bathroom, tugged on a random shirt, and grabbed his schoolbag all in record speed, ready to head out the door before realizing he was missing a crucial piece: pants. He almost fulfilled a nightmare of walking into class in his Godzilla-themed boxers for all eyes to see. So in his haste to pull up his goddamn jeans, he had tripped and fell against Oikawa’s dresser, knocking over that expensive ass bottle and causing it to shatter like dreams meeting reality. As if to add insult to the injury, he was still late to class because he had to clean up the evidence.
It wouldn’t be a big deal if Oikawa wasn’t batshit crazy about his skincare regimen.
Hajime had learned his lesson before. When they were thirteen and getting sledgehammered by puberty, not even Oikawa was spared from the onslaught of bright red zits that would mar their skin and signal their transition into fledgling adolescents. Thus, Oikawa cannonballed into an obsession with skincare and spent hours on the web researching for miracle cures, turning into an amateur dermatologist overnight who knew what “sebum” and “follicles” were. People think Oikawa’s blessed with glowy, flawless skin, but Hajime knows the truth: that vain asshole exerts the same lethal accuracy in targeting his opponents on the court to any offender that appears on his face.
Once, Hajime had tampered with his cosmetics as a prank and, well. The next day, Oikawa developed a huge zit in the worst, most conspicuous place—on the tip of his nose—and Hajime absolutely suffered that entire week. Thirteen-year-old him was no match for thirteen-year-old Oikawa, whose voice cracked midway through high-pitched whines and had no qualms about crying his ugliest tears with snot smeared across his face and blaming Hajime for all of his life’s woes.
Never again. Which is why right after classes ended, Hajime hightailed it to the nearest beauty store to replace that shattered bottle and finds himself where he is now, stuck on a train with the dire hope of getting home before Oikawa, his bank account dealt a significant blow.
Leaning his head back against the wall, he turns the bag around and belatedly realizes that there’s a tag attached to the ribbon handle, a little card that has a fine inscription on it. For bae, it says, surely written by Nina. Hajime thumbs the card, his lips twitching upwards.
_____________
Okay, so the plan was this:
When Hajime gets home, he will unpackage the bottle, dump a bit of its contents out to make it look used, set it in its respective place on Oikawa’s dresser, and secretly trash the remaining packaging so no clue would be left behind. Easy, D-rank mission. That way, when Oikawa comes home from practice later, he would suspect nothing amiss and Hajime would avoid a potential disaster—which is not a complete exaggeration. Because again, Oikawa is a vain asshole who prioritizes his physical appeal as much as his physical prowess in volleyball.
But the problem is, when Hajime actually gets home, he feels sleep coaxing him towards his bed.
The day has caught up with him, the stress of waking up late and running around from apartment to classes to a beauty shop in consecutive steps taking its toll on him. Thirty minutes, Hajime tells himself when he flops onto his bed after placing the bag on his dresser, not bothering to change into comfier clothes. Oikawa shouldn’t be home until a few hours later, so he thinks he can afford to take a mini nap before carrying out his plan.
Hajime snuggles against his bedspread and closes his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into sleep.
_____________
Time is hard to keep track of when you’re unconscious. Submerged in sleep, you don’t think about it as it feels loose and irrelevant unless you set an alarm. Which in this case, one wasn’t.
Hajime wakes up to the sound of crinkling paper and a loud gasp.
He feels groggy so it takes him a moment to realize that those sounds aren’t imagined. Pushing himself up with one hand, he rubs his eye with the other, blinking as his vision clears. “Oikawa…?” he murmurs, stifling a yawn.
“Iwa-chan.”
The clear ring of Oikawa’s voice through their shared bedroom is very real and startles Hajime fully awake. Oh shit, he thinks, realizing he most likely overslept or Oikawa came home earlier than expected. Either way, he’s not alone anymore and Oikawa is here, standing in front of his bed, still in his sweat-drenched uniform that’s clinging to his skin, eyes glued to the shopping bag.
Turning to face Hajime, Oikawa stares at him with knitted brows as he asks, “What is this? You don’t buy from…” His voice trails off when he notices the card. Lifting it, he reads out loud, “‘for bae,’” and a myriad of expressions flitter across his face, too fast for Hajime to discern them.
“Oikawa, I—”
“You have a bae?!” Oikawa asks, shouts, with widening eyes, gaping at Hajime. His mouth contorts like he’s struggling to form sentences, and he manages out, “S-since when?”
But before Hajime can respond, he fires off more questions without a hitch in breath, his voice a hodgepodge of interest, alarm, and something else that gives Hajime pause.
“Who is she? Do I know her? Why didn’t you tell me? I mean—I know it’s none of my business but, Iwa-chan, as your best friend, I feel like I should know—” Oikawa gestures wildly to himself, to the air, to the bag, and continues, not giving Hajime a chance to speak, “Is this why you’ve been kinda weird lately? Because you found someone?”
Oikawa gasps, appearing to have realized something momentous. His lips wobble, and he agitatedly runs a hand through his hair, further messing up his unruly, post-practice hair and causing strands to stick up in disarray. Hajime is still on his bed, hasn’t moved or spoken again, but that doesn’t seem to register with Oikawa who seems caught up in his own narrative, rambling and growing more worked-up by the minute.
“It’s okay—I get it—of course, we don’t have to tell each other everything, and maybe you—”
Hajime knows he should say something, to stop Oikawa from jumping from one conclusion to another, but he doesn’t for the moment. As he watches Oikawa continue on with a heated spirit that reminds him of their days together on the court, when they played side by side and scored point after point in fluid motion with wordless communication, he thinks, why would I ever want someone else?
As much as Oikawa likes to call him a gorilla-man and a big meanie which no girl would like!, Hajime knows he is attractive and acceptable to the female population to some degree, because he did get confessed to before. In second year of high school, he experienced for the first time being on the receiving end of wide-eyed, envious stares and the affections of a girl, who had a letter addressed to his name, instead of Oikawa for once.
It was a memorable moment. Not because he finally got a girlfriend and could showcase solid proof that defied Oikawa’s unflattering descriptions of him—rather the opposite. Hajime had rejected the girl, partly for obvious reasons that he didn’t know her and had no interest in dating to begin with, but mostly because he realized then with diamond-clarity that if he were to accept, his time with Oikawa would be affected, reduced. And the fact that he thought of Oikawa, of his future with him, instead of considering a possible future with the girl proclaiming her love for him didn’t go unnoticed by him.
That was when Hajime realized the extent of his feelings for Oikawa.
There has never been anyone else for him, but Oikawa. Period. The absurdity and hilarity of the situation hits him as he keeps watching Oikawa try to make sense out of his theoretical girlfriend, and he can’t help himself.
Hajime laughs.
Chuckles erupt from within his chest, shaking his body as he tries not to double over. Oikawa halts in mid-speech, mouth remaining open as he stares at Hajime with bewildered eyes.
“Iwa-chan?”
“Oikawa,” Hajime says after a beat, shifting to sit on the bed edge while holding Oikawa’s gaze, his voice light yet careful, “are you jealous?”
“W-what?” Oikawa splutters, eyes wide. He crosses his arms, shaking his head in firm denial. “No, why would I be?”
“Good. Because I don’t have a bae.”
Oikawa blinks, once, twice. “You don’t…?” he echoes, sounding unconvinced, his brows still pulled together in the way he hates since it’ll lead to wrinkles.
“I don’t,” Hajime says firmly.
And the most miraculous thing happens—relief visibly floods Oikawa’s features, his arms falling to his sides like limp noodles, shoulders dropping to a natural level. The lines between his brows dissipate. He brings a hand up to scratch his cheek, looking away from Hajime. “Oh,” Oikawa breathes, and he seems suddenly at a loss for words.
It’s a fascinating change, seeing Oikawa go from distraught to subdued in mere seconds with that knowledge. Hajime isn’t blind, and he thinks this is the sign he’s been waiting for—a clear indication that Oikawa harbors deeper feelings for him, that he would feel threatened by the prospect of someone else taking Hajime away from him. A spark of hope flares to life inside his chest, urging Hajime on. He takes the chance.
“But,” Hajime starts, “I do want one.”
He stands up, moving to close the small distance between them as Oikawa jerks his head towards him, stopping when only a sliver of space separates them. Gingerly, he reaches out for Oikawa’s hand, intertwining their hands when Oikawa doesn’t pull away, and meets wide, tired, but achingly beautiful brown eyes with his own determined ones.
Hajime swallows and over the sound of his pounding heart, he hears himself say, “And I want it to be you. I wanna call you my bae.”
If it’s even possible, Oikawa widens his eyes more as his mouth parts, intaking a sharp breath. A pink hue colors his cheeks, and he squeezes their hands like it’s a lifeline. “Are you,” Oikawa asks slowly, his voice nearly a whisper, “confessing to me?” It comes out with a dream-like wonder as if he can’t believe this moment is happening.
Hajime squeezes back with all his might, an answering smile already on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I am. I want to be with you, Oikawa.”
“Oh my god, Iwa-chan!”
Oikawa hurls himself into Hajime, embracing him with the impact of his entire weight. Hajime doesn’t work out for nothing so he steadies them easily, wrapping his arms tightly around Oikawa and clutching the back of his jersey. He nuzzles Oikawa’s neck, inhaling his sweaty yet familiar, comforting scent, as his heart soars, warmth and elation addling his mind. It feels incredible; Hajime feels like everything he’s ever wanted and will want is right here in his arms, his happiness alive and breathing against him.
“I’m sooo happy, but I can’t believe you’re telling me while I’m gross and smelly,” Oikawa whines against his shoulder, muffled by fabric. He sighs blithely. “You’re terrible, Iwa-chan.”
Hajime pulls back a little just so he can press their foreheads together and cup Oikawa’s face with a hand, thumb tenderly caressing his cheek. God, he feels completely gone for this idiot.
He grins. “Yeah, I guess I am. I also broke your precious moisturizer,” he says, chuckling as Oikawa squawks indignantly at the news, “but I’m glad I did, since it led to this.”
“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa murmurs, his eyelids lowering.
A brief, knowing smile appears before Hajime leans forward and kisses Oikawa, a gentle press of lips that has both of them sighing. Then he tilts his head at a better angle, slants his mouth fully against Oikawa’s, deepening the kiss as he feels hands roam along his back, down his sides, growing more daring in their exploration. The soft sigh that Oikawa releases is addicting, immediately swallowed by Hajime, and he tightens his grip on Oikawa’s hip, eager to draw out more sounds. Tongues enter the picture, making the kisses sloppier, wetter, but so, so hot. Hajime groans when Oikawa nips his lip, then teases him with a soothing lick.
It’s starting to feel like there’s not enough air, and while Hajime doesn’t want to stop, he knows he has to breathe. He reluctantly pulls away, a thrill shooting through him when Oikawa tries to chase his lips. A breathless chuckle escapes him before he gives in and kisses Oikawa again, light and soft, letting his lips linger a little longer. And when he rests his forehead against Oikawa’s again, he takes in the way Oikawa is breathing as hard as him, the look of his swollen, kissed lips, the feel of Oikawa pressed against him like this. It’s all overwhelming—but all his.
“Oikawa,” Hajime murmurs, both hands cradling Oikawa’s face, “I honestly only think of you. You’re it for me. You’re my bae, my boyfriend, whatever. Just wanna call you mine.”
Oikawa beams at him, so beatific and bright, full of heartwarming fondness. “Iwa-chan, you’ve always been it for me too.”
...
Later that night, Oikawa will post a picture of him and Hajime both donning the free, enriching face masks and snuggled together on the couch with their legs tangled, accompanied by the caption, with my bae ♡ .