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Hajime didn’t want to be the one to tell Tooru that he couldn’t do something. They grew up together, and Tooru was basically seen as someone that Hajime couldn’t live without, but that only made everything hurt so much more. It made him tremble with fear. If other people couldn’t imagine Hajime without Tooru, how could Hajime?
Nothing had been like it had been years ago, everything felt like a punch in the gut now. He dealt with medical records after medical bills after medical calls after medical studies--Hajime was sick of it all, he just wanted it to get better.
Though, of course, nothing seemed to go his way, and nothing seemed like it ever would. Not again, not as he sat in the hospital bed aside Tooru, listening to the steady yet not so steady beeping of the machines.
When had this started? It couldn’t have been that long ago.
Hajime watched Tooru all his life, keeping an eye on the childhood friend like a hawk. He took in everything he did, admired everything he did, fell in love with everything he did. As he watched, he knew that Tooru would come out the best, setter and all--that even included boyfriend from when Hajime finally confessed even though neither of them would particularly call what had happened a ‘confession’.
Usually, confessions weren’t filled with yelling or head butts, but Hajime’s did, and Tooru laughed every time he brought it up, Hajime’s face would fill with red.
“Iwa, don’t you remember? You head-butted me.”
“Shut up. Of course, I remember.”
“It was funny.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“You couldn’t. You couldn’t live without me, Iwa.”
And something about the memory made it hurt just a little bit more.
Because he was right, and they were all right. Hajime couldn’t live without Tooru yet he was in the position where he was about to have to do just that.
Hajime buried his face in his hands, hunched over his knees as he tried to blot out the noises around him. He was sick of hearing the machines’ constant beeping, the voices of doctors and nurses talking in the hallways, the ragged breathing from the one person he really needed the most in the world slowly slipping away right in front of him.
The man wanted to pull out his hair, grind his teeth to the gums, tap his foot until his toes went numb. Nothing about this felt okay, it all felt unfair. It wasn’t right.
“Iwa, don’t you think this place is nice?”
“That place? Why?”
“I don’t know. It looks cute!”
“You’re only saying this place because there’s a store that sells that milkbread you like just down the road.”
“So what if I am?”
“Keep looking, Oikawa.”
Hajime sighed as he walked into the apartment. The store that had sold Tooru’s milkbread had closed hours ago, Hajime should’ve been home in time to pop in there real quick yet he wasn’t. He had stayed longer than most people would’ve been allowed at the hospital and drove slower than all hell on his way home.
They had gotten the apartment, after only one more begging session from Tooru because that was all that Hajime needed to be convinced. He smiled and kissed Tooru before running his fingers through the other’s hair, telling him ‘Sure, idiot, fine. We’ll go with the milkbread apartment.’ That resulted in a happy grin from the other, an image Hajime wouldn’t let leave his mind as Tooru hugged him.
That warm feeling of Tooru’s arms around him was faded as Hajime sat alone on the couch. The couch--it felt cold with only Hajime there. He was rarely ever there actually, most of his time was spent at the hospital watching over Tooru and hoping for some type of miracle. Nothing came.
Hajime let himself drop on the couch, and he curled up, hugging one of the sofa pillows and pulling it into his chest. It wasn’t Tooru, but it would have to do.
Just until he had the chance to hold him again.
“You ever thought about it?”
“Thought about what, Tooru?”
“Like, us.”
“I’m gonna need you to be clearer.”
“Why can’t you just be like Mattsun and Makki and read my mind?”
“I usually can but you’re being vague as shit.”
“Like, us .”
“Still lost.”
“They’re married already and haven’t known each other nearly as long as we have.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you proposing?”
“I’m not cheap like that, Iwa.”
“So you’re not proposing?”
“I will do it over a classy dinner date.”
“How about tonight then?”
“Iwa! You’re serious!?”
“Mhm.”
“Mkay. I’m gonna get ready.”
“We’d leave in like two hours.”
“I need time, Iwa! Beauty takes time.”
That line was utter bullshit to Hajime.
Not because Tooru didn’t have enough time to get ready or never looked ‘beautiful’ by the end of it.
It was that Hajime could look at Tooru after the man had woken up from a hangover and still think that he was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He could still fall in love with him, he could still kiss him, he could still go to sleep next to him and wake up in the morning with him because Hajime didn’t care.
He loved Tooru.
Hajime stared down at the ring wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand and let out a shuddered sigh, like climbing down a shaky ladder with no steadiness to it. He twisted it around, thinking of how he last saw Tooru’s hand laid on the hospital bed. With the wires hooked up to him, wrapped around his arm, there was still the ring that sat on his finger.
There was a hiccup to his breath, and Hajime beat a fist on his chest as he sat up in bed. He ran his hands through his hair, the feeling of warm tears slipped down his cheeks before he could process what was even happening. His glance drifted off to the side toward the empty sheets next to him that had remained cold for nights straight.
Three AM and Hajime forced himself to go back to sleep. He wanted to go back to the hospital, stare at the weakening body of his husband laying limp in the bed, but he changed his mind, slipping back into unconsciousness. Maybe, in that way, he could be connected with Tooru somehow.
“I called you, Iwa!”
“I’m sorry, idiot. I didn’t see it.”
“Well, maybe if you picked up then you would’ve known.”
“Known what?”
“Just come home.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, well, kind of?”
“What?”
“Nothing. I just miss you.”
“You’re a dumbass. I’m on my way.”
“I love you, Iwa!”
“I love you too.”
Hajime dreamt of that conversation at least every other night, so it was no shocker he was experiencing it once again.
He woke up and picked up his phone, checking for anything he missed when he slept.
Three missed calls from the hospital, at least six each from Issei and Takahiro.
Hajime had never driven so fast.
When he pushed through the hospital doors, no one stopped to yell at him to be quiet or not to run. He did it without a second thought, heading through the pathway to the hospital room that he was all too familiar with.
The two friends were there, Takahiro’s face was redder than all hell, face stained with tears as he stood close to Issei. He looked away when Hajime walked in the door, unable to make eye contact with the former ace. Issei didn’t look like much at all other than how his eyebrows sunk down a little and his eyes read a different story of pity. Hajime walked past them, the two backed up by the door to watch the scene unfold.
He broke down next to the bed, nothing stopping the trail of tears that slipped down, soaking into the white sheets of the hospital bed that would soon be empty. The widow picked up the hand, it was pale and cold like Hajime just grabbed it from a freezer. His knees felt weak, Hajime couldn’t think straight. He reached out and dragged the back of his hand down the face of his husband’s cheek, a bitter feeling that transferred a chilling run down his spine and let an icicle stab him in the heart.
“Take a deep breath,” Hajime whispered in a shudder, for some reason, hoping that his words would reach out to Tooru even after it all was already over with, even after he was far too late. His hand moved to Tooru’s hair, the tangled mess that hadn’t been combed probably in weeks. He still tempted to thread his fingers through it, failing when they caught in knots. Hajime choked back a sob, not even able to do that for Tooru, not even able to feel his fingers through his hair once more.
Hajime didn’t know what was worse: witnessing the moment Tooru took his last breath or not being able to at all?
“Hey, Hajime,” Takahiro called out quietly.
“Don’t.” Takahiro twitched at the harsh tone of voice from Hajime, and he moved back to silence. “Just get out of here, the both of you.” Takahiro put his hands over his mouth, covering a small squeak that escaped his lips as he tried to stop himself from breaking down. He quickly nodded, and Issei placed a hand on his back and pushed him out of the door.
Hajime was left in the room, but the feeling wasn’t something he felt before. This time he knew it was all over, this time the temperature in the room felt colder, this time there were no beeping monitors. There was only the silence with hiccups and shuddered breathing coming from Hajime. His hand was wrapped in Tooru’s trying to warm it up as best as he could, not wanting to let go of the hand he got married to.
A life without Tooru, Hajime didn’t know how’d he do it. Right now, he had to figure out how to lift himself off the hospital floor.
Without Tooru.