Archive of Our Own

"That was delicious! What’s it called again? Hayashi chuka?"

Hajime laughs as he unlocks the car, holding open the passenger side door. "Hiyashi chuka. It’s good, right?"

Jenny grins up at him, perfect white teeth flashing under her sparkling blue eyes. "So good! I gotta admit, I didn’t think I’d be able to even eat anything in this heat, but those noodles were perfect." She presses a quick kiss to his lips and ducks into the car with a small "thank you".

Hajime smiles and shuts the door after her, walking round to the other side and quickly sliding into the driver’s seat. He’s got the keys in the ignition and the air-con at full blast before he’s even closed the door behind him.

"Oh my God, seriously, what is up with this weather? It’s 9 at night; why do I feel like I should be swimming in my bikini?" Jenny’s got her blonde hair wrapped around one hand and held up on top of her head, the other hand checking that all the air vents are fully open and pointing at her. "How do you live like this?"

Hajime chuckles as he puts on his seatbelt, rolling his shoulders against the shirt already clinging to his skin. He checks his mirrors and braces himself against the back of Jenny’s seat as he reverses out of the parking space. "You get used to it." Turning to face forward, his eyes pass over Jenny, dressed in a sheer, flowing shirt and denim shorts, her smooth skin visibly tanned from the American sun even in the darkness. Hajime can see the hair on the back of her neck starting to stand on end from the cold air blowing around the car, backlit by the lights from the restaurant.

When Hajime’s gaze crosses hers, Jenny raises an eyebrow and her mouth quirks up on one side. "What?" she asks.

He settles back into his seat and looks out the windscreen. "Nothing. You just look nice."

"I still can’t believe you’ve never had cold noodles," Hajime says, hand on the gear stick as he waits for an old lady to cross the road. His eyes flick to Jenny momentarily. "Do they not have cold noodles in San Jose?" The old lady makes it to the other side and Hajime eases off the clutch, quickly speeding out of the intersection.

She sighs melodramatically, a tiny, defeated whine escaping her lips. "No, I’m pretty sure they did. I just—I don’t know, it just always seemed kinda wrong, you know? I mean, noodles are for warming up in winter; in summer you want kakigori and bubble tea."

"Well, at least that’s one thing we don’t have to get."

"What?"

"Kakigori."

"What?" Jenny smacks her hand on the console, turning to face Hajime. "You’re kidding, right?"

Hajime raises one eyebrow as he glances at her. "No?"

"What do you mean 'we don’t have to get kakigori'? Of course we have to get kakigori! It’s literally the middle of summer and it’s so hot and humid I feel like I’m going to melt every single time I step outside. This is exactly when you need kakigori."

Hajime shrugs, pushing one elbow against the window and leaning his head on his fist. "I just thought you would want to try new things while you’re here. You’ve never been to Sendai before, right?"

Jenny sits back in her seat, pulling her bag into her lap and digging through it. "Well, yeah, but kakigori is like sushi—I’d never turn it down." She finds her phone and starts checking her notifications, the screen bathing her face in a ghostly white light.

Hajime brings his hand to his mouth and snickers. "I can’t believe you just compared kakigori to sushi."

"But that’s what I’m saying," she mumbles without looking up, tapping out a reply to someone, "you can never not get kakigori. Especially in Japan."

"Hmm…"

They drive the rest of the way in silence punctuated by the sound of Jenny’s nails on her screen, the road stretching dark and endless before them as they drive past fields and forest. The rhythmic taps and quiet rumbling of the car start to send a soothing wave up the back of Hajime’s neck, and with a small start, he realizes his eyelids are growing heavy. He rubs at his face to try and push away the tiredness starting to creep in. He briefly considers putting on the radio, but then they’re suddenly approaching the turning for the residential area, and before long they’re reversing into the drive of Hajime’s parents’ home. Hajime turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, feeling a headache beginning to take root behind his eyes. With a muffled grunt, he gets out of the car and walks round to Jenny’s side, opening the door for her.

She looks up from her phone, surprised. "Oh, we’re here? That was fast."

Inside, Hajime’s mom is sat at the kitchen table reading a book while his dad is watching TV from the couch behind her, a beer in hand. They both turn and smile at Hajime and Jenny as they walk in.

"Tadaima," Jenny says, teeth flashing almost as bright as the single lamp illuminating the room. Hajime’s dad lifts his hand in acknowledgment, smiling, and then promptly goes back to his program on TV.

"Okaeri nasai," Hajime’s mom replies, placing her book face down. She gets up and makes her way to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of tea which she holds up for Jenny to see. "Tea?"

"Oh!" Jenny shakes her head quickly, her smile never leaving her face. "Uh, iie, daijoubu desu!" She turns to Hajime and half-whispers, "I don’t want any caffeine before bed."

He goes to tell her what Jenny said, but his mom is already putting the bottle away and pulling out the water instead, placing it on the table with two glasses from the draining rack. She motions to the chairs as she pours water for them both.

Jenny practically skips forward, sliding into a chair and picking up the water. "Arigatou!" Hajime sits next to her and takes the other water.

"How was the food?" his mom asks in careful, accented English. She slips a bookmark between the pages of her book and focuses her full attention on them both.

"Oh, it was delicious! Oishikatta! Demo hajimete…I’ve never had cold noodles before, so it was a completely new experience for me. I’ll definitely be getting them again." Jenny grins at Hajime as she downs the rest of her water, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass.

"I’m glad," his mom replies. She looks to Hajime and switches to Japanese. "Did you go to the observatory, too?"

Hajime hesitates, then slowly places his glass back on the table. "No, we just went for food," he replies in Japanese.

"Oh, really? But you went all the way to Ayashi for dinner, didn’t you? That’s such a shame."

Jenny looks between them quickly, eyes and smile wide and questioning. "Hm? What was that?"

Hajime’s mom looks at Jenny sheepishly. "Ah, ehm, if you went to…to see the stars and the sky. Hajime, how do you say it in English?"

"The observatory," Hajime answers, voice quiet.

"What? There’s an observatory here?"

His mom nods at Jenny. "Yes, in Nishikigaoka, near to where you went. There is a pond, too. Hajime always was going with Tooru-kun."

"What, really? Hey, why didn’t we go? That would’ve been so cool." Jenny’s voice is light and curious, a far cry from the whining tone he had expected.

Hajime stands and takes his glass to the sink. "Sorry, I forgot. Anyway, they close at 5."

"Oh, that’s right." His mom sounds the most disappointed. "Hmm…Oh, but aren’t they open later on Saturday? Hajime, when are you going back to Tokyo again?"

He washes his glass and places it on the rack before turning around to lean against the sink, eyes passing over the worn kitchen mat under his feet. "Sunday, but we won’t have time; we’ve already made other plans to see the others."

His mom clicks her tongue. "What a shame. It would have been so nostalgic. Well, maybe next time you can stay a bit longer."

Hajime sighs and rubs his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose; his headache is quickly worsening. He drops his hand and meets Jenny’s smiling gaze. "I’m tired. I’m going to bed."

"What? Already? But it’s so early."

"Sorry, I have a bad headache. But you can stay up if you want." He walks to his chair and pushes it under the table.

"But we need you to interpret!" Jenny rolls her head back to look up at him, pouting. She lifts her arms to wrap around his waist, pulling gently.

Hajime smiles and places a hand on her head. "You don’t need me for that." He lifts his eyes to his mom across the table. "I’m going to turn in for the night. You’ll be fine without me, right?"

His mom nods, her eyebrows tilting in worry. "Of course. It’s early though, are you okay?"

"I’m just exhausted, I think I’m getting a migraine or something." He looks back down at Jenny and pats her head. "I’ll see you tomorrow," he tells her. He pulls out of her arms and turns to leave, but feels a hand on the back of his shirt.

"Won’t you be awake later?" Jenny asks quietly, eyes shining. She tugs at his shirt, trying to coax him back.

Hajime pauses for a split second before shaking his head. "Sorry, I’m really tired, I’m going to go sleep." He covers her small hand with his until she releases her hold on his shirt, and then he pulls away. He pauses in the doorway to call over his shoulder, "Good night."

"Good night."

"Good night."

His dad silently raises his beer without turning, and his mom and Jenny both wave as he ducks out of the kitchen. As he makes his way up the stairs, he can hear Jenny asking what book his mom is reading in Japanese.

"Table for Matsukawa," Hajime tells her, already toeing off his trainers.

The girl nods and asks them to follow her, her eyes settling on Jenny’s bright hair while they wait for her to slip out of her sandals and place them on the rack.

"Look who finally made it!"

Hajime grins down at Matsukawa as he steps into the semi-private room with a low table set over the floor. "Sorry to keep you waiting." He raises a hand to Yahaba and Kyotani at the end of the table, then does a double-take when he notices Hanamaki sitting across from Matsukawa. "Uh? I thought you were in Tokyo?"

Hanamaki shrugs and takes a sip of his beer, a lazy smile on his lips. "I got laid off again, so I’m just visiting. You know: seeing the family, spending some quality time with old friends."

"Settling into your NEET lifestyle, I think you mean," Matsukawa interjects, pulling out a packet of cigarettes just in time for Hanamaki to slap them out of his hand.

Hajime laughs loudly, then looks over his shoulder to see Jenny still standing in the corridor out of sight. Her hands are twisted in her bag strap, lips pressed together and eyes aimed at the entrance to the room. Hajime holds a hand out to her and then turns back to face the others. "Hey, guys, there’s someone I want you to meet."

When she puts her hand in his, he pulls her forward and she slides into the room. She dips her head, her usual smile somewhat dimmed and strained. "Um, hi! Hajimemashite! I’m Jenny. Uh…yoroshiku onegaishimasu…"

The others are silent, loud shouts and guffaws from a neighboring room filling the space as their eyes collectively travel between Jenny and Hajime’s linked hands and their faces.

Yahaba slams his glass down on the table, making everyone jump.

"How?! How is this possible? How is this fair?" he cries out as he puts his head in his hands, threatening to knock over his drink.

Kyotani shoves him. "Shut up. Don’t be rude."

"Iwaizumi, since when did you have such a cute girlfriend?" Hanamaki teases, already back to drinking his beer.

"I bet it’s because you don’t have Oikawa here to steal the limelight anymore," Matsukawa mumbles around the cigarette hanging from his mouth while searching the table for his lighter.

"What’s your excuse, then?" Hanamaki shoots a smirk at Matsukawa and then holds up the lighter, dangling it near his face. Matsukawa kicks him under the table.

"Fuck off. I have to put up with your broke ass turning up every time you get bored and lose your job."

Hajime feels Jenny’s grip on his hand tighten and he turns away from the chaos to smile down at her. "Sorry, they’re a bit loud. I promise they’re nice guys."

Jenny nods, looking slightly overwhelmed at the rapid-fire Japanese flying around the room.

"Come on," he mutters, pulling her forward gently as he settles down at the head of the table. He motions for Hanamaki to move up so she can sit down, and she crouches gingerly, sitting with her hands clasped on folded legs.

Hanamaki makes a sound as he swallows his beer and puts down his glass, flapping his hand at her. "Oh, uh…" He frowns at Hajime. "She doesn’t have to sit in seiza."

Hajime taps Jenny’s shoulder and points under the table. "You can sit normally. There’s a space for your legs."

Jenny blushes and unfolds her legs to slide them under, grinning sheepishly at Hanamaki and Hajime on either side of her. "Arigatou. Nihongo wa sukoshi daijoubu desu," she says to Hanamaki, sounding more confident than she looks.

Hanamaki blinks at her dumbly before Yahaba interrupts with another cry of despair.

"Iwaizumi-saaaan! Did you make a deal with the devil? Is this what they call karma?" Yahaba leans across the table to speak to Jenny in slow English. "You are very beautiful. If Iwaizumi is boring, please call me."

Jenny’s cheeks grow redder as she frantically waves both hands in front of her face. "No, iie! Hajime is—Hajime wa ii kareshi desu."

Yahaba bangs a fist against the table and groans.

"He is stupid," Hanamaki tells her, pointing at Yahaba with a grin.

Jenny laughs and Hajime smiles.

Matsukawa nudges him with his elbow. "Hey."

Hajime leans back and slides his eyes away from the rest of the group. "Hm?"

Matsukawa regards him silently. He drops his gaze to his beer, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Have you heard from Oikawa recently?" He lifts his eyes back up to Hajime, his gaze unreadable.

Hajime huffs out a quick breath through his nose and places his drink down on the table. "No. I know he’s coming to Japan next month for the Olympics, though."

"Oh yeah? Who’d you hear that from?"

"His mom."

Matsukawa stifles a laugh. "You still talk to his mom? You guys are fucking weird, man." He takes a swig of beer and lets out a loud sigh. "I don’t get why you won’t just talk to each other."

Hajime picks his drink back up and stares into it. Truthfully, he can’t count the number of times he had thought to pick up the phone and call; can’t count the number of times he had thought to apologize; the number of times he had thought to make things right. But he had ignored every single chance to make amends and slowly, gradually, steadily—he had felt the rift between them widening into a dark, gaping abyss that he didn’t even dare look into now.

He chews at the inside of his mouth and pushes the thoughts away. Further down the table, Hanamaki cracks a joke at Kyotani’s expense and Jenny throws her head back laughing, blonde hair cascading over her back. Hajime watches out of the corner of his eye.

"…Is this really what you want?"

He wrenches his gaze back to Matsukawa, eyes widening. Suddenly, the izakaya feels unbearably loud and stuffy, even with the air conditioning pumping out frigid air right over their heads. The atmosphere has turned thick and heavy and encroaching, and Hajime can’t breathe. Yahaba and Kyotani are squabbling again, and the next table over is calling for a waitress, and Hanamaki is saying something to Jenny, and Matsukawa is staring at him in deafening silence. Watching. Waiting.

He can feel his eyes tensing, brows knitting together. He swallows and looks away—and meets Jenny’s wide, questioning eyes.

His heart stutters into motion and he forces a smile onto his face. It feels tight and unnatural—he can sense Matsukawa still staring at him—and Jenny watches him for a few seconds before she smiles in return, shifting her attention back to her own conversation.

Hajime finally lets out a shaky breath then, his head and shoulders drooping as his jaw loosens. He can feel a headache fast approaching, the second one in as many days. He tilts the beer in his hand and stares at his warped reflection in the glass.

"I don’t know."

It’s another day of thick, sticky heat, and the roads towards the coast are packed.

"…Maybe I should have taken the other route after all," Hajime mutters, fist pressed to his mouth.

Jenny watches a group of teenagers walk past, their arms laden down with bags and coolers. Her hair is draped over the back of the headrest, her neck exposed to the cold air circulating around the car. "It’ll be fine once we’re on the highway, right? It’ll be nice to drive along the ocean."

"It’s not like we can see it, though."

"But we’ll know it’s there."

Hajime grunts, watching the light at the intersection up ahead turn red for the second time.

"Are all these people seriously going to the beach?" Jenny asks.

"Yeah, well, it is summer."

"But you can’t even swim here, right?"

"Mmm…But you know, people will still go to the beach when it’s hot. It’s the same in America, isn’t it? People are always walking along the beach." He quirks an eyebrow up at her then. "Anyway, you wanted to take the Joban Expressway just because it’s near the sea."

"I guess…" She yawns, stretching her arms as much as possible inside the narrow space of the car. She turns on the radio, scrolling through the channels briefly—all lively pop or noisy discourse—before switching it back off with a huff and digging out her phone.

They make their way through Sendai at a painfully slow pace, and what shouldn’t have taken much longer than ten minutes ends up taking almost half an hour. But then the traffic thins and suddenly they’re on the expressway, Hajime picking up speed before settling into the inside lane. He leans back in his seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel and the other pressed to his temple.

"How long are we on here for?" Jenny enquires without lifting her eyes from her phone.

"About four and a half hours," Hajime replies. Jenny sighs. "We can stop at one of the towns along the way, if you want."

"You’re the one driving," she says noncommittally.

They drive in silence for a short while until Jenny sighs—again—and drops her phone into her lap.

"What?" Hajime asks casually, his eyes glued to the car in front.

"You know the observatory?"

Hajime frowns and turns to glance at her. "Yeah?"

"Your mom said you always used to go with…"

"Tooru?" he provides. There’s a small twinge in his chest. He shifts in his seat, straightening up and putting his other hand on the wheel. "Yeah, Oikawa and I used to go a lot when we were in high school."

"So the Tooru that your mom mentioned is Oikawa?"

"Yeah." He glances at her again. "Why?"

"Well, last night, I was telling Kenta that I grew up in San Jose, and Shigeru asked if that meant I knew Oikawa."

The twinge turns into a jab. "Oh."

She carries on, "I think Takahiro shouted at him or something, but basically he thought I said San Juan, and I thought he meant in Puerto Rico for a second, but then Kenta"—Hajime thinks it’s funny that Kyotani is the only one who gets a nickname—"told me that the captain of the volleyball team in your year moved to San Juan in Argentina. So I was like, 'Oh, that’s super cool!' And then Shigeru started saying how he wasreally cool, and that it’s lucky I’ve never met him, because otherwise I’d definitely pick him over you." Jenny giggles softly, shooting a smile at him. "I wouldn’t, for the record."

Hajime quirks his head to the side. "Well, you don’t know him, but thanks," he deadpans.

"Anyway," she continues, pressing her chin into her palm and eyeing the car in front, "I was just surprised that you’d never mentioned him, is all. And your mum knew him, so I thought maybe you guys were close."

Although she is simply stating a fact, Hajime senses pressure in her words, and he only grunts in response. He wonders what made her think that Tooru and Oikawa were the same person in the first place.

They don’t speak for a few minutes and Hajime grips the steering wheel as memories from high school come flowing in: memories of practice, being tangled up in bed, getting food, stargazing, studying. Some of it with the others, some of it just the two of them; all of it, together. Hajime thinks back to the first time Oikawa told him he loved him, his voice and hands shaking as they lay in the dark. He thinks back further, to middle school and elementary, to the first time he called Oikawa his best friend, hand clasped tightly in his own.

"We were close," he whispers, only partly to her.

Jenny shifts, waiting. When he doesn’t say anything more, she sits up to face him, one leg coming up to tuck under her. "What happened?" Her voice is gentle, curious.

Hajime shrugs. "We stopped talking." As if it were obvious.

He changes gears and moves to overtake a truck, quiet as he continues in the outside lane for a while. Eventually, he comes up behind another driver, so he pulls back into the inside lane, settling at a slower speed again. When he glances over at Jenny, her eyes are fixed on the road ahead.

Hajime swallows, his throat dry. "When I met you, we hadn’t spoken for almost two years."

Jenny hums almost sadly. She looks out the passenger side window then as a blur of trees and buildings fly past, and her voice is quiet when she next speaks. "You really can’t see the sea. I guess it is pretty far, huh?"

Hajime lets out a breathy chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as he nods. "Yeah. We can stop somewhere if you want to see it."

Jenny doesn’t reply, and after a few minutes, he peers round to see that her eyes are closed, head supported by the seatbelt. Both hands on the steering wheel, Hajime pushes back into his seat, inhaling deeply and blowing the air out slowly through pursed lips.

Hajime still remembers the first few years after Oikawa left: he remembers the aching as they adjusted to being apart for the first time in their lives, suddenly relegated to video calls and phones and messaging after having always had each other at arm’s length, and even then only within a tiny window of the day that often required their attention elsewhere. He also remembers the elation he’d felt during their first reunion half a year after Oikawa had first left for Argentina; he remembers waiting at LAX for hours, growing increasingly irritated and anxious, only to have all that wiped away the moment he saw him step through security.

Hajime had clung to that memory; it was that first time—when he’d been worried that maybe things would be different now, that maybe it had been too long, that maybe they were different now—that had convinced him things would be okay. As long as they could just see each other, things would be okay. When they bickered and fought in America, in Japan, in Argentina, it was okay, because at least they were there together. If they could just get through this period, when they were both waiting—living—for that moment when they would be together again, then they would be okay.

Now, he keeps that memory and the others locked away in a box, tucked into a dark corner of his heart where he can’t see them. He marvels at the cruel irony that his happiest memories now make him ache in a way he didn’t think was possible.

He thinks over the last time he spoke to Oikawa: he had been supposed to come back to Japan for a month or so over the summer but had suddenly changed his plans at the last minute, saying he wanted to stay and train with the team instead. Hajime remembers being at his parents’ house and storming up to his room to call him, edging on furious because it was the second or third time that Oikawa was canceling a trip and it was coming up on a year since they had last seen each other; he remembers standing in the middle of his room, eyes fixed on that stupid souvenir shirt Oikawa had brought him from Argentina, which he kept hanging over his bed like some ridiculous dream catcher; he remembers the familiar anger and frustration that always made his heart slam against his ribs so hard he thought he might burst if he didn’t hit something. But he doesn’t remember who said what once Oikawa picked up the phone. All he knows is that it turned into a heated argument that ended with a bitter agreement to stop everything—to stop trying to force something that clearly wasn’t working anymore.

And when his anger finally calmed to only a smoldering indignation, he planned what he would say when Oikawa invariably called back with melodramatic waterworks, because a part of Hajime had thought that it was just another argument—because he could barely remember a time when they hadn’t fought about something. He had no doubt in his mind that they would simply start over when they saw each other again, because that was all they needed in order to reset. He had thought that Oikawa would call, because they always argued and he always called.

When the days turned into weeks, Hajime complained at length to Matsukawa about how Oikawa was a selfish bastard and an asshole and just took advantage of those around him without ever making sacrifices himself. (He soon took those words back. "He’s still an asshole bastard, though.") As the weeks became a month and then two, he called Hanamaki to make sure Oikawa was in fact still alive and therefore choosing to not contact him. At that point, his fury reignited and he declared that it was high time someone taught Oikawa a lesson and took his ego down a notch. Besides, eventually he would come back to Japan, and then they would fight, and then they would reset.

By the time he realized several months had passed and he wouldn’t be seeing Oikawa any time soon, he couldn’t bring himself to backtrack. Before he knew it, he was moving back to Irvine and it had been two whole years since they had spoken. When he found out from Hanamaki that Oikawa was giving up his Japanese citizenship to become Argentinian, he could no longer bring himself to try and pick up the broken shards of their relationship, so he tried to forget and move on.

He thinks now of all the days and nights they had spent together, before. He recalls the tosses hit with perfect accuracy, their eyes meeting across the court. He recalls their half-spoken conversations, built for them alone. He recalls the feeling of being wrapped up in each other’s minds and bodies, breaths and heartbeats mingling, forever pulling each other closer like they could become one person—like any space between them was excruciating. Like they could close the physical gap that existed and carry that moment into the time when they knew they would be separated by miles and miles of land and sea.

Hajime was so sure that their bond could withstand that distance.

Matsukawa’s words from the night before suddenly come back to him.

"…Is this really what you want?"

He looks over at Jenny, still sleeping, her lips parted as she breathes slowly. Beyond her, Hajime catches a glimpse of the ocean.

Jenny doesn’t wake up until they’re almost in Tokyo.

Hajime only smiles weakly, rubbing at his eyes while Jenny looks around the—thankfully—cool space. The drive from Sendai to Tokyo was always tiring, but this time felt worse, somehow. Maybe it was the late night out. Or Matsukawa’s prying questions. Or the fact that his brain hadn’t stopped turning over painful memories since they’d gotten onto the expressway.

"Oh, you have so many pictures! Wait, is this all the guys from last night?" she asks from the bedroom. With a small jolt, he realizes she must have spotted the smattering of photos above his desk. "So Kenta has always had crazy hair?"

Hajime chuckles as he wheels her suitcase into the corner of the kitchen, dropping his own bag on top of it. He pours two glasses of water and brings them to his room. "Yeah, he’s pretty unique," he says, holding out one glass to Jenny.

"Wait, so this guy is Oikawa?" she asks, pointing to a photo from their graduation; Oikawa has his arms around Hajime and Hanamaki, Matsukawa at the back, all of them grinning. Under it in the same frame is another photo, almost identical, except the others are laughing while Hajime is mid-turn and reaching up to grab at Oikawa’s collar while Oikawa pushes his hand against Hajime’s scowling face with an open-mouthed smile. He can’t even remember what Oikawa did to make him angry anymore.

He breaths out a tiny, dry laugh. "Yeah, that’s him. The famous Oikawa."

Jenny takes the water from him and Hajime looks over the other photos with her; there are a few more photos from volleyball practice over the years with Oikawa and other team members, and some from university and Hajime’s time in America where Oikawa is notably missing. The most recent ones are with Utsui and Jenny, and another with Ushijima.

"Oh, this is so cute!" Jenny exclaims. "Is this you?"

She’s looking at a photo from when Oikawa and Hajime were still young and gangly, hands clasped and throwing peace signs at the camera as they sat on either side of a just-born Takeru, Oikawa’s open-mouthed smile the exact opposite of Hajime’s serious frown.

He snorts. "Yeah, and Oikawa before he became a total pain in the ass. The baby is his nephew." It’s one of his favorites. He had received it fairly recently, when he was visiting Oikawa’s mom; he hadn’t known it even existed until she gave it to him, saying she’d found a spare copy while cleaning. He had considered filing it away, but he liked the childhood nostalgia it brought him; it reminded him of a simpler time, before their relationship became complicated and messy.

"Oh, that’s his nephew?" She runs a finger around the lip of the glass in thought. "You know, I seriously thought you just didn’t like pictures or something. Why didn’t you have any of these in Irvine?"

Hajime hums and turns to go refill his glass. "I don’t know. I guess I never got round to it." He stands by the sink, drinking slowly. He’s feeling a bit more awake now.

Jenny comes over and puts her full glass down, leaning her elbows on the counter. "Why did you get such a small place?"

Hajime drinks half of the second glass before he answers. "Apartments are a lot smaller here."

Jenny shakes her head. "No, I know, but I mean, this place is small." She scans the space as if she’s appraising it. "Like, it’s basically two rooms, three if you wanna be generous."

"Don’t forget the bathroom and toilet."

Jenny clicks her tongue and slaps Hajime’s arm gently. "Stop it, you know what I meant. But surely you could afford somewhere bigger?" She motions vaguely towards the TV tucked into the corner of the room, the kotatsu between it and the kitchen.

Hajime looks around the space which had been his home for the last half a year, considering it; it’s small, but it’s more than enough for one person, he thinks. It’s not even that much smaller than his apartment in Irvine.

He shrugs. "Maybe. But I don’t need somewhere bigger. It’s just me anyway."

Jenny jerks her head round to face him then, eyes wide under raised brows. "And what about me?" she asks with mock offense.

He knows she’s joking, but there’s still something in the tone of her voice that makes him feel guilty. It reminds him of when they were driving down in the car just a few hours ago. It reminds him, more distantly, of melodramatics used to hide painful emotions.

Before he can say anything, she laughs, straightening up. "I’m kidding." She picks up the water and makes her way to the kotatsu, kneeling on a cushion with her back to him. "I’ll admit, I’m a bit surprised to be here myself."

Hajime frowns at her from the kitchen. "What do you mean?"

Jenny shrugs one shoulder without looking at him. "Well, you know." She stares at the black TV screen in the corner. "It’s not like we’d been dating for that long when you left."

There’s a twinge somewhere in his belly. She’s right: they had barely been dating half a year when he moved back to Japan. But they’d become such good friends over the several years they’d spent working together that it hadn’t even felt like a very big change when she had suggested they pursue something more. And it had been easy, being with her: they had similar interests, worked for the same person, and generally got on well, although Hajime suspected that was partly just because Jenny was the friendliest person he had ever met and it was impossible to not get on with her. Surely that counted for something?

But again, Jenny carries on before he can reply. "I was never planning to be in this for the long haul. At least, not once I heard you were moving back to Japan."

Oh. "Why?" he asks. He hears how it sounds—hurt, weak—and wishes he could take it back.

"Well…I mean, you know how much I like Japan. You know how much I like visiting and that I could eat Japanese food practically every single day. And I do like the fact that I can speak a little bit of Japanese now. But I don’t want to live here."

Hajime feels his mouth start to go dry. He looks up, but Jenny is still staring at the TV, hands curled around her glass. She still hasn’t drunk any of the water.

"You know, I genuinely do love working with the professor; I think he’s a brilliant trainer"—Hajime frowns, wondering what Professor Utsui has to do with this—"but I think if I had to choose between staying in Cali on my own and following him somewhere else, I’d definitely pick Cali. Even just Irvine." She peeks over her shoulder then, meeting Hajime’s gaze with a sad smile. "I’ve got my own goals and life to live. I’m not gonna make compromises for someone that won’t be a part of it forever."

Hajime’s stomach constricts. "Did—" His voice cracks and he clears his throat. He tries again. "Did they say something to you last night?"

Jenny frowns at that. She shifts on the cushion, turning to look at him properly. "You mean your friends?" An expression that Hajime can’t quite decipher passes over her face momentarily. "You—what would they have said?"

"I don’t…" Hajime feels the mild panic of being faced with a trick question. Is this what they mean when they say girls are scary? He pushes that thought away though, because Jenny doesn’t play games; she’s straightforward and honest with her words. He knows that. "I don’t know…"

She watches quietly as his eyebrows furrow, and for a second she almost looks apologetic. But then she takes a quick breath in, letting it rush out of her loudly as she puts her elbows on the kotatsu and rests her chin in her hands. "No, they didn’t say anything. Not really. But I saw you talking to Iz-Iss-…What’s his name again?"

"Matsukawa. Issei." Hajime’s heart tries to jump up into his throat.

"Right. Sorry, I didn’t really speak with him at all. But yeah, Issei, I saw you talking to him."

Hajime waits. He doesn’t know what to say, so he waits, blinking numbly at a space on the floor between them as his heart beats at his ribcage.

"I’m not really sure what happened because you guys were far away and Kenta and that lot were super loud, and you were speaking in Japanese as well, but…" Jenny slides around on the cushion, facing the kotatsu again. "…It seemed like you guys were talking normally. And then when I looked over, you were just—staring at him. Like he’d said something insane. And then you looked right at me and—and you practically flinched, like you didn’t expect me to be there." She sighs and sits back on her hands, mouth twisting. "I don’t know. You did smile then, so I figured it was just me, but…"

Hajime waits. He tries to settle his heart.

Jenny looks down into her lap. "I like you a lot, Hajime. And I know a year isn’t really that long, especially when you’ve been gone for half of it, but I feel like you haven’t really opened up to me. I feel like you’re still—not hiding something exactly, but—like you’re still closed off? Like you don’t trust me."

"I do trust you," he tells her quietly.

Jenny shakes her head, lips pressed together in annoyance. "That’s not…" She looks up at him with tight eyes. "I mean like, why did you never tell me about that Oikawa guy?"

His stomach lurches this time. His palms are getting sticky. "What should I have said?" His voice sounds frustratingly petulant. "I already told you in the car, we had stopped talking when I met you."

"No but…" She grimaces and sits up, looking back down at her hands. "Last night, when Shigeru thought that I might have met Oikawa in Argentina, he seemed more surprised that I’d never even heard of him. And I guess that might have been whatever if he’d just been the captain of your volleyball team, but it seems like you guys actually grew up together. I mean, your mum showed me some pictures of you one night after you went to bed or something, and he was in practically every single one of them when you were kids. Plus, you literally have a picture with him and his baby nephew. Not even your nephew—his nephew."

Hajime wants to argue back, irrationally: they could have been acquaintances that just happened to live near each other, or their moms could have been friends, or they could have met again in high school after years apart. He knows that’s not the case, but he wants to say it. He wants to say it’s not that simple.

Jenny goes on, her voice quieter now. "Also, Takahiro was telling me how you used to be super grumpy back in high school, and how you were always fighting with your captain. And to be honest, the way everyone was talking about him—well, except for Shigeru—I seriously thought for a second that you didn’t get on with this guy. But when you said that Tooru and Oikawa were the same person and that you used to be close, I kind of thought, 'Oh. I guess some shit must have happened.’ And I thought that you would explain this mysterious person that you’ve known for years and were close with before something happened, but you didn’t. So I asked, but you clearly didn’t want to talk about it."

Hajime’s starting to feel like he’s being reprimanded by an adult that’s disappointed in him, and he hates it, but he can’t argue back, because she’s not wrong.

"I just don’t understand why you’ve never mentioned him." She glances at him before immediately fixing her eyes on her fingers playing with the hem of her top. "I mean, it’s not the end of the world—hell, I’veprobably got friends that I’ve never told you about—but I guess it was just weird to come here, to finally see your world—like, your world—for the first time and immediately realize that the Hajime I know is just a bit different from the Hajime in Japan. And apparently you always were."

"I’m not—" He fumbles for the right words, indignation sour in his mouth. "I wasn’t hiding anything from you. People change. And it takes time. Just because I didn’t—"

"I know," she interrupts, gentler now, with a tiny smile. "That’s not what I’m saying. I just…" She exhales slowly, running her hands through her hair. She blinks down at the glass of water as if just noticing it now and takes a drink.

Hajime waits. He focuses on the feeling in his belly, now just a dull discomfort, like a languid moth that he tries and fails to grasp.

"Long distance is hard," Jenny says then. As if commenting on the weather. "I seriously never thought I’d do long distance, but then we just kinda slipped into it, because I liked you enough that I thought 'Let’s just try.' And at the start it was easy, because we could text and talk and skype and it was almost like you weren’t gone, some days. I mean, sure, I missed you, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, so I thought we’d be fine. But now that I’m here, it’s suddenly a lot harder than I expected."

Hajime doesn’t tell her that it gets much, much harder than what they’ve experienced. He doesn’t tell her how he only agreed to try long distance again because he knew that it would be easier this time. He doesn’t tell her that he sometimes wonders if it should be harder.

"And it’s annoying that I’ve only got a few days left before I have to go back, and then who knows when I’ll next see you again. Probably not until after the Olympics, right?"

He nods, but he’s not sure the whole motion is there.

Jenny sighs loudly. Then she sighs again, softer this time. She gets up and brings her mostly full glass over, putting it in the sink. She slides behind Hajime, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades. "I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. I am happy I’m here, it’s just—I guess it’s just a bit overwhelming, meeting your family and your friends, going round your home…It’s like, 'Oh. We’re doing this.'"

The thought makes fear and guilt twist together in his stomach.

"…Is this really what you want?"

He stares down at the arms wrapped around his front. He places a hand over one of hers, suddenly thinking how small her body is compared to his. Because of course it is—she’s a girl, even if she was also a high school volleyball player.

"It’s okay," he tells her as he pats her hand, forcing steady confidence into his voice. "I know." He pushes away at the discomfort fluttering around inside him, hoping it will settle long enough for him to forget about it. He turns in her arms, and she lifts her face away to give him space. She puts her chin on his chest once he’s facing her, staring up with huge brown eyes that make his heart squeeze. He runs a hand over her hair, smiling faintly. "Let’s go get dinner."

Jenny nods and stands away, lifting her shoulders to her ears. She lets them drop with a huff and then pouts up at Hajime, holding back a smile. "You’re too nice. You know you can get angry with me?"

Hajime chuckles weakly as he washes both their glasses and then heads through to the bedroom. "I don’t want to argue or fight, either." He opens up the wardrobe and pulls out a fresh shirt, peeling off the top he’s wearing and throwing it onto the end of the bed. "Do you want to get changed before we leave?"

"Mm…nah, I’m fine." He hears her turn on the TV. "Did you say we were going to be meeting someone tonight? Or was that tomorrow?"

"No—well, yeah, we were supposed to see Hanamaki…" He comes out to see her switching the TV back off. "But apparently he’s going to stay at Matsukawa’s for a while now. So it’s just you and me until Thursday."

"You can still wear your lame t-shirt, you know," she teases as she eyes his clean shirt.

"It wasn’t lame," he says, almost hurt. "It’s got Godzilla on it."

"Yeah. That’s lame." She heads for the door, the echo of her voice lilting through the apartment. "But it’s fine, because that’s just you."

"I still haven’t met any of the guys on the team, and they seem really fun."

"How? All I do is complain about them." Just that day, Hinata had tried to set a freak-quick for Bokuto and slammed the ball straight into his face, enraging Kageyama more than anyone.

Jenny laughs. "Exactly."

Hajime doesn’t carry on the conversation and Jenny seems to forget until after dinner, when they’re on their way home.

"But seriously, why not? I think it would be fun."

Hajime considers it. Things between him and Jenny had seemed fine since their discussion the night before, but he hadn’t dared bring it up. His mind, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped dwelling on everything that she had said. Or on the memories that he had previously kept sealed away for years, now pouring forth unabated and unrelenting in their constant flow, no matter how hard Hajime tried to push them back. The few hours during which he was forced to focus all his attention on the clowns that were the Japanese national team had been his only reprieve from the endless thoughts running through his brain.

He shakes his head. "Sorry. I don’t think we’re allowed guests, anyway. But you know Tokyo; isn’t there anywhere you want to go before you leave?"

Jenny pouts. "Yeah, but I would’ve liked to have gone with you. You know, seeing as I came all the way here to see you." She takes his hand and squeezes.

Hajime smiles tightly. "Sorry."

They don’t talk about their relationship, or long distance, or pasts left unshared. If Jenny notices his increasing hesitation to hold her close at night or his reluctance to deepen the kisses she presses to his mouth, she doesn’t say anything. He tries to ignore the guilt flooding his chest as he focuses on their last few days together before she has to go back, refusing to think about the future.

Jenny spends the next few days alone while Hajime babysits athletes, and Hajime makes them dinner at night and they talk and laugh like before—before, when they were still just two people that enjoyed each other’s company—and Hajime tries not to think about how much he’d missed that relationship. He tries not to think about how easy it is to be with Jenny, even when she’s on the other side of the world and he can’t see her or touch her whenever he wants. He tries not to think about how easy it was to pick her up at the airport, or how little he is dreading her departure, because he knows that it will be bearable. He tries not to think about a future in which he has spent more time apart from his significant other than with them.

He tries, but his brain seems to have left the gates wide open for every single thought he would rather keep shut out.

"…Is this really what you want?"

"Mm…" Jenny swirls the wine in her glass. "…Three hours seems like overkill. I reckon I could make it through in an hour."

Hajime’s lips quirk up on one side. "I doubt that. Let’s just aim to get there for two."

"Ugh, you’re so responsible," she laughs, throwing back the rest of her wine. She reaches for the bottle, but Hajime puts a hand over hers.

"Hey, that was your third glass? You still have to travel tomorrow," he tells her, brow furrowing.

Jenny rolls her eyes but sits back smiling without the bottle. "As I said: responsible."

"I’ve always been responsible, but you’ve never been a heavy drinker," he retorts, putting his own wine glass down, still on his first refill. "What’s up?"

She pulls her knees up under her chin, hugging them to her chest. She stares at the wine bottle in the middle of the kotatsu. "I’m just steeling myself."

Hajime feels that familiar discomfort take flight inside his stomach again.

Jenny’s eyes slide over to meet his gaze and he finds he doesn’t know how or if he should respond, and so he just stares at her and waits. He doesn’t move when she uncurls herself and then leans over the corner of the kotatsu, one hand coming up to cup his face lightly, her fingers just dipping into his hair. He barely breathes when she presses a single kiss to his lips, soft and gentle and sadder than he had expected.

She pulls away with a tight-lipped smile.

He swallows, and it feels like his throat is made of sandpaper. He grabs hold of the discomfort, steadies himself with it, and opens his mouth.

"We should break up."

Jenny looks down, sniffs, and nods slowly. "Yeah."

Jenny pulls Hajime into a hug, patting his back. "Thank you," she mumbles into his shoulder.

Hajime hugs her back, breathing in the fresh scent of her. "I’m sorry."

She pulls away with tears in her eyes and a lopsided smile on her lips. She shakes her head. "Don’t be. I’m glad I came. Besides, we never even said 'I love you.'"

With a start, Hajime realizes that she’s right—and that it had never even crossed his mind to question it. He feels a small stab of guilt and wonders how punched full of holes his insides must be.

She inhales deeply, letting the air out in one huge breath that takes her smile with it. "You’re a good person, Hajime. I’ll miss you. And—text me sometime, yeah?"

Hajime frowns and glances down at his shoes. "Yeah. And you too. You’re a good person too, you know."

A smile pops back onto Jenny’s face at that, but then it’s gone. She straightens up and claps her hands to her thighs. "Okay. I’m off. I’ll see you around, Hajime."

He tries for a grin. "Have a safe trip. Let me know when you get to LA. And say hi to Professor Utsui for me."

Jenny nods and matches his grin. She heads through to security, disappearing behind the partitions, and Hajime turns to leave.

He’s halfway to the entrance when he hears his name. He—and half the airport—whirls round to see Jenny back at the barrier, waving frantically.

"Go live your life!"

A genuine smile spreads over his face and he raises a hand. He swears he can see Jenny’s eyes shining from there. She spins around and runs back in.

Hajime turns away and leaves without looking back.

The other end of the phone is silent. Hajime glances at the screen to make sure the call is connected.

"Sei-kuuun, who’s this gruff-sounding boyfriend you’ve been hiding from me?" It’s Hanamaki’s voice, teasing.

Matsukawa’s shout leaks in from the background. "Oi, don’t go answering other people’s phones!"

A snicker. "Don’t worry, it’s just our lovely resident athletic trainer." Hajime hears Hanamaki’s voice growing smaller, then scrabbling in the speaker.

"Oh, Iwaizumi?" Matsukawa’s voice becomes clearer. "Hello?"

"Wait, do you have a boyfriend you’re hiding from me?"

"Screw you, Hiro. Iwaizumi, what’s up?"

It was like being in high school all over again. "We broke up," Hajime says again, more confidently than he feels.

"Who?" A beat. "Wait, you mean…"

"Jenny."

Matsukawa is silent for a moment. "Ah." Another beat. "How you feeling now?"

He considers it. He’s stood in his kitchen drinking the last of the wine left in the bottle from the previous night, and he finds it slightly ironic that he should be engaging in stereotypical post-breakup behavior when he feels perfectly normal by all accounts. "I don’t know. A bit relieved, maybe?"

"Uwaaaa. You’re the worst." There’s clanging in the background and rustling, and then Matsukawa’s voice is a bit closer. "You’re actually terrible. That might even be worse than Oikawa."

Hajime grimaces as he leans against the counter, turning the wine glass round and round. "What, just because I’m relieved after breaking up?"

"No, because you brought your new girlfriend to Japan to meet your awesome friends and family, and then promptly broke up with her because you were too lukewarm with her to be honest until now." Hajime hears sizzling and realizes that Matsukawa must be cooking. He wonders if Hanamaki will ever come back to Tokyo, what with the pampered lifestyle he’s apparently living up there. "At least Oikawa had the decency to be honest about the fact he was just crazy obsessed with volleyball. Well, and you."

He feels his heart constrict at that. He picks up the wine glass to finish it, but it’s already empty. He goes to pour more, but there’s barely a trickle left in the bottle. "I wasn’t trying to hide anything," he says, feeling a little bit like a broken record. He sandwiches the phone between his ear and shoulder and starts picking at the label on the bottle.

"But you didn’t tell her about Oikawa. And you sure as hell didn’t tell us about her until you were practically forced to.

"I mean," Matsukawa continues after a moment, "do you remember when you first told us that you and Oikawa hadn’t spoken in, like, five fucking months? I could not conceive of the two of you not speaking for five months—"

"And keeping it from us like the absolute assholes you both are," interjects Hanamaki’s voice from far away.

"—when you literally couldn’t go five seconds without trying to screw or kill each other in high school."

"That was different," Hajime argues. "You both know Oikawa."

"Not the point. Ah, shit—" There’s a loud clatter and some static from the other end, and then silence. Hajime checks the screen again; the call is still connected.

"Hello?"

When Matsukawa replies, his voice is echoey and far, the sound of cooking much louder. "Sorry, I dropped you. You’re on loudspeaker now. Anyway," he goes on, "my point is, you gotta tell people about shit if you want to build a good relationship. You gotta open up. And you and Oikawa were practically a package deal, even before you guys were a thing. That’s why—"

"Man, how the hell are we the mature ones in the group?" interrupts Hanamaki, his voice suddenly closer. "We’ve literally got Tweedledee and Tweedledum over here jumping through hoops just so they don’t have to acknowledge each other."

"I absolutely refute the idea that you are the mature one in any group, you NEET," Matsukawa shoots back at him. "Make yourself useful and dish out some rice. Thank you."

Hajime wanders into the bedroom while they bicker, flopping down onto his bed. His eyes slide over to the photos above his desk. He looks at the ones of the four of them at graduation, mouths wide with youth and happiness.

"Iwaizumi? You still there?"

"Yeah."

"Look, I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life. You’re an adult. So is Oikawa. It’s a royal pain in the ass for us if you guys wanna pretend the other doesn’t exist, but I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. But—hold on—" There’s a series of loud clatters and clicks, and then it’s silent for a short while. "Hey, I’m back. Anyway, I gotta go, but quickly: why did you break up?"

"What? What do you mean 'why'? Aren’t you the one that asked if this was what I wanted?"

"Oh, what, so you’re saying you broke up just because I made a tiny comment about your wet towel attitude to life right now? You’re saying you let other people’s criticisms affect your relationships like a tiny leaf caught in the wind of peer pressure?"

Hajime is silent. He tries to push down the childish indignation that rises in his chest. "No," he mutters. He tries to grasp at a concrete version of the feelings that had taken root in his mind over the last week. "It was just… It was wrong. I think I got off track. I couldn’t see the goal anymore, and neither of us was prepared to compromise for each other."

A clack. The scrape of a chair. "Okay. You got off track. So let’s say that—hypothetically—you got off track with Oikawa, too: do you seriously wanna keep forcing your way down that path like a stubborn kid that doesn’t know any better?"

Hajime’s gut twists right round and drops away. He doesn’t say anything.

He hears Matsukawa exhale, the background quiet now. "Look, I gotta go. I am sorry you broke up with Jenny, but to be honest with you, I’m not sure she could have handled you anyway."

Hajime frowns. He feels defensive, somehow. "What do you mean?"

"He means," comes Hanamaki’s voice, booming through the speaker loud enough to make Hajime pull the phone away from his ear, "that you’re a grumpy old gorilla man, and Jenny was a super cute girl that didn’t deserve your anger."

"I never got angry with her," he protests.

"Exactly!" Matsukawa practically shouts. "God, you’re a lot of work. Hiro, what the hell are you doing?! Are you gonna eat or not?"

"First I’m not helping enough, now you want me to do nothing but sit around and eat delicious food that’s been made for me? Make your mind up, already!"

"Listen, I am this close to shipping you to Iwaizumi right now so he can deal with your nuisance ass. You literally have an apartment of your own. In Tokyo. Why the fuck are you here?!" Matsukawa sounds like his sanity is reaching its limit, and Hajime has to muffle his snicker.

"I’ll leave you guys to eat." Hajime sits up on the bed, staring down at his hand absentmindedly, a half-smile on his lips. "Thanks. Sorry for interrupting."

"Wait—Iwaizumi—"

He hangs up before they can say any more.

However.

Going to have a coffee at a cafe near the Olympic stadium only days before the games were due to start is rapidly becoming his new personal worst.

"Iwa-chan?"

Hajime does not think it would have been possible to prepare for this moment. Even if he had known it was coming, he thinks the anxiety from waiting would have killed him first. As it stands, his breath is lodged in his chest like a rock and he thinks he may throw up his lungs, heart, and guts as soon as he exhales.

Because Oikawa is standing right there.

He’s right there, on the other side of the tiny table where Hajime decided to sit just so he could relax while watching normal people that were a normal height going about normal jobs in their normal lives. He’s right there, a giant, tanned and dressed in an Argentina-blue t-shirt, next to two other giants that are both foreign and also tanned and wearing Argentina-blue t-shirts, glancing between him and Oikawa as if this is not the defining moment of the new worst mistake of Hajime’s life.

Oikawa’s eyes are wide, both his raised eyebrows and his crinkled forehead on full display under his short hair—although it’s a bit longer now, it’s looking fluffier again—his lips still parted with the end of that name that Hajime hasn’t heard in years.

He’s vaguely aware that his fight or flight response is still calculating what to do, or perhaps it’s already crashed. He feels frozen, lightheaded and unable to assess whether or not this is truly happening. He has a vague sense of deja vu.

Oikawa’s eyes are darting from Hajime’s face to his chest to the coffee in his hand and back to his face at lightning speed. Still, Hajime does not move. He can’t tear his eyes away from Oikawa’s face.

After a moment longer—although it feels like hours could have passed—Oikawa blinks and closes his mouth. He licks his lips, and his eyebrows and eyes return to a normal position, and then he blinks again, several times in quick succession. Like he’s just waking up. He turns away and speaks quietly to the two men that are with him in what Hajime can only assume is Spanish, and then they all turn and walk out.

Hajime sits there, still frozen. Oikawa just walked into the cafe where Hajime was sitting and then walked straight back out. Oikawa just spoke to him for the first time in five years and he didn’t even react. Oikawa just entered his life and now he’s already left again. Oikawa just—

"Oi…"

Oikawa—

"Oikawa!"

Hajime is up and sprinting for the exit. He all but wrenches the door off its hinges to get it open and goes barreling into the thick air of the street heaving with people, almost taking out two women on his way. "Sorry—"

He steps out to the edge of the footpath, scanning the crowd, but he can’t see him. There’s no short fluffy hair, no tanned skin, no Argentina-blue t-shirt.

Hajime whirls around on the spot, searching desperately. But he can’t see him. He’s gone.

He pushes his hands into his hair and lets out a roaring groan that makes all the people near him visibly jump.

"Dammit!" He clutches his face, fingernails digging into his skin. "Shit!"

When he drops his hands, he registers everyone on the street staring from a safe distance, giving him terrified looks. He realizes he’s panting. His body is shaking.

Oikawa is gone.

He looks down and exhales heavily, his head spinning. He scrubs his hands over his face as he tries to compose himself.

He drops his hands to his sides. He stares at his feet.

He missed his chance.

He swallows the bitter pain down and thinks of what to do. He still has Oikawa’s number that Matsukawa gave him. He could still call him—explain. But…

He feels numb.

He lifts his head and turns to go back to the cafe.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses blue.

"Iwa-chan!"

He whips around and sees Oikawa making his way towards him through the throng of people. He looks panicked, his eyebrows tilted and his teeth gritted together.

Hajime feels his heart come back into his throat.

"Oikawa!"

He takes a step towards him and the crowd parts like the Red Sea around them. Then suddenly Oikawa is right there, and Hajime puts his hands on his shoulders to stop his momentum as he rushes up to meet him.

They stare at each other, chests heaving. People are staring, muttering loudly, but all Hajime can see is Oikawa, right in front of him again after years and years. He’s not a photograph or a memory—he’s real and solid and there.

They both grin in unison.

"Iced vanilla latte?" Hajime asks Oikawa as they queue, staring at his shoes. He winces internally after he says it, wondering if Oikawa might have changed his tastes over the years.

There’s no response at first, and Hajime wonders if he heard, but then: "Sugar-free. Please."

"Okay. I’ll get the drinks; go grab a table."

"…Thanks."

Hajime finds Oikawa alone on the second floor, looking out of the window. Hajime puts the coffees down and Oikawa smiles up at him. It’s a familiar sight, one that Oikawa used with all his fangirls once upon a time.

They sit in heavy silence for some minutes, neither of them looking at each other, the sounds of the cafe only a gentle murmur from up here. Even though his lungs are working again, Hajime feels like someone’s poured syrup into his brain; he can’t seem to string together a coherent thought. All he can think of is Oikawa, sat across from him.

Hajime forces his eyes up and away from his coffee. Oikawa is still looking out the window.

He studies his face; the last time he saw Oikawa, they were both young, barely out of their teen years. He had thought they looked mature back then, like adults, but looking at the man across from him now, he realizes just how young they truly were. He runs his eyes along the sharp cut of Oikawa’s cheeks, jaw, and Adam’s apple. There’s no hiding the strong line of his neck and shoulders, the curve of his chest, or the thickness of his arms. Where once Oikawa had looked tall and slim—almost fragile at times—he now exuded strength. He was no longer a pillar of a boy, deceptively strong as he supported his team; now, he was a hulking tower, a firm and steady man ready to stand at the vanguard.

Hajime licks his lips. "Oika—"

"How’s Shoyo?"

"Huh?" It takes Hajime a second to remember: Oikawa and Hinata had become friends in Brazil. Although they didn’t talk about it much, because Hajime never asked. "Oh, uh, he’s fine, I guess." He thinks of Hinata the other day, practicing serve receives with Kageyama. A single chuckle escapes his lips. "Yeah, he’s great."

Oikawa drags his eyes away from the window to smile at Hajime. It’s familiar again, but this time it’s a smile that Oikawa used to save for those closest to him, and Hajime hasn’t seen it in so long that his chest squeezes painfully at the sight of it. "I’m glad."

Hajime licks his lips again, takes a sip of his coffee. It’s more bitter than he expected.

Oikawa picks up his cup and looks back out the window as he drinks slowly. The vaguely normal atmosphere from outside the first cafe has all but disappeared now, leaving only a vacuum of awkward silence in its place. Another minute passes, and Hajime feels the anxiety growing like a bubble in his gut. He needs to organize his brain. All the thoughts he had had, all the hours he had spent thinking—realizing—planning what he would say. He has to say everything, before he misses his chance again. Before Oikawa walks out of his life again.

Hajime clears his throat and opens his mouth.

"I heard from Makki that you got a girlfriend," Oikawa says lightly before he can start, eyes drifting back to Hajime. His expression is unreadable, and it makes Hajime feel like he’s staring into a dark forest, unable to see what’s beyond the narrow ring of light.

"We broke up!" The words practically burst out of his mouth, and he immediately regrets the desperate tone of his voice. "We broke up, actually," he repeats, calmer.

Oikawa smiles tightly. "I heard that too."

Hajime frowns. It’s like pulling teeth, he thinks, clumsy fingers tangled in the string of conversation, slipping free again and again. He tries to recall what it was like in the past, when they would argue and refuse to speak: they would go a day, maybe two or three or four at most, before one of them would cave. Maybe Oikawa would miss several sets in a row and Hajime would eventually snap at him to get it together, or Oikawa would find new Godzilla stickers and silently slide them into Hajime’s bag, or Hajime would buy the last milk bread at the convenience store…and then they would be back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened.

He wonders if he could buy Oikawa some milk bread now.

"Oikawa—"

"Congratulations, by the way." Oikawa’s eyes are downcast, focused on the drink in his hand. With the tiniest jolt, Hajime realizes that even Oikawa’s hands have grown; they’re not delicate anymore. Instead, his fingers are long and angled, deep ridges between his knuckles, his wrists snaked with veins. They look powerful, he thinks. The hands of a leader.

"For what?" he asks faintly.

"For becoming an AT. For actually working with Ushiwaka’s dad." Oikawa glances up then, his eyes piercing. "For grabbing hold of your dream."

Hajime chews on the inside of his cheek, nodding. "Yeah. Thanks."

Oikawa swirls the ice in his cup slowly.

"Oikawa, I—"

"You know—"

"Dammit, Oikawa!" It comes out as a shout, and Oikawa flinches, eyes shooting up wide and alarmed. "Will you let me talk for two seconds?!"

They stare at each other in silence. Then Oikawa presses his lips together tightly and nods in that Oikawa-way of his.

Ah.

Hajime exhales heavily, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I’m just—this is all—I wasn’t—" He drags his hand down his face, clamps it over his mouth. "I wasn’t ready to see you yet," he mumbles. The words hurt to admit. He feels weak.

Oikawa nods slowly, eyes on the table. He doesn’t speak.

Hajime sucks in a breath, feels his throat sting. He takes another sip of coffee and clears his throat. "I got your number from Matsukawa." He stops then, because he doesn’t know what else to say. That he thought about calling, but every time he picked up the phone he felt fear grip his heart? That he jumped every time his phone rang, as if it could have been Oikawa calling to ask why he hadn’t called?

The silence stretches on, and Hajime curses himself for snapping.

"How is Mattsun?" Quietly, hesitantly.

Hajime glances up apologetically. "He’s good," he says, nodding. He can’t help the smirk that tilts up his face. "He’s got Hanamaki crashing at his, but I think Hanamaki’s actually trying to get adopted; last time I spoke to him, he was out buying boxers because Hanamaki’s have holes and he won’t throw them out."

A laugh bursts out of Oikawa. "What! Makki, that’s gross!"

The smirk turns into a grin as he meets Oikawa’s scandalized gaze. "I know."

"Why is Mattsun doing that?"

Hajime shakes his head, his cheeks aching. "I don’t even know, he’s totally whipped."

Oikawa laughs again, loud and deep and echoing. "Poor Mattsun!"

And the nostalgia hits Hajime suddenly, soberingly, and he finds that his smile falters as he watches Oikawa laugh, just like he used to so often before.

He’s missed this.

He’s missed Oikawa.

He clenches his fists in his lap.

He has to make this right.

He waits for Oikawa’s laughter to die off before he speaks again. "Hey, Oikawa."

"Mm?"

Somehow, the atmosphere feels lighter now, and Hajime sends a silent thanks to Matsukawa. He inhales, exhales. Swallows, starts, "I made a mistake."

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, but Hajime watches as his shoulders drop ever so slightly.

He goes on. "I should have called you. Back then." His mouth feels dry again, but he can’t take a drink. Not now. "I should have apologized. I was…I was an idiot, and proud. Everything up until then had been so hard and you never seemed to be fazed by it, and I just thought—I kept thinking it wasn’t fair. It hurt so much and—" He digs his nails into his palms, concentrating on the sting in his skin in an effort to ignore what feels like several years’ worth of guilt burning in his chest. "And I remember—I remember thinking you would cave, eventually; I thought, 'There’s no way your ego is this big.' And then I was just waiting for when you’d have to come back to Japan, because I figured I’ll just beat some sense into you in person then." He scrubs a hand through his hair, frowning. "But then you didn’t come back, and then I left. And then it was just too late."

Oikawa drops his eyes to his hands briefly before lifting them back up.

"I really…" Hajime tries to hold onto his thoughts as they start to fray. "I missed you. Over those years. I wanted to call you so many times; I wanted to see you again. When I found out that you changed your citizenship, I…" He looks away and clenches his hands into fists. "I wanted to call you. To say congratulations."

He doesn’t speak for a moment. "Thank you," comes Oikawa’s voice, quiet.

Hajime grimaces. His heart is hammering in his chest and he feels sick. He had planned this, he knew what he had to say. He knew it less than an hour ago. Why are the words escaping him now?

"Can I talk?" asks Oikawa.

Hajime jerks up to see apologetic eyes, the tiniest curve of lips.

"Yeah."

Oikawa’s mouth twitches and he takes a long sip of his coffee before he speaks. "Me too. I was wrong." He looks out of the window again, fingers wrapped around his cup. "I was also proud, and I also wanted to call you. I almost—" His eyes tighten, but he doesn’t look to Hajime. "I almost did call you straight back, you know. After that argument. I came out of the locker room and everyone was staring at me, and Matías even asked me if I was okay; if I didn’t need to call back." He smiles slightly to himself. "I guess it showed on my face. So then I ran all the way back to my phone and stared at your name, but…" The smile falls away. "I just couldn’t call."

Knowing that Oikawa had been that close to calling him back, while he had been getting angrier and angrier…it’s like a dagger to his chest. His breath jams in his throat.

It hurts. He wishes Oikawa had called.

"But," Oikawa continues, "then I thought about it, after that. I seriously thought about what I was doing, and why." He looks to Hajime. "You know, I loved you more than anyone else in this entire world, Iwa-chan."

The dagger tears straight through his heart.

"I loved you so much that I took Spanish classes here all through summer to put off moving, and when I had that problem with my visa documents, I secretly thanked whatever god was watching because it meant I got to stay with you just a little bit longer."

What is he saying? Hajime wonders if he’s actually bleeding out somewhere—if the blood loss is affecting his ability to make sense of Oikawa’s words.

"When I—when I realized that I wasn’t going to come back to Japan—that I wanted to live in Argentina—I didn’t know what to do. Because you were right about what you said that night back in high school: volleyball is my life and I’ll never be happy unless I’m dedicating my whole self to it. But I also couldn’t stand not being with you; every time I had to leave you was like my soul was being ripped in half. It was so painful that I would have done anything to avoid that for the rest of my life. A few times I even canceled my trip because I was so scared to leave you again at the end of it. And a few times…" Oikawa’s finally faces Hajime. "A few times, I seriously thought about quitting volleyball altogether. I genuinely thought about quitting just so I could be with you—just so I wouldn’t have to get on any more damn flights that would take me away from you. Because that’s how much I loved you, Iwa-chan." Oikawa holds his gaze and Hajime thinks he sees the smallest quiver in his jaw.

Then his expression hardens. "So when I decided to stay in Argentina, I had to choose: I had to choose between volleyball and you."

Hajime can’t help himself. "You didn’t—"

"I did," Oikawa cuts in, firm but gentle, "I did. Because you weren’t going to move to Argentina, were you?" It’s not an actual question, and he doesn’t give Hajime time to answer. "And there was no way I could come back to Japan. Not anymore." He looks away again, all too quickly. "And we both knew that. We both knew I couldn’t compromise on that. So, when I didn’t call you, and then you didn’t call me, and then the pain slowly started to fade away…" His eyes narrow and his mouth twists into a grimace. "…Eventually I just thought, 'Good. It’s better this way. It’ll hurt less, for both of us.'"

His chest hurts. It’s numb and burning and it hurts.

"I was wrong to treat you like that," Oikawa says quietly. "I shouldn’t have cut you off the way I did. I couldn’t be with you anymore, but I still wanted you in my life—I still loved you. But that’s exactly why: I didn’t think I was strong enough to love you and not be with you. Because you…you really were the best partner I ever had. You were my best friend. You were always there and I couldn’t imagine living without you until I was forced to. And then, after having you next to me my whole life, it just wasn’t enough to have some—" He throws up a hand in frustration, shaking his head. "…Some half-assed attempt at a relationship where we couldn’t even talk or see each other properly."

Oikawa sits up in his chair then, placing his hands on the table between them. Hajime stares but doesn’t move. In his lap, his fists clench tighter. After a moment, Oikawa withdraws his hands with a sigh.

"Argentina is my home now, and Japan is yours. I don’t regret my choices and I hope you don’t either. But I still miss you, Iwa-chan." Another stab. "You’re still—you were still the most important person in my life. You always have been." He looks up, the set of his mouth determined and immeasurably sad. "I couldn’t be with you, Iwa-chan; I love volleyball too much and I loved you too much. But…" His shoulders rise and fall with a shaky breath. "But I still miss you. You’re still my best friend and the best partner I’ve ever had. And I don’t know if you feel the same way, but if you did—if you wanted to try again—as my best friend—then…" Fear flashes across his eyes, so small and fast that Hajime is unsure he even saw it properly. "I’d like that."

Hajime’s heart rams against his ribs so loudly he thinks Oikawa must hear it. Oikawa misses him? And wants to try again? He doesn’t dare open his mouth in case his stomach crawls straight out.

He stares at the almost empty cup in front of Oikawa, a growing pool of condensation at its base. In his lap, his nails are leaving crescent moons in his palms as he tries to piece together his frazzled thoughts.

Even after all these years, he’s still the best partner he ever had. How did that make any sense? What had he been doing this whole time, then?

Oikawa chose volleyball because he loved Hajime too much. He loved Hajime too much, so he ended things. He loved him so much that he avoided going to see him at all.

How did that make any goddamn sense?

"You…" Oikawa twitches at the sound of Hajime’s voice. "You said…you couldn’t be with me?" Hajime swallows, steadies his breath. He hears the sharpness on his tongue, looking to cut. "Because you loved me too much?"

Oikawa stares at him steadily, lips pressed tightly together.

"You thought—you decided it was better if we stayed apart? Because it would hurt less? Because that way you wouldn’t have to choose?" He can feel his chest getting tighter; the burning is shifting, turning into a familiar heat he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had become well-acquainted with the twisted way in which Oikawa piled things onto his own shoulders over the years, but he hadn’t seriously expected him to keep doing it even now. "Who ever said you had to choose, asshole?"

Oikawa frowns. "Excuse me?"

"And you’re seriously telling me that you canceled your trips—our trips—just so you wouldn’t have to leave again? That doesn’t make any sense! What the hell were you even thinking?" He knows his tone is accusing, but he can’t bring himself to hold back.

Oikawa flushes. "I-I was thinking that it was unbearable. Surely it wasn’t easy for you either, every single time we had to say goodbye?"

"Of course it wasn’t easy, but that doesn’t mean you just give up!" His mind is still crowded with too many thoughts, but he somehow feels like he can speak clearly now, the words tumbling out faster and smoother than he expected. "What about Ushijima? What about every single time we went up against him only to get beaten down again and again and again? Remember the time you turned around and said 'Oh, well, you know what, let’s just stop. It’s easier this way'?"

"What—"

"Exactly, you don’t!" Oikawa jerks back, the color in his cheeks spreading over his face, but Hajime ignores him. "Because you never gave up, because you’re not a fucking coward. So what the hell gave you the right to give up on us?"

Oikawa grits his teeth. "You gave up, too!" he shoots back, struggling to keep his voice measured.

"That’s not the point! I didn’t give up because of some bullshit, twisted, self-centered ideal built around making things easier!"

"That’s not what—"

"And what makes you think I would never move to Argentina anyway? Huh?"

Oikawa splutters. "You don’t even speak Spanish—"

"Because I never needed to until then!" he hisses, incredulous. "While you were there getting better at Spanish and volleyball, I was here studying to become a trainer and learning English so I could move to America. Why the hell would I prioritize Spanish when I had the rest of our lives to do that with you?!"

Oikawa’s eyes widen as the flush dips below his collar. Hajime doesn’t stop.

"I didn’t expect you to go to Argentina for just a holiday; I knew you might never come back to Japan, but that didn’t mean I was going to just give up on us, because I thought we were stronger than that. I was prepared to support you from the start, even if I didn’t know what that meant for us, because you were my partner—because I thought that all the pain was worth it, because that’s how much I loved you, asshole. And yeah, we fought and argued, and in the end even I gave up and never called you again, but not because I thought it was better that way."

"Then why did you never call back?"

"Because I wanted you to hurt as much as me!"

The silence comes crashing down over their heads like a tsunami.

Oikawa’s eyes are wide and his face is entirely red, and Hajime wonders for a second if he looks the same. But as the confession that just left his mouth sinks in, he starts to feel bile rise in his throat. He swallows it down. Sitting back, he lets out a shaky breath as he finally runs out of words. He stares at his fists, clenching and unclenching, and waits, the quiet now surrounding them uncomfortable and all too similar to the perpetually thick air of summer.

Oikawa’s staring distantly at the table, brow drawn low and the corners of his eyes twitching. His bottom lip pulls in, and Hajime thinks he must be chewing it; he almost tells him to stop.

After another minute, Hajime sighs heavily, rubbing his hand over his face. "I’m sorry."

Oikawa doesn’t reply, but his eyes move to focus on the coffee in front of him.

Hajime massages the bridge of his nose, feeling the adrenaline seep out of his system now. He realizes his hands are starting to shake. "I didn’t think this would be so hard."

"What?" Oikawa’s voice is icy, and it makes Hajime flinch. Oikawa raises his eyes slowly, the angry blush on his skin replaced with cool indifference. "You thought it would be easy to talk about this, after years? I thought you wanted it to hurt? Or did you only mean for it to hurt me?"

Hajime blinks dumbly at him, his hand falling back to his lap. He presses his lips together, trying to summon the fire that had kept him going before, but he can’t seem to rouse it. His voice comes out quiet as he replies, "Oikawa, that’s not—"

"You’re right, though." Oikawa’s eyes soften, and the resignation in them sends a fresh wave of agony tearing through Hajime’s chest, the words dying on his lips. Oikawa licks his lips and sucks in a breath through his teeth. "You’re right. This is hard. And I was selfish. But that’s exactly why I stopped."

They sit there in silence, Oikawa drawing the puddle of condensation across the table while Hajime tries to still his hands by grasping his shaking legs.

"You know…" Hajime’s eyes shoot up, fear clutching at his heart. But Oikawa is…smiling? "I’m actually glad, Iwa-chan."

Hajime frowns but doesn’t open his mouth.

"I honestly thought that maybe you didn’t care, so I’m glad to hear that you cared enough to hurt that much—to want me to feel the same pain as you. So I forgive you, Iwa-chan."

Hajime lets out a breath that threatens to take the last of his strength with it. "Oikawa—"

Oikawa either doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore him, gaze glued to the table. "I’m sorry, though. It was a mistake to treat you the way I did and for that I am sorry. I’m sorry that I hurt you at all. But it wasn’t a mistake to break up. This"—he motions between them without looking up—"won’t work. Not as long as I’m in Argentina and you’re here. I think we’ve established that we both cared—care—too much."

Hajime can feel the energy in his limbs draining out. He wants to sink back into his chair so far that he falls into the seat and disappears inside the wood. He grasps for anything inside him that might give him the energy to speak—to argue.

After a moment, Oikawa pulls out his phone to glance at the screen. He tucks it back into his pocket before standing, floating to his feet with legs that look unbelievably steady. "I have to go; my team is waiting for me," he says, his voice tired. He steps out and walks around the table, pausing next to Hajime. His hand briefly clenches at his side. "I’ll see you on the court, Iwa-chan."

Hajime listens to his footsteps fade away as he turns Oikawa’s words over in his mind, trying desperately to make sense of everything. He vaguely realizes that he also needs to get back to his team.

But Oikawa is gone. Again.

He stares at the empty cup in front of him, the little pool of condensation at its base spread across the glossy surface of the table.

Oikawa had missed him, had wanted him back in his life, and Hajime had blown it. Again. Just like all the times before.

He thinks of the countless times he had envisioned this meeting and how it couldn’t have possibly strayed any farther from his plan if he had tried. He thinks of the future that lays ahead now: a future where he did not reconcile with Oikawa and let him walk out of his life a second time because they cared too much.

He feels a spark in his belly.

Hajime pushes to his feet abruptly, the chair screeching back. He stands there, hands clenched on the table as he tries to piece his frazzled thoughts together.

The last five years without Oikawa had been a numbing flurry of study and America and work and Jenny and moving back to Japan. Now, Oikawa had been back in his life for little more than an hour and he was already wreaking havoc. It almost made Hajime miss his existence from that morning.

Almost.

He knows that they had always been like this; ever since they were children, they would fight and argue and disagree, but at the end of the day they would always come back to each other. Because they were best friends. Because they were partners that trusted the other. Because that’s just how they were and always would be.

And yet he was letting Oikawa walk away again, just like he had all those years ago.

"…Is this really what you want?"

This isn’t what he wants.

Hajime reels round, catching himself on the chair and sending it clattering to the floor loudly. He scrambles to pick it up, hands fumbling for his belongings. He leaps down the stairs, running through to the front of the store, dodging the queue of people by the tills.

He reaches the door and bursts out into the street.

And Oikawa is there, staring down at his phone. He looks up with wide, red eyes. "Iwa-chan?"

Hajime barrels into him and Oikawa staggers back, dangerously close to falling to the ground with the unfamiliar weight on him. The thought that he’s no longer the lithe boy he once knew flashes through his mind as he wraps his arms around Oikawa’s torso—and then Hajime grabs his face and presses their mouths together in a bruising kiss that threatens to set him alight right there in the middle of the street.

It’s painful, and it’s hot, and it’s messy, and it’s right.

Hajime pushes Oikawa away almost as violently as he pulled him in, grasping his shoulders with enough force to make him wince.

"You’re wrong!" Hajime shouts, ignoring the stares and whispers surrounding them.

"W-what?" Oikawa’s eyes are wider than Hajime has ever seen them.

"It was a mistake. Breaking up was a mistake. It doesn’t matter that it hurt, or that it was hard, or that you’re in Argentina and I’m here. None of that matters. It’s because it hurt that it was a mistake. You think we cared too much? Why don’t you get it yet?

"You think I wanted your forgiveness? Tell me I was wrong! Call me an idiot! Ask me to make it up to you, asshole! Tell me to try again, because you know I can! Tell me you trust me! Don’t give up just because it’s hard.

"You’re not a coward, and you’re stronger than this. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I know that because we’ve been together our whole stupid lives and I’ve watched you try harder than anyone I know. And I’m not about to waste any more time pretending it’s better to live without you—it’s not. Feeling numb isn’t better or easier. It doesn’t hurt any less, not really.

"Are you seriously telling me that you would rather live the rest of your life like the last five years? I don’t believe that. And I refuse. I will give you my 120%, so you had better use every single ounce of strength in that ridiculous body of yours to drag out your 120%. And it’s going to be hard, because we both care, but that’s why I want you to try."

Oikawa’s eyes are glassy, his eyelashes shimmering and stuck together. He lets out a shaky breath of a laugh as Hajime works his jaw. "Are you done?"

Hajime’s chest is heaving, and he feels like he just ran a marathon. He nods mutely.

Oikawa smiles shakily, and a couple of tears run down over Hajime’s fingers. His hands come up to grasp Hajime’s arms as he nods. "Okay, Iwa-chan. Okay. We’ll try again."

Hajime’s chest soars, and it’s so overwhelming it almost hurts. He pulls Oikawa to him again, their mouths fitting together perfectly, just as they always had. Oikawa laughs against his lips and Hajime pulls away, frowning. "What?"

Oikawa shakes his head with a smile. "It’s just…you haven’t changed at all, Iwa-chan."

Hajime flushes. "Shut up, Shittykawa." Another laugh. He leans his forehead against Oikawa’s, ignoring the sticky heat and increasing gossip of the outside world. "We’ll figure this out, okay? I don’t know if we’re doomed to burn all our savings on flights for the rest of our lives or if I’ll just have to move to Argentina and become an alpaca farmer—"

"Why an alpaca farmer, just be my personal trainer—"

"—but I’m not letting you go again. You hear me?"

Oikawa grins wide and wraps his arms around Hajime. "I hear you," he whispers.

"You’re such an asshole. You drive me insane. I love you so fucking much—"

"I love you too—"

Hajime kisses him again.