Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi Hajime is very blunt, and honest to a fault. He’s been called spiky on multiple occasions, and not just because of his haircut. Hell, some people have even been straight with him and just told him, flat out, that he’s a total dick.

That being said, Hajime has never had trouble making and keeping friends. He’s the sort of guy who’s completely chill with everyone, always down to do whatever and always having a kind word for everyone. He’s really a sweet guy and a great friend, devoted and loyal and generally just very caring.

His best friend, however, really tests the limits of his chillness and brings him back around to being spiky.

Oikawa Tooru, is, by definition, a drama queen. If one looked up the phrase ‘over the top’ in the dictionary, his face would be smack dab in the middle of the page. Unlike Hajime, Oikawa requires a certain delicacy in order to be handled correctly. He’s very sensitive—but he doesn’t show it, which makes it harder to handle him—and he also is a fantastic actor.

Luckily, Hajime has known him since forever, so he’s basically memorized what every micro-expression on his face means, from a slight pursing of the lips to an infinitesimal twitching of the left eyebrow—the right one means something entirely different. Honestly, it’s a little frightening. And annoying as hell, since why should Hajime know what it means when Oikawa’s nose wrinkles just so but can’t remember his kanji well enough to score well on that last quiz?

Usually, their friendship works. Oikawa lies through his teeth about some problem he’s having, Hajime straight up calls him on his shit, Oikawa lies more, Hajime calls him out again, Oikawa lies again, Hajime punches him, Oikawa cries, Hajime punches him more gently and gives him an encouraging speech, and then everything’s hunky dory.

That’s why it’s pretty fucking weird when Oikawa won’t spill the beans about whatever’s bothering him on their way to school after the fifth time Hajime asks.

“Seriously, Shittykawa, what the hell is going on?” Hajime growls, finally getting closer to concerned than annoyed.

Oikawa just smiles brightly, like he isn’t wearing Fake Grin #37. It’s insulting, really. Hajime knows his Oikawa Fake Grins. “Nothing, Iwa-chan! Can’t we go to school peacefully, for once?”

“I’m going to punch you if you don’t tell me.”

His friend finally looks slightly frightened. “No! I swear, nothing is wrong!”

Hajime studies him. He has bags under his eyes—not sleeping again, fuck—and his hair isn’t quite arranged like it usually is. His smile is terribly fake and his eyes aren’t even trying to look happy. He looks...

...Nervous?

Hajime sighs. “Are you sure? You seem nervous.”

“Nervous? Me? Iwa-chan, you must be even dumber than you look! What would I, a devastatingly handsome specimen of the human race, have to be nervous about? I am the epitome of beauty.” Oikawa mocks, flipping his hair for good measure.

Hajime grinds his teeth. “You have a terrible personality.”

Oikawa laughs loudly. It’s fake.

God. Hajime is so tired.

...

They make it to lunch before the first incident occurs.

It’s a normal day. Oikawa sits with him—Matsukawa and Hanamaki are there, too, but they aren’t actively trying to steal Hajime’s eel, so he isn’t paying as much attention to them. Hajime’s bento is being scattered all over as he and Oikawa struggle over it. He’s considering stabbing his best friend. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are laughing at them.

Oikawa even seems fairly normal.

“Dammit, give me my eel! My mom made me this bento!”

“Awww, Iwa-chan’s mom still makes his lunch! So sweet!” Oikawa coos, as if he isn’t viciously prying at Hajime’s fingers to get to his food.

Hajime’s mind blanks before he finds himself slapping Oikawa’s head so hard he can hear the shrimp-sized brain swirl around in it. “Give me my fucking food.”

Hanamaki grins. “Oikawa, don’t you dare. This is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

“They do this everyday.” Matsukawa offers as Hajime decides his friend has been properly disciplined and hands over the rest of his eel.

“I know, I know. It’s just hilarious how every single day Iwaizumi expects
Oikawa to have finally learned his lesson.” Hanamaki says dreamily. “I wish we had what they have. Infinite second chances.”

Hajime forgets his bento in favor of rescuing whatever’s left of his honor. “Hey! This does not happen everyday!”

Even Oikawa looks dubious at that claim. “Really, Iwa-chan? Name one day this month I haven’t stolen your eel and gotten away with it.”

“But I hit you. How is that getting away with it?”

Hanamaki makes a sound that makes Hajime want to kick his teeth in. “Mm, I don’t know. When you’re actually mad, you get all quiet and brooding and whatever. Punching Oikawa just means you’re giving it to him.”

Hajime goes to protest that claim when he realizes he’s already given Oikawa all of his eel. Willingly. His mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

Both Matsukawa and Hanamaki have shit-eating grins on their faces. “Oh, Mattsun, he realized.”

“Like, realized-realized, or just realized he’s a softie?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s realized-realized. He just knows he’s a big old sweetheart when it comes to that guy right there.” Hanamaki beams at Oikawa, whose expression flickers minutely.

Hajime kicks their ankles and realizes they’re linked at the same time. “Ew! Stop playing footsie while we’re sitting right here!”

Oikawa gasps, as if scandalized. “Footsie? This is a sophisticated school, no place for your carnal affections!”

“If you want to see how carnal my affections can be, watch me eat this entire bento in under fifteen seconds.” Hanamaki replies brightly.

They’re then subjected to the sight of Hanamaki shoving far too much food into his mouth, Hanamaki realizing, Hanamaki choking, Hanamaki looking a little green, and then Hanamaki running to the bathroom, heaving.

Hajime is laughing so hard he can’t fucking breathe as they trail after him to make sure he’s okay.

He gets a moment of reprieve from his laughter as he pats Hanamaki’s back while he pukes, and sees Oikawa looking at him with a strangely pensive expression on his face.

“Oi, what’s your deal?”

Oikawa looks away. His ears are slightly pink.

...

Oikawa’s been acting weird all fucking day, but it gets worse during afternoon practice. Morning practice had been grueling and far too early, as usual, but in the afternoon it seems like Oikawa is all fidgety and nervous. Hajime doesn’t fucking get it, and honestly he’s so tired at this point that he doesn’t know if he wants Oikawa to tell him what’s wrong anymore.

After spiking a very shaky set from Oikawa, Hajime sends him a look like, ‘dude, what’s your deal?’ and Oikawa just looks away. His face is flushed—probably from all the exercise—and he looks uncomfortable.

Fine. If he’s going to turn away, whatever’s wrong can clearly wait until after practice.

“Hey, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki says after practice as they’re changing in the locker room. “Be gentle with Oikawa today, yeah?”

Hajime frowns, pulling his pants on over his boxers. It’s just him and Hanamaki in the locker room just then, since the first and second years already left, Matsukawa changes at an ungodly speed, and Oikawa takes forever in the shower.

“What’s that mean?”

Hanamaki sighs. “It means be thoughtful. Don’t just blurt out whatever comes to mind; actually think about how your words will affect him.”

“I always do that!”

One of his eyebrows raises dubiously.

Hajime exhales harshly. He shrugs his shirt on and towels off his hair. “Fine, I’m a brute and a savage, whatever.”

“Oikawa’s words, not mine. Anyway, sorry I have to be so cryptic, but you’ll get it afterwards.” Hanamaki explains, somehow managing to make Hajime even more confused.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask more, however, because Oikawa chooses that exact moment to finally get his ass out of the shower and come into the locker room. Hanamaki just sends him a significant look, says his usual farewells, and then leaves promptly.

Hajime fights the urge to chase after him and kick him in the teeth.

The walk home is quiet. He always walks home with Oikawa, and it’s never been like this before. Usually Oikawa will be chattering about something that happened—a girl confessed to him, he flunked his chemistry quiz, he thinks his left eye is shrinking, his acne (which does not exist, please and thank you) is getting worse—but today he says nothing. He’s twisting his hands around and around, sending Hajime anxious glances every now and again.

Finally, Hajime has had enough. Fuck this. He stops walking and Oikawa stops with him, looking confused.

“Alright, cut the crap. What’s your problem?” He asks, sounding probably more hostile than strictly necessary. A voice that sounds maddeningly like Hanamaki’s tells him to lower the teenage rage meter just a smidge.

Oikawa actually looks like he’s going to answer the question. His entire face is red. “Well... Ugh, Iwa-chan! I had a whole speech planned, and everything! You ruined it.”

Hajime blinks, not feeling particularly smart. “Ruined what?”

“This! My—thing.” Oikawa throws up his hands. “Okay, okay, I wrote you a card. At least you didn’t find a way to ruin that.”

He digs around in his duffel for a moment before producing a single, pale envelope and handing it to Hajime. The latter stares at it, uncomprehending, before looking back up at Oikawa.

“What is this?”

Oikawa scratches the back of his neck, looking at anything but Hajime. “It’s—well, it’s my confession letter.”

Confession—

“What?”

“I’m confessing.” Oikawa repeats, like he’s speaking to a very dumb child. Hajime feels like a very dumb child. “This is me confessing. This is a confession. For you. I’m confessing to you.”

Hajime’s mouth feels extraordinarily dry. “You’re—what?”

Nervousness replaced by irritation, Oikawa glares at him. “God, Iwa-chan, could you be any stupider? It’s a miracle you even passed the entrance exams to get into Aoba Johsai. It’s a miracle you know how to read! Were you dropped on your head as a child or were you flung at a wall? Were you forced to eat paint chips? Is your brain just abnormally small? I am confessing my feelings to you! I have a crush on you!”

By the end of his tirade, he just sounds nervous and shy again, and suddenly Hajime is filled with the sickening feeling that, oh, that’s me. I make him nervous.

It’s a weird thought, and it strikes him right between his ribs. “Uhh... Oh.”

Hajime can pinpoint the exact moment Oikawa’s nerves give way to panic.

“It’s fine, though, I didn’t want to make anything weird, but Makki and Mattsun said I’d feel better if I told you properly and you don’t have to read the card or anything, it’s stupid, I shouldn’t have said anyth—” He shuts up as Hajime slaps a hand over his mouth.

“I haven’t answered yet.”

Oikawa’s voice is muffled underneath his hand. “Answered?”

“I’m supposed to accept or reject you, right?”

He nods suspiciously, something bright and hesitant beginning to glow in his eyes.

Hajime speaks before he can stop himself. The good advice Hanamaki had given him in the locker room spirals away, forgotten by a fucking idiot known as Iwaizumi Hajime. He can’t make himself silent, can’t tell Oikawa the honest truth when he knows it would hurt him and ruin their friendship.

He’s blurting the words, “I accept, obviously!” before any kind of rational thought can stop him from doing so. He feels something that he’s fairly sure is his soul leave his body.

Oikawa’s eyes are so wide Hajime thinks they’re in danger of falling out. There’s an expression of pure shock on his face before it melts away into something that makes guilt burn unhappily in Hajime’s stomach—pure, unadulterated joy.

His smile is so bright Hajime wishes he had his sunglasses. His eyes crinkle at the corners, nose wrinkling and lips curling. He’s absolutely overjoyed, and Hajime suddenly wants to commit suicide for giving Oikawa that joy by lying.

Well, not lying, exactly. Accepting someone’s confession doesn’t really mean the one getting confessed to likes them back, but Hajime’s been confessed to before. He’s even told Oikawa how he’s not really looking for a relationship until he’s at least in college.

So, yeah, him accepting Oikawa’s confession definitely implies a few things, the first of which being that when Hajime sees Oikawa, his first thought is something cheesy or cliche when really, usually, it’s just a fleeting observation of how dumb he looks.

“You—Really? You like me back?” Oikawa doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning forward and hugging Hajime around the ribs. Sometimes Hajime forgets that, despite being lean and lacking the biceps and muscle mass that Hajime possesses, Oikawa is extremely strong. He can’t quite forget now, when Oikawa is swinging him around bodily. “Iwa-chan likes me back!”

Hajime decides, then and there, that he’s in too deep now to get out of this, and he doesn’t want Oikawa to stop smiling like that any time soon. The proper thing for him to do, then, is act pleased. He hugs back, though it feels strange and fake.

“Do you want to come over, Iwa-chan? We can watch an alien documentary! Or Godzilla! Anything you want to do!” Oikawa chirps, releasing Hajime and bouncing around the sidewalk excitedly.

Hajime barely manages to form an excuse in time. “Ah—Sorry, my mom wanted me to help her with dinner tonight, and she’s been really stressed lately...”

Oikawa’s smile doesn’t even flinch or dim. “Okay! We can hang out tomorrow!”

“Yeah, um... Sure.”

“Yay, Iwa-chan!”

Honestly, it’s s tiny bit endearing that Hajime means so much to Oikawa, or anyone, really, but his guilt and disgust with himself is too overpowering for him to be able to revel in it too much.

They continue walking home, but now Oikawa is chattering as usual. He’s happier than he normally is, like someone just gave him the sun or a million dollars or he’s made it to nationals and pushed Kageyama and Ushijima down a flight of stairs. When they reach the point where they split up to go to their own houses, Oikawa stops for a moment.

Hajime stops with him, confused. “Well... See you tomorrow?”

Oikawa absolutely beams. “Yep! Bye, Iwa-chan! Don’t miss me too much!”

“Yeah, right,” Hajime grumbles.

“Don’t act like you didn’t just admit you like me just as much as I like you!” Oikawa yells, scampering toward his house so Hajime can’t hit him.

“Shut up!” Hajime shouts, face burning. God, he’s so ashamed.

He turns away, trying to erase the image of Oikawa blushing and smiling and looking at him like he’s given him the world on a golden platter.

Hajime is a horrible friend.

Chapter Text

“I’ve been avoiding him all day!” Hajime rants the next day. “Hanamaki, you have to help me. You knew he was going to confess to me! Why didn’t you stop him?”

Hanamaki shrugs. They’re hiding in the club room, well aware that Matsukawa and Oikawa are probably wondering where they are. Morning practice had been a nightmare, since Hajime was so stuck in his head that he could barely hit any spikes and Oikawa was extremely confused and hurt by his sudden distance.

“I thought you liked him back.”

Hajime sighs, pained. “So does he, now! Why am I such an idiot?”

“I tried to warn you.”

“I know! I don’t know what my problem is!”

Matsukawa lets himself into the club room, looking unsurprised when he finds them both sitting on the floor. He sits next to Hanamaki and pulls out his lunch. “So, you blurted out that you accepted his confession before you could think it through?”

Hajime groans. “Yes.”

“Well, do you like him back?”

“No! Obviously.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki share a doubtful look.

“What?”

Hanamaki shakes his head. “Nothing. Look, the first thing you need to do is just tell him what you did. Don’t wait anymore. Avoiding him isn’t going to solve anything.”

Matsukawa makes a noise of agreement. “And don’t lie to him again.”

...

On the walk home from school, Hajime lies to him again.

“You were avoiding me, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa says. His voice is flat. It’s carefully void of emotion, like he can convince Hajime that he’s not devastated. His trembling lips betray his anxiety in spite of him.

Hajime deflates. How can he take away the smile Oikawa had worn yesterday? He just wants him to be happy.

And if Hajime can make him happy, well...

In an impressive lapse in judgement, Hajime takes Oikawa’s hand in his and tugs him to a stop. Oikawa looks down at him, tentatively hopeful. He looks so vulnerable and innocent that Hajime’s heart protests the thought of letting him down.

I need to tell the truth, Hajime thinks.

“I’m sorry.” He begins. Alright, good, keep going. “I was nervous.”

Okay, still true, but approaching lying territory again.

Oikawa smiles hesitantly. It isn’t as wide as yesterday, but it’s just as genuine. “Me, too, Iwa-chan. But I don’t want you to run away.”

“I don’t want to run away, either.” He finds himself saying.

There’s a long pause as Oikawa looks at him, eyes calculating. Finally, he takes a step forward.

Hajime is not that much shorter than Oikawa—no matter what Oikawa says, he really isn’t. It’s only five centimeters. However, those five centimeters sure seem like a lot when he has to tilt his chin up to look his friend in the eye when Oikawa gets close enough.

He’s doing that now. He swallows.

“Then don’t run anymore.”

Oikawa is very close—Hajime doesn’t really like the height difference, since he’s still having to look up to him. His eyes are filled with warmth, not the fake kind that he gives to his fans, but the one he gets when he talks about things he really loves. Hajime faintly realizes he himself is probably one of those things.

They’ve been quiet for an increasingly suspicious amount of time, and Hajime thinks maybe Oikawa is getting a little bit closer. He’s still holding his hand, he registers.

Oikawa’s eyes are a really interesting mixture of different shades of browns, Hajime thinks. He sees them flick downwards—towards his lips, he understands with no small amount of shock.

Seriously? His childhood best friend wants to kiss him? The same person who about half a billion girls are crazy about? The same person who could get anyone he wanted?

Does Hajime want to kiss him? He thinks about it. He still feels guilty, and his heart feels heavy. He’s never kissed anyone before, and he isn’t sure if he wants his first kiss to be with his best friend who he doesn’t even have feelings for.

Hajime turns his eyes away just as the silence has reached what seems like the breaking point. He’s embarrassingly aware of his warm face.

“We should... um... You said you wanted to hang out today, yesterday. Watch a movie.” He says, words stilted.

When he looks back at Oikawa, he sees an expression so intensely fond and warm that he suddenly feels more ashamed than before. God, he’s completely playing his best friend, and he can’t find it in himself to tell the truth.

Oikawa smiles, eyes sparkling. His expression screams, ‘I know you almost kissed me, Iwa-chan’, even if the kiss would have been a pity kiss more than anything. “Okay, Iwa-chan. My house or yours?”

Hajime shrugs. “Mine is closer to the new cafe you wanted to try.”

Oikawa freezes. “Eh?”

“Didn’t you want to go?”

“Well... Uh, yes, I mean, obviously! But I thought you said you didn’t want to try it and that I should take Makki with me, instead?” Oikawa finally explains.

Hajime scoffs. “I think I can tolerate going to a cafe with you if you want to.”

He realizes how that sounds.

God. He’s a cliche and he doesn’t even mean to be.

He doesn’t even fucking mean it and he’s still spouting poetry.

For his part, of course, Oikawa looks extremely pleased by Hajime’s sudden affinity for embarrassing himself. He even looks shy. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I guess. Think they have some good agedashi tofu there?”

“It’s a cafe, Iwa-chan. Not a restaurant.”

“So? That’s no excuse for not having agedashi tofu.”

Oikawa laughs and pulls him along by the hand that Hajime is still holding. “We’ll get you some next time.”

The casual way he says it makes Hajime squirm guiltily. He’s totally making this worse than it should be. He’s making Oikawa expect that this is going to last, that Hajime really likes him back. He’s such a shitty person.

He should tell Oikawa the truth. He should say something he means, something honest.

Instead, he says—

“That sounds good.”

—and keeps lying.

He feels horrible.

...

Honestly, their time at the cafe isn’t very different from any of their other outings. They go out all the time—for ramen, the summer festival, shrines on New Year’s, the park, convenience stores to feed Oikawa’s obsession with milk bread, the occasional movie—and always have a good time. Sure, Hajime is obligated to be grumpy all the time and Oikawa to be overbearingly cheerful and snooty, but that’s just their friendship. It works, it’s fun, and it’s always enjoyable.

The cafe isn’t much different except for the fact that now Hajime knows.

He knows that Oikawa’s blatant and honestly disgusting flirting with the cafe staff members is all just for show, and he knows that the smile he gets sometimes isn’t just fondness but also something more intimate. He knows that Oikawa pays for his food because he wants this to be a date and not just an outing. He knows that his friend is desperately infatuated with him.

It’s a weird feeling.

He tries to enjoy it anyway, and mostly succeeds. He can’t help the twinges of discomfort in his gut when Oikawa looks at him for a little too long, though. How can he?

He doesn’t have feelings for his best friend. Somewhere along the line, he’s going to have to ‘fess up and admit that he’s a piece of shit and has been playing his friend all this time. He’s gotten Oikawa’s hopes up for no reason, and now he’s going to have to watch them crash back down. It’ll be all his fault.

As they sit across from each other, Oikawa slurping on some disgustingly sweet, feeble excuse for tea, Hajime tries to come up with a solution. The thing is, this situation is delicate. Regardless of his actual mental and physical strength, Oikawa Tooru falls apart violently and suddenly from jilted expectations.

He expects to stay on the starting line up even with Kageyama on the team; he doesn’t; he falls apart. He expects to make it to nationals; he doesn’t; he falls apart. He expects to ace his test; he doesn’t; he falls apart. He expects to have his feelings reciprocated by his best friend; he doesn’t; he falls apart.

It’s a simple equation, and this situation fits perfectly within the pattern. Hajime doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more.

Despite what he says, he really does care about his best friend. He’s very sensitive to his needs and finds it very hard not to spoil him. In fact, Hajime once found himself making Oikawa dinner more often than he even did for himself. He often laid awake at night, worrying over Oikawa’s tired eyes or the exceedingly fake expressions he’d sported the previous day.

He never shares these things, though. They’re a little more vulnerable than Hajime is comfortable with being.

So, he really doesn’t want to hurt Oikawa. In fact, that’s just about the last thing he wants to do. He wants Oikawa to keep smiling, the way he is right now. He wants Oikawa to look so deliriously happy that he’ll never feel the need to use those fucking awful fake smiles he’s so proficient at generating.

Hajime sighs unhappily.

Oikawa cuts off his long, winding story to spare a concerned glance. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m just thinking about something.”

“Ooh, let me guess! Can I guess?” As usual, he doesn’t wait for an answer. “I know! Volleyball!”

“Not all of us are volleyball-philes.”

“Gross, Iwa-chan! What does that even mean?”

Hajime shrugs. “You’d know, perv.”

Oikawa slaps a hand over his heart, looking absolutely ridiculous. “I am not sexually attracted to volleyballs!”

He says that very loudly. Several heads turn in their direction. Hajime briefly wonders how hard it would be to drown him in his tea.

“Say it louder, would you? I’m not sure if they heard you in China.”

“You know I will say it louder. I have no inhibitions.”

Hajime laughs at that. He wishes he didn’t know why Oikawa’s expression instantly softens. “Sometimes I wish you had more inhibitions.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Iwa-chan. You know I’m perfect.”

“Perfectly annoying.”

“So mean! Why can’t you ever be nice?”

“Why can’t you ever be normal?” He says it with a smile, though, which ruins the effect of his harsh words.

Oikawa just grins.

God, Hajime just wants him to grin like that all the time. He just wants him to be happy.

As it is now, Hajime can see two options.

Option one: he waits for Oikawa to get over him and then graciously breaks off whatever weird thing they’ve got between them right now. Oikawa’s crushes never last long, so this can’t last forever, right?

Option two: he plays along. If he wants Oikawa to be happy, and he makes him happy, then it follows that he should be willing to sacrifice his actual romantic interests for the sake of Oikawa.

Hajime isn’t sure about that option.

Before he does either, however, he needs to know how invested Oikawa is in him. He’s prepared to be disappointed—

He’s prepared to be disappointed in Oikawa’s flakiness, is all.

Alright, maybe he likes to be the center of attention for once. They’re best friends, why shouldn’t he want to be important to Oikawa? It’s just nice to finally have his attention all the time—no fans, just them. That’s it.

He clears his throat. “So, Oikawa...”

Oikawa straightens, seeming to sense his serious tone. He looks vaguely nervous. “Yes, Iwa-chan? Do you have a question for your captain?”

He kicks him under the table. “Don’t be an ass. I just have a question about your... um...”

“My...? Sometime this year, please, Iwa-chan! You’re already such an old man, you can’t afford to waste time.” Oikawa teases.

Ah, he’s so nervous he’s using maddening quips to deflect.

“Your crush. On me.” Hajime finally manages. “I mean... How long have you had it?”

Oikawa hums thoughtfully, looking relieved. He taps his chin. “Let me think. Well, I realized how mad you being with someone else made me when you got that first confession from Chi-chan. Then I realized it was jealousy, so I made her like me instead.”

Hajime kicks him again. “Asskawa.”

“Yeah, I was being an ass,” he replies honestly, having the decency to look a little sheepish. “But then I realized I was jealous of her, not you.”

“But I rejected her. I didn’t even like her back.”

Oikawa shrugs. “I guess. I just wanted to be able to tell you, though, and I was too scared; seeing someone else have the guts to do it made me mad.”

Hajime sighs and runs a hand through his hair. This is worse than he thought. Aoki Chihiro had confessed to him over a year ago. Oikawa had liked him for that long? How was he supposed to let him down now when his feelings had been festering for forever?

“But you’ve had a girlfriend since then. Are you saying you dated someone while you liked me?” He’s so fucking desperate for Oikawa’s feelings to be shallow. He wants this crush gone. It makes him more nervous than it makes Oikawa, and it’s not even his fucking crush.

“Well... I was trying to get over you. I didn’t think it was ever going to go anywhere, and that I would die alone, or whatever. It didn’t work, obviously, since she broke up with me because I was too dedicated to volleyball.” Oikawa mumbles the last bit, and suddenly Hajime understands.

“She didn’t really break up with you because of that, did she?”

Oikawa shakes his head mutely. “No. It wasn’t because I was obsessed with volleyball.”

Hajime remembers. Oikawa had gotten a girlfriend and suddenly all he’d wanted to do was hang out with Hajime. He hadn’t been more dedicated to volleyball than any other time in his life, so it didn’t make sense for her to complain about it. She should have known he’d be like that just from talking to him.

But she didn’t know that he was more dedicated to Hajime than he ever would be to her.

Hajime feels like something heavy just stepped on his chest. “It was because you were obsessed with me.”

“Wow, Iwa-chan, very modest. I wouldn’t say obsessed, probably just desperate for your attention.”

“So...” Hajime tries and fails not to say it. “Obsessed.”

Oikawa slumps. “Fine. Yes, I’m obsessed with you. I don’t mean it creepy, stop looking so scary! We’re best friends before anything else, I’m allowed to like you a lot!”

He sighs deeply. “So you really like me? You’re not going to just move on?”

Oikawa looks both offended and sympathetic. “Iwa-chan, what is this insecurity? Of course I’m not going to just move on! When have I ever been flaky?”

They stare at each other. Hajime hopes he knows how fucking flaky his entire personality is.

Finally, Oikawa relents. “Alright, fine, I move fast. But that’s with other people. You’re different.”

“Why?” Hajime at least needs to know why he’s going to have to sacrifice everything for this idiot’s happiness for the foreseeable future.

Oikawa’s smile is tiny and a little bit sad. “You’re my best friend, Iwa-chan. I’m not going to risk our friendship by telling you my feelings unless I’m sure of them.”

“And...” Hajime’s tongue feels thick in his throat. He might puke. “You’re sure?”

He laughs a bit, the sound warm and comforting. “I’m sure.”

He’s sure, too.

He’s sure that he’s going to be choosing option two for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

Hajime has never really considered romance a very important part of his life. Kissing, handholding, hugging, cuddling—it never really meant very much. Sure, he’s had to endure watching it every time Oikawa forced him to watch some cringe-worthy chick flick, and he had to stomach that time Oikawa’s older sister had started dating her now-husband and had been all over him for weeks.

But he’d never pictured himself doing it. Whenever it came into his mind, he’d just think something along the lines of, ‘that’s future-Hajime’s problem’.

He really hates himself for that, now, because he is future-Hajime.

It’s three forty-eight when he realizes this on an otherwise uneventful Wednesday night as he’s lying in bed. He’d been just about to fall asleep when he realized that Oikawa was probably expecting that of him now. He was probably thinking that Hajime wanted to kiss him and all that shit.

His pre-sleep peacefulness dissipates with all the violence of one of his spikes, and he’s struck with unrelenting panic.

How the fuck is he supposed to pretend to have feelings for Oikawa? What was he thinking? He can’t kiss his best friend and act like he likes it!

The thought of kissing Oikawa makes him so nervous and uncomfortable that he feels sick to his stomach. What is he doing? He’s never dated anyone before!

Wait, are they dating? Did Hajime miss that? What is Oikawa expecting from him?

He’s calling Hanamaki before he can think better of it. He needs some fucking guidance in this insane endeavor of his, and Hanamaki is probably the most insane person he knows.

“Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki answers, sounding awake and not at all like it’s nearly four in the morning.

Hajime feels stupid and weird about calling, since he’s usually to prideful ask for help when he needs it—but this situation is too fucking weird for him to navigate alone.

“Hey, um, I need help.”

A pause. “Is this about Oikawa?”

Dammit. “Yes. I decided what I’m going to do.”

“And? You didn’t lie to him again, did you?”

“I’m going to pretend to like him.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. He can hear something that sounds a lot like Matsukawa’s agonized complaining, but it’s muffled like someone has a hand over his mouth. Hajime doesn’t question Matsukawa’s presence.

When Hanamaki speaks, his voice is strained.

“You’re going to fucking what?”

“Pretend.” He’s feeling dumber with every word they exchange. “I’m going to pretend to like him. Matsukawa, I can hear you whining, so I need you both to help me out. How am I going to pull this off?”

Matsukawa pipes up for the first time. “Why are you doing this? Are you insane?”

Hajime sighs, staring at his ceiling. “I don’t know. I just don’t want him to be so sad and crappy to himself. You know how he is—every time he smiles and it’s genuine, I just want to freeze it on his face. I hate it when he has to fake.”

“And you make him happy?” Hanamaki asks.

“I think so. At least, when he’s with me he doesn’t have to fake so much. He’s even happier now after I accepted his confession.”

Matsukawa sighs softly, like he would like nothing more than to throttle Hajime where he stands. Hajime doesn’t know if he’d fight, at this point.

“Well, does he make you happy? You can’t just lie to him and sacrifice yourself for his happiness. You’re hurting the both of you.”

“Well... I love him, you know that, but not in the same way. We get along real well, and he’s my best friend... Yeah. He makes me happy. I don’t want to lie to him, I just don’t see a way out of this without destroying our friendship.” Hajime admits, the hot brand of shame burning guiltily in his stomach.

There’s a long silence and Hajime just knows his two friends are giving each other that Iwaizumi-has-never-been-stupider look.

Finally, Hanamaki speaks. “So, you don’t love him romantically?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so.”

“Choose one.”

Hajime groans. “No! I don’t love him!”

“Seems to me like there’s only one option, then. Right, Mattsun?”

“Exactly what I was going to say.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well,” there’s rustling, presumably as Hanamaki shifts as he considers new ways to ruin Hajime’s life, “we’ll just have to commence Operation: Make Iwaizumi Fall In Love With Oikawa.”

Hajime has never sat up so quickly in his life. “What?!”

“It’s genius! You won’t die alone, Oikawa stays happy, and you won’t be sacrificing your own happiness for his!”

“You have to agree to it, though. If you refuse, we can’t make it happen. You gotta let it flow.”

“Let it flow.” Hajime repeats flatly. He’s wishing he hadn’t called these idiots. “How are you going to make me fall in love with that moron?”

“We have our ways!” Hanamaki promises, like that doesn’t make Hajime’s blood pressure rise.

“In the meantime, though,” Matsukawa interrupts, “you should set an end date. If it doesn’t work, are you really going to pretend to love him until you’re either both dead or he breaks up with you?”

Hajime blinks and at last the seriousness of this ridiculous-ass situation sinks in. He’s in this for fucking life. He will absolutely never have the will to break Oikawa’s heart, and he’d never seen Oikawa so serious about someone before.

“I, uh... Didn’t think about it that way.” He laughs hollowly. He can’t let his best friend down. “Fuck.”

“Not to worry, my man! Just wait till you see what we’ve got planned. You’ll fall head over heels in no time.”

Never before has Hajime been so desperate to love someone. He talks to his friends for a few more minutes before hanging up. He rolls over.

God, he thinks. I just want to love him back.

...

The next day at school, he decides that he is going to fucking kill Hanamaki.

When Hanamaki had promised that he and Matsukawa ‘had their ways’, he’d failed to mention that said ways included forcing him and Oikawa to fucking change each other’s contact names to sappy shit like ‘lovebug’ or whatever.

Seriously. He had a list of options.

Oikawa had positively shone at the idea of Hajime having told their friends about their... whatever, and he’d participated easily enough. He selected the endearment of ‘snuggle duckling’, just because that one pissed Hajime off the most.

“Seriously, I’m not picking one. He’s already saved as ‘Shittykawa’. That’s a nickname, so close enough.” Hajime insists for the umpteenth time.

Hanamaki is still shaking his head. Distantly, Hajime thinks he’d make a fantastic bobble head. “No, you have to pick one on the list. Otherwise how will you know that you’re texting the love of your life? The milk to your bread? The Godzilla to your Japan?”

“Ooh, I like the milk bread one.”

“Godzilla went on a rampage.” Hajime deadpans.

“A rampage of love.” Hanamaki urges. Hajime doesn’t even know what that fucking means. “Look, just choose one.”

Matsukawa, with an entirely straight face, points to one of the options. “Personally, I like this one.”

Hajime peers closer. The phrase ‘baby cakes’ is awaiting his eyes. He can clearly smell the smoke coming out of his ears.

“There is no way in hell I’m calling him baby cakes!”

Oikawa has broken down into helpless giggles. Hanamaki is barely holding it together, his face red from the effort of not bursting into laughter. Matsukawa looks like he’s going to explode.

“You could...” Hanamaki says, quietly, like if he speaks louder he won’t be able to hold it in, “you could call him pudding.”

Their friend group is as silent as the grave, staring at Hanamaki fucking Takahiro.

Matsukawa loses it right then and there. Hajime has never heard him laugh louder or harder than in this moment, tears streaming out of his eyes and breaths coming in pained wheezes.

“It’s because I’m thick, right?” Oikawa asks innocently.

Matsukawa is subjected to more uncontrollable laughter. Hanamaki has finally lost his mind and is rolling on the floor. Like, actually rolling. Hajime is pissed.

“Oikawa Tooru,” Hajime growls, “you are the flattest fucking person I have ever met.”

Sudden realization dawns on him, and he gasps. Heaven is real. Light is shining through the clouds onto his face (he’s sitting in the club room).

Hajime feels himself grin wider than he has this entire week. “You know what, that’s perfect. The perfect pet name.”

He pulls out his phone and starts editing Oikawa’s contact name.

Oikawa peeks over his shoulder, squawking in outrage as he sees what he’s typing.

“Well, then, Flattykawa,” Hajime beams, “I guess snuggle duckling isn’t so bad.”

Oikawa lunges for his phone.

...

The rest of the day isn’t much better.

Somehow, Hanamaki and Matsukawa got the rest of the volleyball team in on this operation (though, Oikawa just thinks Hajime told everyone—ugh, he smiles so disgustingly wide) and practice fucking sucks.

Kunimi coos, ‘oh, indirect kiss!’ after he and Oikawa share a water bottle, like he doesn’t do the same exact thing with Kindaichi every single day. Speaking of, Kindaichi looks away pointedly every time he and Oikawa speak, like he’s intruding on some private moment. Watari is vaguely merciful; he just pats Hajime on the back and says, ‘nice job hitting that!’ and is not referring to any of his spikes (Oikawa has never blushed that much before). Yahaba lets out a genuine evil laugh. Like, a full witch-cackle. He tells Hajime in great detail about Oikawa’s poor, pining heart—which, really, makes Hajime feel guilty more than anything—and doesn’t shut up even when Oikawa is screeching at him to stop.

Kyoutani doesn’t mess with them, for which Hajime is eternally grateful. He’s never been gladder that he’s a stronger arm wrestler than Kyoutani.

The final fucking straw, however, arrives in unlikely form of Coach Irihata.

“Good job today, Oikawa, Iwaizumi.” He’s saying, and it’s all very normal stuff. He usually takes them aside after practice and discusses what he thinks they, as the captain and vice captain, should work on as a team. “That last receiving drill was well-thought out.”

Oikawa smiles easily. “Thank you! It was all Iwa-chan, really.”

“You did plenty,” Hajime grumbles.

“Oh, but you really refined the technique! I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“But you came up with the entire concept, Loserkawa.”

“Fine, you silly brute; we both did good.”

Irihata looks at them fondly. “I’m glad you both finally got your act together and made it official.”

Looking incredulous, Oikawa gapes. “Excuse me?”

“Well... you are dating, right? After practice today, it seemed...”

Hajime doesn’t think anything will ever be as embarrassing as this singular moment. Nothing could top this agonizing mortification.

“We haven’t really...” Hajime says weakly, Oikawa nodding him on, “...talked about it yet.

Irihata just smiles good-naturedly. “The team certainly has! I’m sure whatever decision you come to will be the right one. You work well together, on and off the court.”

The walk home is a less acute, but still painful, form of torture. It’s less embarrassment and more shame, the repercussions of his doomed acceptance of Oikawa’s confession still aching in Hajime’s chest.

“So...” Oikawa begins, after several long moments of silence. “Can we talk about it now?”

Hajime doesn’t have to ask him what he means. “Well, what do you want?”

“What, in regards to dating? Iwa-chan, you should know by now what I want! You’re the mysterious one.”

“Mysterious?”

“Yes!” Oikawa whines, but he’s a little nasally, so he’s just pretending. “You asked me all those questions about how I knew I liked you, and then didn’t say anything about how you knew you liked me! And why would you accept my confession if you didn’t like me?”

What a great question.

Hajime breathes in deeply. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh, nothing,” Oikawa replies, breezily. “I know Iwa-chan is a private person. He’ll tell me when he’s comfortable! Iwa-chan always means what he says, so why would I have reason to doubt your acceptance? I don’t mind you being mysterious, I’m just teasing!”

Hajime manages a strangled laugh. “Yeah. Right. I always mean what I say.”

There’s a slight lull in conversation. Hajime briefly notes the autumn colors slowly bleeding into the trees that hang over their heads. In a few days all those bright green leaves with be yellow, or red, or purple, and then they’ll wither and die.

He wonders if Oikawa’s affections for him will be like that.

“Well, now we come back to the original topic.” Oikawa speaks up. “Dating.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Do you want to?”

“Iwa-chan, I know I call you stupid, but you can’t possibly be this dumb. What part of my confession did you miss? Of course I want to date you, but I understand if you’re not ready for that. Though, I don’t know why you’d wait. I’m amazing.” Oikawa flips his hair a little, just slight enough that it seems nonchalant when Hajime knows it’s a practiced move.

He sighs. “Then I guess we should date.”

Oikawa stops mid-step.

“Really?”

Hajime looks back. Oikawa’s expression makes him look small and vulnerable, easily crushed. Ah, maybe his affections aren’t the leaf; maybe he is the leaf.

Hajime has a choice. He can let this turn yellow or red or purple and let it wither away, or he can fight the seasons and keep it green and growing and alive.

He stares at Oikawa a long time, thinking hard.

His friend looks so hopeful, brown eyes bursting with such genuine emotion that Hajime can hardly stand to look at them. He’s looking at Hajime like he hung the moon, or the sun is shining out of his ass, or a thousand other analogies for him being the most amazing being in the universe.

He has Oikawa’s happiness, his heart, in his hands.

Can he force himself to fall in love with his best friend? Can falling in love be forced at all?

He turns his head down, glancing at his palms. He imagines Oikawa’s heart there. It’s soft and defenseless and pure; it has done nothing wrong. It did the most beautiful thing possible; it fell in love. Can he break it? Can he break it just to honest with it? Can he take such a wonderful thing in theory that is harder in practice and snap it over his knee?

He looks back up at Oikawa, and he smiles. It feels bitter on his face.

“I want to date you.”

And that, he thinks, after Oikawa’s done his shouting and laughing and grinning and handholding, and they’re simply walking home together, hands intertwined—that is the nastiest lie he’s ever told.

Yet, as he walks into his house and watches Oikawa punch the air when he thinks he can’t see him, he knows he’s going to try his damndest to fall in love with this asshole.

Chapter Text

“Right,” Hanamaki says, dropping a whole load of papers onto Hajime’s desk. “I did some research.”

Hajime stares at the pile. They’re at his house, since he nearly was sick with nerves after agreeing to date Oikawa and had invited the only two people who knew how stupid he’d been over in order to help calm him. Matsukawa had been difficult to convince—he had wanted to take a nap or, really, just do anything else—but Hajime had nearly burst into tears over the phone.

So, here they were.

“Research.” He repeats. “On what?”

Hanamaki takes a seat on his bed next to him. Matsukawa is already comfortable, splayed out on the floor like a gangly rug. “Well, I noticed you never made any sort of end date to this whole situation in case we can’t make you fall in love with him.”

Hajime’s heart jumps to his throat. “Okay.”

“It seems like, on average,” Hanamaki glances at one of his papers, “it takes men just under three months to start saying ‘I love you’ to their partners—that doesn’t mean they’re really in love, but, hey, if they believe it enough to say it, that’s good enough for me. So, if in three months from now you don’t at least think you’re in love with him, or like him, or whatever, you need to break this off.”

Hajime nods numbly. “Right. Break it off.”

Matsukawa sighs from the floor. “He’s panicking, Makki.”

“Ugh, I know. Look, stop worrying! You’re childhood friends, you must have some sort of love for each other already!”

“Yeah,” he croaks. “The platonic kind.”

Hanamaki swats him. “I also found that positive thinking can help you fall in love faster. So, stop it with that doom and gloom! Say it with me: I can and will fall in love with Oikawa Tooru.”

Hajime glares at him.

“Say it!”

Matsukawa hums disapprovingly. “You have to say it, Iwaizumi.”

He huffs. “God, fine! I can and will fall in love with Oikawa Tooru!”

“Again!” Hanamaki chirps happily.

“I can and will fall in love with Oikawa Tooru!”

“Again!”

“I can and will—”

“Hajime?” Oh, god, it’s his mother. She’s peeking around his door, looking very bewildered. “What on earth is going on?”

“Oh, uh, um—” He flounders for a second, his traitorous friends watching with something akin to glee. “Nothing!”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Alright... Well, Hanamaki-kun, Matsukawa-kun, you two let me know if you need anything. And keep my son out of trouble!”

They grin and affirm her wishes brightly. Hanamaki’s eyes are glowing. Hajime has never seen anyone look so evil.

She leaves after another pointed look at Hajime. He breathes a sigh of relief and hits Hanamaki as hard as he can in the back of the head.

“You’re such an asshole.” He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Look, guys, I know this is fun for you guys and all that, but this is real for me. I’m living a lie. I’m lying to my best friend. What kind of piece of shit does that? I need you guys to take this seriously, because I can’t do it on my own.”

Matsukawa is sitting up, face finally serious. “We’ll help you, Iwaizumi. You have to keep an open mind.”

“I can’t hurt him,” Hajime murmurs after a moment. His voice is very small. “I don’t ever want to hurt him.”

Hanamaki pats his back. The room is quiet for a little while, Hajime’s own guilt the cause for the silence. He feels cold.

“We’re going to help you. Alright? We’re friends. We’re going to give you and Oikawa the greatest love story ever told!” Hanamaki declares, standing from the bed. He flashes Hajime a huge grin. “We’re going to woo you so hard you won’t be able to remember a time when you didn’t love him.”

He laughs a little bit. “Thank you, guys. Really, I mean it.”

“Now,” Hanamaki’s eyes are glowing again, “how do you feel about organ donations?”

“What?”

...

Eventually, Hajime had managed to convince Hanamaki that actually, physically giving Oikawa his heart would definitely not make him fall in love any faster, but would probably just kill him instead.

The next plan of attack, then, was to make an actual move on Oikawa. Up until now, he had just been going with the flow with whatever Oikawa wanted, but if he really wanted to fall in love, first he needed to act like he already was.

That’s what Hanamaki said, anyway. Matsukawa had added that he needed to focus on Oikawa’s positive traits more, and see things he could love that were already in him.

So, Hajime had asked Oikawa on an actual date. Like, a real, honest-to-god date. He almost pissed his pants while asking him—he’d been so nervous and uncomfortable—but, unsurprisingly, Oikawa had enthusiastically agreed. He’d been so excited.

Hajime figured he didn’t need to do anything too special, since they were already best friends and had hung out almost every day since they were too young to remember. Matsukawa had suggested flowers, but there was absolutely no way Hajime was buying his stupid best friend—er, boyfriend, now—flowers.

He also found that the physical affection he’d been so worried about giving to and receiving from Oikawa wasn’t very forthcoming—besides handholding, that is. Oikawa had been happy to be the first one to give verbal signs of his feelings, but Hajime could tell he was waiting for Hajime to make the first move physically. That was fine, because he wasn’t planning on moving very fast.

Just the thought of kissing Oikawa made him feel slightly feverish.

Of course, none of these plans or realizations were any solace when Oikawa looked at him with the oh-my-god-I-think-I-love-you expression on. It was way too soft, and way too adorable for someone taller than him. Hell, the whole sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks thing was almost enough to give Hajime major second hand embarrassment.

Lunch is the prime time for The Expression, as he’d taken to calling it, to appear. Most days they sit with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, but sometimes they go up to the roof, just them, and eat. Hajime has always enjoyed spending time with Oikawa, and being alone with him was a great time, too, but he felt like he was hiding from him more and more these days.

He’s his boyfriend, sure, but he’s also his best friend. He doesn’t want to hide from his best friend.

“So, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, a week after his confession, “how did you know you were gay?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to answer,” Oikawa shrugs. “I just wondered. I realized I was gay when you spiked one of my sets really well and looked over at me like I’d promised you a million yen.”

Good god, this keeps getting worse. Iwaizumi Hajime, the man with his foot perpetually in his mouth and all the personality of a very sharp rock, was Oikawa Tooru’s—yes, Oikawa Tooru himself, Grand King extraordinaire—gay awakening.

He’d already known that Oikawa was gay—he’d told him one night after a long, badly made sci-fi movie—but being the reason he’d realized was just another kick to the stomach. Oh, he was such a bad friend.

“I... don’t really know what I am.” He admits. This bit doesn’t even feel like a lie. It surprises him.

Oikawa nods. “That’s fair. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. Gay is just an umbrella term, after all.”

Hajime says nothing.

“Where are we going out tomorrow?”

“Oh, uh... I dunno. I thought we’d go to the arcade, like we usually do.”

Oikawa looks pleased. “Sounds fun! Iwa-chan is so good at planning dates.”

Oh, god. He’s making that lovestruck face again, like he can’t believe Hajime is real and not just a dream.

“Not really. We always go to the arcade.” He deflects.

His ‘boyfriend’ sighs dramatically. “Let me dream, Iwa-chan.”

...

The arcade is always fun. Oikawa absolutely sucks at all the racing games, which Hajime excels at. It balances out, however, in that Oikawa is an unholy opponent in every strategy or sharpshooter game. Guess that’s what he gets for being the volleyball captain and setter.

Of course, Hajime doesn’t miss the way Oikawa stays a little closer than usual. He takes the initiative, holding out his hand at one point. Oikawa hadn’t immediately caught on until Hajime had pointedly glared at him, and then he’d blushed so much that he had resembled a tomato.

Hajime finds that Oikawa’s hand in his is beginning to become a familiar feeling. It feels natural, and a little bit nice. Maybe physical affection with his ‘boyfriend’ isn’t something he needs to stress over so much.

Alas, boyfriend or not, Oikawa is a little shit. He takes it upon himself to drink every gross juice flavor in the arcade’s shitty vending machine. He gets all pissy when he loses games, and is insufferable when he wins them.

Though, he’s less pissy after getting beat and humbler after winning when Hajime takes his hand again.

Huh. Who knew Oikawa’s hands would be so soft? They’re long, too—elegant. They’re setter’s hands, of course, so they have callouses on the palms, but somehow Hajime likes the feeling of them.

“Oh! Iwa-chan! Look!”

He’s pointing his free hand at an absolutely obnoxious-looking alien plushie. There’s a required amount of tickets to win it, which Oikawa does not have with his meager savings.

Oikawa pouts. “I’m going to have to work all night to get that plushie.”

“Better get on it, then.”

“So mean! Why can’t you be a nice boyfriend?”

“If you wanted a nice boyfriend, you should have dated someone nice.”

Oikawa beams at Hajime’s easy affirmation of being his boyfriend. His eyes are actually gleaming.

It’s making Hajime feel a little better, too. Maybe this arrangement isn’t so bad.

Oikawa’s bouncing on his toes, staring at the alien plushie again. Ugh, it’s neon green and so ugly that Hajime is having a hard time looking at it. It feels like its beady eyes are following him.

“So cute!” Oikawa exclaims, thought it sounds like a complaint. His face gets that look, the one he has before volleyball games; like he’s going to win or die trying. “I’m going to get it.”

Before he can do so, however, it seems like all those shitty vending machine drinks catch up to him.

“I’m going to get it right after I go pee.” He manages before scrambling towards the bathroom.

Hajime laughs as he watches him go. Classic Oikawa. The man’s metabolism is honestly horrifying—he eats and drinks so much junk food and still manages to have the body of a model. Not that Hajime’s looking, okay? He’s just not blind.

Hm. Maybe Hajime is a little gayer than he thought.

Not gay enough to love my best friend back, though, he thinks bitterly.

The alien plushie catches his eye again. He glances down at his tickets.

He has just enough. Oikawa would be certain to love it, even though Hajime thinks it’s about as charming as a kick directly to the balls. He briefly realizes that he’s considering spending all his hard-earned tickets on something he would personally like to burn to ashes just so his best friend will smile.

Ah, well. He’s always spoiled Oikawa, if his setting aside the eel in his bento for Oikawa each day means anything. Hell, basically all of his habits—waking up early so he has time to wake Oikawa up before school, walking a little faster than normal to keep up with his longer strides, staying late at practice with him to make sure that loser doesn’t overwork himself—are activities that solely benefit Oikawa.

What’s a little more spoiling? That’s his reasoning as he walks toward the plushie and buys it without thinking twice—though he does feel something like shame when a small child stares at it in abject terror.

He gazes down at the plushie, waiting for Oikawa to return from the bathroom. It’s even more hideous up close; it has huge, bulbous eyes and is mortifyingly bright green. It has a sort of... antenna sticking up from its head, almost like a cowlick. It’s very soft and squishy, which Hajime appreciates, but those attributes are not enough to make him look past its many, obvious defects.

“This is the ugliest thing I have ever seen,” he mutters, disgusted with his purchase.

Oikawa will like it, he reminds himself. That comforts him a little, though it doesn’t bring back his spent tickets.

“I’m back, Iwa-chan! I hope you didn’t miss me too much!” Oikawa chirps, sidling up to him again. He hasn’t noticed the plushie.

“I was counting the seconds.” Hajime says dryly.

He laughs, high and bright. “I’m sure you were! It’s almost embarrassing how obsessed you are with me.”

“I’m not the one who got so nervous while confessing to me that he just started insulting my intelligence.”

Oikawa pouts. “I was trying to be nice, but you were being so prickly!”

“I was not!”

“Were too!”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Was n—Ow, Shittykawa!”

Oikawa had whacked him upside the head, causing him to drop the disgusting alien plushie.

Oikawa looks at it on the floor, surprise evident on his face. He glances up to Hajime, then back down at the plushie, questioning. He opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s for you,” Hajime blurts.

What a dumbass. Who else would it be for? Ugh, Hajime hates himself sometimes.

Flustered, Oikawa scoops the plushie off the floor and inspects it carefully. Why Hajime is sweating, he’ll never know. Oikawa had literally said he wanted it, why would he reject it now?

“It’s perfect, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa declares brightly after a few more agonizing seconds. “I had to make sure you weren’t pranking me with some bomb-disguised-as-an-alien-plushie.”

Oh. Hajime is just dating a moron, that’s all. No risk of rejection here.

‘Dating’, that is.

“A bomb? Are you serious?” Hajime asks, exasperation clear in his tone.

Oikawa shrugs. “This doesn’t seem like something you would want to spend your tickets on.”

“It’s not, but you liked it and wanted it.” It’s a fairly simple concept. Hajime is surprised Oikawa didn’t catch on.

There’s a pause, and then Oikawa blushes so red that Hajime is almost tempted to ask if he’s running a fever. His eyes are so wide, filled with pleased surprise, like he hadn’t allowed him to hope that Hajime had really sacrificed his tickets for something he wanted. He’s smiling like he isn’t aware of it, teeth showing and lips stretched across his mouth.

Pretty, whispers some traitorous part of Hajime.

Shut up, hisses the rest of him.

“Iwa-chan is so sweet!” Oikawa coos. “Do you have any tickets left?”

Hajime checks. Just a measly five.

“I’ll tell you what: let’s pool our tickets, and at the end of the night we’ll buy that video game you were looking at before. I thought it seemed fun.”

The video game in question is a two-player game, which is why Hajime hadn’t gotten it before. If he was going to buy a video game, he wanted to be able to play it. Oikawa didn’t really like video games very much—he preferred actual movement with his own body—so Hajime had assumed he’d have no one to play it with.

If Oikawa’s offering to play it with him, though...

“Yeah,” Hajime grins, “let’s do that. You’d really play it?”

“If you want me to, I will.” He replies flippantly.

Hajime wonders if those words would be applicable to things besides video games.

Something twists in his gut.

...

They decide to go star gazing after the arcade, because Oikawa is a sappy piece of shit and also obsessed with outer space. They’re lying in the park where they used to play volleyball as kids, the grass and fallen leaves cool at their backs. The abomination of a plushie is tucked carefully under Oikawa’s arm as they stare up at the sky.

He’s tracing a constellation with his finger, trying to get Hajime to see it—“It’s a bull, Iwa-chan, you big brute!”—but Hajime can’t find it in himself to look away from his face long enough to search the stars. His expression is so peaceful, his smile so comfortable and soft on his lips. He looks sweet in every sense of the word, and Hajime is loathe to admit he’s a little mesmerized.

He has always admired his friend when he’s happy. The moments are few and far between, especially since middle school, and Hajime likes to savor them when they come.

Now is no exception.

Oikawa’s eyes are even more starry than the sky, his voice smooth and soothing as he speaks to Hajime—only to Hajime, yes, his words are only meant for Hajime’s ears.

Something convulses violently in his chest.

He realizes it’s relief—he’s so pleased and happy to finally have all of Oikawa’s attention, all for himself. He’s been used to having to share his best friend, with the volleyball team, with his fan club, with volleyball, but now he is the center. Now, Oikawa is completely focused on him.

It feels good. It feels comfortable.

“—And there’s Ursa Major, but I don’t like that one. Who cares about a bear, anyway? They’re such huge, lumbering creatures; so clumsy! Hey, they’re kinda like Iwa-chan, don’t you think?” Oikawa rambles aimlessly, tone becoming softer and softer as he grows more placid.

Hajime doesn’t respond, too busy reveling in having his best friend—‘boyfriend’—all to himself. His eyes can’t seem to leave Oikawa’s face. That traitorous part of his mind that whispered ‘pretty’ before seems to have grown in size, chanting a continuous mantra dedicated to Oikawa’s beauty.

He’s lovely, Hajime knows. He’s always known, to a degree. But in this moment, this sweet, intimate moment, the fact seems crushing.

Well, then; Hajime’s a lot gayer than he’d thought.

Oikawa nudges him with his elbow. “Iwa-chan! Are you even listening?”

He still hasn’t caught Hajime staring. He’s still staring at the stars.

“Yes,” Hajime says. This is a lie, but not a bitter one. “I’m listening.”

“What’s your favorite constellation, Iwa-chan? It used to be Scorpio, but maybe it changed...” Oikawa muses, almost talking entirely to himself.

Hajime hasn’t the heart to tell him that he hardly knows any constellation, much less has a favorite. “I like Orion.”

“So lame, Iwa-chan! Everybody knows that one.”

“Well, what’s your favorite, then?”

Oikawa hugs his plushie—Alien-chan, as he had dubbed it—a little closer. “Don’t be stupid. I like them all.”

“Then don’t judge my favorite if you don’t even have one, Crappykawa!” Hajime scolds. His tone is far too fond for the harshness of his actual words.

Finally, finally, finally—or, perhaps, far too suddenly—Oikawa turns his head to look at him. He seems surprised to find Hajime’s gaze already trained on him, but he smiles all the same. His cheeks darken a little.

“Am I pretty, Iwa-chan?” He asks, fluttering his lashes. His tone is ridiculous.

Yes, he thinks; the prettiest.

“No,” he says “the ugliest.”

Oikawa just laughs gently, like he knows what embarrassing thoughts are running around in Hajime’s clearly defective brain.

It’s a quiet moment when Hajime’s heart is loudest. He doesn’t want this. He can’t lose Oikawa just because of this—this lie, this act.

He wants to always be by Oikawa’s side, wants to lay under the stars with him forever. He wants to buy him alien plushies and play video games Oikawa hates with him. He wants to crush him at racing arcade games, he wants to walk home with him every day. He wants to spike his sets, wants to be there when Oikawa reaches the top—when, not if, because he will—and he wants to cheer for Oikawa all the way.

He loves him, he knows, but not romantically. He loves him the way he’s always loved him.

He wants to stay with his best friend forever—not his faux-boyfriend.

How could he love him romantically? They’d been friends their whole lives. Shouldn’t he have realized by now that he was in love with him? Shouldn’t he have had some earth-shaking realization, some shocking moment in which he thought, ‘oh my god, I love you’?

He doesn’t understand how he could love Oikawa and not have realized. He’s never started seeing him any differently. He’s always seen Oikawa the same, through all these years.

So, unless Hajime has been in love with him since the day they met, at the tender age of one year old, Hajime has never been in love with him at all.

“Promise me something,” Hajime whispers before he can stop himself. He’s grabbing Oikawa’s hand out of pure instinct.

Oikawa’s eyes meet his own, silently imploring him further.

“Promise me whatever happens with—with this thing—” he gestures between the two of them, “that we’ll stay friends. Promise me we’ll always stay best friends.”

He feels vulnerable and he hates it. This entire situation is such a mess. He’s going to break Oikawa’s heart unless he can manage to fall in love with him, and he’s known him for so long that really, he should have already done so. If he’s capable of loving him, he already should. They’ve known each other their whole lives.

Yet maybe... This feeling he has right now, this desperation to always be near to him, this longing for something he already has—is that the beginning of love? Or, maybe, the seed before the seed? The seed to grow the plant that dropped the seed of love?

He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could fall in love over night, but still, this feeling was so nerve-wracking that he couldn’t imagine it getting any more intense.

Gently, Oikawa smiles. “Is this why you’ve been so nervous? Oh, Iwa-chan, if we’ve managed to stay best friends for this long, I don’t think anything could come between us now.”

“Are you sure?” He asks thickly. He feels out of control, his guilt overwhelming.

“Yes,” he replies simply. “I’m sure.”

...

When he gets home, he calls Hanamaki.

“I wish I hadn’t said anything.”

“Well, that sucks for you. You have to take responsibility.”

He sighs. “I know. I just don’t want to hurt him.”

“No,” Hanamaki says firmly. “You just don’t want to lose him.”

Hajime knows he’s right. He knows he’s being selfish. It’s just... It feels so good to finally be the person that Oikawa wanted to spend time with the most. When Oikawa had had his girlfriend, it had felt like he was a substitute for the person Oikawa really wanted to hang out with—of course, he now knew that wasn’t the case.

Still. He remembers the feeling, and he doesn’t want to ever feel like that again. He wants Oikawa to himself.

“I’m making him happy.”

“Are you making you happy?”

He pauses.

He thought about the way he’d been drinking Oikawa’s expressions in under the stars, not even sparing nature’s beauty a second glance in order to look at his best friend.

“I think I can make me happy with this,” he admits. “I need time.”

He can do it.

He will do it.

He’s going to fall in love with Oikawa Tooru, and he’s going to fucking like it.

Chapter Text

Dating Oikawa is... surprisingly fun.

The first week after the confession sucked, obviously, because Hajime was too wracked with guilt and dread to enjoy it at all. The second week, though, is better. He’s less worried, less scared of it ending and breaking Oikawa’s heart.

The thing about dating Oikawa is that he has a whole new way of teasing him. The novelty of calling him a dumbass wore out sometime in elementary school, so being able to do something to get under his skin again is as refreshing as it is amusing.

Brazen as he normally is, Oikawa absolutely can not handle being teased about his feelings. Maybe it’s the depth of his feelings for Hajime that makes him more sensitive about it than when he’d had a girlfriend. He’s more likely to blush and get all shy than say anything back, so Hajime is largely unscathed whenever he takes that route to bother Oikawa.

It’s just too easy. Wiping his forehead with the bottom of his shirt during practice, asking Oikawa if he’s enjoying the view when he looks for a little too long, winking at him as flirty as possible—it all makes Oikawa’s brainwaves resemble static more than normal.

Anyway, it’s just that dating him isn’t really that bad. He’d been a little afraid that Oikawa would treat him like his girlfriend, or a fan—like somebody that didn’t matter, or was disposable. He knew he didn’t have to worry, though, when Oikawa was still just as annoying as usual and begged for his eel every single day (even though he was going to give it to him anyway).

If anything, dating Oikawa is the greatest thing that ever happened to Hajime. He gets to spend even more time with his best friend, and nothing has really changed except that Oikawa is now completely honest with him (he tries not to think about how honest he’s been with Oikawa—meaning, not very).

They play that video game they got at the arcade. Alien-chan makes a permanent residence in Oikawa’s arms when they’re at either of their houses, and Hajime has caught him grooming it—“It’s a ‘she’, Iwa-chan! A girl!”—on multiple occasions. They still bicker and fight and Hajime stills punches his lights out whenever he needs to be knocked down a few pegs. It’s normal, and comfortable, and good.

The only thing that’s different is that they hold hands more—‘more’ because they already had held hands a lot, since Oikawa is just generally very touchy when it comes to people he loves—and even that isn’t weird anymore. In fact, Hajime finds the spaces between his fingers sort of lonely when Oikawa’s aren’t threaded in them, finds his hands cold and awkward when they aren’t being held.

Practice and spending time with the team, is, of course, living hell. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are still trying to help him fall in love by making him do increasingly ridiculous things—on Monday, they made him compliment Oikawa. It was so unnatural and weird that they’d both ended up embarrassed, though Oikawa did look a little pleased.

The team are dirtbags, of course. Somehow, Hajime’s kouhai have decided it’s perfectly fine for them to antagonize him about dating Oikawa at every given opportunity—except Kyoutani, bless his tiny pebble of a heart—and Hanamaki and Matsukawa have the gall to join in.

“No, really, Iwaizumi, I thought you were already dating!” Yahaba tells him matter-of-factly one afternoon. Hajime briefly considers dying.

They’re sitting on the bus, waiting for fucking Kindaichi and Kunimi to get out of the bathroom. They have a practice match with Wakutani and it’ll take a while to get there. Hajime would prefer if his kouhai wouldn’t take so damn long in the bathroom.

“He was shy,” Oikawa coos, resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder. Oh, yes, and Oikawa has gotten more comfortable with doing casual displays of affection—no kissing or cuddling, but leaning and sidling-up-to are his favorites.

The entire bus laughs. Hanamaki grins. “He just needed to figure out his feelings.”

There’s a glint in his eye that Hajime doesn’t trust; doesn’t like at all.

“Shittykawa,” he grumbles.

“So mean! Why can’t you show your love through words?”

“I’m breaking up with you.” He deadpans. Oikawa whines.

Hanamaki gasps. “No! You can’t make Oikawa the single mother of all us children!”

Oikawa pouts at him, folding his hands together as if in prayer. “Stay for the children!”

“We are not their parents.”

Kindaichi chooses that moment to fucking finally get on the motherfucking bus, and looks at Hajime in something akin to alarm. “You’re not?”

“Kindaichi-kun,” Hajime emphasizes the honorific, “perhaps you should consider not taking so long in the fucking bathroom before you come in here and tease me. At least I wasn’t primping.”

Kunimi slinks onto the bus after Kindaichi as they take their seats. He laughs at his comrade’s expense.

“Yeah, what do you have to primp?” Yahaba yells from his seat, since Kindaichi and Kunimi sit up front.

“Onion head ass!” Watari agrees.

The entire bus erupts into laughter, and Kindaichi only looks sort of embarrassed, so Hajime doesn’t do anything to stop it. Oikawa’s leaning against him, shaking with little breathless chuckles, like he can’t believe Watari, who’s usually so quiet, would so say something so hilarious.

Hajime discreetly takes his hand. He doesn’t miss the way Oikawa’s cheeks turn a little pink.

...

The practice game—well, games—goes well. They win two games in straight sets, and lose one after three sets. Oikawa moves fluidly with the team, connecting instantly with all the spiker’s needs and making one truly amazing receive right at the end of one of the games they won. Hajime thinks he’s fantastic, really—the most talented setter he has ever laid eyes on. Fuck, Kageyama can rot in hell; Oikawa is no natural volleyball prodigy. He’s put so much damn work into his skills, and it fucking shows.

Hajime is so proud of him.

On the bus ride back to Seijoh, Oikawa falls asleep against his shoulder. He drools a lot, and usually Hajime would punch him and tell him to find his own pillow to drool on. This time, though, he’s content to wash his jacket when he gets home. He looks so peaceful there, pink lips ajar just enough to allow for a little whistle every time he exhales and long lashes making shadows on his cheeks. Hajime does, however, move a little so that Oikawa won’t be so sore when he wakes up. He’s the taller one, after all, so he’s slouching a lot.

He’s trying to decide whether or not to do something about the eyelash he’s just noticed on Oikawa’s cheek when he hears an audible click from the seat over. He turns slowly—so as not to jostle his ‘boyfriend’—and sees his two best and worst friends with their phone cameras trained on them.

They have matching grins.

“Look rather tender there, Father!” Hanamaki says, pleasantly.

Matsukawa can barely contain his stupid smile. “Taking good care of Mother, I suppose?”

They burst into laughs, which Hajime shuts up quickly. “You’ll wake him up! He hasn’t been sleeping well lately!”

They quiet down again, faces turning a little more serious. “Is it Ushiwaka again?”

“Maybe,” Hajime says, “he always gets this way before prelims.”

They fall into silence again. Hajime’s just succeeded in freeing his phone from his pocket—which required very strange contortions of his body, since Oikawa’s leaned against that side of him—and is scrolling through his music to decide what to play when he gets a notification from Matsukawa.

“I’m right here, why are you texting me?” He asks, voice little more than a grumble. He opens the notification all the same.

It’s a picture of him and Oikawa, presumably from a few minutes earlier when he’d heard the click. In the photo, he’s looking at Oikawa with an odd expression on his face, like he’s looking at his favorite thing and yet not sure what it is at the same time. Oikawa, of course, looks perfect as usual.

“Stop overthinking it, idiot,” Hanamaki teases.

Hajime wordlessly saves the picture.

There’s shifting on his shoulder and a little sleepy mumbling. “S’that a picture of?”

“Uh, Matsukawa took it,” he answers, instead of actually answering. He pockets his phone hurriedly.

“You’re such a lumpy pillow, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa complains, but his voice is too thick with sleep to hold any real whine. Despite his accusations, he snuggles closer.

Hajime pokes his leg meaningfully. “Don’t strain your neck, Crappykawa.”

Blearily, Oikawa opens his eyes just enough to send Hajime a halfhearted glare. “So mean...”

“Would you prefer ‘Shittykawa’?”

“That’s even worse, Mean-chan!”

“That doesn’t even sound like my name anymore!”

Oikawa’s eyes look mischievous.

“Sorry,” he purrs, “Hajime.”

Hajime feels an involuntary shiver creep down his spine. It’s just—not natural, how Oikawa says his first name. It feels so unbearably intimate, yet also not intimate enough. It’s weird, like Hajime wants to tell him to never say that again but at the same time wants to hear it on repeat.

“Don’t say that,” he manages.

Oikawa’s face says he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “But it sounds so nice! Hajime, Hajime, Haji—”

He slaps a hand over his mouth. He has no idea what he’d do if he heard that word again—probably something crazy, like sell everything he owns or jump off a skyscraper or crash this entire bus—but he knows he’d regret it.

“Don’t say that.”

Something that barely resembles “why not?” manages to escape Hajime’s careful hold.

“Because,” he replies, as gruffly as possible, “it’s weird. And annoying. I told you we needed to stop using given names in elementary school.”

“But we’re dating!” Oikawa points out, taking great visible pleasure in being able to say so.

Hajime feels guilty all over again, and really considers it. It’s not like the name bothers him, it just feels... uncomfortable.

Maybe he’ll just get used to it.

“Fine,” he allows, finally, “but only when it’s just us two.”

“Yay, Iwa-chan! You can call me Tooru!” Oikawa offers, looking like he’s been told that he’s going to be given a lifetime supply of milk bread.

Hajime rolls his eyes. He wiggles his shoulder, where Oikawa is still laying his head. “Now go back to sleep, dumbass. I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“So thoughtful, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa smiles, closing his eyes again. “So considerate.”

“Only because you can’t take care of yourself,” Hajime mutters.

He feels Oikawa’s mouth curve more against him.

“Iwa-chan, what would I do without you?”

Something very sweet and very small inside him murmurs, you’ll never have to find out.

...

Telling Oikawa he could call him by his given name turns out to be a terrible idea. When they’re laying on Oikawa’s bed, watching some stupid show about deep space expeditions, and Hajime has to endure hearing his name be whispered from beside him, it’s—strange.

Never before has he been so unraveled by one word. Hajime likes to think himself fairly calm, and very grounded.

Oikawa murmuring “Hajime” will probably never be normal, no matter what. It feels grating on his nerves, like he’ll explode if Oikawa keeps saying it.

“Stupid Kageyama,” Oikawa whines as they’re doing homework in Hajime’s room. Well, Hajime is doing homework. Oikawa is laying on the floor, tossing a volleyball up in the air.

“Shut up,” Hajime replies distantly. Fuck, what’s this English translation? He sucks terribly at languages.

Oikawa pokes his foot from the floor, pouting. “Why are you ignoring me? Your beautiful boyfriend is right here, open and willing, and you’re trying to—” he leans over and scrutinizes Hajime’s feeble excuse for English letters, “Ugh, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do. Are you literate?”

Prodding Oikawa away from his work, since yes, he knows his English is bad, and he doesn’t need anyone telling him so, Hajime sets his work down. “You’re the one who said we should study together. All you’ve done is harass me and ask my mom if she could get milk bread at the store.”

“You’re supposed to entertain me! I said ‘study’, but obviously I meant ‘entertain me’.” Oikawa explains flippantly, like that was the most clear thing in the world.

The thought of maybe slamming Oikawa’s head into the wall and then going to another country and changing his name does come to mind, but Hajime shuts it down rather quickly.

“I need to study. I have a test tomorrow.”

His boyfriend looks stupidly pathetic with his lip jutted out and his eyes watering with what are sure to be fake tears. For all his obvious drama and antics, Oikawa sure has some persuasive puppy eyes.

Hajime sighs as he pulls his phone out and hands it to Oikawa. “Play a game on there, or something. Don’t change my contacts again.”

Presumably ignoring Hajime’s warnings and changing his contacts again, Oikawa is quiet for a few minutes. Hajime works happily in peace, the other boy having crawled up onto his bed and leaning against his side.

He’s puzzling over the pronunciation of some weird word—seriously, English and all its stupid nuances—when Oikawa makes a choked noise from where he’s flipping through Hajime’s phone.

When Oikawa makes no move to explain himself, Hajime looks up. His boyfriend is staring at his phone, eyes wide and cheeks steadily reddening. His expression is one of pure surprise and a little embarrassment.

“What’s your problem?” Hajime asks, a little harsher than he means. He tries to think of something on his phone that could produce such a reaction, but nothing comes to mind.

Oikawa looks up quickly, like he’s been caught doing something illegal. “Nothing!”

Hajime stares at him for one second before snatching his phone away and inspecting it himself and—oh.

He scratches the back of neck nervously. “Oh. Uh, Matsukawa took this.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa replies, voice higher than usual. “Right.”

“Why are you acting so weird?” It’s just a picture, right? Has Hajime done something wrong?

He purses his lips, officially making that face he has whenever he’s anxious or unsure. “Iwa-chan just looks so sweet!”

“Eh?”

“You!” Oikawa blurts. “You look like you feel the same way about me that I do about you.”

Hajime’s mind blanks.

“Eh?” He intelligently asks again.

“It’s just...” Now he’s seemingly formulating his next words very carefully, plucked eyebrows scrunched together. “Sometimes, I guess I feel like I convinced you to be my boyfriend, or something.”

Hajime stares at him.

“Like... Why would you give me a chance, you know? You’ve never said anything about being gay or given any sign that would’ve let me know that you felt the same. Then after the confession you were weird and avoided me, and you haven’t made any moves to, ah... progress things.” Oikawa says, awkwardly fiddling with his fingers. He’s seldom any less than perfectly confident—at least outwardly—so it’s strange to see him so subdued.

Hajime runs a hand through his hair, trying to understand everything he’s said. “I never thought... I’m sorry you got that impression.”

He forgot that while he knows every single slight expression that could possibly cross Oikawa’s face, Oikawa knows him equally well. Of course he’d notice if Hajime was acting off or weird. He just knows he’s going to have to lie again.

“I mean, I was surprised, you know, that you felt that way for me.” Hajime begins. “I didn’t think I had a chance with you, since you’re always busy with your fangirls and that one girlfriend. And, obviously, volleyball will always be your first love.”

Oikawa shakes his head, but he already looks less unsure. He’s smiling a little.

“That said, you must be some sort of idiot to think you could force me to do anything. You didn’t force me to date you; I chose to. So, obviously I feel something for you.” He ends gruffly.

His cheeks and ears are burning. Talking about feelings is not his forte.

“So mean, Iwa-chan, even when you’re being sweet.” Oikawa says lightly. Then his tone becomes more serious. “You really do like me?”

Hajime considers, honestly.

Well, Oikawa is fundamentally infuriating. He’s too loud and too annoying and too clingy and frustrating and touchy and picky. He makes Hajime’s blood boil and singlehandedly made Hajime decide that maybe murder wasn’t such a bad thing back in elementary.

And Hajime wouldn’t change a thing about him.

“Yeah,” Hajime replies, finally. “I like you a lot.”

It doesn’t feel like a lie. He’s disgusted that he’s getting so good at being deceitful.

Oikawa’s face splits into a grin. His eyes, Hajime observes, turn from their usual sparkly brown to an absolutely luminous caramel. Hajime wonders when they got close enough for him to be able to count his eyelashes.

He wonders when he started wanting to be closer.

“I like you, too,” he murmurs, “Hajime.”

He can feel Oikawa’s breath on his face, warm and gentle. He remembers that day two weeks ago, when he’d thought about kissing Oikawa. Back then—‘back then’, like it happened a year ago, ugh—the notion was weird and gross. Now, though...

He thinks about watching Oikawa watch the stars. He thinks about beautiful he is, how pretty his eyes are. He thinks about how soft his hair would be against his fingers, if he ran them through it. He thinks about him sleeping on his shoulder, face lax and peaceful. He thinks about how much more beautiful than his face—which is barely possible—his heart is, how hard of a worker he is.

Oikawa’s gaze visibly dips down to Hajime’s mouth, but he doesn’t move. He’s waiting for Hajime to make the first move. Doesn’t want to ‘convince’ Hajime to do something, presumably.

Does Hajime want to kiss Oikawa? Would it be okay?

He doesn’t think he should force himself to just to prove something to Oikawa, but it doesn’t feel like he’s forcing himself to do anything. He’s already being pulled in by Oikawa’s pure magnetism.

Maybe... Maybe it would be okay? He wants to.

Oh, god, he wants to. When did that happen? When did Oikawa go from best friend to boyfriend, and why doesn’t Hajime think the change is all that jarring? Why has the change been so natural?

He feels his hand already reaching for Oikawa’s cheek, and he doesn’t stop it. He cups his face, still thinking. Always thinking. Oikawa’s breath hitches as he leans a little closer.

What had Hanamaki said? “Stop overthinking it”?

What will his body do if he stops overthinking? What are all of his instincts screaming?

He knows what he wants. He knows what will happen if he stops thinking.

Somehow, he doesn’t think the consequences will be all that bad.

He leans in all the way, and Oikawa’s lips are so soft and tentative at first that he can barely feel them. Oikawa soon gains confidence, however, and then it’s even better. He’s never kissed anyone, so he has no basis for comparison, but that doesn’t matter because nothing could compare to this anyway.

It isn’t heaven, but Oikawa’s hands tugging on his shirt to bring him closer are pretty damn close. He should’ve known Oikawa would be needy even while getting what he wants, should’ve been prepared for his grabby hands. Still, it takes Hajime by surprise, but even more surprising is the way he likes Oikawa’s hands on him.

Oikawa hums as he tilts his head to get a better angle, fingers busily ruining Hajime’s hair. It feels like Hajime’s floating and falling at the same time. He hopes Oikawa can’t feel how sweaty his hands are where they’re holding his hips. He wonders if he’s any good at kissing, since Oikawa seems plenty good for both of them.

That thought breaks him out of whatever daze he’s stuck in, and he pulls away. Embarrassingly, he’s breathing rather heavily for a kiss that didn’t even last two minutes. Or was it a make out? What constituted as making out?

He’s talking before thinking again.

“Have you ever kissed someone before?”

Oikawa looks surprised, though the effect is somewhat ruined by his blush and rather glazed eyes. Hajime feels a strange sense of satisfaction at his work.

“Uh, yeah?” He says, his head angled to the side in confusion. Suddenly, he seems to catch on, and his expression turns smug. “Oh, Iwa-chan, have you never kissed anyone? Was that your first kiss?”

Hajime tries to save his image, tarnished as it is. “No! I’ve kissed people before!”

Oikawa sees right through him, and starts laughing so hard he almost falls off the bed. “Oh, my god! I took your kissing-virginity!”

The best way to shut him up would be to say “I’ll have to get you back by taking your virginity-virginity”, but Hajime doesn’t have the strength to say it. Instead, he watches as Oikawa laughs himself silly at his expense.

“I’m never kissing you again.” Hajime huffs, crossing his arms.

Oikawa sobers almost instantly. “No, Iwa-chan! Don’t withdraw again! We just finally got somewhere!”

“I’m sorry, am I a conquest to you?”

He turns beet red. “No! I’ve just always wanted to kiss you!”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “You’re always calling me ugly and stupid, Shittykawa. I don’t believe you.”

“No, Iwa-chan! Those are just jokes! You’re...” Oikawa’s eyes look less like caramel and more like molasses, dark and intense. “You’re attractive as hell. Do you think I would date someone ugly? Me? Oikawa Tooru, the most beautiful man to ever live?”

“Guess not,” Hajime responds, deciding to let Oikawa get away with complimenting himself, just this once.

Hajime goes back to studying for a little while, Oikawa laying next to him as he plays with Hajime’s hands. He interrupts him again after fifteen minutes, looking quiet and pensive.

“Before, you said volleyball will always be my first love, but that’s not true.” He says, shy. “It’s always been you. I’m glad you feel the same, Hajime.”

It hurts to lie, so Hajime just gathers up his courage and kisses him again in response.

When he pulls away, Oikawa is smiling.

After Oikawa leaves that night—after several more kisses but even more reprimands from Hajime about how he has to study—Hajime opens his phone to text Hanamaki and finds that all of his contacts are, of fucking course, messed with. Oikawa’s put everyone in with their given name, which is something that Hajime is too polite to ever do.

Also, his background is that picture of him looking at Oikawa as he sleeps.

He decides he’ll fix the contacts tomorrow.

No one’s around, so he smiles at his new background and doesn’t even consider changing it back to what is was before.

Chapter Text

“So, you kissed him.”

“Yes,” Hajime repeats, exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

Matsukawa purses his lips. “And... You liked it?”

He can feel his face reddening. “Kind of.”

That’s a lie. He liked their kiss(es, but Hanamaki and Matsukawa don’t need to know there was more than one) a whole fucking lot. In fact, after Oikawa had left last night, Hajime had had trouble thinking about anything other than Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa, and (surprise!) Oikawa.

“Are you going to do it again?” Hanamaki inquires, looking invested.

“Probably.”

That’s also a lie. Hajime thinks if he tried to keep from kissing Oikawa, he’d explode or fall apart or die or something else suitably violent. There’s something new in him now that he’d never known before—no, not new, he realizes, but something he’s only just given a chance to bloom. It’s something very warm and sort of—fuzzy, or whatever. He hates the word fuzzy.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki share a plotting look. The former nods in approval. “I think you’re making progress in falling for him.”

“But I don’t feel any different about him. I mean, you’d kiss someone if they were attractive and wanted to kiss you, right?”

“Um,” Hanamaki blinks, “not just anyone.”

“Have you ever kissed someone before?” Matsukawa prods.

“Well, no. But if someone else that I found just as attractive as Oikawa wanted to kiss me, I’d probably kiss them.” Hajime defends, feeling strangely like he’s digging his own grave but can’t figure out why.

His friends glance at each other again.

Rubbing a tired hand over his face, Matsukawa speaks. “Do you find anyone as attractive as Oikawa?”

Hajime thinks hard. There’s Yamamoto Akemi from class 4, who he had thought was sort of nice one day—but that doesn’t count as attraction. She’d just given him an extra pen and he’d thought the exact words, “oh, that was pretty cool of her”. Other than her—and she doesn’t even count—Hajime seriously cannot think of anyone prettier than or even as pretty as Oikawa.

“Yamamoto-san from class 4 is kind of... alright.” Hajime mumbles, unwilling to admit that no one comes close to his boyfriend.

“‘Kind of alright’.” Matsukawa echoes.

Hanamaki smirks. “What a great review from our very own emotionally constipated homosexual!”

“Hey! Girls are... nice... I mean—! I’m not gay. I’m more like... bisexual?” Hajime defends clumsily.

“Iwaizumi Hajime, platonic love of my life, fake-boyfriend extraordinaire, and professional oblivious idiot; have you ever had a crush on a girl or even thought a girl was cute?” Hanamaki raises his eyebrows for emphasis.

He tries, okay? He really does try to think of even a single girl that he’s thought of in a way other than vague affection. He just can’t. Every time people described having a ‘crush’, he couldn’t relate. Weren’t they just describing how they felt about their best friends? Was he missing something?

He sighs. “I guess I am gay.”

“Alright,” Matsukawa sounds relieved, “so you’re gay, and can’t think of anyone better-looking than Oikawa. What exactly makes Oikawa attractive to you? It’s good to talk about what you like; then maybe you’ll fall in love quicker.”

Screwing up his mouth in displeasure at the question, Hajime nevertheless honestly tries to pinpoint what makes Oikawa so beautiful. Obviously, his eyes and hair and bone structure and natural grace are all attractive, but they don’t really make Hajime think, “wow, he’s hot”. It’s something else, something that’s not just skin deep.

“I guess it’s just... him? I dunno. His personality makes him, uh, nice-looking to me.” He admits slowly.

“Hajime,” Hanamaki nearly shouts, jarring Hajime with the use of his given name, “you just fucking described having a crush.”

“Eh? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Mattsun, please help me,” Hanamaki pleads.

Matsukawa groans. “Iwaizumi, you are the densest motherfucker I’ve ever met. When Makki and I started dating, the thing that made him more attractive to me than anyone else was his personality. I’ve found a lot of people cute or pretty, but I found Makki’s personality pretty on top of his looks. It’s called having a fucking crush.”

Hajime stares at them both.

“Wait,” he says after a moment, “you’re dating?”

There’s only a second of silence before the room erupts in absolute chaos.

...

He’s dialing up Hanamaki after he and Matsukawa leave his house, just to try and coordinate the next meeting of the Mission: Oikawa squad, when Oikawa’s stupid prank with the contacts becomes a problem. When he’d changed all the names to the given ones, Hajime had forgotten to change them back. So, when he’s scrolling for Takahiro, he accidentally clicks Tooru.

“Hajime?”

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “hi.”

“Do you need something? I thought I told you I was busy today.”

He needs to lie, of course, because if he tells him he was calling Hanamaki—who he had never called before he’d started ‘dating’ Oikawa—he’d get suspicious.

“I was, uh, just thinking of you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then:

“Aww, Iwa-chan does care! Well, that’s terribly sweet, but I have a gremlin I need to take care of, and I can’t hang around talking to my lovely boyfriend.” Oikawa laments.

Hajime grunts in embarrassment. “Sorry for bothering you. Go hang out with Takeru.”

“You never bother me, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa chirps. It sounds like the truth, which makes Hajime just about puke with nerves. “Really, it was so nice of you to call.”

“But you’re busy?”

“But I love talking to you. even for just a second! It’s nice to know you’re thinking of me.”

I’m always thinking about you, he thinks.

“In your dreams,” he says instead.

“He’s trying to deny it!” Oikawa crows. “Oh, how precious! My very own tsundere!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Tsun tsun. Tsun-chan.”

“Stop.”

“Tsun-chan has such a huge crush on me, it’s embarrassing,” he teases.

“No.”

“He is such a doting boyfriend! So remarkable!”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“Mean!”

“Didn’t you have to take care of your nephew?”

“Oh, shit—”

Oikawa hangs up after a few more swears and a hasty (though genuinely affectionate) farewell. Hajime reminds himself to change the contacts back.

He doesn’t.

...

“Sorry I couldn’t hang out with you and Makki and Mattsun yesterday,” Oikawa says from where he’s struggling over homework. “Takeru made me take him to the park.”

Hajime barks a laugh. “Have I mentioned I love that little monster?”

“Don’t encourage him, Hajime! He’s going to be the death of me.” Oikawa whines.
Still chuckling, Hajime pokes his boyfriend in the cheek. “Stop being such a baby. He likes you more than he’ll admit.”

Oikawa slaps his hand away. “No, he only likes Iwa-chan. He’s always asking where you are and why he has to hang out with just me.”

“The family resemblance between you and him is uncanny.”

“Hey! I like Iwa-chan more than him!” He says this like he’s won something.

Hajime rolls his eyes. “What a shocker; my own boyfriend likes me more than my boyfriend’s nephew. You really wowed me.”

A glint appears in Oikawa’s eyes—one that Hajime does not trust in the slightest—before he smiles widely. “Do you want me to show you how much I like you?”

He’s probably turning red, he knows. That doesn’t mean he’s any less embarrassed about it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aw, is Iwa-chan a prude?” Oikawa’s voice is honeyed and possibly the most annoying this Hajime has ever heard.

Hajime leans forward, his I’m-going-to-tease-Oikawa-about-his-feelings-for-me smirk firmly on his face. “Don’t ever fucking call me a prude again, Tooru.”

He says his given name very quietly, like it’s just between the two of them. Oikawa’s face goes through about eleven different expressions before he settles on adorably flustered.

“I like it when you say my name,” he breathes finally, then kisses Hajime. “You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know.”

Hajime isn’t sure when his hand made its way to the back of Oikawa’s neck, but it stays there as he draws him back down to his lips.

He’s improved exponentially at kissing since that first kiss—he has a general idea on where his hands should be, and what is and isn’t an acceptable amount of moisture. As it is, Oikawa still usually takes the lead. Just now, he’s pulling Hajime closer—greedy—by the upper arms.

He makes a pleased noise when Hajime follows his tugging without complaint. His lips are so soft and sweet, they taste so perfect (Hajime knows he’s going to remember the exact taste later when he’s talking to, like, his mom, and blush furiously).

Oikawa pulls away briefly, pupils huge and dilated. The brown in his eyes is almost entirely dominated by black, his cheeks flaming and hair mussed (did Hajime do that?). They’re barely two centimeters apart, noses brushing and breaths mixing.

Hajime feels something huge and heavy settle in his chest. He can’t look him in the eyes anymore for fear of combusting. He’s far too beautiful.

“Tooru,” Hajime murmurs before pulling him to his lips again.

It’s when they’re cuddling, later, that Hajime wonders if, maybe, he does have a teeny, tiny, enormous crush on somebody named Oikawa Tooru.

...

The next three weeks (a voice that sounds strangely like Hanamaki’s tells Hajime he has only roughly seven-eight weeks left to fall for Tooru) are honestly kind of embarrassingly filled with make out sessions.

It’s like Hajime can’t keep his hands to himself—he just wants to touch and touch and touch. If anything, Tooru is suffering from the same phenomenon. They meet in the middle with heated, bruising kisses stolen in empty classrooms and random bathroom stalls and sweet, gentle kisses given and taken in the safety of one of their bedrooms. They never go further than kissing—even if Hajime did love Tooru, he’s doesn’t think he’d be ready to do anything relating to sex—and Tooru honestly seems happy with what he’s getting.

If Hajime is being real with himself, so is he. Kissing Tooru is nice, saying his given name and knowing no one else can (“Iwa-chan, family doesn’t count!”) is almost euphoric, and somehow cuddling with him is the best of all.

Now, Hajime is not a very cuddly person. He’s spiky, remember? He doesn’t really like physical touch, but Tooru has always been an exception. With Tooru, he wants to punch his stupid grin, wants to hold him, wants to kiss his ridiculous hair, wants to smooth his clothing folds. It’s really mortifying. Iwaizumi Hajime, arm-wrestler and cuddle enthusiast (but only with Oikawa Tooru)? It just doesn’t sound right.

So, he keeps that to himself. When Tooru wants to cuddle, he complains and groans, but somehow is always the first one settled and the last one to let go of the other. It’s like he needs to drink in Tooru, needs to affirm that this is really—real.

(Is it real, though, if he doesn’t actually feel the same way Tooru does?)

He suspects that Tooru is on to him about liking cuddling, but he’s thankful that his boyfriend says nothing. Their dynamic has always been Tooru as the one with more than enough enthusiasm for both of them and Hajime as the one with reluctant indulgence. If anything, Tooru’s mercy allows him to retain some of his dignity.

Spooning is fine, Hajime supposes, but he prefers to hold Tooru against him, chest to chest. He likes to see his eyes when they’re open and filled with that emotion he doesn’t know how to describe. He likes to give him random kisses whenever he feels like it (and he’s allowed to! Because they’re boyfriends!).

Mostly, though, he just likes to see Tooru’s face when he whispers to Hajime, because they have to whisper when they’re like this, and no, that isn’t ridiculous, those are the rules, Iwa-chan.

“I think Kindaichi-kun has a crush on Iwa-chan,” Tooru chuckles breathlessly.

Hajime rolls his eyes. Their foreheads are touching, legs tangled together. He doesn’t even wonder when they got to this level of confidence with their touching. “He does not. He just admires me, or something.”

“I admire Iwa-chan, too, but the things I admire shouldn’t be admired by anyone else.”

“Weird way of saying you like to look at my ass.”

Tooru sputters, moving as if to get up. Hajime’s arms tighten around his waist to keep him where he is.

“Not just your ass,” Tooru admits after a moment. He settles back against him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He’s avoiding eye contact, which is funny because his arms around wrapped around his neck. “Your arms, too. And back, when you don’t have a shirt on.”

“What, my chest isn’t enough for you?” Hajime replies, trying to ignore the way that admission makes him feel.

He scoffs. “Your chest goes without saying. You always look good enough to eat.”

He says that particular statement with a predatory look in his eye and a punctuating nip at Hajime’s ear.

“Wow,” Hajime says, fighting his urge to kiss Tooru until he’s breathless, “so you’re just dating me for my body?”

“Why, Iwa-chan, I thought that was clear!”

Pressing a little closer, he laughs. He likes when it’s just them, and Tooru is curled up smaller than him, even though he’s taller.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Hajime tells him, deciding to not let Tooru even start getting insecure.

He flutters his eyelashes. “Really? Tell me, Hajime, what’s so perfect about me? Is it my sculpted calves? My voluptuous hair? My rock-hard abs?”

Hajime chuckles at him, wondering when he started agreeing with Tooru’s fans. “Those are all nice, but they’re not what I like most.”

“You’re keeping me in suspense,” Tooru whines.

“Fine, fine. I like your eyes.”

A pause.

“My... eyes?” He sounds almost disappointed.

Hajime rushes to reassure him. He finds it embarrassing. “Well, yeah. They’re... pretty. I can always tell what you’re thinking from your eyes. And they, uh... they sort of sparkle every time after I kiss you.”

If Tooru was disappointed before, he’s exceedingly pleased now. Hajime berates himself for feeding into his obnoxious ego.

Somehow, though, Tooru doesn’t gloat. He just lays there, beaming at Hajime. His arms slide down from being wrapped around his neck to resting his hands against his chest. His eyes, Hajime thinks, have never looked so fucking shimmery.

He opens his mouth, and Hajime’s expecting some witty joke or flirtation.

Instead...

“I love you,” Tooru blurts. He looks mortified afterwards, like he’s surprised he voiced his thoughts.

Hajime stares at him, feeling his heart crashing in his chest.

The previous peace he’d felt is gone—has been stomped on, destroyed, and completely forgotten. There’s some vague voice screaming in his head, something like sirens going off in his heart. All he can really think is “oh, shit”, and just keep staring at Tooru. He’s thinking about how hard it would be to just jump out the window, crack his neck, and die—no, no, diving off the balcony would probably be more effective—oh, or, perhaps, running into traffic—or drowning himself in the little pond a few blocks away—

“Um,” Tooru squeaks, effectively shutting off Hajime’s internal breakdown, “you—you don’t have to say anything—I’m sorry I said that—”

The spell is broken, so Hajime is moving. He’s withdrawing his arms from around Tooru, sitting up, scooting a little farther away from him on the bed. His voice sounds strange and unfamiliar to his ears when he speaks. “No, it’s fine. I just remembered my mom wanted me home early tonight, so, uh. See you.”

Tooru makes to stop him, brown eyes wide and helpless. “Wait, Hajime, I’m sorry—please don’t go. I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Oikawa,” Hajime ignores the way Tooru flinches at the use of his family name instead of his given one, “I gotta go.”

He looks at him one last time, trying to parse all the emotions he’s feeling and the ones he’s seeing reflected in Tooru’s eyes.

“Hajime—” He tries again.

Hajime doesn’t stick around for the explanation. This is all his fault.

Chapter Text

Hajime doesn’t sleep that night, which is probably why he’s sick in the morning. His mom lets him stay home from school (thank anyone who’s listening) and he spends the morning prone in his bed, feverish and yet still sleepless.

It’s not because he’s thinking that he can’t sleep. He isn’t sure there’s anything even alive in his brain. He’s pretty sure he lost the ability to function when Oikawa looked at him with that look in his eyes and had blurted, like his heart couldn’t take not saying it anymore, like it pained him to keep it in, that he—

No, no; no use thinking of it now.

He didn’t want to think about anything. He just wanted to lay there, staring at the ceiling and feeling a mixture of numbing horror and guilt, both of which were directed at himself.

He’d shut his phone off after leaving Tooru’s last night, since he knew Tooru would spam him with texts and calls all night. He turns it back on now, grimacing at the hefty thirty-one missed calls from Tooru and compiled six from Matsukawa and Hanamaki. There’s an ungodly amount of texts, mostly from Tooru, and Hajime skims through them briefly.

Tooru [11:34 PM]: Iwa-chan, i’m sorry

Tooru [11:34 PM]: i didnt mean to say it

Tooru [11:35 PM]: it just slipped out

He sighs and keeps scrolling.

Tooru [3:09 AM]: answer me !!

Tooru [3:10 AM]: hajime youre being ridiuclous

Tooru [3:46 AM]: what the fuck you don’t have to say it back just don’t cut me off!!

He stares at that last text long enough that his eyes feel strained before shutting his phone off again and tossing it across the room. If he had the energy, he’d find a way to shred it into pieces so that he wouldn’t have to hear from anyone again.

His head is clearing a little bit, the fever receding and his muddled thoughts gaining clarity, by noon. He rises and showers (he stands there, under the water, as if it can cleanse his sins, for a long, long time) and eats a little left over miso soup his mom had made.

Why he’s reacting this way, he doesn’t know. Hasn’t he been saying all along, “I want to love Tooru back”? Hasn’t he known Tooru loves him? Why is he so shocked by having heard the actual words from his mouth? Why does it shake him to his core, does it make him feel so ill and restless?

He gets another text a little after one in the afternoon.

Takahiro [1:04 PM]: Let me or mattsun know if you need anything, oikawa told us what happened

Me [1:05 PM]: Did you take notes for me?

Takahiro [1:07 PM]: Mattsun did

Me: [1:07 PM]: Ok thanks

He’s miserable when he’s lying on the couch, praying for sleep to take him; he’s miserable when he’s sitting at the table, slurping soup; he’s miserable when he’s hunched over at his computer, emailing Coach Irihata the volleyball strats he wouldn’t be able to give at practice today. He knows, vaguely, why he’s so miserable—he feels guilty for lying to Tooru about having a crush on him and then allowing Tooru to actually manage to fall in love with him, and for dating him and taking advantage of that arrangement by actually kissing him and shit—but really, he shouldn’t be this miserable.

This feels excessive. This feels like his heart is strangling him, like there’s something he knows but can’t quite form into a complete thought, like he’s suffocating on words he doesn’t know how to articulate. It’s like he’s been given an equation he doesn’t have the formula to solve it; he recognizes the numbers and symbols, but has no clue how to get the answer.

He’s just deciding that he’s never felt this terrible in all his life when he hears the front door slam open and wild feet running up the stairs. He heaves himself into a sitting position just as his bedroom door is swung nearly off its hinges and there, the catalyst of this entire mess, stands Oikawa Tooru.

He looks pissed. His hair is disheveled and out of control, his eyes bright with something combative, and his hands are in fists at his sides. He opens his mouth to speak, and Hajime knows his words will be barbed.

“What the fuck, Hajime,” he storms, pacing around his room, “what the fuck!”

He says nothing.

“I tell you I love you and you give me some shitty excuse and then leave? And don’t respond to a single one of my texts? What kind of fucking weirdo does that?” Tooru almost never swears, so Hajime knows he’s beyond angry. He keeps pacing, like if he doesn’t he won’t know how to go forward. “Why? Why would you run away? I thought you said you didn’t want to run away anymore!”

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says weakly.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, Hajime, not this time,” Tooru rages. “Why would you do that?”

“It caught me off guard, okay? I didn’t know you felt that way about me already.” It’s a weak response and they both know it.

Tooru just stands there, looking, before he shakes his head. He’s calmed down enough to stop yelling, and his anger is dissipating to reveal the anxiety hidden under it.

“You can’t just shut me out,” he says. His voice is softer now, like he wishes to be unheard. “You scared me. I thought...”

The words “I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore” hang in the air between them, unspoken but not unacknowledged.

Tooru looks so vulnerable there, far too close but not quite close enough, heaving like he’s run a marathon.

Hajime hates seeing him weak—always has. When his knee gave out first year, when the other kids didn’t like him in elementary, when he fell and scraped his legs and hands and had to be given a piggy back ride, when Shiratorizawa beat them the last time...

His heart has always protested seeing his Oikawa, his Tooru, made low when he should be brought high. He has always sought to be the foundation that Tooru can build off of, that Tooru can always depend upon to keep him suspended, not bring him tumbling down.

Has he stopped being that pillar of strength, that enduring person for Tooru? Has he, in his prideful attempt at making Tooru happier, only destroyed him and himself in the process? Has he flown too high, been too ambitious?

Pride comes before the fall, he knows, and he has always prided himself on making Tooru smile so brightly.

He must speak, or his chest shall surely cave in.

“I just,” Hajime starts, almost feverishly, not knowing where he’s going with his sentence but feeling panicked to get it out, “I think I need some space.”

Tooru’s visible horror at those words mirrors Hajime’s own surprise at having uttered them.

The pillar has not crumbled, it has disappeared entirely. It has vanished beneath Tooru’s feet, left him gaping in horror as he falls, falls, falls.

Hajime cannot keep him upright anymore. His building materials were made of deceit, were bitter lies.

“Space,” Tooru repeats dumbly.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t think he could stop if he did.

“Yeah,” his voice sounds foreign, unfamiliar, alien, “it’s just... a lot. And I have homework, and I’m not feeling well, and...”

“Oh,” Tooru’s tone is far away, like he’s whispering across the ocean, “right. Of course. I have bad timing.”

Hajime nods. There’s something warm in his eyes that he doesn’t like.

“Well,” he chokes, hiding his face as he turns quickly to leave. “Get well soon, Iwaizumi.”

His full name sounds strange against his lips, and Hajime finds himself hating the way it sounds. He wants to childish nickname back, wants the comfort of intimacy and solace of being adored.

But he can’t be adored for something that is a lie. His honor will not allow it anymore.

Something has had to give for the last month—and something has given.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He’s always hated pretending.

He just wishes he could have built Tooru up, one last time. He wishes he could have been there to catch him when he’d fallen.

He couldn’t, though.

He couldn’t catch him—he’d been to busy making him fall in the first place.

...

He doesn’t go to school the next day, and he doesn’t get any texts or calls from Oikawa. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are spamming him, particularly the former, but he turns off his phone and buries his head in his blankets.

He sleeps for eighteen hours straight; a dreamless, restless sleep that leaves him feeling worse than when he’d laid down. His mother voices her concerns on his health and tells him to take it easy before she leaves for work.

All day he feels awful, like a lonely sock that has lost its partner or something else equally pathetic. It’s only the dull throbbing in his head that keeps him company, the cracking of his heart that breaks the silence.

He feels like he has something he needs to say, something just on the tip of his tongue. It’s like he’s forgotten a word and just can’t remember it, or walked into a room and forgot what he was doing there. It’s like he’s completely shut down since he told Tooru he needed space.

Iwaizumi Hajime, he thinks, is supposed to be anything but a coward, a liar, and a bad friend.

Lately, though, that’s all he’s been.

He gets sicker throughout the day.

Even when his mother comes home and briefly interviews him on how he’s feeling before she starts dinner, the words he speaks feel like poor imitations of what he really wants to say. He just has no idea what it is that he’s itching to talk about.

Well. He has some idea.

His father returns home later in the evening, inquiring on how his sturdy Hajime has been reduced to a bedridden mess. He means his words as a jest, but Hajime has been wondering the same thing, so it hurts a little.

Still, though, it all comes to a head at two in the morning, when he’s been laying on his bed for the last twenty-six hours straight. He can’t take it anymore.

He pulls out his phone and turns it on again. He ignores all the texts from his friends and missed calls and scrolls down his contacts list.

He hastily presses Hanamaki’s contact—that Tooru had changed to Takahiro, he remembers with a pang—and impatiently waits for him to pick up the fucking phone.

Any greeting the other might have uttered is cut off as Hajime speaks, feeling equal relief and torment as he finally finds what he’s been trying to say all this time.

“Don’t even fucking start, Hanamaki,” he nearly sobs into the phone, “because I can’t fucking do this anymore. He told me he loves me! Why did I ever accept his confession? Why didn’t you fucking put me in a mental ward right away? Accepting him when I didn’t even feel the same! You told me I could convince myself to fall for him, but there hasn’t been some big, cheesy moment where I fucking see him ‘as if for the first time’ or what-fucking-ever!

“I can’t do this!” He shouts at the top of his lungs. He throat feels raw. “I’ve been lying to him and I hate it. I hate it. I just want my friend back. I hate doing this, I hate pretending!”

There is silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, the other person speaks. That’s when Hajime realizes—

“Well, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, voice filled with an emotion sharp like broken glass, “I didn’t realize I was so hard to love.”

—He hit the wrong contact that started with the letter ‘T’.

Chapter Text

Neither speaks for many agonizing moments. Hajime vaguely registers his heart ripping to shreds.

“Oikawa, I—”

“No!” The other shrieks. “Stop! Just...” He heaves a deep, defeated breath. Hajime hates it. “Just stop. This whole time, this whole relationship has just been...”

Hajime says nothing.

“It’s just been...” He sounds like he doesn’t even want to finish his sentence. “It’s just been fake? You never felt the same?”

He’s squeezing his phone to his ear so hard that he almost fears injury. “When I blurted out my acceptance, you just looked so happy, I didn’t want—I couldn’t—your smile was so bright—and I—I didn’t want it to go away. I swear, I never meant for any of—this to have happened, I just wanted...”

Tooru exhales slowly over the phone, his breath sounding slightly crackly. “What did you want, Hajime? What did you want from me?”

It’s so simple, really. He doesn’t know why he didn’t realize before.

“I just wanted you to keep smiling for me.”

“But it was all fake, Iwa-chan. You lied to me. Why would you do that? How could you?” His voice is raising in volume again, hoarse and defensive. “How could you do that to me? You knew how I felt about you and you just fucking—used me, like somebody who doesn’t matter, like some—some girl. Did you just—did you just like the kissing, is that it? Did you just like the validation?”

He’s choking on air. He’s going to die from guilt.

“Tooru, no,” Hajime jumps to defend, “I would never use you. Of course I liked those things but I also... I think...”

Tooru seems like he’s going to listen to what he thinks for a split second before he’s changing his mind and interrupting.

“You know what, Iwa-chan? You thought it’d make me, like, I don’t know, happy or some bullshit if you dated me out of—pity, or whatever,” his voice cracks, but he plows on, “and you thought running away from me after I told you I love you was a reasonable idea.

“So, I think I’m good. I don’t give a shit about what you think, and right now I don’t really give a shit about your stupid fucking plan to convince yourself to fall in love with me.”

He lurches, gripping his phone tighter. “No! Please, just listen to me, I know you must be hurt—”

The answering laughter is bitter and cold. Tooru sounds the way he does when he’s talking to Kageyama or Ushijima. Hajime freezes in horror at that tone being directed at him.

“I’m glad you know I must be hurt. It really fucking hurts that you lied to me, and that you dated me out of pity—of all things—but you know what hurts the most, Hajime? Do you?” He takes in a rattling breath. “It hurts that I fell in love alone!”

Hajime makes to answer, but there’s an audible click as Tooru hangs up.

He slumps back into his pillow.

...

His mother makes him leave the house the next morning, ordering him to shower, take a walk, and see about getting his notes from his friends. Evidently there was a limit to her patience with him laying in bed for an unholy amount of time.

He stands under the water in the shower feeling dirtier than ever, even though he has shampoo in his hair and bar soap on his skin.

Tooru was right. Why would he do that? How could he do that? What made him think he deserved to take the very sun’s smile for himself, to think he could make it shine brighter?

Drying his hair, he registers that his skin looks almost sallow. His mother is right—he needs to get out of the house.

He walks to the convenience store a few blocks away. He passes that cafe he and Tooru had gone to, those few weeks ago, and he forcibly turns his gaze to the sidewalk before him.

He thinks about stupid Alien-chan at one point as he’s buying some nauseating store-bought curry mix. The box is almost the same color as that ridiculous stuffed animal, and Hajime barely restrains himself from throwing it down the aisle.

“Fuck Alien-chan,” he mutters mutinously as he checks out.

The cashier looks at him strangely and a mother covers her daughter’s ears as she glares at him.

Great. Now he’s embarrassing himself in public.

He almost wishes this is in any way Tooru’s fault—then he could be angry instead of guilty.

No, wait, that’s not quite right.

He is angry, but it’s directed at himself. He doesn’t understand how Iwaizumi Hajime, someone who could always be relied on to be so blunt it was rude, had become somebody who lied to his best-friend-turned-boyfriend for over a month.

Kicking a rock out in front of him, he walks home. It skids along the sidewalk, bouncing and crashing all the way. He tries not to think about how Tooru always tells him not to “terrorize rocks” or some bullshit because he thinks that’s fucking funny.

He’s never once laughed at that joke before, but just now he thinks he might cry at it.

When he gets home, Hanamaki and Matsukawa are there. He largely ignores them as he crawls into bed, staring at the ceiling with some akin to glazed defeat in his eyes.

“What the hell do you two want?” He asks finally, when the silence becomes unbearable.

They trade glances as he watches. “We heard what happened—well, Mattsun figured it out, since Oikawa isn’t talking to us either.”

“Are you doing okay?” Matsukawa inquires from his usual position as the volunteer rug.

Hajime starts at the question, and just as suddenly begins laughing. It sounds hysteric even to his ears, and he wonders when he started going insane.

Probably when I accepted Oikawa Tooru’s fucking confession, he thinks.

He laughs so hard he cries, and then he laughs some more. Hanamaki and Matsukawa do not join in.

“Yeah, I’m doing great. I’m having the time of my fucking life.” He answers finally, having barely pulled himself together again.

Both of his friends have the decency to look a little chagrined at the stupidity of the question, though Hanamaki manages to make the expression still look condescending.

Hajime inhales deeply, trying to reign in all the turmoil that is simmering just beneath the surface.

“I wish I could have just fallen in love with him, too,” he laments, “but I can’t force it. I just wanted him to be happy and keep smiling, I—”

“God,” Matsukawa yells at him, “enough with the fucking bullshit!”

Hajime turns his head slowly, staring.

“Don’t you ever fucking wonder why your first instinct was to accept his confession?” Matsukawa explodes. “Why you were willing to do anything to keep him smiling? Why you liked kissing him and holding his hand and bought him that terrifying alien thing? Did you never consider the fact that you fell asleep when Makki was talking to you about his astronomy paper but you’ll stay up until three in the morning star gazing as long as Oikawa is with you? Did you fucking forget that you only find Oikawa attractive enough to kiss? And don’t get me fucking started on all the banter—you’re already like an old married couple! All you’d need is that signature grandpa smell!”

Hajime’s eyes are bugging out his head, jaw slightly ajar. “Wh—but, that’s just because he’s my best... friend...”

Realization dawns; slowly but surely.

“Do you think that, maybe,” Hanamaki says, much more gently than Matsukawa had made his point, “you never realized you love him, because you always have?”

That time—oh, God! That time he’d told Tooru he liked him a lot before they kissed for the first time, he’d thought he was getting too good at lying. He’d thought the tightness releasing from his chest with those words was guilt leaving, like he’d gotten used to deceiving and had stopped caring.

Was it possible, though, that he’d just been telling the truth? Had he just admitted a truth that he hadn’t realized yet?

Has his subconscious known this all along? Right now it feels like he’s been given something forbidden, told something he isn’t supposed to know. He feels like he’s been caught red-handed, or something of that nature.

He thinks about how beautiful Tooru was under those stars, how soft his lips were when he kissed him, how Hajime’s traitorous heart fawned over him the same way the fan girls he hated did... He thought about how he’d do anything, trade everything, just to keep Tooru happy.

Is he really...

“Am I really... in love with him?”

Hanamaki just smiles sadly at him. “There’s never been anyone else for you, Iwaizumi.”

He looks at the ground, hands shaking.

“If you’re honest, it’s always been him.”

It has, he knows. It’s always been Oikawa.

It’s always been Tooru.

“Well, then that raises a significant question: how the fuck am I going to fix this?”

...

Fixing it is easier said than done.

Apparently breaking your best-friend-turned-boyfriend’s heart by lying to them about loving them back and using them while in a relationship with them can cause some major damage to your friendship.

Who knew.

He and his friends labor over how to properly make up for this horrible failure of an idea, but in the end Hajime decides to just get his head out of his ass, grow a pair, and walk the fuck over to his boyfriend’s—and, what is more, best friend’s—house and apologize himself.

He’s not about to go back to lying or being someone he’s not, so he’ll do it his way. Iwaizumi Hajime is blunt, straightforward, and a little bit of a blockhead, but he gets the point across.

Marching over to the Oikawa house, Hajime steels himself and resolves not to lose his nerve.

“I love you,” he tests on the way there.

The words sound sort of awkward, like they don’t belong. Maybe they’ve been stifled so long that it’s strange to hear them acknowledged.

They’ve always been true, after all.

No one comes to the door when he knocks, nor when he yells at Tooru to open up. He briefly wonders if he’s at school, but then he remembers that it’s the weekend and there’s no way he’s at fucking school.

He vaguely remembers Tooru telling him that both of his parents would be out of town this weekend, some family trip or another. He sighs through his teeth.

Fine. If Tooru wouldn’t open the door, he’ll take drastic measures.

He walks around the side of the house and vaults over the fence into the backyard. There it is: the oldest fucking oak tree known to man.

Fun fact: when Hajime was ten he fell out of aforementioned tree and broke his right arm. Tooru cried more than he did, and he’d ended up comforting him when he was the one with a broken fucking arm.

Hajime should’ve realized then that he was totally gone for him.

Another fun fact about the tree that is a bit more pertinent to this situation: one of its branches comes near enough to the house that one could climb from it to one of the windows. This window happens to be Tooru’s.

Hajime has done this ascent many times before, especially when Tooru calls him at three in the morning crying about this or that. Always complaining on the way over, yet always running as fast as possible anyway—and never declining to come.

He heaves himself up onto the lowest hanging branch, not trusting the creaking noises the tree is making but forging on anyway. He’s shimmied up the branch nearest the house when he wonders if the window is locked.

Reaching out with his right hand, he tests it. Yep, it’s locked.

He pulls out his phone. The balance is somewhat awkward.

Me [12:37 PM]: Open your window

Tooru [12:42 PM]: r u serious rn

Me [12:42 PM]: Deadly

Tooru [12:45 PM]: fuckinf fin e

There’s a slight delay, and then finally the window swings open. Tooru stands there across from him, looking grumpy and rather unkempt. Hajime doubts he looks any better.

“Get in here before you fall out of the tree,” Tooru complains after a few seconds of mistrustful staring, “again.”

“Last time you pushed me!” Hajime defends, reciting their old argument yet another time as he swings himself across and into the window.

Tooru drops the argument, which is how Hajime knows he really pissed him off.

No—he didn’t piss him off. He broke his heart.

Shit.

Now that he’s here, it’s like he’s forgotten everything that he was going to say. Tooru is just standing there impatiently, waiting by for him to speak.

“Are you waiting for me to get to age fifty? Because I’m getting there.”

That snaps Hajime to his senses. No matter what, he will always find banter familiar and safe.

He doesn’t join it, but he does find it comforting just this once.

“You weren’t supposed to find out that way,” he blurts at last.

“Find out what? That you don’t love me or even like me? That you just did all that out of pity?”

He’s getting upset again—his eyes are shining angrily.

“No—shit, Tooru, no, that’s not what I meant.” He rushes. “I meant I was going to tell you, eventually, I just... wanted us to be more stable when I did.”

He doesn’t remember forming the words as he says them, but he finds them true anyway. Damn, his subconscious needs to start communicating better. He’s planning his future without even knowing it now?

Tooru looks at him in disbelief.

“It’s true, I swear to you. I know I haven’t been... all that honest lately, but I swear this much is true. I was going to tell you, but not like that. I wanted it to be...” He struggles to find the words. Fuck, damn it, God! He’s always struggling with words! “I wanted to be gentle. With your heart, I mean.”

“Great job you’ve done with that, Hajime,” Tooru absolutely seethes. “My heart has never felt better.”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry. I am, okay? I’m so sorry, just... Can I explain myself to you?”

Tooru looks like that’s the last thing he wants to let Hajime do, but he nods shortly in assent and sits down with him on the couch in the living room.

He looks at him with expectant eyes.

Now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to say.

Fuck it. Iwaizumi Hajime is no coward. He’ll trip over his words and say the wrong things and convey his thoughts ineffectively just so long as Tooru listens to him.

“I was talking to Matsukawa and Hanamaki today,” he begins. Tooru looks less and less hopeful with each passing second—and he hadn’t looked very hopeful to start with. “Matsukawa asked me why my knee jerk reaction to your confession was to accept if I was so sure I didn’t return your feelings.

“The fact is, at that moment, I didn’t think I felt the same way you did about me. I really didn’t. I felt terrible the whole first week because I was so guilty about getting your hopes up.”

Tooru has deflated entirely and is looking pointedly at the ground.

“Why did you do this, Iwa-chan? Why couldn’t you have let me down gently a month ago?” He asks quietly, and that’s when Hajime notices his tears.

They’re streaming softly down his face, and he looks so damn ugly when he cries.

Hajime doesn’t stop himself from cupping his face and wiping away his tears from under his eyes. Tooru stiffens, confused but not backing away.

“That’s the thing,” Hajime says, smiling a little, “a lot changed in this last month.”

Instead of comforting him, those words make Tooru cry harder. He leans into Hajime’s touch nevertheless. “You can’t have fallen in love with me in only a month.”

“First of all,” Hajime scoffs, “I think anyone could fall in love with you in any amount of time, no matter how short.

“Second, I didn’t fall in love with you in this last month, or even this last year.”

He gazes at him, eyes questioning but silent. He raises his hands to hold onto to Hajime’s forearms where they are raised so his palms can cup Tooru’s face.

“Tooru, I feel the same way for you right now that I always have.”

Tooru tries—he really does—to put on a brave face. It doesn’t work half as well as it usually does.

Working to disentangle himself from Hajime, he makes to stand. “Well, that’s just fine, Iwa-chan, it doesn’t bother me. We can be just friends, like always, and forget this whole thing ever happened—”

His voice is shaky and shrill.

Hajime pulls him back down easily. He’s unsteady, anyway.

“No, you idiot,” he laughs. He can tell Tooru can’t find anything funny enough to laugh at about this situation. “I didn’t fall in love with you this month or this year or this decade.”

Tooru makes to interrupt him, but Hajime just cuts him off.

“I think I fell in love with you the moment we met.”

Tooru’s mouth opens and closes multiple times. If Hajime’d known all it took to shut him up was to confess his love to him, he’d have done it long ago.

His brown eyes, those beautiful fucking things that never fail to make Hajime a whole lot more poetic than he is naturally, are absolutely locked on his face. He’s staring like Hajime holds all the secrets to the universe.

Hajime notices Tooru’s hands trembling as they rise from holding his forearms to brush over Hajime’s cheeks.

“You... ever since...” He murmurs dazedly.

Grinning, Hajime nods. Somehow, the revelation that had seemed so strange a few hours ago now just feels like the most natural evolution of their dynamic.

“I’ve always loved you, Tooru,” he affirms, “I just didn’t know that wasn’t how everyone felt about their best friends.”

He wants to say more, but Tooru is kissing the living daylights out of him. Crawling into his lap and working his mouth like he wants to devour him, Tooru aptly shows his feelings on Hajime’s news. Hajime appreciates his enthusiasm and responds with equal excitement.

Fuck. He wants to kiss this boy until the day he dies, wants to grow old with him and bicker with him and go bald with him and cuddle with him and tell him he loves him every single day, in every single tone and language, forever and ever. When did he get this fucking gay?

“I’m still mad at you,” Tooru snaps with halfhearted heat between kisses.

“I love you,” Hajime returns.

Whining helplessly, Tooru stops kissing him silly for a moment. He pants, hiding his face in Hajime’s neck.

“I love you, too,” he whispers finally.

They stay like that for a little, Hajime’s arms around his waist and Tooru straddling his lap. Hajime wonders how he ever thought Tooru was just a friend.

“Can we go back to making out?”

“Be romantic for two seconds, Iwa-chan!”

...

Tooru stays ‘mad’ for the next two days. After that, he seemingly forgets the entire ordeal and picks up where they left off as boyfriends.

Either way, Hajime still feels terrible. He apologizes several times after that first apology, and is more lenient than usual with Tooru’s nonsense.

Tooru takes longer coming around to their friends—“Makki and Mattsun didn’t even think their plan would work and still let you almost ruin our friendship!”—but Tooru is just dramatic, not truly one to hold grudges (unless you cross him in volleyball).

He forgives them on Tuesday at school when Hanamaki offers him a cream puff out of desperation. In fact, he burst into tears in front of the entire class they’re eating in and doesn’t stop crying until Hajime promises to buy him milk bread on the way home.

It’s nice.

Loving Tooru and knowing it—it’s nice. They hold hands even more than they did before, and apparently engage in a “disgusting amount of PDA”, though Hajime doesn’t count leaning on each other on the bus as PDA.

Really, there’s just one loose end:

Matsukawa and Hanamaki don’t seem to get the memo that Operation: Make Iwaizumi Fall In Love With Oikawa was a success and doesn’t fucking need to be continued anymore. They keep harassing them, especially during practice, until Hajime finally has e-fucking-nough.

“Damn! Iwaizumi, you really scored right here!” Matsukawa hollers, gesturing to Tooru, in front of the entire volleyball team.

Hajime shrugs. “Yep.”

“Aw, don’t—Wait, what?” Hanamaki asks.

“You never react like that to our obnoxiousness!”

Hajime sighs. “I’m tired of getting embarrassed by you two.”

Since Iwaizumi Hajime is so blunt he’s spiky, and doesn’t take any shit, he grabs his boyfriend by the shirt collar, kisses him in a way that can only be described as mature, and then smirks at the rest of the volleyball team.

Though the whole team is staring, Tooru in particular is looking at him with an absolutely whipped expression.

“I love my stupid, shitty boyfriend. If you make fun of that again, I’ll either wrestle you or kiss the shit out of him in front of you.” Hajime threatens, waving Tooru around by the collar that he’s still holding.

Kindaichi is sputtering, Yahaba is being handed several thousand yen by both Kunimi and Kyoutani, Watari has likely passed on, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki actually look speechless for once.

Tooru speaks first.

“Iwa-chan, don’t call me shitty when you’re saying you love me!”

“You’re not going to complain about being called stupid?”

“I’m not arrogant enough to pretend I’m not a little stupid.”

“Hey! Don’t say that or I’ll beat you up—get back here!”

...

Iwaizumi Hajime is very blunt. He’s been called spiky on multiple occasions, and not just because of his haircut. Hell, some people have even been straight with him and just told him, flat out, that he’s a total dick.

Still, it’s because he’s blunt that he tells his new boyfriend (“We’ve been dating for three years, stupid Hajime!” “It feels like no time at all.” “Iwa-chan! Don’t be so embarrassing!”) that he loves him every day.

He spent too long not even knowing it to keep from saying it as much as he can now that he does.