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Time passes mercilessly, as it does, and Hajime marches into tall grass and tree branches with his butterfly net against his shoulder.
He's eight, finished with school for the summer and ready to dominate the world as he knows it. He's going to catch a bug today—a big one—and prove to that stupid imaginary voice that he isn't weird for have such an 'eccentric pastime'. Bug-catching is an art, and Hajime is a veteran.
He makes it about halfway into his adventure before an annoyingly familiar voice rings out from behind him. It's like a fast-coming tide chasing him as he runs up the shore, but he lets it brush against his ankles anyway. There's a satisfaction there that he can't quite place.
Hajime turns to face his best friend, Oikawa Tooru, his name exemplifying a transparent river and his eyes holding the very stars in the galaxy. The sight of them makes Hajime feel funny, as if he's watching the entire world turn in the irises of his friend's eyes. Maybe Hajime could give Tooru the Earth in itself—every mountain, every ocean, every insect and every star.
But he won't, because even though Tooru is the center of the universe, he is a pain.
Perhaps Hajime doesn't mind pain, because he waits for his friend to catch up to him. He stops in his tracks, not even bothering to turn around. "What do you want?" Any bite to those words comes off too weak on his tongue.
"Come hit some—hit my sets. I wanna," Tooru exhales once, twice, trying to catch his breath, "I wanna try something out." Brunette waves fall over his face as he bends over, one hand on his knee and volleyball tucked under his other arm. He has the audacity to look that worn out over a simple jog over to the edge of the woods, quite literally right next to his house. He'll never be a legendary athlete if he can't even catch his breath from a run that short, Hajime muses, but he opts not to say anything that will make the other pout.
"I'm busy," he replies instead, and ends up spinning to face Tooru. "Help me catch a bug bigger than your hand, then I'll play with you."
Tooru folds his arms over the volleyball and frowns, and it looks suspiciously like the beginning of his signature pout. "Why would I do that? Bugs are gross."
"You're just a wuss," Hajime jabs uselessly, then starts off for the woods and motions for Tooru to follow him, "c'mon." He knows that Tooru will most definitely not help out with his task, if he even agrees to go along, but Hajime does, in fact, want to go over and hit some of his friend's sets.
They venture into the shallow woods together, Hajime leading the way with hawk eyes scanning every tree while Tooru trails behind him, humming some pop song Hajime has heard on the radio too many times. It bugs him.
Tooru's whole existence bugs him, and he's not sure he'll ever know exactly why.
There's a rustle in some leaves. Tooru jumps a little with a soft gasp that's barely audible over the crunch of their steps. Hajime laughs under his breath.
Oikawa Tooru is like a cicada, he decides. He is harmless, laughably so. He is everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and no matter how hard Hajime tries to pin him down, he can't. He is too quick and too ambitious, always taking the opportunity to fly away. Whenever Hajime finally gets him in his grasp, the boy is gone the very next second.
It's frustrating, but Hajime lets him. He lets Tooru escape every single time, because he knows he'll just try again later. He always does.
Hajime's gaze zeroes in on something sticking to a tree trunk, whirring and flitting, about the size of his entire palm.
He grins. "Gotcha."
He hears Tooru stop abruptly behind him as Hajime readies his net, hands wrapped around the base and held out slightly in front of him. Time is still passing mercilessly, so Hajime takes his chance before it's gone. In a swift movement, he swipes the net against the tree, right over when the cicada was stalling. There's a whack! from the impact, and he sees the insect, clear as day, writhing around in the butterfly net.
There are a few seconds of pride that he savours as he examines the cicada under the white net. Tooru steps up beside him and peers over his shoulder, little nothings of "good job, Iwa-chan" and "whoa, you did it!" cascading from his lips.
The more he looks down at the creature behind a window of white mesh, the more slippery his satisfaction of the catch becomes. It gets him thinking too much, and Tooru's presence next to him starts burning into his side.
Oikawa Tooru is like a cicada, too quick and too ambitious, and it never feels right to keep him boxed in when Hajime knows he was meant for grand and greater things. Tooru's existence bugs him, but seeing him held back from his potential bugs him even more.
Hajime lets the cicada go.
"Wha—why'd you do that, Iwa-chan!"
Hajime shrugs. "It shouldn't be trapped." He lets his arm with the butterfly net fall to his side. "It'll come back, and I'll be back to catch it, then I'll let it go and do it all over again." There's a soft rush of wind that pushes through Tooru's bangs when Hajime looks over at him. "Let's go, toss me some of your sets."
With the world in their eyes, they walk back to Tooru's yard to hit a ball over a net, and Oikawa Tooru the cicada seems to fly.
They're ten when Tooru sits on a beige cot with loud crinkly paper draped over it. The walls are sleekly white, a clock hung over the doorway, and Hajime squirms in his chair. He doesn't like this place.
Tooru doesn't seem as bothered, but a grimace glides over his features as an older lady presses firmly on his knee. Another press a bit lower elicits a sharp intake of breath through Tooru's teeth.
As much as Hajime may claim to detest him, it's difficult to watch Tooru suffer any sort of pain. Hajime knows he can take it, of course. Tooru is probably the strongest person he knows and Hajime envies him for it. Still, he can't quite bring himself to watch as Tooru's eyes squeeze shut, unmistakable pain glittering over his face.
"I'm fine, Iwa-chan, it doesn't even hurt that bad," he'll say.
Hajime knows it's well the obverse, but he knows Tooru better. Anything he'd try to say would go in through the boy's ear and out the other.
Maybe when they're older, and even stronger, he would say something. He'd tell Tooru not to push himself beyond his limits, say it's okay to ask for help, it's okay to take a break. But he doesn't think he has the strength yet. Not when Tooru is clearly in great discomfort with his overworked knee and with the progression of his passion. He'd tell him those things later, in the future.
A part of Hajime doesn't want there to be a 'later'. He doesn't want the inevitable future.
It sounds like a dark thought, but in all honesty, he's just afraid. No, not afraid. He's worried. Worried that what is happening in front of his eyes is going to happen again, and it's going to get worse. Things always seem to get worse, and Hajime's tactful neglect was running out of time.
He'd rather be catching another cicada right now instead of watching his best friend wail softly as his he gets leg pulled and kneaded, but he won't leave. How could he? How could he leave when the one person he ever felt secure with needed him there with him?
Hajime would reach up and pull down the sun with his bare hands if it guaranteed Tooru's comfort.
After another hiccup of pain from Tooru, Hajime at last glances over at him and meets his eyes. Tooru's bottom lip is caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed and eyes glassed over, ever so slightly. Hajime hates it.
He gives a small smile though, hoping it will make up for any time Hajime threw Tooru violently to the ground during a play fight, or called him a mean name that came off more cruel than he'd meant it.
Despite all odds, Tooru smiles back, and warmth finally settles back down again in Hajime's chest. He knew he could do it, because Tooru is strong. He dances with clouds while walking firmly on the ground, and sends stars up into the air over a netting of space's strings. Hajime wants to keep that smile engraved in his mind for an eternity and another.
Tooru's mom drives them home after that. There's now a white brace secured firmly around Tooru's knee, and Hajime watches him as he looks out the window.
Minutes pass, then Tooru says, "Say, Iwa-chan, do you think I'll still be able to play volleyball when I'm older?"
The inquiry is quiet, soft, like silk passing through Tooru's lips, and Hajime doesn't know quite how to answer. He could tell Tooru what he wants to hear, that this is just simply a little bump in the road and he'll be dominating the court in the future, just like he's supposed to. Or, he could tell him what he needs to hear, that Hajime isn't entirely sure, and he shouldn't do anything that could make things worse.
They always seem to get worse.
Something makes him hesitate though. It could be the real worry laced in between Tooru's words, or it could be how he doesn't think Tooru will back down for a second. Volleyball was Tooru's second nature, and although he may not have been born to play, he was destined to. Hajime doesn't even believe in destiny, but considering how much he dreads the future, maybe he should start.
He feels the same unfamiliar yet easing warmth bloom inside him again as he spares a glance towards his friend, and provides a genuine answer.
"Yeah, of course," he says. "You can do anything, you know."
Tooru's smile reflects in the window, and Hajime knows right then that it's true.
"You're doing it wrong, Trashykawa."
"Ugh! Well then, why don't you show me how, Mr. Perfect!"
Hajime undoes the poorly-tied tie and straightens it out over Tooru's chest. They're sixteen now, getting ready to attend a school festival, and Hajime curses at how Tooru's getting taller and taller than him by the second. He has to tilt his head up to just meet the other's eyes, and Tooru's smug about it every damn time.
He takes the thicker strand and folds it over the other, then follows the correct sequence to secure it on Tooru's neck. As he pushes the knot up higher, his knuckle brushes Tooru's bare collarbone, and Hajime feels him stiffen slightly. A recognisable rosy colour fades up his neck and ears, and Hajime smirks despite himself. He can't judge because his own heart rate picks up against his will.
"There," he coughs out, avoiding his gaze and laying the tie flat against Tooru.
Tooru looks down at him (that fucker) a little longer than necessary with an unreadable expression, before breaking out into a small smile. "Thanks, Iwa-chan."
Hajime has to try extra hard not to let his own blush take over as he turns and puts his own on.
The festival is fun so far, and Hajime decides he doesn't regret coming. The two of them ended up meeting up with their friends, Makki and Mattsun, when they arrived, and the four of them walked down the streets for a while, messing around and probably earning lots of stares from their noise. Makki and Mattsun have gone off now to who knows where, leaving Hajime sitting on a bench with Tooru as they watch other classmates and their families stroll down the paths with food and prizes.
Tooru fiddles with his koi fish keychain he bought and holds out half of his food to Hajime. "Taiyaki?"
Hajime wordlessly accepts the offer and stuffs it into his mouth, returning his attention to in front of him.
He feels Tooru shift a bit. "Iwa-chan?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you like Ayumi-san?"
Hajime's brows furrow, puzzled at the question. "No, why?"
"Nothing, nothing. I just saw you talking to her by the vending machines." Tooru kept his eyes ahead. "She was smiling and blushing a lot. I thought you asked her out."
"Oh." Hajime didn't even notice. He was just asking her if she could share English notes with him. "Nah, she's just a classmate. Definitely didn't ask her out." He hesitates, looking over at Tooru. "Why, do you like her?"
Tooru just snorts, seemingly more at ease as he leans against the back of the bench. "You're funny, Iwa-chan."
"God, are you ever gonna let that name drop?" Hajime groans.
Tooru grins, but it's not mocking like Hajime expects it to be. It's kinder, somewhat doting, and it wouldn't have been familiar on Tooru's face a few years ago. It started becoming more common, however, especially since they got out of middle school. Maybe this is what growing up is doing to Tooru. Hajime can't say he hates it, though.
"No, I don't think so," Tooru breathes out. "You like it, Iwa-chan, I know you do."
Hajime takes his pause to really look at his best friend; his skin reminds him of a porcelain doll, as creepy as it sounds, and he bears a striking resemblance to a Greek god. Every curve and cut of his face is perfect, the slight wave of his hair is perfect, his stature and build is just perfect. Hajime would be jealous, but it's blinded by something else. Adoration, perhaps.
Hajime banishes the thought as quickly as it comes. He can admire Tooru, sure, but anything more summons that funny feeling again that he's highly uncertain about. He'll use that same tactful neglect, anything to push it away.
Maybe this is what growing up is doing to Hajime.
Just like Hajime feared, life passes even quicker and he's eighteen before he knows it.
He's not even sure when his time seemed to escape his hands, like a quick bounding insect he can't quite catch, but as he sits on his bed with Tooru pressed up against him under a mountain of blankets, everything has seemed to slow.
They're watching some old American sci-fi film Tooru picked out—Hajime hasn't really been paying attention. He can't keep himself from getting distracted at the dizzying sensation of Tooru's hand resting on his knee. He seems fully enthralled in the movie, though, so it has to be an subconscious thing. But it's like a blazing heat against Hajime's clothed skin that just seems to tingle more and more the longer he thinks about it.
He shouldn't even be feeling this way. Tooru's his best friend, they've touched plenty of times. Hell, they've taken baths together when they were younger as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was, he supposes.
But things are different now. Hajime isn't sure how, but they are. Something must have happened as they got older, because now whenever Tooru so much as rests a hand on him—such a harmless, trivial thing!—Hajime's breath quickens and a rush of heat surges through his ribs.
So, he can only do what he does best. He shoves and punches and insults, albeit good naturedly, just to try and override the fizzy feeling Tooru seems to curse him with. Oikawa Tooru is a cicada, annoying and garish and too harmless for his own good, yet Hajime is still too much of a coward to act on any of these feelings, whatever they are.
Tooru's hand is still there. Hajime leaves it.
The movie's over now, and it seems like the main character is saying goodbye to the alien that apparently visited him. There's sentimental music playing, and Hajime hears Tooru sniffle next to him.
"No way," he says under his breath, whipping his head so he's fully facing Tooru, whose eyes are red-rimmed and shiny. "There's no way," he repeats, a little louder.
"It was sad, Iwa-chan!" Tooru whines, snivelling again. When Hajime throws him a look dangling between incredulousness and mockery, Tooru throws his head back and laughs.
It's the prettiest sound Hajime's ever heard.
"You're so weird," he says, his own grin forming as he nudges Tooru with his body. Tooru is full-on giggling now and they two somehow manage to end up scuffling on Hajime's bed, twisting the blankets and almost knocking each other off.
"You're the one who's obsessed with bugs!" Tooru cries out in between laughs, trying to push Hajime off from where he has him pinned to the bed by the elbows.
Hajime notices Tooru's face flushing and pointedly chooses to ignore it. His tactful neglect at its finest. He grasps a pillow from beside him and barks out a laugh at how Tooru's eyes widen a bit. "At least bugs are actually real, Loserkawa."
The pillow comes down at lightning speed against Tooru's face, and he yelps in surprise while trying to wriggle out of under Hajime.
Before Hajime can think about the fact that Tooru is literally under him, time speeds back up and Tooru takes advantage of his loosened grip, sliding out from underneath his arms. He's still laughing as he crawls hurriedly across the bed to hide under the blankets.
Hajime stays frozen in his spot as the sight ingrains itself in his mind—Tooru on his back with a furious blush across his features, giggling like a maniac while trapped under Hajime's hold. Whatever he had left of his tactful neglect was now surely gone, and everything hits him all at once like a train.
He is insanely in love with his best friend.
He mentally curses at himself. So this is what growing up has done to him.
It's scary, and confusing, and the feelings only seem to intensify now that he's established them, but he's still high on adrenaline from their little tussle and Hajime instantly remembers every play-fight they've had on this very bed.
Just to satisfy this memory of a childhood far away from him now, Hajime bounds over to where Tooru is hidden under the blankets and reaches under. He finds his waist and starts tickling, and another round of erupting laughter rings throughout his bedroom.
"Iwa-chan!" he squeals, "St-aha!-stop it!" He twists and thrashes as he tries to escape Hajime once again, and the latter can't help but beam brightly. His mind travels back to the time when he had caught the cicada with his new butterfly net.
He grins, just like he had ten years ago, and looks at Tooru instead of a cicada, cackling beneath him.
"Gotcha."
Tooru reaches up and grabs at Hajime's biceps, still shouting at him to stop. There's a grin on his lips and twinkling stars tumble out of his mouth.
"Tooru," he breathes out. Hajime knows his face is heating up, he knows it.
His friend's laughter subsides slowly until it's completely died out, and Hajime stops tickling him. Tooru's eyes are blown wide, his own cheeks tinted scarlet.
"Yes, Iwa-chan?" Breathless.
"I love you." Just as breathless.
Time slows down again. Hajime is still on top of him, breathing heavily as he tries not to let his heart combust right then and there. Tooru, face now notably a few shades darker, has his mouth parted in what Hajime can only identify as shock.
Then, as quickly as the laughter was gone, it's back again, softer this time. Tooru's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Aw, Iwa-chan. Love you too."
"Tooru," Hajime tries again, "Listen to me. I'm in love with you."
"...Hajime—"
"Jesus, I'm so in love with you it's not even funny, and it's been driving me crazy for so long that I—"
"Hajime!" Tooru interrupts, sitting up to hold onto the other's shoulders. "I... I love you too."
Their faces are breaths apart, and Hajime doesn't think they've ever been this close before. Before he can think, he's pressing his forehead against Tooru's and the last thing he sees is Tooru's soft smile before there's no space left between them.
Never in a million years did Hajime think he'd be kissing his childhood friend, but the future holds many surprises. Tooru's lips are soft just like his smile, and Hajime slowly pushes him back against the wall against his bed. He stays there, straddled over Tooru while his fingers toy with the strands of his perfect hair. Tooru's hands are roaming Hajime's chest and the heat between them is almost suffocating.
Maybe things didn't always have to get worse.
Hajime pulls away for air and can't believe how sickeningly whipped he is for the man in front of him, half-lidded eyes, sheeny lips, and crimson cheekbones. He doesn't understand how Tooru can be so beautiful at any given moment.
"Does this mean we have to like... date?"
Tooru chuckles at that, and it's still the prettiest sound Hajime's ever heard. "If you want to," he says. He tilts his head up and traces a finger along Hajime's jaw, painfully slow. "Hajime... can I kiss you again?"
Hajime nods, momentarily speechless. He rests a hand on Tooru's warm shoulder as he finds his words, "I told you, you can do anything."
Tooru pulls him forward with the strength he's always had, and Hajime's heart leaps. He gets pushed to the bed surface while Tooru crawls over him, and Hajime is overtaken with a flood of adoration and warmth.
Oikawa Tooru is the center of the universe, and Hajime will give the world to him.
In the corner of the room, an old butterfly net leans against the wall, holding the gentle past of a bug-catcher and his cicada.