Work Text:
***
It started as an inside joke.
“Just marry me, why don’t you?”
“Can I just marry you when I turn 30?”
“Well if we were married, being roommates wouldn’t be too hard to explain.”
If only it were that easy.
If people from the outside thought about it, it does seem easy. Tooru has known Hajime for all of two decades, pushing three in a couple of years. In a parallel universe, one might say that Hajime was born waiting for Tooru, who came just a month later (Gusari, Gunjou no Sashin, 2016).
Whenever Tooru looked back on any core memory, Hajime was there. More so than his older sister, even more so than his own parents, Hajime was there.
He was there when Tooru lost his first tooth and woke the whole neighborhood with his crying. He was there when Tooru first fell off his bike and swore never to ride it again. He was there a few months later when Tooru managed to bike once around the block and talked about it for an entire week (much to Hajime’s chagrin, Tooru knew).
He was there when Tooru first went to school, because Hajime went with him. Hajime held his hand that entire day, an ever-present weight against Tooru’s palm as he faced an unfamiliar territory. But it was never really completely unfamiliar, not when Hajime was right beside him.
He was there when Tooru climbed the rungs in middle school as a genius setter. He was there when Tobio came in and engulfed Tooru’s skills in an imposing shadow, not unlike the shadow already cast over Tooru by Ushijima Wakatoshi.
He was there when Tooru crumbled in on himself, from the pressure of doing well, for never being good enough, of fighting with everything he got but always falling short.
But he was there, still, when Tooru accepted a new direction in life and set an even higher goal. He was there when Tooru told his mother and sister that he was moving to Argentina, holding Tooru’s hand the way he did when they were in Kindergarten.
And he was there at the airport, minutes before Tooru boarded the plane to leave Hajime’s side for the first time since they were born. Hajime had held his hand then too, and Tooru didn’t point out how tight Hajime gripped his fingers because he knew Hajime would let go and feel embarrassed about it. So he held Hajime’s hand just as tightly, until the last moment.
They’ve been together ever since they were born; what is the rest of their lives compared to that? So, all things considered, it does seem easy. Except it really isn’t, not from where Tooru was standing.
“Oi. Don’t fall asleep on me.”
Tooru blinked, remembering where he was.
The afternoon sun poured into his apartment as he shifted on his bed. His laptop sat precariously close to the edge, but he’d needed to plug it in after three hours straight of video calling and there was no other place on the bed that was close enough to the wall socket.
“I should be the one saying that, Iwa-chan.”
On his screen, with his face lit up by the harsh lighting of a desk lamp, probably, was Iwaizumi Hajime: bent over papers and scribbling away on his desk. His prescription glasses dangled almost at the edge of his nose, giving him quite the “old man” look Tooru loved teasing him about. Tooru knew he had to get it when they were 21, when repeated all-nighters in uni began to take effect on Hajime’s eyes.
Tooru perched his chin on his palms as he watched his best friend work. It had to be around 3 AM in Japan, but Hajime had always worked better late in the evening until the wee hours of the morning. Hence, the glasses.
“What are you working on?”
Hajime’s brow furrowed briefly as he kept scribbling. “Bokuto pulled a muscle during training a while ago, so I’m designing his rehab.”
“Hm. I hope Bokuto-san is alright.”
At that, Hajime turned to Tooru on the screen. His dark green eyes seemed to glow under the light of the desk lamp; to Tooru, they almost looked storm-cloud gray and just as turbulent. His thick brows furrowed again, but this time his gaze switched from concerned to suspicious.
“What?”
“You’re taking care of yourself over there, aren’t you?”
Tooru ignored the flutter in his stomach. “I’m not 16, Iwa-chan. I know how to take care of myself now.”
“Took you long enough.”
“Meanie!”
I had to, since you aren’t around anymore.
“And you? Are you taking care of yourself?”
Are you sleeping well? How many tumblers of coffee have you been taking to stay awake all night? Are they treating you okay? Do you miss me?
“Who do you think I am, Shittykawa?”
Tooru scoffed. “Your insults are still ridiculously juvenile.”
“Juvenile or not, they still apply.”
“Mean.” But he wasn’t offended, and they both knew it.
When they lapsed into another period of silence, Tooru was content enough to watch his best friend work.
They used to call and text each other constantly, back when Tooru first moved to Argentina and Hajime was finalizing his papers for California. Tooru quite meticulously set up a time period for them to have uninterrupted call time when Hajime started in Irvine, and despite his protests, Hajime had always shown up on time, finals and flights notwithstanding.
As time passed by and priorities started to change, daily calls became weekly and only after work hours. Tooru had his training and Iwaizumi had moved back to Japan after graduating uni, and there was much change happening in such a short time. But even then, five-hour calls in the pockets of time where they can both be awake were enough. Or rather, it left much to be desired, but it was the best they could both hope for.
Until further notice, what they had had to exist in the in-between of things, in Hajime’s twilight and Tooru’s golden hour. Short, fleeting, and — if they were both being honest — never quite enough.
Tooru tilted his head as he traced Hajime’s features with his eyes. His hair had always been atrocious, and his way of changing it up had been parting it to the side (“As if that made any difference,” Tooru had said, which Hajime naturally ignored). His bushy eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, but rather than a show of irritation or frustration, Tooru knew that such was their natural state. He imagined that was because Hajime was always focused on whatever held his attention at the moment (and despite himself, he envied such things, no matter how trivial).
His gaze dropped to Hajime’s eyes, still razor-sharp even at 3 AM as he poured over more papers and documents. His nose scrunched adorably as some dust or something else irritated it and Tooru wondered what he would do if Tooru suddenly placed a kiss on it (maybe someday, if Tooru finds himself still curious and not oceans away).
Hajime’s jaw was one to envy, especially now that it was also sporting a deep tan alongside the rest of his body from staying in California. Most people quickly lose their discipline and metabolism once they start uni, but not Iwaizumi Hajime. Apparently, being a sports professional warranted a good exercise routine, and it showed well on Hajime’s sculpted jaw and toned arms that moved like water under his shirt.
Tooru sighed, and that caught Hajime’s attention.
“What time is your afternoon training?”
And Tooru, knowing Hajime all too well, heard the unspoken question under it: don’t you want to rest before that?
“In a few hours. It’s fine.”
Another beat of silence, but this time, Tooru’s question bubbled out of his throat before he could stop it.
“Would you marry me, Iwa-chan? Hypothetically.”
Hajime didn’t miss a beat. “Hypothetically, sure, why not?”
“Why?”
This time, Hajime turned to face Tooru on the screen. Tooru suddenly wished for the half-attention he’d been getting instead of the full force of Hajime’s piercing gaze right then. Suddenly, the topic seemed uncomfortably serious. (He looked like he was about to deliver a TEDTalk.)
“Well,” he started, and Tooru had to stifle a chuckle. It does sound like a TEDTalk. “Well,” Hajime said again, “technically, if we put record into account, no one knows me better than you do. It took me my whole life to reach this level of knowing you, and I don’t think I would have the energy to go out there and meet someone else to get to know them the way and depth that I know you.”
Exactly, but Tooru kept that to himself.
“And,” Hajime added, “in my knowing of you, this subconscious checklist I have for a future partner is all ticked off.”
Now that’s interesting. “You have a list?”
The sound Hajime made was non-committal. He sighed and stretched out on his chair, his shirt riding up and exposing his tanned torso and scarce happy trail that Tooru couldn’t help but stare at.
“Yes, I have a list,” was all he said of the matter. And then, he added, “Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Marry me.”
There were a number of things that Tooru could have said, all suspiciously synonymous to “hell yes”. But knowing Hajime, if he didn’t so much as pause to think or consider or weigh the possibilities, Hajime wouldn’t believe him.
So instead, he said, “I’d consider it, yeah.”
“Why so?”
Tooru frowned. “Well, like you said. You know me in ways no one ever will, if only for the fact that you’ve had so much time to get to know me. And please, we’re nearing our 30s, Iwa-chan. I’m not saying that it would be impossible to look for someone else this late in the game, but for me personally, I wouldn’t have the time or energy for it. Not with my career at least.”
“Does that mean you’d be settling for me?”
Tooru considered it. “Not exactly. It’s more of, with everything I know about you, and for how well and much you know me, I’d choose you over someone I’m still yet to meet. Hypothetically.”
“Right. Hypothetically.”
Tooru didn’t miss that mutter, even if Hajime meant for it to go under the radar. His heart began to beat faster.
“Ne, Iwa-chan.”
“Hm?”
“Do you remember what I told you when my girlfriend broke up with me?”
Hajime chuckled as he crossed his arms and sat back against his chair. The familiar sound of it warmed Tooru from the inside out. “That’s in, what, second year? What didn’t you say back then?”
“Do you remember?”
Can I just marry you when I turn 30?
The distant look in Hajime’s eyes, coupled with a dusting of pink on his face told Tooru that he did remember. There was no need to remind him, no need to give word to what the memory was.
After a pause, he said in a tone he hoped would come out as casual, “You know, gay marriage is legal here in Argentina.”
Hajime had been taking a swig of his coffee right then, and the declaration had him sputtering and hacking. When he finally recovered, he turned to face Tooru. But if he intended his look to be threatening, all Tooru saw in his eyes was a wild hope battling it out with some semblance of sense.
His indignance came out in one harsh syllable. “So?”
Tooru didn’t know where he got the courage. He was supposed to get up from bed and prepare for training in a few minutes. A dash of recklessness gripped him. A fight or flight response, if you will.
“Come live here with me, Iwa-chan. I could get you a job as our athletic trainer. You could stay here in my apartment, at least until we find a new one that you’d like. Just be here with me.”
Marry me.
Hajime was full-on red in the face; the harsh lighting of his desk lamp did nothing to hide it. Tooru bit back a smile.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You know.”
He knows. Tooru knows that he knows. Because he’s his Iwa-chan.
“I have to go. Think about it, seriously.”
Before Hajime could protest, Tooru ended the call and jumped out of bed. His nerves tingled with both excitement and fear at what he had done.
Oh god, what if I did something wrong? What if he won’t be friends with me anymore? What if we’re done? God Tooru, you fucking moron.
His internal monologue got cut off with a message notification. The name read “Iwa-chan”. Tooru steeled his nerves before swiping to open it.
Iwa-chan (received 3:43 PM)
Don’t think this gets you out of getting me a ring, Shittykawa.
Propose properly, and maybe I’ll think about it.
Good night.
***