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Summary
“I have a lot more than luck,” the guy leans in, and Hajime briefly considers the ideal possibility that the music had drowned out the first of his words when the idiot deigns to continue, “And I’m sure I could show you a better time. He doesn’t have to know.” Hajime feels angry ice crackle in his chest at the mere concept the fuckface is trying to sell.
“Very, very unlikely. Bold fucking assumption, really.” His lip rolls up on one side, and his eyebrows further furrow. The guy is leaning in, for some reason, and he’s about to get in a fucking fight when there’s a hand on his shoulder, and a familiar weight against his side.
“I’m sorry,” Tooru’s cheery voice begins, “He’s not interested. Why would he be, really? Look at you.”
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Hajime knows Tooru better than anyone. Harder, deeper and more passionately than anyone. More Intimately and pleasurably and-
So he knows when Tooru is upset, and since they're only at the club for Tooru anyway, he's more than willing to head home and go to bed.
They don't end up sleeping, that's for sure.
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