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Tooru is sprawled on their couch, watching clips from his last volleyball match. Hajime tells him it’s obsessive and a waste of his time, especially since the whole team goes over them in practice anyway. Tooru never listens.
The rain is pittering on the window and the low light of the tv and Hajime’s computer casts an ambient light over the room. His back is to Tooru, the desk facing the window. Hajime has drawn back the curtains so he can watch the rain while he works, occasionally looking up from the screen to rub his eyes and watch the raindrops fall down the window.
Tooru is really only watching this old game because he’s waiting for Hajime to be done studying. He can’t stand to not be preoccupied, his brain constantly moving and thinking, so he watches it a few times, scribbling some notes on a notepad in his lap. As the next set begins on the tv, he looks over at Hajime, his head resting in his hand. Hajime’s head is tilted to look at his online anatomy textbook, his eyes lazily scanning the screen. His hair is messier than usual. He’s been running his hands through it as he studies.
Tooru watches him click through some questions, finding himself staring at his hands for much longer than he probably should have. Hajime’s hands are thick and strong, but Hajime is so sweet and gentle when he holds Tooru, when he holds his hand, touches his cheek. He’s seen the way Hajime spikes a ball with such force the threads could come loose, but when his calloused fingers come to slide his bangs away from his forehead, the touch is soft, so sweet it hurts. He looks away when he begins to think of what else Hajime can do with his hands, a blush rising to his face.
It never ceases to amaze Tooru that he’s the only one (except maybe their mothers) that ever gets to see this side of Hajime. This soft, unguarded side. Hajime is usually so closed off, a gruff exterior that would scare most people away, but Tooru has never been fazed. It fills Tooru with a sense of pride, a sense of wonder that out of all of the people in the universe, Hajime picked him, Oikawa Tooru, to see him at his most vulnerable. There’s something so domestic about seeing him like this, and he wonders if this is what it means to be in love.
Tooru has never met a person who has so consistently made room for him, who has repeatedly made Tooru feel like he belongs. There’s nothing else to it. Tooru belongs with Hajime. It’s one of the unspoken laws of the universe. There is no reality where Tooru and Hajime do not find each other.
Everyone else has always taken Tooru in at surface level, not bothering to look past the self-centered smiles or the petty comments. Tooru will never be able to express how it feels to be understood so completely by another human being. Hajime has never put up with any of Tooru’s superficial bullshit. He sees through it all, and he still finds Tooru worth being with.
Tooru sits on the couch, looking at the one person who’s ever looked at Tooru like he’s worth more than some social boost or a pretty face (even though he does have a very pretty face, Iwa-chan tells him so). Hajime looks so beautiful, the light from his computer casting harsh shadows onto his handsome face (not fair, by the way, that Hajime is so naturally pretty. Tooru has to spend an hour every morning to even look somewhat presentable). He sees Hajime’s lips pull into a pout, his brows furrowing as he reads something he doesn’t understand.
Suddenly Tooru is hit with the feeling that they’re too far apart. There’s too much space between them. This is unacceptable. So, naturally, the next course of action is for Tooru to quietly get off the couch, slink over to Hajime, and drape his entire body over his boyfriend's back. Much better.
Tooru nuzzles his cheek into Hajime’s spiky hair, putting his entire face onto his head and breathing in the smell of his shampoo.
“Iwa-chan, you smell so good,” he says, but it comes out muffled and unintelligible. He feels Hajime laugh underneath him.
“What are you doing up there, stupid?” Hajime asks, no real malice to his voice. There’s a softness to it that makes Tooru feel like his heart is being wrung out and laid to dry in the sun. He looks up and kisses the top of Hajime’s head.
“I said you smell good, but that’s probably because I got you to start using actual conditioner, you animal. 3-in-1 shampoos are a crime in over 37 countries you know, Iwa-chan,” he says, burying his face again. Hajime reaches up and lightly smacks him on the head, but the threat is subdued quickly as he ruffles Tooru’s hair, his fingers threading through each lock. It makes him shiver a little, so he tightens his grip around Hajime’s neck and sighs.
“When are you gonna stop studying? My Iwa-chan attention levels are falling dangerously low, do you want me to go into cardiac arrest, Hajime?” Tooru asks, tapping his fingers on Hajime’s chest. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, and he can only imagine it smells like the new detergent they bought together the other day.
Hajime heaves a big sigh, “I guess now is as good a time as ever.”
Tooru takes the opportunity to close his laptop, spinning Hajime’s chair around to face him.
“Great! That’s just what I was thinking. Can't have you working too hard, Iwa-chan, that little brain of yours can only take so much,” Tooru teases him, tapping his forehead. Hajime grabs his hand as he goes in again to poke him, pretending to bite his fingers off.
Tooru whines, pulling his hand away from him. “You’re such an animal, Hajime, really. That’s not how you hold a pretty boy’s hand,” he explains, intertwining Hajime’s fingers with his and pulling him up from the computer chair. Tooru tugs him down the hall towards their bedroom impatiently. Hajime squeezes his fingers once. Tooru squeezes back.
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really. Honestly, Iwa-chan, did anyone teach you any manners as a child?”
“Apparently not,” Hajime sits on the edge of the bed and tugs their still linked hands so Tooru stands in between his knees.
Hajime looks up at Tooru with the fondest look on his face. Like nothing could make him more content than just looking at Tooru. The moment slides away from underneath him, and they’re just looking at each other like the Earth has stopped turning. Honestly, Tooru doesn’t think he’d look away even if aliens invaded the earth right this second, and that’s saying a lot. Hajime’s shine even in the darkness of the room. They’re looking at each other and nothing else matters.
Tooru doesn’t think anyone could ever feel for someone the way he does for Hajime. This love is unique, one of a kind, transcendent. It fills his chest until Tooru thinks he might explode. Some people might say it’s boring or predictable to stay with someone you’ve known your whole life. Tooru disagrees. There’s something remarkable about being with someone who’s seen every side of you and after all these years, all of the low points and the high points, still continues to choose to be with you. Tooru thinks it’s extraordinary.
Tooru can’t help the small, sideways smile that pulls across his face. Thinking sappy thoughts about Hajime always makes him feel like a lovestruck puppy, looking at his boyfriend like that.
He bends down and untangles their fingers to squish Hajime’s cheeks together so he looks like a fish.
Hajime gives him an incredulous look, and his furrowed eyebrows make it even more hilarious as he tries to call him an asshole with his face pressed together like that.
“What was that Iwa-chan? I can’t hear you,” Tooru laughs.
Hajime flops back onto the bed, pulling Tooru with him, who lets out a very dignified and graceful squawk, thank you very much.
Hajime scoots them up towards the head of the bed so he can pull the covers over them, then he flips them so his upper body is covering Tooru’s. His hair is in his eyes, so he releases a little puff of air to try and move it. Hajime’s face hovers over Tooru’s, his forehead only inches away from his own. His eyes are scanning all over Tooru’s face—all over his eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally landing on his lips.
Tooru’s breath quickens slightly in anticipation. His hair is still in his stupid eyes, and he wishes he could move it out of the way so he could see Hajime. His back is to the window so the moon illuminates Hajime’s figure above him. Tooru tries to lift a hand to brush his bangs away when he realizes Hajime has both of his arms pinned down as he hovers above him. His hands are big and rough from years of spiking balls and spending most of his days outside.
The way they now incircle Tooru’s wrists is so gentle. It makes him feel like something to be cherished, something important. Hajime intertwines their fingers and leans down to brush his lips against Tooru’s. Tooru leans up to try and deepen the kiss, but Hajime keeps it light and soft.
Tooru pouts and turns his face away, sticking his lower lip out. He feels a hand remove itself from his own and move to the side of his face. Hajime turns Tooru’s face towards him and kisses him, harder this time. Tooru forgets about his petty pouting at the sight. Every coherent thought leaves his brain, only to be replaced by Hajime, Hajime, Hajime.
Tooru tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Their lips slide against each other, slow and sweet. Tooru brings the hand not holding Hajime’s up to slide into his boyfriend’s hair and slips his tongue into Hajime’s mouth. Hajime makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and shifts so his body is completely over Tooru’s trapping his hips in between his knees. It’s so easy to get caught up in Hajime’s mouth (it’s a very talented one you know). Tooru would be happy to spend the rest of his life kissing Hajime, volleyball be damned.
When Hajime pulls away, he’s smiling down at Tooru. Once again, Tooru is completely taken by Hajime. He’s charmed by everything Hajime does. From the way his hair has grown out to almost past his eyes, to his gigantic biceps, to the handsome smile that graces his face when he looks at Tooru.
He can’t help but pull Hajime down so his head is resting on Tooru’s chest. Hajime scoots up to snuggle into Tooru’s neck, wanting to be closer still. Tooru wraps both arms around him and squeezes.
“So, my sweet Hajime, did you actually learn anything or did my good looks take up all of your brain space?”
“Dumbass,” Hajime says quietly, and his head shakes as Tooru laughs.
“You know you’re all I ever think about anyway,” he continues quietly, like there’s some finality to it. Tooru squeezes him closer, if only to put a stop to the way his chest compresses when Hajime says it.
“But, actually, I think I might fail this time, so fuck off, Shittykawa,” Hajime says with absolutely no malice. It’s hard to sound angry when you’re being cuddled by your boyfriend.
“You’ll do fine. You always do.”
Hajime just sighs and takes their joined hands and fiddles with Tooru’s fingers—tangling and untangling them, stroking them up and down, gently pulling them one by one.
“Hey, Hajime.”
“Hmm?” Hajime’s voice is relaxed and sleepy. Tooru feels like he could melt into the sound of his voice, it’s edges soft with sleep as the clock at their bedside flashes some sort of ungodly time to even think about being awake.
He waits a moment, trying to think for once before opening his mouth. None of the words feel quite right for the moment, as if humanity had never had the time to come up with words to describe such a feeling.
“Thank you,” Tooru says finally, the words soft with a whisper. He’s running his fingers through Hajime’s messy hair. Tooru thinks about how it’ll look in the morning when he wakes up with Hajime’s back pressed against his chest.
Hajime lifts his head and raises an eyebrow questioningly. Tooru just lifts his free hand and waves it around in an all encompassing gesture.
“You know, all of this. Being with me and making sure I never have to put on a show with you.” Now that he’s saying it out loud Tooru feels a little silly. He always does expressing his feelings so openly like this. Of course, he was always one for grand gestures, but they were typically superficial. Nothing could make him feel so vulnerable like this. He thinks Hajime can tell, because he shifts then to look at him, his chin still resting on his chest.
“Tooru, you’re all I’ve ever wanted, stupid. Like any of this is a favor for you,” Hajime’s reply is smooth, like he knew exactly what Tooru was thinking. He takes Tooru’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing each knuckle. Tooru can’t help but smile at that. Hajime says it so bluntly, like it’s common sense. That’s how he is and always has been, though, and it puts Tooru at ease. He can feel his eyelids start to slip closed, and his hands combing through Hajime’s hair slow down as he drifts off.
“Goodnight, Tooru.” And really, that’s all he ever has to say to make the darkness of their bedroom and the slow rain on the windows feel like home. A home where he can lay himself bare, content in the warmth of Hajime’s unwavering love.
“Yeah, goodnight. I love you ‘jime,” Tooru says, slow and sleepy.