Archive of Our Own

i. youth

Hajime’s never been the best with words. He, without a doubt, considers himself to be a more actions speak louder than words kind of guy, and not a cell in his brain has even considered altering that about himself. It’s who he is; one of his defining characteristics right up there with his love for volleyball and tank tops. Besides, it’s not something he can change that easily, anyway.

Oikawa Tooru, on the other hand, is a different story. He always wants verbal attention; he cries, he screams, and if someone doesn’t come up to tell him how strong or good he is, he’ll be in a sour mood for the rest of the day. And they have to be words. Actions won’t do; he’ll just pretend they aren’t there.

Looking back, Hajime isn’t exactly sure how they clicked so easily—he blames the incredible amount of time their mothers spent together when they were pregnant—but he’s not complaining (much).

It’s nice, he thinks, to have someone else to fill in the gaps your heart can’t.

Even at just eight years old, he knows and understands that, though he probably wouldn’t be able to describe the feeling. They’re far from what anyone would call similar, but they don’t have to be. Puzzle pieces are never identical, anway.

But, of course, they don’t always get along.

“—you stepped on the beetle!” Hajime yells at the top of his lungs, stomping his foot on the wooden porch. The new bug net he got for his birthday earlier in the month sits half on the grass and half on the pavement, the excitement of showing it off long forgotten. Sunlight is streaming through into the backyard through the many lush trees towering above them, though it doesn’t do much to help with the sweltering heat. Both Tooru and Hajime are sweating buckets.

He just wants to jump into an ice bath.

He knows he’s being petty, and it wasn’t even Tooru’s fault to begin with—Hajime may have or may not have intentionally brought the six-legged bug a little too close to Tooru’s face just to see what his reaction would be, only for Tooru to scream, knock it out of his hand and onto the ground, then proceed to step on it.

Hajime’s still upset, though. He spent a half hour trying to capture it; he thinks he has the right to be a little ticked off.

“It was gross anyway,” Tooru huffs, crossing his arms. He impatiently taps his feet against the floor. “I would never forgive you if you brought that into the house.”

“I wasn't going to, dumbhead!”

“Y—you’re a dumbhead! You only like bugs and dirt and arm wrestling and—and—”

“Oh yeah? What’s better, then?”

“...Um. Aliens.”

Hajime resists the urge to roll his eyes, and hard. “Don’t tell me you’re still obsessed with those weird things.”

“The do—documentary said they were real, okay?”

“You really believe that dumb thing?”

Tooru lets out an exasperated groan and lets himself fall onto the ground. “Aghh, shut up about dumb, Hajime! Is that all you know how to say?”

“Just being around you makes me lose brain cells.”

“You—!” Tooru looks offended, and he quickly stands up. “I—I hate you! Shut up!”

“You shut up.”

“No, you shut up!”

“You sh—”

“Boys!” a familiar voice yells, and Hajime and Tooru turns their heads toward the door in unison to see Tooru's mother standing expectantly in the doorway, holding a pen the way someone might hold a knife. (Not that he would know.)

“Yes, Okaa-san?” Tooru says innocently. Hajime glares at him.

“Don’t play games with me, Tooru,” she scolds him, though it’s also directly toward him, so he doesn't laugh. “You two were fighting. First, apologize to each other. As well, I heard both of you using words you shouldn’t be using. Where did you even hear those, anyway?”

Hajime and Tooru exchange glances.

Hajime averts his gaze. “Nowhere.”

“Do I need to call Iwaizumi-san?”

He blanches. “N—no.”

Tooru stifles a laugh, but when his mother shoots him a glance, he snaps his mouth shut.

Then she sighs. “I guess it doesn’t matter, as long as you two don’t say those words again, okay?”

They nod.

“Good. Now, shoo. I have to finish making a phone call.”

As Tooru's mother heads inside, Tooru spins around, long hair blowing into his eyes, and hops down the steps toward the other side of Hajime can already tell where he’s going—there’s a hole in the white-painted vine-covered fence that has been there since the dawn of time. Hajime can’t imagine his house without it. It’s just big enough for the both of them, and it leads into a thin forest that’s usually completely empty.

“Oi, Tooru,” Hajime calls, but he’s already darting past the corner.

With a sigh, he gets up and follows the same path, stepping around the lone tress growing sparsely around the area (he’s always had a big backyard) until he finds the marker for the hole: a bed of orange flowers. Which flowers they are, Hajime can’t say.

Unfortunately, it seems like Tooru’s already leapt through the opening, because he’s nowhere to be seen.

But as he approaches it, the vines rustle and Tooru’s head pops out like a jack coming out of the box. Hajime yelps in shock and falls back into the grass, his palms slightly stinging from the impact.

“ Hey! ”

“I still hate you!” Tooru not-so-quietly-yells, sticking out his tongue.

Then, again, he disappears, and Hajime is left to pick himself up. Grumbling, he pushes the vines on the gate aside and dives into it, holding his breath like it’s a pool rather than just a gap in the fence.

But he might as well be, because the other side is like another world. All the blinding light and the heat of the backyard is gone under the shade of the trees. Branches and their leaves block out most of the sun, the air on his skin cooler and the grass under his feet darker. The sound of cicadas, though quieter, can still be heard.

Hajime breathes deeply as he looks around for the familiar mop of unkempt brown hair. Even among the myriad of overgrown plants, it shouldn’t be hard to find another eight-year-old human, right? Tooru makes so much noise anyway that he’d be surprised if he didn’t find him in two seconds flat.

And when there’s a rustle in the bushes a bit farther down, he knows what he said earlier still holds true. He spots an arm disappearing behind the foliage just as he turns around, then more rustling.

Tooru isn’t very good at being quiet, he notices. 

Hajime jogs over to the sound, ducking under a handful of low tree branches, then turns when he reaches the right tree.

“How’d you find me?” he hears Tooru ask before he sees him sitting on a rather large tree root and avoiding the damp dirt—he never did like getting dirty. His hands are on the root between his legs, and he’s leaning forward. Hajime sort of wants to push him.

“Seriously? You’re so loud.”

“Stop being mean to me! This is why I hate you!”

Hajime eyes flick up toward Tooru’s face, a soft realization dawning upon him. Tooru is pouting—not that it’s anything out of the ordinary, but this time seems different. Maybe Hajime is a little mean to Tooru. Of course, anyone else would know that Hajime is joking, but Tooru is Tooru, and he always doesn’t take things the same way as ‘anybody else’.

He wonders if it’s okay to change for another person. Hajime’s mother always told him not to; to stay who he is and the people who matter most will stay. But Tooru isn’t just another person.

“You know I’m…” Hajime’s throat is dry. He’s never been one to apologize. “I don’t seriously mean everything I say. I’m sorry, Tooru. I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

At that, Tooru’s expression softens as looks up, something hopeful shining in his eyes. He smiles, and for a moment, Hajime thinks it’s all better now.

But, of course, it’s not enough.

“I’m still upset at you.”

Hajime sighs. “Fine. Well, what do you want me to do?” 

Tooru doesn’t answer.

“Tooru?”

Suddenly, he reaches up and grabs Hajime’s wrist, who stumbles back a little before holding himself up against the tree with his free hand. Tooru’s hand is smooth against Hajime’s rougher skin, scratched up from the many hours spent in the wood trying to catch bugs. He’s never really noticed how different they are.

“What are you doing?” Hajime blurts out, and pulls his hand back.

“I saw it in a show! The one Okaa-san watches!”

“Saw what ?”

“The handholding, Hajime! Whenever the main couple is angry at each other they hold hands and then they aren’t angry anymore! Um… how did they say it? I think it was that they were, um, joined so the anger flowed out of them. Or something.”

Tooru keeps going on about the show, but Hajime’s face is so hot he can’t focus on whatever he’s saying.

“C—couple? What you trying to say, Tooru?”

“I’m saying—” Tooru sighs— “we should hold hands because we fight all the time! I’m angry at you and I want to go back to playing so we should hold hands!”

What a strange statement.

Hajime can’t help it. He lets out a small laugh before he can stop himself, then immediately covers his mouth when he sees Tooru’s expression of disbelief.

“What’s so funny?” he demands. “We—we’re just holding hands!”

Hajime lets his hand fall, a smile still tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Nothing. It’s just—I dunno. That sounds funny to me.”

“So are we going to or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Then Tooru extends his hand again, though more carefully this time. Hajime accepts it, and they sit together on the tree root. He didn’t think it was big enough for both of them.

Hajime feels strangely at peace as they listen to the near-silent woods, only the soft wind and occasional bird chirp disturbing the spell. It’s a nice change of pace from the constant running around and yelling the two of them usually end up doing whenever they’re together. He could get used to this.

As Hajime takes in the fresh smell of the forest, neither of them say a word.

He feels warm.

“I’m sorry, Hajime.”

“I’m sorry, too, Tooru.”

From then on, Hajime can’t think of a single week they didn’t hold hands.

ii. yearning

One day after class during their last year of elementary school, Oikawa pulls him aside and tells him to stop calling him by his given name.

When Hajime looks at him in confusion, his explanation is that they should be more mature and refer to each other by their family names instead. Much to Oikawa’s dismay, Hajime just shrugs. He doesn’t really mind changing that; besides, he’s never been one to make a big deal out of Oikawa’s weird demands. 

(“You’re supposed to be upset!” he huffs.

Hajime looks up from the book he’s reading—it’s one on those creepy cryptid creatures that he really shouldn’t have but his cousin lent it to him so even if his mom finds it she can’t be mad—and rolls his eyes.

“Oh no. I’m so upset.”

“Be actually upset!” Oikawa stomps his feet, the wooden floorboards of Hajime’s bedroom creaking.

“Hey,” he calls, “stop that. If you fall through the floor and get stuck, I’m leaving you there.”

“You know what? You suck, Hajime.” He crosses his arms and takes a breath. “I mean… um. I—Iwai—” Oikawa makes a face as he struggles to speak.

“What? Can’t say it, Oikawa ?”

“You—!

Oikawa balls his fists so tight they shake with anger, looking down at his feet.

Hajime wonders for a moment if he’s gone too far. He gently sets his book down, mentally preparing himself to console him, yell at him, or maybe a mix of both.

But before he can move, Oikawa’s hands relax, and he looks up.

He grins. “Actually, that’s fine with me, Iwa-chan~ ”

Shivers run down Hajime’s back, and he instinctively slams the book down on the floor. The sound echoes in the small room.

“Don’t you dare ,” he threatened, pointing a finger at him. “Why would you even say that? How did you even come up with something as stupid —” He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. “You’re the one who wanted to be on a family name basis. Don’t do this to me, Oikawa.”

“Whatever you want, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa snickers.

Hajime jumps him.)

It’s been about nine months since then, and both Hajime and Oikawa are nearly the ripe age of twelve. They’ve graduated from elementary and well into the spring break leading into a new phase of their life: junior high.

Which is, of course, Oikawa’s newest worry.

He spends roughly three-quarters of his day fretting about anything and everything that might possibly happen at Kitagawa Daiichi, the school they applied to together. From what kind of outfits he’d wear (“There’s a uniform, Shittykawa!”) to how popular he’d be with the girls (“Shut up about girls for one damn second and let me watch my movie!”), Hajime has heard him enough to be able to manifest his whining in his dreams.

Through it all, though, there’s one thing Hajime didn’t expect Oikawa to want to leave behind, and he brings it up, it catches Hajime off-guard.

“Say, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says randomly when they’re sitting in the living room of his house playing video games. Despite it only being April, it’s too hot to go outside, but Hajime’s in a pretty good mood—and not because wearing his favourite Godzilla tank top.

“Hm?”

“Do you think—um, well—”

While Oikawa’s busy stammering over his words, he doesn’t notice the monster sneaking up on him. Before he realizes it, the character on the left side of the screen suddenly dies, and his mouth drops as the television plays an off-key melody.

“You suck,” Hajime snorts, mashing the buttons on the controller. A series of pews follows.

“I was—I was distracted!” he sputters.

“No, you just suck.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime watches as Oikawa’s character comes back to life, and he continues slaying the monsters like he’s been doing for the past hour. It’s mindless, really, but he still enjoys it. Besides, only his grandma is home right now, and she’s sleeping upstairs. It’s the perfect time to play video games.

There’s about a minute of silence and tacky sound effects from the T.V. before Hajime clears his throat.

“So, um…” he starts awkwardly.

“Smooth.”

“Shut up!” he shoots at him. “I was just gonna ask what you wanted to ask me about. You seemed kinda worried so. Yeah.”

Oikawa’s shoulders suddenly drop. A slight breeze blows through one of the open windows in the living room, billowing through the light curtain and bringing the smell of fresh air into the house. Oikawa shivers slightly at that, and Hajime shifts back on the couch to block the wind.

“It’s, um.”

“Just say it,” Hajime grumbles.

He sighs. “Can we stop the hand-holding thing?”

Now that catches Hajime off-guard. He nearly drops his controller at that, staring at Oikawa with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “ What ? Why?”

“Well, it’s… I dunno.”

“If you don’t know, don’t bring it up, dumbass!”

“That—” Oikawa looks away. “I mean, do you really want to keep doing something as dumb as that? We’re going into junior high. I made that up based on a stupid show we watched when we were eight, Iwa-chan. We—we don’t need that anymore.”

Hajime groans. “Junior high this, junior high that. Who even cares? It’s not like anything will change. We’re just going to a different school. Stop treating it like the end of the world.”

“Things will change, though! You can’t tell me you aren’t worried.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Not at all?”

“Nope.”

“We’re not kids anymore, Iwa-chan. We can’t just keep—doing that.” Oikawa sets down his controller and brings his knees to his chin. “Guys don’t normally hold hands or sleep in the same bed. If people know, they’re going to think we’re—we—”

Something shatters in Hajime’s mind.

“That doesn’t matter!” he snaps at him. “Who the hell cares about any of those stupid things, Oikawa? It’s fine if you want to stop, but if you’re doing that just because you’re scared, you’re—” He groans. “You’re just being stupid, okay? Stop it.”

“I can’t think like that,” he mumbles. “It’s not that easy.”

For a brief moment, Oikawa’s fingers twitch, and it hits Hajime that, by now, Oikawa would’ve taken his hand.

Hajime doesn’t usually initiate the handholding whenever they’re upset. He’s always the one who yells the most in an argument; the last one to think about being calm . Besides, like he said, Oikawa is the one who started it all. It would only make sense for him to be the one to reach out.

But in this moment, Hajime leans forward and grabs Oikawa’s hand, fitting them together the way he always does: perfectly and effortlessly. He doesn’t resist it.

Hajime looks at Oikawa. “Last time, okay?”

“Iwa-chan—” he tries, voice shaky.

“Shut up, Oikawa.”

He shuts his mouth.

And so they sit like that for some amount of time, the late afternoon sun beating on Hajime’s back and exposed shoulders. The drone of cicadas is loud in his ears, and he considers closing the window.

Hajime’s hand is warm and slightly sweaty, but he doesn’t dare withdraw it yet.

After what feels like forever and a half, Oikawa shifts, and they let go.

“You know,” he starts quietly. “I didn’t think you actually liked it. Or I guess, didn’t mind it.”

Hajime can feel his face heating up.

“Well—whatever.” He looks away awkwardly and wipes his hand on his shorts. “It’s not like it’s a big deal anyway. Guys can hold hands if they want to. We can hold hands if we want to. It doesn’t matter what people think.”

And it’s true—at least the way Hajime thinks. Why should others care about what they do? It’s not their lives. They don’t know Oikawa like Hajime does.

But not everyone thinks like Hajime.

So when he sees a slight tremble in Oikawa’s lips, he sighs.

“But,” Hajime mumbles on, “if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to. Only ,” he emphasizes, “if you’re uncomfortable. If it’s because you’re worried about what other people think of us, I’ll punch you. Got it?”

“...Mmm.”

Hajime quickly jabs Oikawa in the stomach, who yelps and jerks back in shock.

“ Got it?” he repeats.

“Ugh, I know , Iwa-chan!” he blurts out, hopping back as Hajime attacks once more. He’s standing on the ground now, holding a pillow in front of him as a (useless, if he was being honest) shield. “I get it! Stop that! You’re a brute!”

“Heh.”

“What’s so funny?” Oikawa demands.

Hajime hums as he looks Oikawa up and down, one leg up in defence with both arms wrapped around the pillow like it’s the only thing keeping him on Earth.

There’s something strange about Oikawa right now—something different than normal. Is it his hair? No, Hajime would’ve noticed it from a mile away (and gone to intentionally mess it up). He can’t pinpoint what it is; it’s not his appearance, or anything he can put his finger to.

It’s something that makes Hajime’s stomach churn, but not necessarily in a bad way.

It’s… 

“Your fly is unzipped,” Hajime says bluntly.

Oikawa’s face turns a bright red and immediately goes to zip up his pants, dropping the pillow on the way. “S—stop staring, Iwa-chan! Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up ! You’re horrible!”

Hajime can only laugh until his stomach hurts, even after he gets a faceful of pillow.

It devolves into something of a pillow fight—not quite , because if they broke anything their parents would hunt them down like animals, but close enough—and the sound of muffled laughter and periodic thumps are the only things that can be heard for a while.

Eventually, they’re both laying on the carpet, out of breath, pillows that should be on the couch definitely places they aren’t supposed to be.

They speak no words, but Oikawa brings his hand toward Hajime and holds it.

Last time , he thinks to himself.

Hajime’s stomach churns again.

iii. panic

Their biggest fight yet happens in their last year of junior high.

They’re fifteen, and Oikawa’s a mess of hormones and pressure; unstable, volatile, yet more grounded than he’s ever been before. He’s suffocating in jealousy, trying his best to live up to his own expectations. It’s hard to watch, if Hajime’s being honest. But even though he knows it’s too much sometimes, he can barely do anything about it.

That’s what hurts the most, really. He sees it all but Oikawa just pushes him away, and he can only watch as his best friend heals his scabbed wounds only to tear his skin apart all over again.

And like anything holding the weight of the world, Oikawa eventually snaps.

Kageyama Tobio—the child prodigy, the rising star racing past all of them at the speed of light, that blood and tears of hard work could never catch up to. Kageyama Tobio, whose sheer talent Oikawa would trade the world for any day.

Maybe he did.

Instinct is something you polish; talent is something you make bloom.

In Oikawa’s mind, Kageyama’s talent bloomed far more beautifully than his instinct.

It seems the last bit of sanity leaves Oikawa the night after Kageyama replaces him on the court of a practice match, when he practices until his lungs are out of air and his knees are on the verge of collapse.

The vision of nationals and Ushiwaka cloud his judgement so much that he nearly strikes Kageyama. Hajime isn’t sure what would’ve happened if he wasn’t there, watching the two of them navigate their way through the dozens of volleyballs laying all over the court as they played late into the evening. Not together, mind you—separately. Divided. One-sided jealousy.

Something in Hajime’s stomach shifts as Kageyama approaches Oikawa, ever-innocent, and asks his upperclassman to teach him how to serve.

He’d never say it out loud, but the part of his wrist where he blocks Oikawa’s strike hurts.

It isn’t on purpose—he absolutely knows it. Oikawa would never intentionally hurt someone, much less Kageyama. But his mind is clouded, and his priorities skewed. The feeling of being replaced isn’t something you can get rid of easily, even though Hajime knows it was only because Oikawa needed to cool his head.

The team with the better six is stronger! is what Hajime yells as he grips the collar of Oikawa’s shirt, standing above him. The world feels so small yet so large in that moment, the fear of saying a single wrong word and breaking Oikawa even further than he already had done to himself pooling in his chest..

So all he does is grab Oikawa’s wrist, pull him up, and leads him to the gym changerooms so they can get ready to go home.

He doesn’t say much. Or anything at all, for that matter.

At least Oikawa isn’t talking his ass off for once.

As he changes his shoes and wipes down the bench—a welcome routine after the rollercoaster of a day he’s gone through— Hajime thinks about exactly how he’ll approach this all later. If Oikawa will even want to stay over tonight like they had planned; or if he’d be willing to, but the conversations they’d have that night would be stilted and suffocating, as they always are whenever something’s bothering Oikawa.

But Hajime isn’t sure how to approach it without making it worse.

Of course he’s upset. Oikawa nearly hurt Tobio, who was nothing but innocent and passionate. But he’s mostly worried.

He stands up as he zips his bag and looks over to the opposite bench.

“Oik—”

“I know , okay?” he chokes out before Hajime can even finish, voice cracking. He turns his head away, quivering lips just barely visible. “I—I know I fucked up. I’m… sorry, Hajime.”

“You know, I was just going to ask if you were still sleeping over tonight.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen, for just a moment, before he hides his head in his arms. “Of course I am. Whatever.”

Hajime just watches him, arms crossed.

He thinks about Oikawa—thinks about what he’s seen of him, of how he’s been by his side for so long. How he knows that he truly didn’t mean to hurt Kageyama, but regrets everything he’s done anyway.

And somehow, with just a glance, Oikawa’s walls break down, piece by piece, brick by brick, until Hajime can kick aside the remaining debris and hold him tight. Something inside both of them knows, and agrees—there’s never a wall between them for a long.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to.”

There’s a flicker of the light in Oikawa’s eyes, and Hajime can almost see the tears fall before they even appear. His face is tinted red, like blush, but he knows it’s from the crying. For most, it would probably seem like he’s trying to hold them back, but Hajime knows he isn’t. He’s being vulnerable, as vulnerable as a fifteen-year-old can be. “I saw him. Ushiwaka. Tobio-chan is—I… it’s going to happen again, isn’t it? I’m going to fall behind all the people who have more talent than I do. They’re—I—”

“Ugh, shut up,” Hajime says before he can spiral further, but his tone is soft. “You have one of the biggest egos I’ve ever seen and you still can’t trust yourself to move forward. To beat everyone. Believe in yourself more, idiot.”

“But I can’t , I—”

“Believe in yourself as much as I believe in you.”

Then something flashes in Oikawa’s eyes—a realization, maybe. Or a feeling. Exactly what it is, Hajime isn’t sure. But he does know that Oikawa’s perspective on things has changed, and with it, his trust in himself and Hajime.

“...Yeah,” he swallows. “Okay.”

Shoulders relaxing, Hajime walks over to Oikawa’s side of the bench and sits beside him, playfully nudging him as he does. Their legs press against each other, but neither of them moves away. The distance between them feels even smaller than it is, even that’s even possible.

“You feelin’ okay?” Hajime asks with a sigh.

Oikawa gently wipes his eyes and nods. “Mmm.”

“Good.”

Hajime watches as Oikawa puts down his hand, bare and palms against his thigh. It’s shaking; his thumb just barely scrapes Hajime’s leg. Then, before he can think, Hajime reaches over and grabs it tight. The touch of Oikawa’s fingers against his own is hot like cinders, but he doesn’t dare let go. 

“Ha—Iwa-chan?” Oikawa starts, surprised. But he doesn’t let go, either.

“Shut up.”

And he does.

Hajime finds himself leaning against Oikawa—while he’ll always be bitter about the handful of centimetres of height between them, there are times like these he doesn’t mind it so much. His head rests in the crook of Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa leans back.

They only sit there for a couple of minutes, but it feels like hours. Maybe that’s what Hajime wants—a moment among all this mess of school and volleyball and friends where it can be only him and Oikawa. Where they don’t have to hide their feelings or pretend to be someone they’re not. Where they can show their emotions however they want, no matter how stupid or ‘improper’, according to the world.

Where Oikawa doesn’t have to call him Iwa-chan.

And maybe, somewhere deep inside of him, an epiphany bursts to life.

Then Oikawa shatters the moment as he shuffles around, just barely loosening his grip on Hajime’s hand.

He looks up and sighs. “...I thought we said we wouldn’t do this again.”

“Just this once.”

“…Okay.”

Hajime’s never been the best with words, but he doesn’t need to be when he’s around Oikawa.

iv. desperation

Their next fight isn’t a fight, per se.

It’s more of a plead.

Despite the moment they share in their final year of middle school, Oikawa barrels onward with the force of a shooting star with little regard for his health. Or rather, his mental health. His physical body he’s taking great care of—eating properly, daily morning runs, and, of course, even more volleyball. Hajime makes sure of it.

Volleyball, especially, pulls him in like a black hole. But Hajime can’t blame him, really. High school was a completely new ocean where the fish no longer swam by the shallow shores—they swam out into the deep blue, where the sharks and the dolphins lived, and Oikawa wanted to join them. From there, his ambitions only grew.

But it’s for that exact reason that he crashes so hard in the final weeks of their second year.

So when Hajime gets a call from Oikawa, who never calls him (emoji-filled texts are what he usually gets), one evening at 6, nothing but a weak “Iwa-chan” audible through the phone, he drops everything and grabs his parents’ car keys and an ice pack.

Hajime already knows exactly what it is.

The drive to the Seijoh campus is long and arduous, but hearing Oikawa’s hard breathing somehow relieves him. Maybe it’s the fact that he knows Oikawa isn’t in any particular danger, aside from pain, perhaps. Or maybe it’s because he’s relieved that he’s the one Oikawa trusts when he’s feeling vulnerable like this.

Oikawa has had injuries before; being an athlete or even just playing a sport poses risks such as those. Hajime, too. They’re relatively small ones—maybe a mild ankle sprain here, or a couple of bruises there. Nothing he can’t shake off with some time.

But Hajime knows that Oikawa’s been hiding his knee pain from him, because he knows that he would make him stop playing volleyball to rest. He doesn’t remember for exactly how long, but any amount of time is too long. Still, Hajime was reluctant to stop him. To Oikawa, volleyball was his life, especially around the end of the year. He was going to become captain. Hajime trusted him to keep himself safe.

Maybe it’s his fault for not trying hard enough.

“Oikawa!” he shouts as he bursts open the metal doors to the school gymnasium, out of breath from sprinting from the parking lot.

He first spots the array of volleyballs strewn across the floor on the other side of the gym, past the net all over the court. Most are out of bounds. Oikawa’s been polishing up his serves by himself, just like he’s been for the past week.

Then he spots Oikawa on the ground, arms grasping the bench while one hand grips his phone. Underneath, one leg is bent to support the one on top, and his hair is covering most of his red face. Sweat drips down from his chin and onto the wooden floor. Hajime isn’t sure if it’s sweat or tears.

The door shuts behind him as he hears Oikawa call out his name, and dread drops down on him like an iron brick. He rushes over.

“What happened?” is his first question. He hopes Oikawa can’t hear the panic rising in his voice.

He looks up, wide-eyed, then shuts them hard. Tears roll down his cheeks as he gasps for air. “I—I fell— Hajime —”

Regret immediately fills Hajime’s chest.

Still, he steels his nerves. He needs to be there for Oikawa right now; what he could have done before doesn’t matter. “It’s okay,” he says softly. He sits down beside him and brushes Oikawa’s bangs aside, then gently places the ice pack he brought onto his knee, earning a small hiss from Oikawa. “It’s okay. Your knee, right?”

He nods, just barely.

“...It hurts,” Oikawa whispers. He leans over to grab Hajime’s shoulder.

“Can you move?”

He clenches his jaw as he attempts to pull himself up. Pain contorts onto his face, and he lets out a sharp gasp.

“I—It’s okay. I’m here, Oikawa. I’m— here .”

It’s all Hajime can repeat for the next ten minutes, trying his goddamn hardest to keep his voice steady, as Oikawa’s laboured breathing seems to lessen, ever so slightly, and the grip on Hajime’s shoulder tightens. He’s sure there’s a bruise where Oikawa’s hand is gripping, but he doesn’t care. It’s nothing compared to what he’s feeling inside. 

When the ambulance finally does arrive, Oikawa is passed out, pain still etched in the uneven folds of his scrunched face. His hair is damp from sweat, but Hajime isn’t sure his is any better. The paramedics ask a couple of questions, like, “How long ago was he injured?” (to which Hajime answers, he isn’t sure but within the past twenty minutes), and “How did he injure himself?” (to which Hajime can’t do anything but shake his head).

Hajime’s head is groggy as the paramedics exit through the gymnasium doors, carrying Oikawa on a stretcher. He almost laughs—if Oikawa were conscious right now, he would be making jokes about how they’re carrying him like the king he is.

He’s not.

Then, when the doors shut with a bang that sound louder than they probably are in actuality, he feels as if he’s about the collapse. His legs are lead and his eyes are heavy. The past ten or so minutes have felt simultaneously the longest and shortest he’s ever experienced. Looking in a mirror is the last thing he wants to do right now.

Eventually, he peels the soles of his feet off the floor and takes his first step toward his keys and his phone, which are on the bench across the room. It feels so far away.

Then he gazes at the mess in the gymnasium he’d be leaving behind if he left now. He’s tired.

With a heavy sigh, he walks toward the volleyball just below the net and begins to clean up.

He gets a text about two hours later, after he’s returned home and just taken a far too lengthy shower that definitely used too much hot water for his parents to appreciate. Still, they don’t say anything, and he doesn’t either. His skin still tingles from the pressure and the heat he sat under for what must have been over fifteen minutes.

When he pulled up in the driveway of his house, his mom took one good look at him, back slouched and entire face red, and simply gave him a cup of water to drink. She didn’t ask, nor pry at all, and Hajime is eternally grateful for her. He doesn’t think he could have explained it to her—at least, not everything, including how he’s been feeling.

It’s a little numb, really. He hasn’t thought about what he’ll do next, or even what he’ll say to Oikawa when he sees him. All that have been running through his mind are the things he failed to do.

He sighs.

As he gives his wet hair one last rub, he picks up the phone and opens it. It’s from Oikawa.

Tooru

- 8:32pm -

>> Hey Iwa-chan!!! (o_ _)ﾉ彡☆

>> Um

>> I’m awake now

>> So

>> If you want to come, I would like that

>> A lot

(8:36pm) >> Don’t miss me too much!! (￢‿￢ )

The first thing that Hajime thinks is What an idiot , which he believes is a pretty valid first thought.

The next is the overwhelming relief that races across his chest and through his entire body, tension releasing everywhere at once as it hits him that Oikawa is okay . He might be in pain, but there’s still a part of him that’s happy enough to make his stupid narcissistic jokes. And, hate them as Hajime may, they’re proof that nothing terrible has happened. That Oikawa is still kicking.

He assumes the doctors have already checked it out and given a diagnostic, (why else would Oikawa be allowed to invite Hajime?), so there’s nothing to worry about.

He wonders if he’s the first person Oikawa texted.

Texting back a quick I’m coming to Oikawa (followed by a moment of hesitation, then Shut up ), he’s already racing across the house toward the car. He passes his mom, but she seems to understand, simply giving a nod.

He’ll never stop being grateful for her.

The drive to the hospital is farther away than the school was, and this time he doesn’t have Oikawa on the line to keep him company, so he decides to play whatever album his dad left in the music player. He presses play. There’s silence for a few seconds, and he leans in as he makes a left turn at the intersection.

Then there’s a sudden burst of heavy metal rock with what seems to be all of the instruments at once and he flinches, nearly lifting his hands off the wheel. He blinks.

Rock, alright. It doesn’t really help with his nerves, but he won’t be picky about it.

When he enters the hospital, white and half-empty and far too bright for his eyes after a long drive through the dark night, he greets the receptionist.

“I’m here to see Oikawa Tooru,” he croaks out, then furrows his brows. He clears his throat. He says a little more loudly: “Oikawa Tooru.”

The receptionist, dressed in a dark blue polo shirt, nods. “Room 219. Head up the stairs down the right hallway, then take a left. You’ll find the room on the left.”

Hajime gives him a quick nod and hurries off.

He follows the instructions given to him to a T, and he finds himself outside of Oikawa’s room in no time.

There’s a hesitation as he places his hand on the door, like something’s been caught in his throat and he can’t cough it out. It’s not so much fear of seeing how badly Oikawa has been hurt, but… He can’t really explain it. It’s foolish, he would say to himself.

But he quickly shakes his head and barges inside, the same way Oikawa barges into his room whenever he’s staying over for the night.

He sees Oikawa before he hears him—sitting in a bed by the window, no longer in his gym uniform but in a light blue gown that doesn’t suit him the same way Seijoh’s colours do. Orange light briefly illuminates his face as the cars in the parking lot pass by, before disappearing and leaving the room in darkness once more. His right knee is wrapped in white gauze and propped up on a pillow, the blanket entirely covering his other leg. Hajime wonders if his leg is cold.

For a moment, the expression on Oikawa’s face is something he doesn’t recognize—forlorn, and far away.

Then the world continues pushing forward, and he shuts the door behind him.

The sleeves of Oikawa’s gown dip down a couple of inches as he raises his arms. “Iwa-chan!” he grins, but it doesn’t look like his usual grin. It doesn’t have the dimples that come with the most genuine ones. Is it him, or does his face look drained of colour?

“Oikawa,” he says.

Wobbly, he walks toward the chair by the bed and takes a seat.

He feels Oikawa’s stare piercing into his soul, and he swears sweat is already building on his forehead.

“So, um. How are you feeling?”

Oikawa lets out a sigh. “Fine, honestly. My leg is numb, but there’s no pain. Though—” he shakes his other leg and cracks a curt smile— “I’m a little woozy off the medication they’ve given me.”

“No wonder you’re so calm right now,” Hajime chuckles.

“I’m always this calm and collected, mind you.”

“What did they diagnose you with?”

At that, Oikawa shifts uncomfortably. It’s a small movement, but Hajime recognizes the way he shoves his hands between his legs and leans forward—just how he used to do whenever he would ask Hajime’s mom if they could have fast food for dinner when they were kids. He wonders just how bad it is.

“...Jumper’s knee,” he says finally, and when Hajime looks at him with an explanation, he shakes his head. “What, do you want me to tell you patellar tendonitis ?”

Hajime rolls his eyes.

“Well, either way, the tendon in my knee is, uh, not doing so great. So. I need it to heal. I’ll probably be out for spring break, but I should be back in time for the new school year.” He pauses. “That’s what the doctor said.”

“That’s good. It sucks that you can’t practice as much during the break, but at least it’s not permanent.”

“What, were you worried about me?” he jokes, but there’s a glint in his eye.

Hajime’s face hardens, and he almost wants to stand up and yell. He doesn’t, though. “Are you stupid in the head or something? Of course I was worried! You—you suddenly called me in the middle of the night begging for help! You were on the floor in so much pain you couldn’t walk! Why do you make jokes that I wouldn’t be worried about you?!”

Oikawa shrinks. “Ah. Yeah.”

“At least thank me for going all that way,” he grumbles.

“...Yeah. U—Um. Thank you, Iwaizumi.”

He lets out a breath. “It’s fine. You better be careful from now on, alright? If you want to make it up to me, just buy me that thing I wanted at the arcade the next time we go.” He doesn’t mention the fact that they probably won’t be going to the arcade for a good while.

“The Godzilla figure?”

“That’s it.”

“What?! That thing’s so expensive!”

“And so is gas. Pay up, bitch.”

Oikawa huffs.

There's more silence.

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime looks over. “Hm?”

“Um…”

Oikawa’s lip trembles.

“I know I didn’t—it didn’t really seem like I meant it, but I… I’m really thankful for you. I didn’t know who else to call. I—I don’t know, you were just the first person that came to mind, so, um. Thank you for being there for me. Iwa-chan,” he adds, but it’s soft. He seems like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

Hajime isn’t sure whether to laugh or not. “God, you really are an idiot, huh? Of course I would be there for you. I know you’d do the same, so seriously—don’t mention it.”

“No, that’s not…” 

“Huh?”

He shakes his head and groans. “It’s… well—I mean, I would obviously do the same, but—I just—”

“What the hell are you saying, Oikawa?”

“What I’m trying to say is—”

Oikawa looks up at Hajime, his face just inches away from his own, eyes red and on the cusp of spilling tears. They’re bloodshot, and hold so much within them—too much for Hajime to comprehend, he thinks.

“I’m sorry ,” Oikawa’s voice breaks, and with it, so does Hajime’s heart. “I’m sorry, okay? What more can I say than that?”

“I… I told you already to be more careful, you moron,” Hajime says gruffly, refusing to look at Oikawa. A wave of emotion is threatening to swallow him whole, and he’s afraid if he does, he might end up crying. “So it’s fine.”

“...I know.”

Oikawa’s hand reaches out, and Hajime looks at him.

“I know you told me not to push myself, but I still did.” His head is low as he tightens his grip on the hospital bedsheets. “I know you worry about me all the time. I know you know how much I love volleyball, which is why you don’t stop me, but keep messing up and I worrying you anyway.”

“Oikawa—”

“ Iwa-chan ,” he pleads, and he snaps his mouth shut. “I’m sorry. For so many things. For calling you when I was hurt, and for not listening to you when you told me to be careful. But most of all, I’m sorry for being a leech.”

Then Hajime bursts out of his seat, sudden fury exploding through him. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Because what the fuck have I done for you, Hajime?!” Oikawa grits, shutting his eyes as tight as he can, silent rage hiding behind his closed teeth—not rage for Hajime, but for himself. 

“When have I not just used you for my own gain? When have I helped you the way that you’ve helped me? I keep telling myself that I don’t mean to, but it just keeps on happening , Hajime. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been supporting me and worried for me, and go out of your way to deal with my goddamn bullshit like—like this stupid stunt. You always slap sense into me no matter what, and… and all I’ve done is make everything harder for you. I don’t deserve you.” There’s a flicker of light on his cheek as the first tear escapes, and a sniffle comes from Oikawa a moment later.

Hajime freezes, something akin to dread trickling down his back, unable to comprehend exactly what he’s hearing.

Leech? Oikawa?

Is that how he’s been feeling all this time?

“Oi… kawa,” he manages to say.

“What.”

“Do you really feel that way?”

He jerks his head toward Hajime, eyes red and cheeks flushed. “What do you think?”

“I’m just… making sure.” Hajime lets out a sigh, pondering what to do for a moment. He isn’t really sure how to feel; is it his fault that Oikawa is thinking like this? Has he not shown Oikawa exactly how important he is to him enough? He worries that might be the case—it’s no secret that Hajime’s words aren’t his strong suit. While they have grown better with time, he still forgets to speak his gratitudes. He prefers actions to words—almost opposite to Oikawa, whose love language is definitely words of affirmation.

It’s a pain to think about all this stuff, really. But he doesn’t want Oikawa to think that way. Not when it’s the opposite of the truth.

Then Hajime’s hand twitches.

He places it on Oikawa’s lap, palm open.

Oikawa looks at it. He sniffles and wipes his nose, then turns to Hajime. There’s confusion on his face.

Hajime raises an eyebrow.

Slowly and delicately, like his hand is fragile, Oikawa takes it.

It’s not like angels are suddenly singing choir outside of the hospital room, or the sun has come up and there are rainbows everywhere. But Oikawa took Hajime’s hand, of his own will, without Hajime taking it first. Warm familiarity rushes through his palm and fingers as the world freezes.

And so they sit.

And sit.

Until Hajime’s hand is getting a bit sweaty, which is a little gross, frankly, but it’s the truth and he’s sure that Oikawa’s hand is also sweaty because all of that sweat can’t possibly be his, and it’s not like sweat’s dripping (that would be gross) but there’s a surprising amount. The room is warm. Or maybe it isn’t the room.

Either way, Hajime pulls his hand away but keeps it near, and the world returns to its normal speed. Oikawa lets him let go.

Some time ago, Oikawa stopped crying. The tip of his nose is still red, like Rudolph—he resists the urge to point it out. As much as he would love to, now isn’t quite the time.

“So, um,” Oikawa murmurs. He drums his fingers on the blanket.

“Oikawa,” he blurts out, even surprising himself with his sudden outburst. “I—Listen. You aren’t a leech, and you never have been, alright? I do these things because I care about you a lot, but that doesn’t mean that you haven't done these things either. Who’s the one who tutors me every week for any class we have together, or the one who always pays for food when we go out? Or the one who lets me stay over all the time, and goes easy on me during practice when you know I’ve had a rough night? We might not be the same, but it’s fine. Your dramatic ass just—tends get into trouble a lot more than I do, alright?”

“But—”

“But that’s okay . Why? Because you inspire me so much, Oikawa. Not just in volleyball—in everything. In school, in friendships, hell, anything I can think of. You’re always there, and I always want to reach up to you. But the thing is, you don’t leave me behind. You could, but you don’t. And I couldn’t ask for more from someone as talented and amazing as you. I—”

Stopping himself before he can go further, Hajime doesn’t realize he’s been looking down his whole time, but his face is red. He manages to look up.

Oikawa’s mouth is hanging open, and looks like he might cry again.

“Uh—”

“Shut up, Oikawa.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“ Shut up .”

Oikawa’s eyebrows raise, something almost like surprise on his face.

Then he giggles. “Oh? Was Iwa-chan perhaps professing his undying love for me? Is that the reason you’re so embarrassed? I’m so sorry my dear Iwa-chan, but my true love, first and foremost, has always been volleyball. There’s just something about her curves—”

Hajime’s face burns hotter than he’s ever felt before, and he snatches a pillow from behind Oikawa (earning a loud Hey! from him) and slams it into his face.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up—!

Those are the only words running through his mind as he pushes the pillow harder and harder, wishing and praying for the heat to disappear from his face. But, because the gods apparently hate him, it refuses to do so.

“Hey—! Iwa—” Oikawa sputters, fighting against Hajime’s strength. “You can’t do this to—someone who’s already— injured —was it volleyball-chan? I’m sorry, Iwa-chan! You’re more important to me, I promise—”

“Holy shit, shut the fuck up !”

He imagines, for a moment, if Makki and Mattsun were here. The results would be disastrous. A shiver travels through him.

Hajime, for one, is glad those two can’t drive. 

v. ache

The spring break after Oikawa injured his knee is long.

Yes, it’s different from what they’ve been doing for, well, as long as they’ve known each other. The precious time in between school years as they transition to the next grade is always filled with the both of them outside, taking in the warmth of the new season and playing volleyball (it’s always volleyball). If not that, they’re hanging out with friends, or on vacation, or at each others’ houses, or at the arcade about ten minutes away.

Of course, Oikawa’s knee is a big problem—he can’t accomplish half of those things while it’s healing. Volleyball, especially, is the one he’s concerned about the most. Hajime tries to convince him that it’s fine, but every time he does so, it doesn’t end the best.

He’s stopped trying.

So yes, Oikawa’s knee is one of the reasons this break feels so off. It’s stressful whenever he has an outburst, or when he convinces himself it’s healed enough for him to out. He’s more concerned about it than Oikawa is, in all honesty—he’s making sure Oikawa is doing his stretches, taking care of his knee, all that jazz. (He’s learning a lot about physical therapy, if he’s being honest. It makes him think.)

But it’s only one of the reasons.

The other is their futures.

While Hajime loves volleyball—he’s never, ever regretted it—he knows deep inside that he just doesn’t want to… pursue it as a career. And that’s the problem: he knows Oikawa will pursue volleyball, maybe even in another country, but Hajime wants to do athletic training. He even has plans to go to a university in America—California, more specifically. He’s been researching the area.

Besides, he’s not good enough to make it to the big leagues—not like Oikawa. It’s not Hajime putting himself down, but a fact. He just doesn’t have the talent and motivation and determination Oikawa has when it comes to volleyball.

For the first time in their lives, they’re heading down different paths.

So the spring break is filled with minor anxiety attacks every time anyone asked them, “Where are you going after high school?” and very not-so-great excuses to not talk about the growing elephant in the room.

But the thing is, they don’t talk about it for the entire year.

Oikawa knows. Hajime knows Oikawa knows, and it goes the opposite way. They both know the other knows that they aren’t pursuing the same thing, but they never speak of it properly. Little hints are dropped here and there by both parties, but neither one notices them—or in Hajime’s case, refuses to notice them.

He doesn’t want to talk. Maybe that’s immature of him, but talking about it would mean acknowledging its existence—that there’ll be a time where he and Oikawa aren’t together. A time where they won’t be walking to classes together, or hanging out together, or…playing volleyball together. He doesn’t want this to end. So maybe, just maybe, if he doesn’t mention it, it’ll last longer. What they have will last just a little longer.

So they never talk.

Well, maybe not never.

It happens the night of their match against Karasuno in the prefecture interhigh. They’re walking home in the dark of the night, nothing but streetlights lighting their faces. Hajime’s eyes are red and his throat is sore from pouring his heart out just moments before, almost like a final confession he’s making before the end. (The end of what, is what he doesn’t ask.) 

As for Oikawa, whose eyes were just as red as his—losing to Kageyama, for once, doesn’t ruin him. Instead, it only seems to fuel him more.

Maybe he isn’t really the same boy he was when he injured himself, Hajime thinks to himself.

And so they turn onto Oikawa’s street, the lights of the main road disappearing behind them along with the sound of crickets. The night is cool, and there’s a surprising lack of mosquitoes pricking at his exposed legs. Hajime is thankful for that. Maybe tonight they can hang out in the backyard, outside—something they haven’t done in a long time. Between school, sports, and everything else, they’re always holed up in Oikawa’s room.

Hajime recalls how much time they used to spend there, doing whatever they wanted. Of course, they’re no longer children. Playing in the backyard isn’t really a thing he would do these days.

But he wonders what the forest behind the backyard looks like now.

“We’re here,” Oikawa says as they approach the front door of his house. It hasn’t changed in the past ten years, Hajime notices, but he really can’t be sure. The doormat appears to be the same, though a tad more worn than he remembers. Little changes are hard to notice, especially when he sees it every day. 

“Yeah,” is all Hajime says.

“I’m home,” Oikawa calls as they take off their shoes and close the door behind them, Hajime echoing after him, but the lights are off. No one seems to be home.

They exchange glances, and Hajime blinks. “I think we have the house to ourselves.”

“Mm, yeah.”

Hajime follows Oikawa as he throws his gym bag at the base of the staircase and enters the kitchen. Stretching his arms, Oikawa yawns and takes a seat at the table. His arm is strewn over it.

“You tired?” Hajime asks amusedly. 

“Nah. Want some food?”

Hajime nods, but he’s already rummaging through the fridge—he normally wouldn’t do that if the rest of his family was around, but right now, it’s just Oikawa. He can pin the blame on him, worst-case scenario.

As he looks through the shelves, he doesn’t find much that piques his interest. There’s some leftover rice and tofu, as well as a convenience store bento box that he recognizes from the other day as the lunch Oikawa never got around to eating because one of his fangirls had given him a different bento box. Oh, and there’s also milk bread. He steers clear of that.

“You got anything good?” Hajime sighs.

“Not really.”

“I’ll keep looking, then.”

“Well, you go do that,” Oikawa stretches again. “I’m gonna take a bath.”

“Sure.”

And with that, Oikawa leaves. Eventually, Hajime settles on the bento box (he likes the cute designs) and eats it at the kitchen table. 

He thinks. About a lot of things.

His shoulders feel heavy.

Later, Hajime takes his time in the bath.

When he steps out of the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes—he wouldn’t even call them Oikawa’s, because he comes here so often that they have a section of the closet for him specifically—he dries off the rest of his hair with a towel. He’s in nothing but a t-shirt and pyjama shorts, which, he admits, aren’t the most flattering. The shirt is bright green, and the pants are a tad too big on him. But whatever; they’re pyjamas. It’s no question Hajime is sleeping over tonight.

He looks up and down the hallway carefully. Somehow, Oikawa’s parents are still out (Hajime wonders if he forgot to tell him they were on a business trip or something), but he doesn’t hear Oikawa himself either.

As he walks, the floorboards creak underneath his feet, ever so slightly.

When he enters the kitchen, he feels a slight breeze coming from the back door. That’s when he spots the silhouette, sitting on the steps of the backyard. Hajime approaches.

“Oikawa,” he says as he opens the sliding door. Humid air hits him in the face, and suddenly the world is filled with the sound of crickets. The sky is empty tonight.

“Iwa-chan. What’s up?”

Hajime shuts the door and takes a seat beside him, folding the damp towel under his arms. The light from the porch lamp reflects on Oikawa’s face like a solar eclipse. It’s a strange sight. “I could ask you the same. What are you doing outside? You’re gonna get bitten by the mosquitoes.”

“You’re the one wearing a t-shirt and shorts, Iwa-chan,” he snorts.

“Whatever.”

“Still worried about me, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Oikawa pauses.

“I just felt like… coming outside. It’s a nice night. The sky is clear. That sort of thing.”

“Huh.” Hajime blinks.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “No, I actually felt the same thing. I was actually going to ask if you wanted to hang out in the backyard. Tonight.” He isn’t sure why he adds that, but neither of them questions his choice of words.

“Ah. That’s pretty funny.”

“Well, now that you’re here—”

“The forest, right? Behind my house?”

Hajime’s eyes widen for a moment, but his surprise morphs into a smile. “Yeah.”

Oikawa grins. “I wonder if we still fit through that hole.”

“Wait, it’s still there?”

“Nah, I just made it again and covered it with vines.”

“Oh, wow, I—” Hajime blinks, then stares at Oikawa. “Wait, again? Are you saying you made the hole the first time?”

“No need to ask unnecessary questions, Iwa-chan. Let’s just go!”

And just like that, through the heavy vines shining silver underneath the light of the dim moon, Oikawa disappears. Hajime stares at the spot where he once was, almost expecting him to poke his head out and call for him again, but he doesn’t.

With a shake of his head, he pushes past the vines and follows.

It’s a bit harder to get through now, but he manages. The forest feels just as magical as the first time he entered, so many years ago. The moment he passes the fence, the world silences itself as Hajime’s gaze wanders through the dark in an attempt to adjust to the lighting. He breathes in the cool, serene air of the night—it feels fresher than it did when they were walking home.

There’s always been something strange yet welcome and magical about the forest, and Hajime knows it’s not just because it’s so important to he and Oikawa.

Somehow, he can’t quite find Oikawa even as he scans the area. It seems he’s gotten a lot better at hiding these days, so Hajime starts jogging. The grass is silent beneath his feet as he moves swiftly.

It doesn’t take too long to find him, but longer than Hajime expects, considering Oikawa wasn’t hiding in the first place.

He’s standing by the thick trunk of a tree with a hand pressed against it as he stares into nothingness. The tip of his head nearly touches the first branch, hair just barely brushing it. He looks at peace.

A sense of déja vu washes over Hajime.

“Took you long enough to find me,” Oikawa smiles, not even looking back.

“You blend in way too much with the atmosphere. You don’t stand out much, Oikawa.”

He stifles a laugh. “Says you.” Bending down, he lets himself fall and pats the ground beside him. There’s a small layer of leaves. “Sit, Iwaizumi.”

Hajime carefully bends down and takes a seat beside him. He knows this side of Oikawa—the side that’s neither dramatic nor loud, but simply… is. Logic and calm overtakes him, like how he might get in the final set of a particularly intense volleyball game. Hajime doesn’t see it often, but he knows it well enough. Oikawa wants to know something.

He steels himself.

“After high school...” Oikawa starts, and Hajime internally cringes (only a little bit).

“After high school,” Hajime echoes.

A pause.

“After high school, I… I want to continue volleyball.”

Hajime blinks.

Then he almost laughs, leaning back onto his hands. “Is that what you brought me all the way out here to tell me, Oikawa? I’ve known that for forever. From when you picked up that volleyball and tossed it to me, Oikawa, I’ve known. It’s not a surprise to anyone, I think.”

But Oikawa just looks away and fidgets with the hem of his pyjama shirt. “That’s not it, Hajime.”

Oh. Hajime .

“I know you want to go to university. But I’m… not staying in Japan. I’m going to Argentina. To learn from one of the V-League coaches.”

He blinks as he takes in the information.

Hajime’s heart leaps in his chest, and then he literally leaps. Something that can only be called pure elation and excitement rips through his body and he jumps, and he can’t help but grin the widest grin he thinks he’s ever grinned. How can he react any differently?—he’s just witnessed his best friend take possibly the biggest step in achieving his life-long dream.

“Wait, are you serious ? Oikawa—”

“I know, I’m so, so sorry—”

“—that’s fucking incredible !”

Oikawa’s shoulders drop. “What?”

“Oikawa, listen. I’m so proud of you. And—and it works so damn well because I’ve been planning to go study in America, and I was so nervous to tell you but now our time zones will be so much closer and we might even be able to talk all the time—well, considering you’re not busy with volleyball and me with school, and—and—everything…”

Hajime stops.

“Oikawa?” he asks.

Oikawa doesn’t speak.

Contrary to Hajime’s expectation (exhilaration pouring through both of them like a field of static electricity as they look toward the future), he gets an Oikawa he sees even more rarely than a calm one.

A broken one.

Oikawa’s face is pressed into his arm, silent sniffles just barely muffled. He’s covering most of it, but Hajime thinks he can see the reflection of a tear in the rays of moonlight piercing the leaves above. Hands are clenched into his shirt, leaving wrinkles he knows will need an iron to remove.

Ah, shit .

“Hajime,” he swallows, and another tear flows down his cheek. “How can you be so—so okay with this?

“...Oikawa?”

“It—I don’t get it. We’ve been together for so long, and—and we’re just disappearing from each others’ lives after this. After volleyball, after school, after everything we’ve been through—everything we’ve done will just be…” He wipes his face. “Gone.”

Hajime clenches his fists as he turns away from Oikawa, a silent wave of emotion slamming him down. His lips tremble, but he shuts his eyes tight—he can’t cry. Not now. Not like this, and not in front of Oikawa. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them for him to break down like that.

But god , it’s hard. Everything he’s been trying to keep down for the past year is resurfacing, like a breath of fresh air after holding in a breath for forever. Everything Oikawa is saying, he feels the exact same way.

“Tooru,” he manages, and Oikawa’s shoulders raise. “Of—of course I’m not okay with it. I care about you more than anything in the whole fucking world. But I’m not going to stop this from happening. It’s because I lo—I care about you and because I care about me that we’re going to different places. I don’t want us to hold each other back from what we’ve always wanted. What you’ve always wanted. And it’s not like what we have is going to end just because we’re away. We’re stronger than that, Tooru. Please,” he begs. “Believe in us.”

Oikawa laughs, but it’s devoid of any humour. “What, you mean weekly, soulless calls that are only there because we’re still ‘best friends’, even though we both know that we actually aren’t anymore?” He shakes his head fiercely, sniffling. “This isn’t a new thing. That’s how they end. That’s how we’re going to end, and—and I don’t want that to happen.” 

“That’s not—” Hajime’s breath hitches, but he stands up straight again. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“We can try—”

“It doesn’t matter if we try—!”

“Why not? We’ve come this far, why can’t what we have continue?”

“Because I’ve—I’ve seen it before. And I can’t imagine my life without you. I can’t imagine doing anything without you by my side or without knowing that if I fall, you can catch me. I—I can’t imagine you , relying on others the way you relied on me.”

Somehow, Hajime can’t bring himself to look at Oikawa right now. “Tooru…” 

Oikawa suddenly turns to face Hajime, unrestrained tears pouring down his face. He grabs his hands, cold in nighttime air, and holds them tight. There’s something vulnerable about Oikawa right now—maybe the fondness in his eyes, or the desperation in his stance. Hajime doesn’t know what to think of it.

He doesn’t know what to think of anything.

And then he breathes.

“Don’t you get it, Hajime?” Oikawa murmurs. “It’s because I fucking love you.”

Hajime stops breathing.

It’s because I fucking love you.

The words echo in his mind like a tape recorder as what Oikawa said exactly hits him with the force of an uppercut. His mouth hangs open, and heat spreads from his cheeks to the rest of his face, until it feels like his entire head was just dipped in lava.

“Y—you what ?” Hajime manages to blurt out, and he’s certain he looks like a complete dolt. 

“I don’t care if you don’t love me back. But I’m telling you that I love you, Hajime. I always have.”

Hajime presses a hand to his mouth as another wave of embarrassment pushes him down. God, at this rate, he’s sure his face is going to be permanently red.

Holy fucking shit.

Oikawa loves him.

Oikawa loves him back .

“Aren’t—aren’t you going to say anything, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa demands, almost in a whiny voice. It gives him mental whiplash.

Hajime doesn’t say anything, in fact. He takes a slow step toward Oikawa, who stands and backs against the tree.

“I—Iwa-chan?” he stammers.

“God, will you just shut up ?”

“What—”

Before Oikawa can get another word in, Hajime presses his hands on Oikawa’s cheeks, pushes him against the tree, and kisses him like he’s never kissed anyone before.

(Which he hasn’t, because he’s been pining after Oikawa his whole life.)

And god, does it feel good .

Hajime doesn’t really know how to kiss, but Oikawa does. So after the initial kiss, Oikawa takes the lead, wrapping his arms around Hajime’s torso to lean in farther. Hajime’s chapped lips feel strange against Oikawa’s soft ones, breaths heavy the longer they go on for. As if in slow motion, his heart produces a tender beat in Hajime’s chest.

And, far beneath the foliage in a neighbourhood forest on a random Thursday night, something has just illuminated between a pair of highschoolers.

Hajime opens his eyes, and they pull apart.

“Hajime—”

“Tooru,” he pants, completely out of breath. He has no idea how long they were kissing for. He wants to do it again.

“You like me back?”

Hajime raises his eyebrows. “Are you kidding me? I just made out with you for the past who knows how long and you’re asking me if I like you back ?”

“Well…”

“Fine, Tooru. I don’t just like you back. I fucking love you back.”

At that, Oikawa’s face flushes, and he shakes his head. There’s a forlorn expression on his face—one that Hajime can’t quite decipher.

“...Are you sure we should be getting into— this ? Now, of all times?”

“Are you stupid?” Hajime rolls his eyes. “I literally just said that what we have isn’t going to disappear just because I’m not with you. We’ll make it work, okay? It’s not like it’s hard to appease you, anyway.”

Oikawa huffs, but leans closer in and rests his chin on Hajime’s shoulder. It’s bony, and he’s heavy. Still, he doesn’t complain.

“That’s just because you know me. Try telling that to all the girls who have dumped me in the past.”

“I feel like that might have been an issue on your part a little more than the girls’, if I’m being honest.”

Oikawa chuckles. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s because I never liked any of them.”

“Ugh. You’re horrible,” he says, but he can’t help but grin. Oikawa has always liked him, and only him. Mostly. Maybe.

“I guess I am. But you love me.”

“Do I really?”

Oikawa gasps in mock offense. “So was this whole confession a lie? Are you truly planning on leaving me, Iwa-chan?”

Though he knows Oikawa is just teasing, something inside him tugs uncomfortably at his stomach. He grimaces.

“I’m not leaving you, Tooru.”

“Hey,” he laughs awkwardly, “it was just a joke—”

“I know. And I don’t care—” Hajime shakes his head firmly and takes Oikawa’s hands— “because I don’t want you to feel like I’m going to leave you. At all. The moment you feel that, I’ll book a flight to Argentina just to see you to remind you that I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. I swore we’d work, right? I’m holding myself to that promise, and I’m going to hold you to it too. Alright, Tooru?”

Oikawa’s eyes widen.

“O—okay.”

“Good.”

So when they finally sit down on the overgrown root of the tree, utterly silent except for the crickets in the distance, Hajime holds his hand even tighter.

He doesn’t let go for a long, long time.