Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

new moon- waxing crescent

(and piercing through the darkness, there you are, there you are. my sweet warmth, my brilliant light. by you i am forever mesmerized)

***

1. five. 

please picture me/ in the trees/ i hit my peak at seven feet/ in the swing/ over the creek/ i was too scared to jump in/ but i, i was high in the sky/ with pennsylvania under me/ are there still beautiful things?

Hajime is five years old and invincible in the way all five-year-olds are when he meets Tooru. His hair is tied in an ugly pigtail which makes his head hurt, the sun is a little too loud for his liking and the sand was all over his skin, sticking in all the wrong places. No one would consider it a good day by any means, but Hajime doesn't care. His mom is making his favourite lunch and he has the coolest band-aid stuck on his knee. And to him, that's as good as it gets.

He doesn't notice the boy in front of him at first, too immersed in admiring the shimmering wings of the dragonfly perched on his hand. He hears him before he sees him; a shrill scream and a loud bang, followed by a howl of pain. The dragonfly on his hand startles and flies away.

He looks up, annoyed. And there he is.

The first thing he notices is not the way his lips wobbled or tears streamed down his soft, pale cheeks or the defiance in his eyes. He doesn't notice the challenge in his stance as he stands up, trying to mask his wince when he strains his injured knee. He tilts his chin up and seems to say, come at me, I dare you (Hajime wasn't so sure if the air seemed to waver because of the terrible summer heat or the intensity of his gaze).

No, the first thing he notices is that he's too short to climb up on the swing.

It doesn't take too long to connect the dots. He had tried to climb up the swing, failed, tried to kick the swing in frustration, lost balance, and fell on his knees instead.

The first thing Hajime says to Tooru is, "You're stupid."

The chestnut-haired boy gapes, offended, "You're mean!"

Iwaizumi snorts and stands up, dusting off the sand on his skirt. The boy was staring at him like he was something otherworldly, straight out of those strange and wonderful stories his mom had read him before he slept. His eyes were sharp and the tear tracks on his cheeks shone like liquid diamond under the sunlight.

Iwaizumi stares up at the swing alongside the boy and feels a little intimidated despite himself. If he stares up at its looming, red-blue-painted figure for too long, the sun makes his eyes feel all funny. He blinks the wiggly spots out of his eyes, frowning.

He looks back at the boy, who was wiping his snot on his T-shirt and trying hard not to cry as he stares at his scratched knee. And Iwaizumi has a flurry of thoughts, in the following order:

Gross.

He looks ugly when he cries.

I don't like seeing people cry.

He stares at the boy, with his fluffy hair and his sad brown eyes and the drops of diamonds running down his cheeks and he remembers thinking;

I wanna see what he looks like when he smiles.

The second thing Iwaizumi says to Oikawa is, "Come on, I'll hold you up so that you can reach it."

He immediately stops crying and perks up, "You will?"

There's something so uncomfortably open, vulnerable, and hopeful about that look that it makes Iwaizumi quickly divert his gaze. He scowls and pretends not to notice the way the boy was looking at him like... he grapples for the correct comparison. When he thinks he got the right ones, his frown just deepens and there's a flush creeping up his neck.

Like he looks at tofu. Like his mom looks at his dad when he says something stupid, something so mushy and terribly fond.

And then he scowls and shakes his head. No, that's not quite right. Nothing seemed to describe the way the boy's eyes were shining as he stared at him, nothing could compare to the way he bounced on his heels with a grin spilling out of his lips. There's no word to describe how he looks at Hajime, but Hajime isn't all that bothered with descriptions. He never has been.

(He will never be bothered with poetry and metaphors even after he grows up. He will give up on trying to describe the genuine adoration in the boy's eyes as he stares at Hajime soon enough. To him, it's simple: He looks at him like he is Hajime. Not Iwaizumi, not Seijoh's ace, not the senior partner of one of Japan’s top architecture firms. He looks at him like he's Hajime, the boy with messy hair and a glare that is a little too fond and eyes that are warm and lit with a soft joy. He looks at him like he's Hajime long after he no longer is Hajime but a shell of what he used to be, long after he is lost in the maze of his own mind, long after his body no longer seems like his own, long after he had given up on finding himself. Tooru looks at him like he's Hajime and like that's such a wonderful thing to be.)

He finally ends up blurting, "Of course, dumbass."

His mom would yell at him if she heard him say that (he overheard her calling his father that with that awfully fond look on her face, so it can't be anything too bad, right?) but she's not here and Iwaizumi is a free man who can say as many 'no-no words' as his heart desires.

Iwaizumi is positive that the boy is glowing. His toothy grin looks so giddily happy that Iwaizumi has to suppress a smile of his own. At that moment, he decides;

He looks way better when he smiles.

I wanna make him smile like that all the time.

He crouches down in the sand and pats his shoulder, "Come on, climb up my shoulders."

"You... won't let me go, right?" he asks, hesitant.

"I won't," Iwaizumi swears solemnly, looking as sincere as a five-year-old with dirt smeared all over his face and pigtails sticking up in strange directions and hooks his pinky with the boy's, "Promise."

That seems to be all the convincing he needs. He climbs up Iwaizumi's shoulders, tongue sticking out of his lips in concentration.

In the end, both of them do end up falling down, getting a mouthful of sand each. Iwaizumi spits out the sand, embarrassed because regardless of his brave words, there's only so much weight he could bear. And the boy was heavier than he thought he would be.

(But Iwaizumi does keep his promise for years and years to come in all the ways that matter.)

Iwaizumi's head snaps toward the sound of booming laughter. To his surprise, the boy was laughing so hard curled in a fetal position on the sand and not... crying? Hajime's brows furrow. Why is he so happy? We didn't even manage to reach the swing .

The boy wheezes out, "Who's stupid now?"

Iwaizumi would've been more embarrassed if not for the boy's lisp which made 'stupid' sound like 'thupid'. He ends up laughing along with him and drops a handful of sand on his shirt, making him gasp, "Still you!"

They play under the scorching sun like that for a while, throwing sand at each other's hair and laughing gleefully. After what seems like forever, the heat manages to tire them out.

The boy pants, out of breath. He beams, "I'm Thooru!"

Iwaizumi's lungs burn as he rasps out, proud," I'm Hajime."

In that summer, Hajime and Tooru find each other. The world seems to pause for just a minute, gaping in awe, because together, they are invincible, immortal, infinite. In that summer, Hajime and Tooru are mightier than the gods (there's something glorious about being five and free), and the world is theirs to conquer. They may not be gods or fearless or smile as much as they do now as time goes by, but one thing is for certain: In all the summers to come, they will find each other. It will always be Hajime and Tooru, Tooru and Hajime against the world.

"Hajime!" the wind carries his mom's voice from across the park, "Lunch is ready!"

He looks back at Tooru, who was looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He stretches a hand to him, palm up, and expresses his love in the only way he knows how to, "Wanna come to my house? My mom makes the best agedashi tofu and she has the coolest Godzilla bandages. She gives them to me every time I get hurt. You can have one, too."

Tooru takes his hand and nods vigorously, "Let'th go!"

Hajime laughs and pulls him up.

***

2. eight, eleven, twelve.
                               it's storming out, maybe you should come inside/ and tell me why you don't wanna be alive/ if you don't respond, i'll put my shoes on/ and lay down on the pavement next to you/ if we get struck at least we'll make the news

It’s when he knocks on Oikawa's window for the seventh time, shivering, that he wonders if this was a bad idea. It had seemed like a solid plan when he sneaked out of his room by his window with nothing but his bag of snacks and godzilla plushie tucked under his arm. The streets are quiet, except for the strange rustling sounds and occasional howling of street dogs that make him jump out of his skin.

This is fine , he thinks, rubbing his arms in hopes of feeling some warmth on his skin, this is going according to the plan .

You see, he did not actually have all that much time to properly construct his house-escape plan. If he did, he would’ve at least bought his favourite worn out sweater. All he knew was that he was so angry at his dad for not leaving his mom alone and making her cry all the time.

Tonight, he had pulled a stunt where he had just showed up to their house unannounced even after his mom told him he can’t do that anymore (Hajime is not quite sure why that is, and he isn’t particularly bothered to ask why. He had shrugged them off as adult problems).

A few months ago, when his mom told him that she and his father are separating and they will no longer be living in the same house anymore, he… wasn’t as upset as everyone expected him to be. Truth to be told, he didn’t like his father that much. He was rarely at home; there was always this work or the other and he missed every birthday his, failed to show up to every parent-teacher meeting in his school. And even when he was home, all he would do was sleep or watch TV and answer Hajime in that clipped, irritated voice of his, not even meeting his eyes. So it’s not like there’s much to miss anyway.

It was just recently that he found out his father wasn’t very fond of him, either. It was well past bedtime when they were fighting, almost 11pm, but hey, it’s not like he was deaf. And their walls were thin.

“What part of 'this is not working out' do you not understand?! I am sick and tired of you running away from our family and still expecting me to stick by you-”

“That’s the fucking problem, Emiko! I never wanted this! This family! It was just supposed to be you and me! How am I supposed to stick with my family when that consists of a child that I never fucking signed up for in the first place?!”

“I don’t want to deal with this now. You get out of my house. Right now.”

He doesn’t listen after that. He is already grabbing his secret stash of snacks and his godzilla plushie and climbing out of his window. It’s whatever, he thinks, I don’t even care about him anyway.

He decides he’s going to walk to Oikawa’s house, knock on his window (which was thankfully on the ground floor) till that idiot wakes up and spend the night with him. He is not going to get any sleep if he stays in his house; even if his dad does leave in some time, the whole night will be filled with his mom’s quiet sobs that will no doubt haunt him. 

So there he was, hitching his backpack higher up and kicking a pebble in frustration. This is so stupid. He is sleepy and it’s late and he has school tomorrow. He doesn’t want to miss school because of his stupid dad who doesn’t even like him. Which didn’t matter, obviously. Because Hajime didn’t like him either. But aren’t fathers supposed to like their kids? Wasn’t that a normal thing? But it’s whatever. He doesn’t care. He really doesn’t. Pinky promise.

“Iwa-chan?”

He jumps and yelps slightly at the sudden sound, raising his arms up defensively. His whole body sags in relief when he sees Tooru, eyes wide in surprise and still drooping, like he's stuck between wanting to shake him by the shoulders demanding an explanation and just going back to sleep. He rubs his eyes, blinks and stares at Hajime like he’s trying to figure out if he was real or if it was all part of a dream in which Voldemort and Godzilla were soon about to make guest appearances.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and reaches forward to pinch the other boy’s arm, clamping his mouth shut knowing that he’ll let out an unnecessarily loud shriek. Oikawa glares at him and in retaliation, like the disgusting dumbass he is, licks his palm.

“Ew!” he hisses, wiping his palm on Tooru’s shirt swiftly,”What the hell, Shittykawa?!”

The boy gasps, scandalized and looks around as if to check if anyone was listening,”Iwa-chan! You shouldn’t swear! Aunt Emiko said so!”

“I’m gonna swear and do a lot more damage if you don’t come out of your room right now.”

Oikawa huffs. He mutters insults under his breath, climbing out of his window anyway,”What a brute. Gorilla. Has no manners whatsoever. Porcupine hair.”

“ Tooru.”

“Fine, fine! I’m here, don’t hit me!” he whisper-yells in response, raising his arms in defense,”What is it?”

Hajime feels a lot less confident about his grand plan now, under the scrutinizing gaze of his idiot best friend. He chews the words around in his mouth, unable to spit it out.

“Huh?” Oikawa plainly asks, sitting down on the concrete pavement outside their house. Iwaizumi follows suit,”Did you say something?”

“I’m going to run away. Wanna come with?”

There are not a lot of things Iwaizumi Hajime will list out about his best friend that he considers likable. He will simply scrunch his nose and call him an annoying idiot who never leaves him alone. But there is a list (in fact, it’s quite long) and one of the reasons in it were: he doesn’t ask too many questions when Hajime gets quiet. He knows not to, he always does.

“Hm. Where to?”

Now this is another thing Iwaizumi hadn’t considered. He gives it a thought and answers in earnest,”That ice cream parlour near that one school to which the big kids go to? The one with the nice uniform? We can camp there, go to that school and even learn volleyball from them. They seem to be really good at it. It can be fun.”

Oikawa finds that perfectly sensible, so he nods. He lets his head rest against Iwaizumi’s shoulder and his voice is soft with sleep when he says,”But tomorrow is Thursday. Thursdays are tofu days. You would hate to miss eating Aunt Emiko’s tofu. And aunt would be searching for you everywhere. Don’t you think she’ll be worried?”

He is not crying. Why would anyone say he was? It was cold and he was allergic to the cold, so his eyes were watering. That’s all. He sniffs,”I don’t know. I think she will be happy if I’m not there. If I’m not there, kaa-san can finally be with oto-san. Oto-san doesn’t like it when I’m there. I just want kaa-san to not cry so much.”

Oikawa snuggles closer and takes his hand in his. He pretends like he doesn’t notice his tears and says,”Don’t be silly, Iwa-chan. I know you don’t have a very big brain, but I do, so I’ll tell you. Aunt Emiko loves you very much. Have you ever seen her cry when she’s with you?”

Hajime frowns,”No…”

“That’s because you make her happy. Your oto-san is not very nice, Iwa-chan. I don’t like him. But Aunt Emiko is the nicest adult I’ve known after my parents. If we both run away, who will she spoil with all her food? Iwa-chan, every house or garden or castle you doodle on the side of your math notebook is what you’re going to build for her, isn’t it? Who is going to build her all those cool buildings when she’s all old and tired? Who would she sit with and watch old movies that no one likes except her? Won’t she get lonely without us there?”

Hajime feels a wave of protectiveness surge in him. He puffs up his chest a bit. Absolutely outrageous. Those movies were boring and awful, but his kaa-san will not have to watch it all by herself, not without having to hear Oikawa and Iwaizumi whine about it the whole time. It makes her laugh, anyway. Absolutely not. He will not let his kaa-san be alone.

(For all his stupidity, he can be quite clever in times like this, Hajime finds himself admitting begrudgingly. In the next few weeks to come, if he deliberately softens his punches and lets Oikawa steal all the food he wants from his plate without much of a fight, that’s for no one to know except himself.)

“You’re right,” he agrees,”Oto-san is mean. I don’t care about him and I absolutely cannot miss Tofu Thursday ‘cause of him.”

Oikawa catches himself from falling face first on the pavement and tries to shake off the sleep tugging his eyelids,”Oh yeah. Good, because I was going to secretly go eat with or without you anyway. Only a fool will miss aunt’s cooking.”

Hajime can feel sleep loosening up his limbs and beckoning at him, too. So he stands and tugs Oikawa up, saying,”Go. I’m sleepy. Get inside and lock your window. Or don’t. Slenderman should come and get you in your sleep. That’ll teach you to be less annoying.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan, mean!”

Iwaizumi gives him a quick, hard hug and starts running to his house before he can start taunting him about it. After he slips inside his room, he closes his window, shrugs off his backpack and goes to his mother’s room. 

She stirs at the sound of the door opening and cracks one eye open,”Couldn’t sleep?”

Hajime only nods and watches her make space for him and lift the blanket so he could climb inside,”Come on.”

He lays down next to her and she wraps his arms around him and huh. Oikawa was right, he was an idiot. How could he ever think of leaving his mom? How could he think she didn’t love him, when here she was, holding him so tenderly, pushing away his hair from his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead?

“Good night, Hajime.” You’re my world.

“Night, kaa-san.” And you’re mine.

***

Five months before his 12th birthday, on January 10th, Iwaizumi lay awake at night. There’s something inside his chest. It lives inside the chambers of his heart and claws at the soft flesh and Iwaizumi pretends like he doesn’t notice it. He tries, he really does, but sometimes, he can’t help but let his laugh slip into a frown when his mind whispers,”Don’t you just want to curl up in a corner and weep? Don’t you want to weep until all that you love crashes and burns, till all the life in you flows out through your tears?”

And he despairs because yes , yes he does.

But it makes no sense. Why would he be sad? His mother is loving and wonderful, she is everything he could’ve asked for. His life in school was nothing short of amazing and his best friend, even if he was annoying, made up most of the good parts in his life with his careful setter hands. He had everything he wanted. He hasn’t experienced even a single difficulty in his entire lifetime. It was ridiculous. Why would he be sad? 

On the night of January 10th, Iwaizumi Hajime looks up at his bedroom ceiling and the tears have been falling for hours now. He doesn’t know how to make it stop. He doesn’t even want to make it stop.

He clutches the fabric of his t-shirt tightly. He is numb as he thinks,

I want to die.

He doesn’t even know why. And he doesn’t care enough to find out. He just wants to sleep forever.

***

He looks at the round, blue pill his mom places on his palm. She looks determined, hopeful. Like she knows this is going to work. What Iwaizumi doesn’t tell her that he saw the fear in her eyes; that helplessness in her gaze when he clutched at his chest and cried that he couldn’t breathe, that slight tremor in her fingers when the doctor said that he had a panic attack and had dissociated heavily due to the anxiety he faced. 

(She asks him,” what is causing you all that hurt? ” and all he can choke out is a feeble,” I don’t know.”)

And now, here they are. Sitting in their living room as she hands him a glass of water and gestures at him to take the pill. After a bit of asking around, his mom had found out that his paternal grandma, too, used to have some mental health issues. He is not delighted by the fact that all he got from his dad is a whole load of daddy issues and bad genes, but he has nothing against the poor lady so he lets it slide.

Major depressive disorder and anxiety , he runs the clinical terms over in his mind and tries to find comfort in them. It was okay. There was something wrong with his head and he doesn’t know why or how that happened, but it did. He is not faking anything. Even the doctor says so. He can’t be a bad person or a faker or a cheater if the doctor says he isn’t.

There is something wrong with me, he thinks and his shoulders relax. He tips his head back, places the pill on the back of his throat and washes it down with water.

***

3. thirteen

are you lonely?/ our fingers dancing when they meet/ you seem so lonely/ i'll be the only dream you seek/ so if you're lonely, no need to show me/ if you're lonely, come be lonely with me

The years are not kind to the boys (but when have they ever been, to anyone?). That year, summer no longer reminds them of home and cherry popsicles. No, summer is now nothing but the burn on their backs, a desert that just stretches on and on with no end in sight, a time where all familiar faces seem foreign and terrifying.

In that summer, they are no longer Hajime and Tooru, but Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Strangers to each other and strangers to themselves, too.

It starts with the uncomfortable itch on Iwaizumi's skin, traveling from his rounded shoulders and wide hips (foreign and terrifying), starts with the way his stomach flips when his mom introduces him as, "This is my daughter, Hajime." and oh, it twists and turns and curls upon itself when the strangers smile and say, "Oh, she's so pretty!"

(For before Iwaizumi Hajime was himself, he was a stranger, an actor holding up a mask which dug into his skin painfully.)

It starts with the world moving too fast and Oikawa running, running, but never catching up. It starts with sleepless nights and a boy with deep blue eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. And it grows and spreads, veins of cobalt poisoning his porcelain skin, with every whistle calling him out of the court, with every toss of his being hailed as amazing, but never good enough.

It's a wretched thing, growing up and growing apart, from others and yourself. The world spins out of focus so fast and it's no longer made of people with genuine smiles and spotless skies. But instead, you start seeing that all smiles are made of knives or weighed down by something invisible and larger than life ( you'll never admit it, but you see it in the mirror more often than not ) and that the skies are filling up with poison and dust and suddenly your lungs are heavy and your eyes are raining and they stay that way ( no one told me this is how it would be , you cry, no one warned me ). The summer never ends and nor does your misery.

They are lying on Oikawa's bedroom floor staring up at the ceiling fan going round and round. Their shirt sticks to their skin (Iwaizumi wants to throw up), slick with sweat. Iwaizumi swats a mosquito out of his face half-heartedly. (S)he forces the words stuck in his throat out, talking to no one in particular, "Why is it that we feel alone even when someone is right next to us?" he asks the sun, who just hangs his head, "How can I miss someone I don't even know?"

(He does know who he misses, but it makes no sense at all, does it? How could he miss himself?)

(It doesn't make any sense, none at all, but that doesn't make the ache in his chest dissolve. It doesn't make sense, but at the same time, it all seems so clear. A paradox he just can't seem to make sense of.)

He wasn't talking to him, but Oikawa answers anyway, "I don't know," he says, "I don't know."

He sounds like he is crying. Iwaizumi doesn't look.

***

Iwaizumi chews on his lip, eyes fixated on his computer screen. His skin crawls and he can't help but turn every few seconds to see if anyone is watching him.

His eyes return to the screen and he isn't sure what he's feeling; he isn't sure if the fluttering in his chest is filled with butterflies, beautiful and bursting with colours, or with moths trying to claw their way out.

The words on the screen say-

Here are certain things that may indicate that you're trans:

• you don't feel comfortable with the gender assigned to you at birth.
• when someone uses the wrong pronoun to describe you, it may cause discomfort.
• you may feel that your body is not in line with your deeply felt sense of self.

Iwaizumi thinks of blood trickling down his thighs every month when he's in the shower. He thinks of the way he cries after that, scratching his skin like he could just peel it off, shoulders heaving and barely breathing. He remembers the way he bites his tongue and tastes the metallic tang of blood whenever he hears someone say, "such a talented girl!" and "she's so fit and pretty! I'm so jealous of her!". He remembers the way his body is always taunt and alert, so painfully strung, always shying away from touch. He remembers relaxing only when he's wearing clothes baggy enough to make it seem like he has a flat chest and narrow hips. He remembers and oh, how he wishes he could forget.

When he closes the website and shuts down his computer, the anxiety thrumming wildly in his blood stills and dissolves. He is oddly calm as he stands and walks towards the mirror in his room.

As he stares at himself, at the body he grew into over the years, he feels like an outsider. Like he was somewhere he wasn't meant to be. When his fingers reach out to touch his cheek, they are slow and heavy, like he was underwater.

After running away from his reflection for so long, he pauses. He pauses and turns back and gazes into his own eyes.

Iwaizumi isn't someone who would be considered overly feminine by any means. With his short, spiky hair and deep, rich voice, he was anything but feminine. His mother liked to fondly ruffle his hair every now and then, saying that he's such a tomboy. And every time, he wants to scream. He wants to be anyone, anyone other than who he was and he wants to run away. From his mom's eyes filled with love, from his family showering him with nothing but compliments, from the skirts filling up his wardrobe, from himself. He wants out, out, out.

The person who stares back at him looks sad, he thinks. Black rings circled his eyes. His face is wrinkled and tired like he had known nothing but eons worth of suffering. His lips are pursed in a wobbly line. He looks defeated.

He hugs the body which was never truly his and closes his eyes. He imagines himself, with broad shoulders and toned arms and with a body that's all lean muscles. He imagines himself.

Hajime exhales shakily.

When he opens his eyes, the person in the mirror is still a stranger, but he decides that it doesn't have to be that way.

It takes him a long time to work up the courage to say it, but he does, eventually. He looks himself in the eyes, unwavering and petrified all the same, "I am not a girl."

And lord, does it feel good to say it. His own words hit him like a sucker punch to his gut and he sucks in a breath. The butterflies and moths in his chest flutter their wings faster.

"I am not a girl," he tells his reflection once more and thinks that the eyes staring back at him finally seem like his, "I am not a girl."

A sob rises out of his throat like waves crashing on the shore. And just like the ocean, Iwaizumi is made of saltwater and melancholy (his lungs are rusted and with every breath he takes, they wither and fall apart) and he holds on to anything he can find with desperation, trying to hold something in his arms and not taint it with his misery. But no matter how much he tries, they all slither out of his grasp and there is no anchor to hold him down.

He peels off the mask that he has been hiding behind for so long. It hurts and he's bleeding and he can't help but choke out a laugh because he can finally see himself.

Here's the thing about heartbreak that no one tells you: you will be the first one to break your own heart. You will be the one to pick it apart, to throw it under a rug and let it collect dust, to let it down over and over again. Because what bigger heartbreak is there in this world than letting yourself acknowledge the fact that you are not who everyone hopes you would be, that you cannot be anyone other than who you are?

(You will be the first one to break your heart, but here's another thing that you should know: there's nothing more liberating than knowing who you are and breaking free of the shackles that hold you down. You will be the first one to break your heart, but you will also be the one to brush away your own tears and collect all your missing pieces, you'll be the one to sit through quiet nights and sing to yourself as you bandage all your wounds. And when the sun rises, you will smile and the skin you grew will be thicker, stronger. You will break your own heart and you will be the one to heal it, too.)

***

 "Iwa-chan," Tooru calls out and his voice is quiet, quiet, quiet , "Can I have a hug?"

Hajime looks up from his notebook, crossing his legs beneath him. His best friend was standing in his doorway, hands limp on his side, eyes darting everywhere except his face. His eyes were all swollen up (crying for too long always did that to him), his cheek blotched in an angry red ( wait a minute , Iwaizumi frowns, is that a bruise?) and his favourite sweatshirt hung loosely on his shoulders ( he is all bone and no flesh, Hajime's mom would fuss if she saw him, he looks like he's going to faint any second. Has he even been eating?)

He places his book on the pillow beside him and opens his arms, "Come here."

Iwaizumi sees his face fall before he crashes into his arms. Tooru climbs on the bed without letting go and wraps his legs around Hajime's waist, clinging on to him with everything he had. Hajime traces every dip and curve of his spine and runs his fingers through his hair matted with sweat, worried, "Tooru?"

He can feel every erratic rise and fall of his best friend's chest against his, and can feel the warmth of his shaky exhale against his neck. He pulls him closer and tries not to wince when he feels his bones dig in his skin. Oikawa doesn't cry; he just holds on to Hajime's back and buries his face on his shoulder and tries to breathe.

Slowly, slowly, his breathing slows down to sync with Hajime's. He rubs soothing circles on his friend's back and waits.

"Would you-" Oikawa starts and pauses, gulping. He sounds pained, "Would you hold me like this even if I told you something disgusting about myself?"

Hajime's frown deepens as he untangles his fingers from his hair and locks his arms behind his back, pulling him closer, closer, and closer still, "Tooru, you're not making much sense. What happened?"

Tooru melts into his embrace. His fingers pressing against Hajime's neck are freezing.

Iwaizumi immediately misses the warmth of his arms around him when he pulls back and looks down guiltily at his own hands. He places an encouraging hand on his bony knee ( has he even been eating?) and gives him a small smile.

Oikawa doesn't look at him, but he can see the way he was trying to blink back his tears furiously. Then, he whispers something so softly that Hajime misses it entirely, "I'm sorry, what?"

The boy flinches back as if burnt and Iwaizumi wants to take it all away; the bruise blooming on his cheek, the shame swimming on his irises, the smear of charcoal around his eyes. He wants to wipe them all away with the sleeve of his cardigan that he wears way too often and make him laugh and laugh with his stupid jokes till the only red tinting his cheeks are from joy, till he knows nothing but sunny skies and hands holding him close, till he knows nothing but a home that is comfortable and loving and safe .

"I-" he begins again, "I'm gay."

There is a moment of silence in which Oikawa's facade crumbles and falls apart. He begins to curl into himself and squeezes his teary eyes shut, "I'm so sorry-"

Iwaizumi's breath leaves him in a whoosh and he finally surges forward, snapping out of the initial shock. He holds his Tooru close to his chest and marvels at how he suddenly seems so small, all bundled up and scared in his arms like this. He hates it.

"Why are you sorry?" he asks, softly, slowly, carefully, "You have nothing to be sorry for. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this."

Oikawa is limp in his arms for a while, "You're... You're not disappointed?"

And it breaks his heart; it breaks his heart to know that this is what growing up is filled with; a nagging feeling starting from your throat and trailing down to your torso poking and prodding you. You're not enough , it insists, you're terrible and you need to morph, morph, morph into someone, anyone who's not you. And the worst thing about it is that you can't find it in yourself to deny any of it.

(salt trailing down your cheeks, with a sob stuck in your throat, you lay awake at night. the time is 3:58 am and you want to drive away into the night and crash your car into the ocean and sleep forever. your limbs are awkward and long and you wear a cloak of weariness on your shoulder. you grew up so fast, everyone gushes. you wish you didn't. you wish you didn't.)

He tightens his grip around his friend's middle and responds, "Of course not. If anything, I'm happy for you. I'm happy you figured out this important part about yourself." he says and he feels Oikawa hold his breath. He pats his back, "You've been so brave, Tooru. Mustering up the courage to tell someone something about you when your head is screaming at you not to do it, is not easy. And yet, you did it. I'm so proud of you."

Oikawa doesn't say anything. He drops his head on Hajime's shoulder, exhaling. His arms wrap around Hajime's neck and pull him close.

Thank you , the fingers skirting on the back of his neck seems to say.

Of course , say Hajime's comforting hands on Tooru's back and the invisible patterns they draw on his t-shirt.

The bruise darkening on Oikawa's cheek catches his attention and he reaches out to touch it. Oikawa jumps away from his embrace, wincing when they barely make contact with his skin. There's a horrible feeling of dread coiling in his stomach when he asks, "How did you get that bruise, Tooru?"

Oikawa purses his lips and looks away from him.

"Please, Tooru."

That gets his attention. Hajime wants to reach and smooth out the sad curve of his lips. He looks tired; like there's nothing he wants more than a good nap, like he wants to curl up right then and there and sleep for a long, long time.

His words are hushed," I. I um. tried to snap myself out of it. You know, just fuckin' erase the fact that I'm gay," he says like that's something to be ashamed of, like he's something to be ashamed of. His fingers dig into his thighs," It was um. It was stupid. At that moment, it felt like I deserved that pain. I wanted to um. stop feeling disgusting. Didn't work, obviously."

"It was dumb. It won't happen again," they tumble out of his mouth in a rush, those feeble excuses, "It's my mistake. I shouldn't have slapped myself so hard. I know, I know, please don't be mad. Are you. Are you disappointed? I'm so sorry-"

"Hey, Tooru," Oikawa freezes immediately at the tone of his voice, "You did nothing wrong. Here's what I want you to know; love is love. Love is not something to be ashamed of. So what, you like men? Tooru, that's okay. And I'm not mad or disappointed. Why would I be?"

 Iwaizumi tries to assess the emotions flashing through those sad brown eyes. They looked desperate and resigned at the same time; like he wanted to believe that that was the truth, but couldn't. Hajime swallows the lump on his throat and barrels on, "I am so sorry that you had to go through something so painful all by yourself. But please, try to tell me if you're feeling like doing anything that may harm you, okay? I'll do anything I can to help, anything. I am not mad at you, Tooru. I'm just worried for you. I don't like to see you hurt. Your sexuality doesn't make you any less worthy of love. Your sexuality is nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. You did your best, and you're here now. That's all that matters to me. But please, be kinder to yourself, yeah? It's hard, but try. You have been taught to hate yourself for the way you love, so it takes time to tear down all those beliefs. But you can do it. I know you can."  

His eyes were filled to the brim with tears now, but he stares at the wall, hell bent on not letting them escape. Hajime shuffles closer to him and cradles his face in his hands, "Hey. Look at me," Oikawa meets his gaze, hesitant, "You are enough. There is nothing wrong with your sexuality, nothing wrong with you. You are loved. Even if the whole world stands against you, I'll be by your side. I'll be by your side and I'll love you through war and peace. You are enough, Tooru. Thank you for being who you are. I love you."

The tears finally spill. They fall on Hajime's palm and trail down his skin, burning hot. Oikawa wraps his fingers around his wrist and leans into his touch. The tears fall, and Hajime brushes them all away.

Oikawa stutters and stumbles over his words when he finally speaks; they quiver and crack but Hajime hears them. Tooru listens to himself, too.

"I'm gay. I don't know if my family will accept me for who I am," he breaks down after the words slip out of his lips, like their weight just slammed into him, "I don't think if I will ever get used to this feeling, this crawling sensation in my skin that keeps telling me that I'm doing something wrong, that I am wrong. But I'll try. I'll try my best."

What can Hajime say to that? What can he do, except hold him close and hope some of his misery would seep into his skin and torment him instead?

"I'm proud of you," he repeats, over and over again, "I love you. I am so proud of you."

Oikawa cries; the tears flow and don't stop for what seems like an eternity and Hajime holds him through it. When they pull away, Hajime stares at his friend's red-rimmed eyes and his protruding collarbones and asks him the first thing that comes to his mind, "Answer me honestly. Did you eat anything at all today?"

Tooru scratches the back of his neck, sheepish, "Uh. Not really."

"Have you ever been eating properly for the last few months?"

Hajime doesn't need Tooru to respond to know the answer for that. He sighs, massaging his forehead.

Oikawa answers the next question he knows he'll be asked without being prompted," I uh. I starved myself just a little bit after I figured out that I am gay because I. I felt like I didn't deserve to eat. It's stupid, I know, but-"

Iwaizumi doesn't let him finish, "Call yourself stupid one more time and I'll shove sharpies up your nose," Tooru looks appalled and amused at the same time. He counts that as a win, "It's alright. I'll be there for you and help you unlearn that. Please don't skip meals, Tooru. You deserve to eat, of course, you do. Let's start telling your brain to fuck off from today, yeah?" he untangles their limbs and stands up, reaching for his wallet, "C'mon, let's eat something. I'll pay."

When he just stubbornly crosses his legs and makes no effort to move, Hajime glares at him, "Get up, Shittykawa. Do you really think I won't carry your ass through the entire city if it means you'll get to eat? Get up, or I'm coming to get you."

It takes time to unlearn hate and learn love. It takes time to look at yourself and not feel your heart dropping, takes time to meet your own gaze in the mirror without feeling repulsed after spending an eternity doing the exact opposite. It is hard to unlearn hate. It takes time, but Oikawa stands up. It takes time, but Iwaizumi hooks his arm around his waist and walks with him to the restaurant. It takes time, it takes so much time, and they take their first step that day.

They go and eat ramen. Oikawa finishes his bowl, and Hajime pays.

***

4. fourteen

now I'm shaking, drinking all this coffee/ these last few weeks have been exhausting/ i'm lost in my imagination/ and there's one thing that i need from you/ can you come through, through?

Oikawa tilts his head and grins, flashing his pearly whites at the mirror. He looks back at Iwaizumi and raises an eyebrow, "I think that one was pretty cute. Should I make that the default?"

Hajime lifts his head from the pillow and glares at his best friend, "For the love of God, Tooru, it's 3:45 pm and we still haven't had lunch. If you don't wanna die a painful death, I suggest that you get your ass out of here."

He harrumphs and glances back at the mirror, "We're not going anywhere until I fix my default smile, Iwa-chan. Do you want me to go to school without knowing how to smile at all the people who come up to talk to me? Especially the people who I don't want to smile at? Don't be ridiculous, I've got an image to maintain. So you better be more cooperative and help me fix the perfect fake smile, or no ramen for you today."

Oikawa still somehow manages to dodge the pillow that Iwaizumi throws at him while he poses in front of the mirror.

Don't get him wrong, it isn't that he isn't incredibly happy about his friend's rapidly increasing popularity in their school due to his volleyball skills (and looks, much to Hajime's dismay). But deep down, he can't help but worry.

Here's the thing about Tooru that Hajime knows all too well: he was born a star. He was born to be admired and be awed by. But here's the unfortunate thing about stars- the brightest ones burn the fastest. Call him selfish and ridicule him all you want, but Hajime can't help but wish to hold his star in his palms, away from the ruthless gaze of the world asking him for more, more, more . He wants to hold him in his arms and tell him to stay in his own little world, and wants to tell him that it's okay, that he is beautiful and so much more than enough. That he doesn't need to be who he's supposed to be.

In front of him, Tooru stretches his lips in another smile, blinding and fake.

But alas, there's only so long one could hold a star down without getting burnt. Hajime can try and shield him from everyone by wrapping him up in his Aoba Johsai jacket, can try to tell him that he doesn't need to practice his serves and smiles a hundred times a day, can tell him that he doesn't need to try so hard. And that's all he can do: try. Because no matter how much the idea of it pains him, the truth is that no one in this world can escape getting hurt. No one, not even the great Oikawa Tooru, can walk without bruises on their knees that seem to say that they've fallen one too many times.

(And oh, his knees are bruised alright. He is staggering under his own weight, panting, willing his knees adorned with purple-black and red to move forward. Hajime wants to clean all the dirt matting his wounds and kiss the frown wrinkling his forehead away.)

( my dearest friend, my sun, my sweet, won't you let me wrap my arms around you? let's go down in glory, of melting wax wings and cool caresses and the myth of icarus rewritten. with love in your eyes and a laugh on our lips, let's burn down to ashes, glorious and together.)

Hajime laughs at Oikawa's silly grin, with his tongue stuck out and hands raised in a peace sign, "That's the one, 'kawa. Perfect."

Oikawa wags his finger in front of his face threateningly, but Hajime doesn't miss the smile tugging his lips, "That was the worst one yet, Iwa-chan. You're so useless."

"Whatever," he jumps up to his feet and starts pushing Tooru out of the room, "We'll do the rest of this useless bullshit later. Let's get out of here, I'm craving some tofu."

"But Iwa-chaaaaaaaan-"

"No."

Hajime ignores the pout he gets in response with difficulty and shoves him out of the door, locking it behind them. It's a good day; the weather wasn't too cold, just chilly enough to tickle your skin every now and then and make you smile. The sky was spotless, stretching out forever in a breathtaking blue. Oikawa clings to his arm like a sloth and whines about how cruel he is the whole way.

Iwaizumi smiles. It's a good day.

"Iwa-chan."

"Mhmm?"

"You're paying for the ramen."

"Fuck right off. I paid last time, it's your turn now."

"But I left my purse at home!"

"Liar, I saw you take it before we left. Even if you didn't, I don't care. You're paying."

"Iwa-chaaaan," Oikawa nuzzles his face on his neck, making him shiver, "Pay just this once. For me."

And he delivers the final blow by raising his eyes through dark, full lashes and smiling, "Please?"

Iwaizumi shoves his friend away from him in record time, cheeks burning and heart stuttering in his chest as he barks out, "Okay fine, I'll pay this time, you useless bastard."

Oikawa hoots and pumps his fist in the air, "Victory!"

When he turns to him to knock his knuckles on his stupid head, the sight that awaits Hajime knocks all the breath out of his lungs.

Tooru was grinning so wide, glowing with joy, so incredibly bright and real. His eyes were two glimmering crescent moons and the sound of his laugh was warm, pitched all funny, genuine and so, so beautiful.

Iwaizumi steps forward and pulls Oikawa back to him by his wrist, flush against his chest.

"This one," he breathes out, knocking their heads together gently, "This is my favourite smile of yours. Real and beautiful."

He pulls back before he could do something stupid and reckless and walks away, whistling. He prays to all things holy that Oikawa can't hear his thundering heartbeat, "C'mon, dumbass! Let's get going, I'm starving!"

(Hajime doesn't notice the way it takes Oikawa a little too long to catch up with him, doesn't notice the stubborn red that colours his cheeks the whole time he shoves ramen in his face, doesn't notice how he stutters and stumbles over his words for a long time after that.)

***

When he comes back home, he sees his mom sitting on the couch, talking animatedly with a phone pressed to her ear. His aching feet carry him to her as if in reflex.

They are a clockwork, a jigsaw puzzle, two cogs of a machine working perfectly in sync. He drops down next to her, she removes her hands from her thighs and reaches for his shoulder. He pillows his head on her lap, she strokes his hair and pats his back soothingly. 

Hajime is tall, way taller than his mother. His shoulders are broad and his voice is deep and ringing and when they stand together, he easily dwarves her. But as he lays on her lap and hugs his knees to his chest and fights back his tears, he feels smaller than he has ever been. The hands carding through his hair are comforting, familiar and he's safe. In her embrace, listening to her talk to her sister happily on the phone, with the scent of jasmines enveloping them, he's safe. He's okay.

There is something about being in your mother's arms. There is something about the warmth of her eyes and the concern in her voice and her steady, solid, presence telling you that it's okay. It's okay to fall apart. It's okay. I'll take care of you. Suddenly, you are a kid and there are scratches all over your skin and the tears are scorching your cheeks as you cry into her dress. And then her hands are brushing away the hair falling in your eyes and her voice is a lullaby full of promises and the scratches don't feel so painful anymore. Her eyes are clear, clearer than yours have ever been, and you think that you're gonna be okay. You think that you're gonna be okay and you believe it.

But for the first time, Hajime doesn't feel like he's going to be okay. The spiders crawling up his windpipe don't disappear and I'm not okay I'm not okay I'mnotokayI'mnotokayI'msoafraidI'msorryI'msosorryI'msosorry-

His mom isn't all that fond of verbal declarations of love. Whenever he asks her about it, she frowns and flicks his forehead. It's not necessary to tell someone you love them , she says, all that matters is if you care about them genuinely. That itself is enough. Love is not something that needs to be declared to the world; it can exist quietly, in the dip of your throat and the drumming of your heart.

But okaa-san , he had always wanted to argue, you love me so loudly. You tell me that all the time.

Iwaizumi Emiko loves not with her words, but with her actions. I love you , her hands say as they drape the blanket over her overgrown child's frame with a faux annoyed eye-roll. I love you , the crinkles on her forehead say as she shoves a handful of almonds and a plate of sliced apples to him and insists that he eat it in front of her. I love you , says the feeling of the comb against his scalp as she brushes his hair every morning. I love you , says her goofy grin and the stupid jokes she makes whenever he's sad just to make him laugh. I love you, I love you, I love you , she says, over and over again. Iwaizumi Emiko loves loudly.

As he looks up at her when she laughs at something her sister said on the phone, he finds that he is afraid. He finds that he is terrified .

Would she love him even if he wasn't her sweet little girl? Would she love him for who he really is?

A tear slips out of the corner of his eye.

Would he be the reason why her love, so loud and passionate, is silenced?

She cuts the call with a chirpy goodbye and looks down at him. She pokes his side and chides, "What happened now?"

His voice sounds wrong and she can hear it, too, "Nothing. Just tired."

She shakes her head and sighs, "When are you not? You wet log of wood."

Her voice is full of adoration and he can see the concern swimming in her eyes. She has a strange way of making him smile, but it has worked every time. Except now.

Her forehead creases, "Oh! Did you not take your anxiety meds today?"

"I took 'em."

She presses her palm to his forehead and neck, checking for any signs of fever. When she finds none, she tries to keep the worry out of her voice and asks, "Is everything okay? You looked like you wanted to ask me something when you walked in here. "

Okaa-san , he wants to ask, okaa-san, will you love me just as loudly as you do now after you know who I really am?

"What's for dinner? "

She rolls her eyes and carefully places his head on the couch and stands up, "Alright, that's it. Get up and do the dishes. You can mope around and be tired after that. Up! And go eat some walnuts before you start washing the dishes!"

Please, won't you love me for who I am? Okaa-san, won't you hold me and tell me it's okay to be who I am? Won't you love me loudly ?

The tears start falling as he washes the dishes. He breaks, quietly, quietly.

***

Oikawa is staring. Hajime resists the urge to hold himself by the elbow protectively and turns away. Is it his eyes? Can he see how red they are because of how much he cried the night before? Sure, he lied about having some allergy but with the way Oikawa was looking at him, with that bone cutting, all knowing gaze of his… Hajime suddenly feels vulnerable. Like he’s being picked apart and all the taunts that he tucked to the back of his mind carefully seem to rise as he continues staring, staring-

Hajime slams his pencil to the desk, pushes away his homework and finally bites out,”What is it?”

And just like that, the edge in his gaze seems to disappear. Instead, it’s now replaced with something so… open and loving and it just hits Hajime right in his sternum.

He blinks back the wave of tears that threaten to spill over once again and croaks out feebly,”What?”

It’s nothing new, but seeing Tooru look just as worn out as him startles him a bit. Hajime certainly wasn’t expecting the rawness in his gaze as he closes up his books and shuffles towards him, shoulders hunched and lips pursed. He looks so incredibly exhausted and oh, why did it have to be them? Why did they have to be the ones who hurt so much, so young?

The mattress dips under the weight on his knee digging into it and springs back into place once he settles back against the headboard comfortably. Hajime doesn’t turn to look at him, doesn’t trust himself to look into those eyes and not break down right then and there.

Gangly arms wrap around him from behind and pull him back flush against Oikawa’s chest. Hajime holds back a cry when Oikawa buries his face in the crook of his neck, his breaths coming out just as shaky as his.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, and Hajime sinks back into his warmth and settles his arms on top of Oikawa’s,”Thank you.”

His throat is thick with an emotion that he can’t name,”What for.”

Iwaizumi feels a feeble shrug against his shoulder blades and the tightening of the arms around his torso,”Thank you for staying. Even if everything is shitty and pointless.” he must’ve felt Hajime’s breath catch from the hand he had laid flat on his chest, so he amends lightly,”Math homework really sucks.”

Hajime sniffs and swats at his arm half-heartedly,”You should really learn to do your homework on your own or one of these days I’m gonna smother you with our textbook.”

“Point taken.”

How is it that he always knows? How is it that he always knows what every twitch of his lips means, what every quake of his fingers holds, knows what every pitch and timbre of his voice show? He holds him when he needs to be held, pries his hands away from his eyes when he’s terrified of the monsters hiding under his bed and tells him stupid stories that make him forget that something was wrong in the first place. How is it that he always knows?

Hajime wonders if sometimes, Tooru thinks the same thing too.

The boy behind him was breathing erratically, every inhale stuttering no less than three times and every exhale just as grueling, like he was desperately trying to hold back a flood of emotions. Hajime doesn’t linger on thinking why, exactly, he slowly pries one of Tooru’s hands from his waist and threads it with his own. He leans back on Oikawa for a good measure, not so much as to suffocate him but enough for him to feel warm and grounded. And just as he expected, his breathing slows down to its normal pace soon enough.

He prods Oikawa’s ribs with a finger,“Hey,”

“Mhmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Hajime thinks he can feel the chill of water spreading on the spot where Oikawa’s cheek was squashed against his shoulder. He doesn’t turn to check or wipe away his tears. He just holds onto his hand.

How is it that he, too, knows what to do and say every time when it comes to Oikawa?

“I do now,” he whispers, hand playing with a loose thread on Hajime’s t-shirt absent-mindedly,”I love you too.”

Ah , he thinks, smiling,  that's why .

Hajime winds his hand back so that he can cup the back of his friend’s neck with an amount of care that surprises himself and brings him forward so as to knock their heads together affectionately,”Mhmm.”

***

It is 6 am and he is jittery. He stands before Oikawa's home.

Wow, I can't stop tapping my foot my god I'm so sleepy why am I even going for a run oh look the sky looks so bland ew what's taking him so long that dumbass wait why am I thinking so much I need to stop but oh- my chest looks huge in this shirt I feel nothing okay I need to stop thinking this fast stop it STOP. 

"Iwa-chaaa-" Tooru yawns, stretching his shoulder. He closes the door and pulls on his shoes properly before jogging towards him. Hajime unclenches his jaw and mutters, "Mornin'" before starting to run, not bothering to check if Oikawa had started running with him.

"Hey! Wait for me!" he hears Tooru's protest and the sound of his feet slapping against the pavement. He doesn't slow down.

My chest hurts so much. I just started the run, am I that out of shape? I am sweating so much I keep blinking I should slow down oh no I'm doing it again. Should I wait for 'kawa? I should wait for him. I really should stop thinking okay no wait for him just wait.

He doesn't wait for him.

"Iwa-chan! Stop running!" his voice sounds closer now, Hajime notices, he sounds, he sounds strange.

Is he worried? Is he upset? Oh god, I should have waited for him. Wait, did I do all the school assignments? Did I forget someone's birthday? What day is it? What's the date? Oh god. Oh my god I'm so dead no no I NEED TO STOP

"Hajime!" closer, closer, he is much closer now. He is catching up. Hajime's whole body prickles with a wild, primal sense of fear. He runs.

I am so sorry please let me go please go away I’m sorry I’m not a girl I don't wanna do this anymore please don't let me go please please stay. 

He realizes he's sobbing now.

I am so sorry please please please I don't know what I am begging for I can't stop I need to stop oh my god, oh my fucking god, I can't stop, please.

He doesn't know what happened first; did Oikawa clutch the fabric of his t-shirt and make him lose his momentum, or did he try to catch him as he tripped on his own shoes? He doesn't know. For a terrifying second, his chest explodes and then there's pain. 

When he opens his eyes, he's lying on the ground, breathing hard. His hands, elbows, and knees are scratched and he seems to have taken Oikawa down with him as he fell. He doesn't feel all that real. Was he dreaming? Oh my god, what if he was dreaming and he just couldn't wake up? He was feeling very flighty and detached, just like how he feels when he's dreaming. What if-

"Oikawa," he croaks out. What did he want to ask him? He doesn't know. But knowing that he isn't alone in this nightmare is comforting, so he repeats, "Oikawa?"

His friend was by his side in a second, fussing over his wounds and checking if he hit his head too hard. He decides he's not dreaming when he feels the sting of the wound on his elbow which Tooru accidentally grazes and the concern his friend's eyes seem to hold down to his core, "I told you not to run so fast, Iwa-chan. God, you're so stupid. Thank god you have a thick head, you may have cracked your skull open if you didn't. Are you okay? Is everything-"

"Are you transphobic?" He doesn't have the energy to beat around the bush. He's so tired already. He wants to go home. 

Oikawa pauses. Hajime watches his eyes widen ever so slightly. He really wishes he didn't ask anything when Tooru goes, "Huh?"

He doesn't know if he's angry, afraid, or just exhausted. He wants to burn down everything around him to ashes and let the wind blow it all away till there is nothing but silence. SHUT UP , he wants to scream, SHUT THE FUCK UP. He doesn't really know why, though.

It physically hurts him to ask it again, but Tooru didn't seem like he'll say anything till he repeats his question. So he clenches his jaw and braces himself for the blow coming his way, "Are you transphobic?"

Oikawa drops back on the pavement and stretches his legs, tilting his head with a curious gaze. Hajime finds that he is afraid.

(But then, it seems like that's all he is these days: afraid)

"Iwa-chan," he starts, stretching the syllables as if he was speaking to a child, "You know that I'm gay, right?"

"Yeah."

"You know I'm not a douchebag, right?"

"Jury’s still out on that one."

"Hey!"

"What. What are you trying to say?" He stubbornly blinks back his tears. Was he too dumb to get it? Was Tooru going to say some bullshit like 'you are just confused'? 

"No, dummy, I'm asking, why would I even be transphobic?"

Oh no. He's angry he's angry I fucked up I fucked up oh no oh FUCK-

" I have something to tell you."

What am I saying? oh my fucking lord stop stop STOP-

 "I don't know if you're gonna hate me for this but here goes. Okay, okay." a shaky exhale, nervous shuffling of feet," I am not a girl. I'm trans."

He pauses and heaves in a breath. He doesn't dare to look at Oikawa, "I'm not a girl. The school uniform makes me want to tear my hair out of my head. I hate my chest and my clothes and how everyone calls me a girl. I try, you know. I try to not let it get to me. But it just. It makes me want to jump off a cliff."

He was so sweaty and his mind was running at full speed and everything seemed out of focus. Like he was looking through a blurry lens that just couldn't zoom back in. He blinks and finally meets his best friend's gaze,"I'm not a girl, Oikawa. I'm a boy. I've known about it since last year but uh. It took me some time to muster up the courage to tell you because it matters to me. Your reaction, I mean. I understand if you don't want to talk to me after this or-"

"Whoa whoa!" Oikawa exclaims and stands up, brushing the dirt off his shorts,"Slow down there, big guy. I want you to breathe a bit before you continue, that cool?"

That statement, for some reason, is more annoying than Hajime expected it to be,"I am okay. I am not having a fucking panic attack, Oikawa. Stop treating me like I'm gonna lose my shit any second when I'm clearly not gonna."

That doesn't seem to faze him. He still remains calm and collected and rests his hands on his hips,"I never said you were having one, Iwa-chan. I'm just telling you to stop and breathe. Are you gonna stop breathing? Are you gonna hold your breath and drop dead in a few minutes? Regardless of what I say, you do have to breathe. I'm just telling you to pause and breathe properly for some time."

That's when he notes how erratic his breathing actually is.

Hajime is not sure how his best friend manages to get on his nerves and knock some sense on him at the same time with just a few sentences. He has to give him credit for that, especially the part about where he's fricking amazing with riling him up. No one can quite make him as mad as Tooru can (no one can quite pull him down to earth like he does, too)

He crosses his arms on his chest begrudgingly and takes a deep breath. In and out. In and out. In and out, and repeats the same a few more times. 

"Attaboy!" what?  "I'm gonna just say a few things before you continue, okay? Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this. If I ever misgender you by mistake, just. Flick my forehead or straight up tell me, okay? I most probably will notice and correct myself, but just in case. "

"Are you telling me," it takes him some time to gather his thoughts,"that I was scared out of my mind for no reason?"

Tooru smiles and shrugs awkwardly, "Unfortunately, yes. But scared of what exactly, Iwa-chan? Of me being a dick to you?"

He hesitates. He almost wants to say yes and leave it at that, but he has never been good at changing topics and hiding things. Not when it comes to Tooru. So he admits, "Not just that. I was scared that uh. Scared that you'll be disgusted and leave me or whatever."

Why the fuck am I sweating so much? My god, I had to go and fuck it all up, didn't I?  I just had to go ahead and make all those shitty assumptions. And I went ahead and told it to his face. Jesus fucking christ. I-

"Iwa-chan, hey," Tooru grabs his shoulders firmly and he has no choice but to look at him, "We talk everything out, don't we? We can talk this one out, too. But first, can you tell me if calling you Iwa-chan makes you uncomfortable?"

His lips part in surprise, "Uhm."

He wasn't expecting that. At all.

"No," he responds, a little breathless, when he finally manages to get himself together, "I don't. I don't mind."

"Cool!" his smile is genuine and Hajime does not know how to react, "Next, pronouns? He/him? Or do you go by something else?"

What the fuck is happening. What. This is too easy. Where. Where's the catch?

"He/him." is all he can mumble dumbly as he stares at his best friend nod. There must be a catch. Surely. There always is. He voices out his thoughts, "So. You're okay with all this? No discomfort? Nothing you want me to think about or change? No downsides?"

Oikawa turns away from him slightly and yawns into his fist before he answers,"Sorry 'bout that, I didn't sleep well last night. And no, I am not a faerie asking for your newborn, Iwa-chan. You are telling me your pronouns. I am correcting myself. Of course, there's no downside here."

He is silent. Oikawa senses the discomfort in the air and questions,"Are you okay with me touching you?"

He knows that Oikawa knows he doesn't like being touched too much, but it never fails to surprise him when he always asks for his permission before he does it even after Hajime had assured that he doesn't mind all that much when it comes to him.

Iwaizumi nods and braces himself for whatever was coming his way.

Tooru throws his arm around his shoulders and pulls him to his side, smiling reassuringly,"You worry a lot, Iwa-chan, and you still call me Fussykawa. But it's alright. It's not that easy to believe something a person says, but we can work with that. I'll reassure you everytime you don't feel like believing me when I tell you that there's no catch here, yeah? I don't mind. Not at all."

Hajime thinks it must be around 6:30 am by then. He had always known that he was secretly fond of Oikawa, no matter how dumb he was all the time. There was always something tender hiding behind his insults and harsh words and nicknames. But that morning, he feels a dizzying amount of affection for the brown-haired setter pressed to his side. It makes him go," Holy shit, this guy means so much to me." a few hundred times for the rest of the day. He has felt that way about very few people in his life; his grandpa, when he was teaching him how not to make his place on the dining table seem like a cow shed. He was eight when he looked at the old man's careful, wrinkled fingers, that held his chopsticks and sorted out his mess of a plate back into what it was supposed to actually look like. He had picked up the last of his tofu even though it was his most favourite dish to eat and placed it on Hajime’s bowl when he felt that same powerful rush of fondness slam right into his lungs. My god, he means so much to me. Then, it was his mother. She was hanging up clothes or going grocery shopping to buy him snacks; Hajime can't remember which one it was. All he remembers is the morning light setting her frame aglow, her determined eyes and relaxed shoulders. He remembers how safe he felt in her arms all the time. He remembers his exact thought," I love her so much."

And now as he looks at Oikawa, with his wind-swept hair and slender arm holding him up, with his snarky reassurances and comforting smirks, something similar slams on him. That's when he realizes that this idiot, this fucking asshole of a best friend, is not just his friend. He is so much more than his best friend. He doesn't know what to call it; this strong sense of... gratitude? Love? Trust? He doesn't know. The words don't seem to be big enough to contain the feeling his heart seems to be swelling with. And that's okay, because not everything needs to be labeled and put in a box. Some things just are . So he opens his hands and cups the moment's sun rays that seemed to shine in a way that was a lot more hopeful than he ever remembers seeing them, picks apart the gems studded in every word of affirmation Oikawa gives him and tucks them away in the treasury of his mind. He makes a promise to himself to never forget this moment. He knows this one wouldn't be hard to keep.

He turns to face Oikawa, interrupting his long and disgustingly sappy, supportive speech to wrap him in a hug,"You don't have to tell me a million times," he says,"I trust you." And he means it.

He doesn't have to look at Oikawa to know he's smiling. He hugs him back tighter for a long second and steps back, beaming,"As you should! But now, first things first."

Hajime crosses his arm to his chest, smiling,"And that is?"

"I'm gonna need more details about what makes you uncomfortable and what doesn't," he explains,"But I am also dying of thirst 'cause I kinda ran like a madman to catch up with you. Geez, Iwa-chan, when did you get so fast?"

He shrugs,"I've always been faster than you."

"Title of your sex tape."

"You disgusting bastard," the punch he lands on Oikawa's shoulder is nothing even remotely close to gentle, but his friend just stumbles and cackles. He tries to mask his smile and fails miserably,"Asshole."

Oikawa grins and takes a bow,"Why thank you. Anyways, as I was saying, I am tired and need some ice cream to calm my dying throat. Race you to the shop next block? Loser buys the winner two popsicles and an ice cream."

Hajime scoffs,"That's a terrible deal."

"You're just scared you're gonna lose."

"If you think I'd fall for that, you're a lot more stupid than I thought you are. And that's like. A lot lot."

He pouts and turns around on his heels, huffing,"So much for being faster than me. Pussy."

"What did you just say, you poop haired bastard?"

Oikawa stretches his hands above his head and steps closer to him, challenging his gaze,"Oh, I just called you by your name, Iwa-chan." He presses every syllable of the word with that incorrigible, smug look of his," Pussyyyyyyy."

Hajime clenches his jaw and turns back to the road,"You're on, pseudo-penis."

"You know I hate biology related insults, you lame jerk."

"Shut up and start the counting, claspers."

He gags and cries out loud,"That's absolutely disgusting!"

Hajime laughs,"That's what she said." And bolts out of there without another warning. Oikawa curses.

They reach the shop half dead and wheezing with laughter. They don't know who won, but they do know that they forgot one key detail: they don't have any money. The owner of the store takes pity on them (mostly because he didn't want two sweaty teenagers stinking up his store) and throws a popsicle at their face. They share it; it's cola flavoured and they talk and stop to laugh about the colour of their tongues and then talk a little more. The morning stretches out for a short eternity. They throw their popsicle stick in the nearest dustbin, say thanks out loud to the blond shopkeeper who seemed to be at his 5th cigarette of the day already and head out home. Hajime thinks it won't be so bad to start every morning of his life like this, and he knows Oikawa is thinking the same thing, too.

***

5. fifteen

anxiety, tossing, turning in your sleep/ even if you run away, you still see them in your dreams/ it's so dark tonight, but you'll survive, certainly/ it's alright, come inside, and talk to me

One day, when he was slamming down the spikes carefully set to him by Oikawa after school (it was their daily routine and they followed it religiously), a tentative voice called for him. He is sweaty and his shirt is sticking uncomfortably to his skin but then, it’s not all that surprising. When you’re 15, every day is claimed by summer and the sun’s greedy fingers. Some days, the touch is kind. And on the others, not so much.

Tooru frowns as Hajime dodges the set and lets the bounce away from him to look at the meek girl standing a good 10 feet away from them (it was the first time he had broken their routine).

The girl clears her throat,”Iwaizumi-san,” she says,”Can I talk to you in private for a minute?” 

Thick eyebrows pull together, puzzled. Another peculiar thing disrupts their routine. It was always Oikawa who was called by nervous girls to quiet corners, always him who said the words he now found himself saying,”Yeah, sure thing.”

It takes him a good minute to remember her full name. Shio Misaki. She sat a good few benches in front of him in class while he always preferred to lounge on the very last bench. He doesn’t really talk to anyone other than Oikawa, Mattsun and Makki, but from a few polite conversations that they’ve had from being partnered up in random projects, he knows she’s nice. Funny. Has a loud laugh that makes everyone around her laugh. She talks to everyone, but is mostly attached to her close knit group of friends that only consists of girls. Oh, she was also pretty. Very pretty.

What did she want to tell him?

He can feel Oikawa sizing her up, and can see the gears behind his eyes turning. Before he could breeze in with a cunning smile and scare the poor girl away, Iwaizumi gave him a firm glare that said Stay. and dismissed the mocking pout he received in reply.

The conversation was a blur. Or rather, he remembers it in bits and pieces.

The note was put in a teal coloured envelope which was addressed to him. She chuckles nervously and explains that he wears a teal coloured sweatshirt every other day and so, she had assumed it was his favourite colour ( Oikawa gifted me that shirt two years ago, he wanted to say, but didn’t). She was right.

“I like you.” a bead of sweat tickled the curve of his spine uncomfortably. Her cheeks are crimson.

“I’m trans. I'm a boy, not a girl.”

His heart is a hummingbird. He vaguely remembers trying to find things to compare it with, something pretty and striking like all the writers do. He comes up with nothing. His heart was uncomfortable, too fast, too big. He wished he could chuck it out of his chest.

She blinks. He remembers how many times her eyes opened and closed again (twice, and then a deep inhale, and then once again).

He doesn’t remember what she said all that well, but it went along the lines of,”That’s alright, Iwaizumi-kun. I like you despite" a pause "that.”

He thinks she tells him a few reasons as to why she likes him. But his blood is roaring in his ears and his lips are twitching, trying to contain his smile. The air is humid as fuck. He doesn’t care. Someone likes him. Someone likes him.

She shoves the envelope in his direction. The words tumble out of his mouth,”Would you like to go on a date with me?”

He remembers the sound of Oikawa slamming the volleyball on the court more than the smile lighting up her face.

Their fingers graze as he accepts the letter from her fingers with a breathy chuckle. Her number was written in the back elegantly.

Another deafening bang. This time, it’s aimed at their house’s picket fence. 

They only exchange shy smiles and a quiet farewell that seemed to brim with excitement, like they couldn’t wait for what the future held for them before she leaves.

Oikawa’s smile is razor sharp,”Looks like the brute got himself a girlfriend.”

The paper crinkles in his hands as he opens the letter. He is shaking, filled to the brim with an emotion that makes him want to cry with relief and laugh for centuries at the same time.

Someone likes me .

***

“You’re kidding me,” he snarls, running a hand through his hair,”You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Something like surprise ripples through his features, like he didn’t expect Hajime to start off with that instead of demanding for an explanation but it disappears as soon as it appeared.Oikawa meets his gaze, unrelenting, refusing to let even a bit of remorse shine through his features. Hajime’s temper only flares. 

Silence reigns, heavy and expectant. Hajime rams his hands on his friend’s chest, sending him stumbling back,”You could at least have the decency to look sorry about what you did, you fucking asshole.”

A proud tilt of his chin,“She had it coming, Iwa-chan. After all the things she said.”

He lost it right then and there.

“You,” shove,”broke,” another shove, harder this time,”my girlfriend’s” one more, and this one makes him fall down with a nasty thump. Hajime doesn’t care,”nose! You broke her nose, Oikawa!”

He is so tempted to kick his shin, hard. So that’s exactly what he does.

“Don’t” Tooru warns, his voice low and icy. Hajime pretends like it doesn’t unnerve him even a bit as his friend gets back up on his feet in one fluid motion,” hit me like some fucking caveman before you know anything.”

Everything was red as he fists Oikawa’s shirt in his hands and shakes him hard,”Oh yeah? Then explain.”

Another pause. Iwaizumi was positive this boy was going to drive him insane.

“She was talking shit about you. To her friends.”

“Yeah? And so you’ll go break her fucking nose instead of telling that to me? Huh? You think you’re my saviour? My knight in shining armour? Who do you think-”

He wasn’t expecting Oikawa to grasp him by his shirt’s collar and hurl him close, baring his teeth. He looked angry; angry at her, at Hajime for making him feel like shit for something he already knew was his mistake, angry at himself for not handling the situation better. His other hand clamps around Hajime’s wrist, sharp nails digging into the skin without mercy,”Yes, I know that it wasn’t the best way to handle the situation. I should’ve handled it when I was calm. But don’t fucking talk to me like I am some sort of irrational asshole who does shit and regrets it later, because I am not,” the curl of his lips taunt him, daring him to fight back,”Sure, maybe I’m an ass, but I still stand by what I did. She was the ass and I was one back to her. I will not apologize to her for that. She had it coming and deserved no less.”

Hajime yanked his shirt out of his grasp and stepped away because he knew that if he stood close to that bastard for even a second longer, he would break his nose or do something else that he might regret. So he scoffs and shakes his head like that would help empty the burning fog filling it up. It didn’t. 

He doesn’t even look up at Oikawa as he exhales and turns around to head home,”I need some time alone. Time away from you. I can’t do this now.”

There are no words of protest, of disapproval. Good , he thinks.

Just as he closes the gate behind him, he decides to not resist against the  petty little part of his brain and calls out,”Oh, and Oikawa?”

His friend looks up, bleary.

He feels nothing but the low growl of his anger and frustration as he says,”I almost forgot to give you what you had coming. What you deserved. Here you go.”

He raises both his middle fingers for Tooru to see and walks away (one hand still raised, the middle finger still lifted for him to gawk at).

(He pretends he doesn’t hear the slew of curses that follow him)

***

He walks into his room without a word to his mom, doesn’t eat anything except three slices of apple for dinner, and all his answers are no longer than 2 or 3 words. His mom gives up on trying to make him open up after a while and tells him to go to bed early. He only nods.

There were 7 missed calls from Misaki. He sends her a simple text (“We’ll talk tomorrow.”) and switches off his phone. He picks up his water bottle from the floor and tips it back, letting the cool liquid stream through his throat. It did nothing to pacify the monster living in the hollow of his chest eating his way through his flesh and making him ache all over. He lays back on his bed and thinks.

I kicked his shin. What if it's bruised? I was careful enough not to kick with too much force, but what if I hurt him anyway?

The pain does not leave him, sleep does not find him. Oh, how he wishes he could cry. But he doesn’t. He couldn’t.

I hurt him. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I should’ve never shoved or hit him. I never should’ve yelled at him. I hurt him badly, didn’t I?

He had never liked fighting with Oikawa.

***

He meets Misaki the next morning at 10 and doesn’t do much except say,”I’m sorry about Oikawa. That was a real bitch move. He heard-”

Her eyes widen nervously at that,”Let me explain my side before you continue, please,” he doesn’t understand what she possibly has to explain that made her look so petrified, but he only inclines his head slightly, letting her speak. He can’t look at her without noticing the bruise on the top of her nose, purple and blooming, without feeling a strange mix of emotions, so he opts to look at her feet. She inhales shakily,”I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the things I said. I was. I was very confused and I. I didn’t mean all those terrible things I said to my friends. I just wanted to validate my sexuality, maybe even to make it seem like I was cool. I don’t know. I just. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Of course you’re a guy. Please forgive me for saying otherwise to my friends. I’m so sorry.”

My chest hurts, he doesn’t meet her eyes, Too much. It hurts too much. Is that normal?

He is speaking, he knows he is, but everything feels so. Out of control. Blurry. His chest was too large. He was too large, all curves and muscles built in every wrong way to ever exist. He is not sure if he can breathe. Was he crying? Why was he shaking? He doesn’t know. But he hears himself say,”We should break up.”

She sniffs. He doesn’t look up to see if she was crying,”Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”

His hands don’t stop shaking for a long, long time.

***

He walks inside the Oikawa household and just stares at Tooru’s mom without saying anything, not having the sort of energy to exchange pleasantries. Thankfully, this woman had known him long enough to know how to read the pleas written all over his face without him having to say even a single word. She waves the spatula in her hand and walks inside the kitchen,”About time. He won’t stop moping around. And you don’t look any better either. Go talk to him.” she mutters to herself,”Where is he, again?”

Oikawa Hime removes the apron and puts the spatula on the dishes arranged carefully on their dining table,”Honey,” she yells, louder than necessary considering the fact that both of them lived in the same house,”Did Tooru come back from that stupid playground?”

Her husband’s response is filled with enthusiasm mirroring her own,”He just sulked and went up to his room!”

“Okay!”

She claps his shoulder, comforting smile in place,”Dramatic teenager hours are over. Be back in half an hour for lunch.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing. 

He trudges up the steps with his balled up hands stuffed in his shorts. His head is blank and he doesn’t remember why he came here in the first place. What would he even say?

He pushes open the door before he could lose it and chicken out. He is not all that surprised by the sight that awaited him, but he still feels his chest cave in.

Oikawa was sitting on his bed with his head resting on the headboard, eyes closed. His eyes are red and puffy and his room’s a goddamn mess. All his blinds were closed and his breathing was strained and shallow, like he had just coaxed himself out of a breakdown. 

He perks up at the sound of Hajime’s footsteps and when his eyes land on him, his lower lip starts wobbling; a telltale sign that there was a sob crouching on the tip of his tongue waiting to be released. Iwaizumi’s throat burns.

“I never told you what happened,” Tooru finally says, breaking the silence. One fat tear rolls out of his eye and his friend makes no move to wipe them away. He hiccups,”I would tell you everything now, but does it really matter? After all that happened?”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” his voice is soft, timbre low and yet, Tooru flinches as if he’s been struck; the burning on his own throat writhes and widens.

Oikawa nods, not in response, but to himself. As if trying to comfort himself. He wipes his tears with the back of his hands, wrings his fingers together in his lap and meets his gaze head on. 

“I was out wasting time on school grounds. Just tossing my volleyball and waiting for you to return after you finished talking to the class teacher. You took too long and I went searching for you. And in one of the classrooms, I heard her laughing with her friends. I was going to continue walking but then… then I heard your name and I couldn’t help but stop and let myself hear what they were talking about.”

His stomach churns uncomfortably. He tilts his head in acknowledgement, urging him to continue.

His words were louder now; clearer. Now that he wasn’t busy wiping off his own tears or blowing his nose into his napkin, he even seemed angry,” I heard her friends ask her about you. Your gender, specifically. And she misgendered you and laughed when asked if you were trans.” His eyes dart around on his body, checking to see any signs of discomfort,”It gets worse after this. Should I give you the detailed version? Or the gist of it?”

He doesn’t let himself ponder about his answer,”The detailed version.”

Oikawa’s face falls further. But he nods, lips set in a grim line,”I thought she was maybe deflecting answering them or lying because she was afraid of outing you, but she just said more and more offensive things as time passed. Said that you were just confused.” a deep inhale. He continues,”Or rather, trying to seem cool. She said that you were just a masc lesbian who wanted to seem cool and she… was the one knocking some sense into your head. And that you called yourself trans because you were afraid of being called a lesbian, because you thought being straight was so much easier.” All the air left him in a whoosh. He won’t meet Hajime’s eyes.

Iwaizumi wanted to throw up. (S)he was sure (s)he was going to throw up right then and there.

“So I confronted her. Asked her what sort of horseshit she was talking about, just to see if she would have an explanation. And maybe she did. I don’t know.” Oikawa wets his lips and cracks his knuckles, hands clammy and fingers stumbling against one another,”But she was silent for a minute when her friends asked her about me. Maybe she was saying those things to please them. I didn’t care and I still don’t. She just took one look at me and smiled, touching my shoulder like we were having some fucking friendly tea party. Then. Then she said.”

Oikawa grinds his teeth together and fists his hands, as if just saying those words poisoned his tongue. Was it always this stuffy here? It was getting harder to breathe. Hajime regrets not opening up the blinds right after he arrived.

“She said she knew that I felt the same way. That I thought of you as a girl too and knew you were just doing this for attention,” only when he slowly flexes his fingers does Hajime see the faint linings of bruises on his right hand’s knuckles,”So I punched her.”

I’m not gonna throw up I’m not gonna throwup I’mnotgonnaI’mgonnathrowupI’mgonnathrowup-

“Do you?” His voice is quiet, quiet and cowardly. He shrinks upon himself from where he stands and ducks his head to hide the silent tears that slide down his cheeks,”Do you see me as a girl? It’s okay. I don’t. I don’t mind the answer. Just answer honestly.”

He expected silence. He expected silence and fumbling words of denial. But Oikawa just sits up straighter and shakes his head slowly. His voice dips into something awfully raw and honest,”I see you as who you are. I see you as Iwaizumi Hajime, my best friend. And I see my best friend look like himself only when I taunt him and call him a himbo, when I see him wearing those awful sweatpants and loose shirts. I see him for who he is. And he is a stupid, headstrong boy that I’m so grateful to have met.” he lets out a nervous, shuddering breath,”So to answer your question: no, I don’t see you as a girl because you’re not one. You’ve never been one. You’ve always just been Iwaizumi Hajime to me and I just got to know that my favourite brute is a boy a little late. Which kinda sorta doesn’t matter. He is still my best friend.”

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the tears in bay,”Asshole,” he chokes out,”You fucking asshole.”

Oikawa only smiles sadly. And then, hesitantly, with a strained smirk, he adds,”Your favourite asshole.”

It sounds more like a question with the way he looked at him. One which Hajime chooses not to answer in fear that he’ll burst into tears right then and there,”I did something shitty too, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Yeah you did.” Honest and blunt, just as he had always been when it came to him, because they had had a whole other fight where Hajime had made it clear he preferred it that way. But now, standing before his friend’s unyielding gaze, he is not so sure if he really prefers that.

Tooru spares him the effort needed to craft a careful question and follows up his statement by himself,”You started off like you believed all the blame was on me.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be, but he’s still offended to hear that,”No, I didn’t. Why  would I even do that?”

“You started off by picking up a fight with me.”

Maybe it’s the clipped tone of his voice or the ice in his gaze; or maybe, it was because he knows that Tooru was right. His shields are up in the blink of an eye,”Well, what do you expect me to do, Oikawa? Give you a badge? You broke her nose! Sure, she may have been a bitch, but you still did almost knock her out cold!”

“And I am sorry for it!” he screams, finally getting on his feet. The tears are flowing freely again,”But don’t you even try to say that you were ready to listen about why I did that. You didn’t want an explanation. You wanted someone to be angry at and I know, I know you should be mad at me but fucking hell Hajime, at least let me speak before you go apeshit!”

A stubborn part of him still wants to fight back, saying that he wasn’t as wrong as Oikawa was, at least. But in the silence of the room, with nothing but their heavy breathing ringing in his ears, Iwaizumi can’t pretend to be that ignorant, to not know that it doesn’t matter who fucked up the most. All that matters was whether he was ready to take accountability for his actions.

He forces himself to drag his guilt ridden eyes to Oikawa,”I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it,”I was angry and I let the anger get the best of me. I said mean things and acted terribly. I’m sorry for hitting you. I’m so sorry, Tooru.”

His gaze softens,”I know. And I’m sorry that I acted the way I did. I’ll apologize to Misaki properly once again and I’ll learn to handle situations better. And. I’m sorry. For that,” Hajime follows his gaze to his own forearm, now adorned with four crescent marks of Oikawa’s nails biting down on them. He lets out a watery chuckle,

“We’re idiots.”

The other teen gives him a small smile,“That we are.”

His stomach churns. On the surface, they patched things up but what if nothing will be the same anymore? What if this was it and they’ll only be acquaintances after this? Oh god, what if-

But Oikawa was already chucking off the clothes on his bed and making space for him to sit.  He freezes suddenly and turns to Hajime, words careful and guarded,”Do you want to stay for a while? We can watch that stupid Shiratorizawa match and analyse the shit out of Ushiwaka’s crappy spikes or we can play Mario Kart. If you want.”

His body feels like jelly from all the sudden relief flooding him,”I would love to.”

***

“-don’t you think this dress will look great on you?” his mom says, scrolling through her phone and showing him pictures of various skirts and tops,”Oh, you’ll look so pretty in this!”

He doesn’t mean to say what he says next, he would swear if you ask him later. It was just that the buzzing was getting too much to handle. Too loud and his skin was crawling and he was static and the ropes were tightening around his neck and he-

“Mom,” he gasps out, eyes trained on his fingers fisted on his lap,”I’m not a girl.”

“Huh?” she blinks,”Oh, right. A young lady? My beautiful daughter who for some reason doesn’t like being called a girl?”

He had a plan. He would wait till he made it to the first year of college, when he at least had an idea of what to do with his life if his mom decided to disown him or wanted nothing to do with him because of his gender. He was going to write a put together speech and do it when he was cool and collected. Not like this. He didn’t plan it to go down like this; he didn’t plan to tell her when they were sitting on their dirty, worn-out couch talking about online shopping, not when his voice was a lot smaller than the one blaring in his head. He had a plan .

“No,” He can’t and doesn’t look at her, but he manages to grind out,”I don’t like being called a girl because I’m not one. I’m a boy, Okaa-san.”

There’s a pause. It screams and it swells; it hurts and it silences. Iwaizumi’s nails dig in his thighs. 

She’s the one who shatters the quiet with a low,”Hajime,” her voice is filled with something that just makes him shrink further in his skin,”Don’t ever joke about things like that.”

Back off stop stop just say you were joking apologise and back away stop stop just fucking stop -

He meets her eyes with a burning gaze of his own, unfaltering in all its honesty.

“I’m not joking,” his voice doesn’t break when he declares it out loud. And for once, he is grateful that his traitorous actions don’t show what he’s actually feeling,”I’ve known since I was 13, Okaa-san. I thought it was just a puberty thing. But. But it was not and denying was just bringing me way more pain. I even came out to Oikawa and my therapist. I- I didn’t want to tell you anything yet, not before I was old enough to be okay with any way you may react to this. But I just can't pretend anymore, kaa-san. Not with you. I’m not a girl. It physically makes me recoil when someone calls me one. Admitting that feels like there’s this huge weight being lifted off my shoulders. I-”

He wants to continue, but the words get stuck in his windpipe that is currently collapsing upon itself as he watches his mom’s eyes fill with tears. She brings her hand up to her lips to hide the way they tremble,”You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“No,” he is making her cry. His mom never cries. Okaa-san never cries ,”’kaa-san, please .”

And he watches, drowning in his shame and disbelief as one after the other, her tears tumble down her cheeks. She doesn’t seem to notice, though. Her eyes are blown wide and consumed by something so powerful that it makes Hajime’s head spin and stomach crawl. I did that. I put whatever that is in her eyes .

And just like that, she straightens herself up. Wipes away her tears and breathes in and out of her nose. Then she stands up, turning away to her room,”I’m not talking about this with you now, Hajime. We’ll talk with your therapist together first when you have your appointment tomorrow.”

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He wants to throw up. He wants to cry. He wants to run after her and tell her to talk to him. But all he can manage is an emotionless nod and,”Okay.”

Long after she has closed the door behind her, Hajime doesn’t move. All he can do is bow his head in his hands and watch the pattern of his tiles (biege, with lines of dark brown slithering through. The pattern looks dirty, he thinks. The filth is seeping through) with wide, unblinking eyes as a thought cycles round and round in his head.

Okaa-san , he thinks, what were those tears for? Did they stream down your cheeks because you loathe to think of the pain I went through these years? Or was that fury and shame swirling through your irises as you looked at me like you didn’t know me? 

“Okaa-san,” he finds himself crying into his pillow at night,”Will I be the one who finally breaks you?”

***

Hajime wakes up with a start, gasping.

“Oh, shoot,” he hears faint shuffling beneath all that ringing in his ears before someone sits beside him on his bed,”I didn’t mean to wake you, Hajime. Look? It’s just me. Everything is alright.”

The silhouette on his bed slowly seemed to gain familiar features that once would’ve calmed his breathing, but now just made it a lot more erratic than it already was. His mom notices this and shuffles a little closer,”Hey, Hajime. Deep breaths. Everything is okay, I promise. You’re okay, I’m okay. We’re okay. Breathe.”

In the moment she turns away to switch on the lights, Hajime closes his eyes and tries to remember how he fell asleep. 

He came back from school, went to take a bath before the dreaded therapy appointment to try and get rid of the nerves. It did not work. So he opted to pointedly ignoring his mother and locking himself up in his room, waiting for the clock struck 5pm so that he can just get this nightmare over with-

His eyes widen,”Oh my god,” he barely catches himself from swearing,”Kaa-san, what time is it?”

She makes herself more comfortable on his bed and sits facing him, answering casually like her son wasn’t just freaking the fuck out,”Oh, it’s somewhere over 8:30pm. You looked exhausted and I know that you’re barely getting any sleep these days, so I just let you sleep. And even if I tried to wake you up, I doubt you’d have woken up. You sleep like the dead.”

He resisted the urge to snap that she was not helping,”But the therapy appointment-”

“I attended it. It was more about her helping you to explain things to me, anyway. She just did the explaining by herself and I asked what I wanted to ask her. You didn’t need to be there actually.”

He was getting a little-lightheaded from all the anxiety clogging up his system. She falls silent after that, looking down at the carpet. Her eyes are red. There are stress lines on her forehead and her gray hairs, which used to be very few, suddenly seem too prominent. That day, under the lights of his childhood bedroom, she looks so miserably old and lost. Hajime’s heart clenches at the sight.

He doesn’t think he can say it until he hears himself saying it,”Well?”

She sounds defeated; Hajime can’t say he’s exactly shocked to hear it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less,”She said you think I will hate you for who you are. That I will hate you because you’re not the daughter I wanted or thought I had.”

Iwaizumi fixes his gaze on a tea stain on his blanket and swallows the bile rising in his throat,”Did she tell you about my gender identity?”

She shakes her head,”No. She said that’s something we both had to talk about and it wasn’t her place.” She hesitates for a moment, before raising her gaze to meet his searchingly,”Did you… really mean what you said? Are you sure that you’re. That you’re uh. A transman?”

There surely must be something stuck in his throat. A rock of jagged edges painfully lodging itself in his windpipe, maybe. Because oh, how it pricks and prods at him as he opens his mouth to gasp out,”Yes.”

This is getting fucking ridiculous , he tells himself as he furiously wipes his tears away with his sleeve and tries to choke back the sob that raises from the depths of the cave in his chest, fucking tears and bullshit emotions and anxiety. God. I wanna go home.

“It’s- it’s really not about whether I’m a boy or not, kaa-san,” he hiccups, feeling pathetic. And just like the tears, all the words he had wanted to ever tell her before tumble out of his mouth without permission. Iwaizumi doesn’t have the energy to try and stop it ,”It’s about what I’m not. It’s about what makes me hurt and feel like I’m losing my damn mind. And the past two years, I’ve found that I feel like I fit in my own skin whenever I address myself with masculine terms and I finally feel like I can breathe whenever Oikawa calls me a dumb boy or his stupid brute because that’s just who I am. I don’t know. I really don’t know anything, but I do know that I’m figuring it out. And that I’m definitely not a girl. Or at least, I don’t think any girl wants bottom surgery and a binder but here we are. And I’m scared, kaa-san. I’m scared you’ll tell me that all this pain I’m going through is for nothing and that I’m just a tomboy and that in a few years I’ll settle in my skin like the perfect little girl I am. I’m so scared that if I tell you that none of that will happen, you will hate me. That you will tell me to get out of your sight. Or worse, that me being me will end up hurting you. I’m just so scared all the damn time and I told you because I don’t think I can go on feeling like that any longer.”

“Oh, Hajime,” warm, familiar arms wrap around him and he just cries harder because he just can’t count how many nights he had lay awake in his room, petrified, thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, dreading that he’ll never get to be embraced by her again. But there she is now, holding him like she might never let go, even after he had finally come clean about his true self and it felt good . His next inhale fills his lungs with air to the brim and it feels like someone was spreading a soothing balm over all the pain that has resided in there for so long,”Hajime, I could and would never hate you. Boy, girl, non-binary, or anything else, it doesn’t matter. You’re still my child, Hajime. I’ve loved you for so long. How could I stop now?”

“But I can’t promise you that I will be the perfect mother, that I’ll understand everything you’re going through and know what to do in all situations.” she continues, brushing his tears away with her tender, weathered hands,”Because the truth to be told, I’m clueless about your struggles because I’ve never gone through something like that. What I can promise you is that I’ll try. I’ll try and I’ll learn from my mistakes and do my best to make this easier for you, for us. We can figure this out together, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah we can,” he smiles shakily,”I’d really like that.”

She smiles and everything about that expression is so fond and Iwaizumi, he feels seen and loved and not for the first time in his life, he thanks all his lucky stars for giving him Iwaizumi Emiko; for showing what true love, in all it’s vulnerability and determined relentlessness, looks like.

“Now,” she ruffles his hair one last time before heading out of the room,”Come on, you might as well eat dinner before you sleep.”

He hums in response but makes no move to follow her. He just sits in the silence of the room for a while, taking it all in. His hands are clammy, but steady. He could smell what he guesses is food from his favourite fried chicken place. He thinks of love languages and gratitude.

He exhales and stands up on his feet.

****

He wakes up to the sound of laughter. He stretches and takes some time to analyze the sound; his distant relatives were here. He grimaces, running through all the ways in which he can escape an awkward encounter. He really wasn’t a people person, especially when 'people' meant annoying relatives.

But alas, he had left his brush in his mom’s bathroom the day before and he was hungry as hell, so hungry that he was ready to risk it all and just get the interaction over with. He sighs.

He takes a minute to pull his slightly grown out hair into a small pony tail and stands in front of his door. Just smile and wave, Hajime, just smile and wave.

Okay. Okay . When he steps out of his room, the conversation halts and all eyes turn to him. His mom looks anxious for some reason he can’t guess. He suddenly has a terrible, terrible feeling about how this whole thing was about to go down. He wants to turn back on his feet and lock himself in his room. But he can’t, not after he had already made the decision to step outside.

He makes himself bow stiffly,”Good morning, aunt, uncle. It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

The lady laughs heartily and looks like he wants to squish Hajime’s cheeks. He takes a discreet step back, not wanting even a slight possibility of that occurring, as she booms,”Hajime! God, look at you! The last time I saw you, you were so short and fat!”

Hajime makes sure his face is not set into his standard ‘shut-the-fuck-up-or-i’ll-shove-a-volleyball-up-your-ass’ glare (as coined by Oikawa). In all honesty, he has no idea who these people were and has no recollection whatsoever of meeting them before now. And he is glad it’s that way. He just wants to go grab his brush and make himself a sandwich and get the hell away from these people that his mother was too polite to chase away.

The man nods, placing the cup of tea down on the coffee table,”She has grown into a fine young woman.”

He freezes.

No.

His wife nods vigorously and punches his mom’s shoulder playfully,”You’ve really done a good job with raising a beautiful daughter, Emiko! She looks just like you!”

He desperately looks at his mom. Say something . 

Say something.

Please.

She does not meet his eyes,”She really does.”

He gets praise after praise heaped on his shoulders. (Oh, such a beautiful girl! And she has such great manners too!) But he can’t tear his eyes away from his mom, who was pointedly looking at everything except him. He feels sick.

Okaa-san , he wants to demand, yell, beg, tell them I’m your son. Tell them I’m your child. Tell them. Say something, please.

But he doesn’t. His mom doesn’t deny any of their statements, doesn’t meet his eyes. She just asks if they want more tea and smiles when they ask if they can see his childhood photo albums in which he had dressed in frilly frocks and skirts with his hair combed into awkward pigtails that he grew to loathe and says she’ll search for them shortly.

That’s right. She doesn’t have a son. She only has a daughter.

Hajime mumbles a feeble excuse about having to finish homework and walks back into his room, hunger all forgotten.

Oh. I’m not her son. I’m her daughter.

He climbs into his bed, curls into himself. He holds his knee against his chest and presses his nails to his forearms forcing himself to sleep. Tears burn the back of his eyelids and slide down his nose and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe but all he can think is, good . He is awake until he isn’t, until sleep grabs him by his ankles and mauls him into the darkness. It isn’t peaceful. And all he can think is, good .

***

Hajime doesn’t know what the time is when he wakes up again. All he knows is the dark slicing all his wounds open further and the feeble light of his phone as he holds it to his ear and listens to his best friend talk.

“Breathe with me,” he says and all Hajime can do is wail because he sounds so tender . Did he even deserve to be treated so carefully? ”Breathe for me, Hajime. You’re doing great already. I know you can do this.”

It was so dark. God, it was so dark, but Hajime can see Oikawa’s hand reaching out for him in the darkness. He says he loves him. He says he sees him for who he is. He says he trusts him. Hajime suddenly understands why being loved is so terrifying now; he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if there was no one by his side telling him it was all going to be worth it; all this pain and noise ; every break of his voice and every snap of the rubberband on his wrist when he finds himself lingering near a kitchen knife for way too long; he doesn’t know what he would do if this boy with heart just as fractured as his and love so gentle, this boy who held the earth in his eyes and wiped away the oceans tumbling down his own was not by his side to whisper lies so real that everything feels okay for a while. He really hopes he doesn’t get to know the answer to that question.

“You’re gonna be okay, Hajime. You’re gonna be okay. Breathe for me.”

“Okay.”

Hajime fumbles around in the darkness and finds that one hand that is always waiting to lift him up. He holds on. He holds on to his phone so tightly that he is sure it is going to break and Oikawa will be gone with it. He holds on to those slender fingers and hopes to god that he doesn’t snap them off. 

“Breathe for me, Hajime.”

And so he does.

***

He toes off his shoes and doesn’t find it himself to call out that he’s home. All that he can do before collapsing on their floor.

He can’t hear anything other than his own breathing, and it sounded strange to his own ears. Why did it sound like he was whimpering? Why was he so dizzy? He walked home. He doesn’t know why he’s so tired. He’s so tired.

“Hajime?” he hears his mom call out,”Hajime, is that you?”

Get up , his head is screaming, get up before she comes and sees you like this. Pathetic. Why are you even crying now? Nothing happened. Faker. Cheater. Loser. Get up .

He pushes himself to his feet with the last ounce of energy he has and forces himself to walk towards the sound of his mom’s voice. By the time he reaches her room, he has scrubbed his eyes dry of any stray tears that had found refuge in the corner of his eyes and set the wobbling line of his lips to something steadier.

Of course, his mom sees through it all. He can see it in the way her forehead immediately creases up and something shifts in her gaze. But she doesn’t ask anything like she would’ve before. Things are different now. They both pretend like it wasn’t.

Whatever overwhelming maternal protectiveness seems to win over her hesitance of talking to him. She asks tentatively,”You seem tired. Would you like to take a nap here?”

Don’t you fucking cry. Don’t you dare. He bites his lip and nods.

He walks towards her and before he could think about it, collapses on her lap. She stiffens beneath him. He hasn’t laid his head on her lap since the day he came out. 

He is so afraid. Please don’t push me away .

It takes a minute, but her hands settle on his shoulders, firm and grounding, like they always have. He knows he’s crying, he knows he has nothing to cry for, but fuck , he doesn’t care. His mother’s fingers are in his hair and he’s safe and he’s home and it’s been so long and he has been so afraid.

“Okaa-san,” he asks, hoarsely,”Are you ashamed of me?”

“What?” she sounds so startled that it’s almost comical. Hajime would’ve laughed if he wasn’t feeling so miserable,”Hajime, what are you talking about?”

“Oikawa got into a fight with a couple of guys in school today because they refused to correct themselves after they misgendered me. He has a broken rib and a bruised eye.” he clutches onto the material of her dress and buries her face in it,”He’s my best friend. I- but it all still feels pointless sometimes, when you- when it feels like you’re ashamed of who I am. I’m so tired, kaa-san.”

She stumbles over her words for a while; Iwaizumi doesn’t blame her, there were a lot of things to unpack there. Eventually, she says,”I’m sorry.”

It’s quiet. Hajime looks up to see tears flooding in his mom’s eyes. She stubbornly blinks them back; she had always said she doesn’t like bringing her emotions into conversations because she doesn’t like people feeling guilty because of it. She has always been the brave one of the two, but now all he can see is someone who was just as worn out as him; someone who was just as afraid and clueless.

He shifts so that he can hug her torso tightly. He hears her exhale shakily. Her hands untangle all the knots in his hair as she continues,”I’m not ashamed of you, Hajime. I never said that I was. I could never be ashamed of you. You’re my son. You’re my everything. How could I ever be ashamed of you?”

Hearing that makes him feel relief like he had never known before; it was like the walls of stone and cement and steel bars that he had painstakingly constructed around his mind and heart and lungs, all stained with a million versions of the very same fear- the fear of losing her love, were broken down with that single affirmation and oh , he was so relieved.

Both of them were crying now. Iwaizumi Emiko bows down to gather him up in his arms,”You’re my son, Hajime. I’m so sorry if I made you feel otherwise. I’m just afraid and I don’t know what to do because. Because people around us, they’re all so filled with hate and I don’t want to see them hold you against yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt by something I can’t protect you from. I’m sorry Hajime. I just did what I thought was right to protect you. I was being selfish and for that, I’m so sorry.”

He shudders and pulls away from her embrace,”But I don’t care,” his voice is soft. Maybe it was time for him to be the brave one,”Okaa-san, I’m always gonna get shit thrown at me for who I am. That’s not gonna change. But if you support me for who I am and show it, that would just mean so much to me. I’m your kid, kaa-san. And that’s all I want to be at the end of the day. That’s enough.”

”I know. I’m so sorry,” She blinks away her tears and pulls him into a fierce embrace,”You will always be my son, Hajime. Nothing in the world can change that. I’m sorry I made you doubt that.”

His eyes fill up with tears all over again. But funnily enough, he finds that he is not so tired anymore, not when he remembers has a mother who fusses over him for not eating properly and a best friend that bursts into his house without knocking in whose arms he can always fall back into and another home that was always wide open for him, all of them telling him, relentless and stubborn in their affection, We love you . It was always nice to know that you’re loved.

***

“Hello? This is Emiko.”

Iwaizumi winces at the sharp pain piercing his neck, courtesy of passing out in their living room couch after another day of hardcore volleyball practice. Oikawa was a menace to deal with, on and off court.

“Yes, yes, I know that. But I really need tomorrow off. I’ll work overtime the day after.”

He really doesn’t want to wake up or even get up from the couch to go to the bedroom. Every muscle in his body seemed to be in self destruct mode. He rolls around and tries to find a more comfortable position. He vaguely listens to his mom pace around the room as she talks on her phone.

“What for? Well, I forgot I had to attend the parent-teacher meeting in my son’s school. I’m afraid I can’t miss that.”

Iwaizumi stills. He forces himself to open his eyes and pinch his arm. It hurt. He was not dreaming. 

“No, you’re wrong, I just have one kid. One son. He will be disappointed if I don’t attend it tomorrow, so I really need that day off.”

He presses his hand to his lips. He’s grinning. He’s crying. I am not dreaming.

“Thank you.” he hears him cut the call and hum to herself as she walks away, probably to the kitchen to start with dinner. When Hajime drifts to sleep, he’s smiling and all he can think is, good .

***

6. sixteen.

you rescued me when my mind was in a prison/ you set me free when no one else would listen/ now i finally feel complete/ and i will follow you into the sea of eternity

"Tell me something nice," Oikawa rasps and coughs, "Because I feel absolutely disgusting right now."

Iwaizumi hides his laughter by turning away and pretending to admire the night sky when Oikawa glares at him.

"It's not funny, Iwa-chan!" he whines, "I'm on my deathbed and you dare laugh at my last wish? You villain."

He digs his fingers on his scalp, but the touch is not harsh. It's gentle and careful and soothing. Hajime carefully ignores the tiny, nagging voice in his head that said that it even seemed loving.

"You're so dramatic," Iwaizumi scolds and flicks his forehead, aggressively adjusting the scarves that he had forced Tooru to wear on top of his jacket, "You just have the flu. And yet you demand I bring you to your balcony so that 'you can gaze at the night sky one last time.' Here's a better idea: how about you go to sleep, you fucking idiot?"

Oikawa blows his nose in his tissues and grins at the other boy lazily," And yet, you brought me here. Ah, I can't blame you. It's impossible to say no to someone as pretty and charming as me."

"Oikawa, there's snot running down your nose."

"Irrelevant. That just adds to my beauty."

(The worst part is, Iwaizumi can't even argue with that. No, the snot does not make him attractive or anything, but his nose was a bright red due to the cold and his chin was buried in his scarf and Hajime hates to admit it, but he does look kinda cute.)

Iwaizumi tries to pin him down with an unimpressed glare, but his traitorous lips curve into a smile nonetheless. Oikawa blows his nose in his tissue and tosses it aside. Just when Iwaizumi was about to call him out for being a disgusting little shit goblin, he plops his head on his lap and croaks out, "Seriously, Iwa-chan. I feel horrendous. But I'm also sleepy as fuck and my head won't stop pounding. Tell me something nice, so that I can sleep thinking of that instead."

Iwaizumi presses the back of his hand to his best friend's forehead and when he's sure that his fever isn't getting worse, he says, "Whatever."

Oikawa beams and then immediately sneezes into the air.

"If I fall sick and die because of you, I'll take you down with me, Shittykawa."

"Aw, how romantic! That's very Romeo-Juliet of you, Iwa-chan!"

After a few shoves and profanities are exchanged, Iwaizumi buries his hand in Tooru's hair and starts thinking, "Hm. What exactly does nice even mean? Do you wanna hear facts about bugs? They're pretty nice to me."

Oikawa scrunches his nose and gags, "Please don't. Just tell me something about myself. Like things you like about me-"

He pokes his forehead, "Narcissist. Self-centered asshole."

Oikawa giggles and swats his hand away, "Stop! I wasn't done. Maybe something about our friendship or something about you that I don't know already. I don't know. Just tell me something nice about us."

"Hm," when he starts scratching his head gently, Oikawa leans into his touch with a contented hum like a housecat being petted. Iwaizumi chuckles, "Um. Your hair, I guess. Your hair is very nice. It's stupid and gelled up all weird most of the time, but it's nice when you just leave it be. Sure, it looks like a bird's nest, but it's soft. Soft and nice."

Iwaizumi expects a comeback, a retort with a smirk lingering on his lips, but he gets none of that. Oikawa's eyes were closed and he was smiling, "Yeah?"

Hajime's throat is suddenly dry, "Uh," he stumbles, "Yeah. I always have a few packets of your favourite milk bread in stock at my place because you whine like a preschooler if you are hungry and there isn't milk bread to shove in your face."

He was pursing his lips so as to not let himself grin, "Mhmm?"

Iwaizumi feels uncomfortably warm, so he shrugs off his jacket (it's just stuffy in here, he tells himself) and continues, "Because you're the laziest fucker I've ever known who vehemently refuses to take care of himself, I refill your water bottles whenever I get the chance. Even when I come over, I always bring a water bottle to your room and leave it there. So that, you know, you stay hydrated. Because you will just go without drinking water a whole day if it's not right in front of you."

Oikawa doesn't say anything and Iwaizumi is glad for that. Because for some reason, the moment felt fragile. Like clay that will fall apart in your hands if you press too much or daisies that the wind will steal from your fingers if you breathe too hard. He continues,

"I consider myself decent in almost every subject they teach in school except for maths and geography. It's a known fact that I loathe maths with all my heart, but I don't think you know that I suck at geography. I mean, I'm good with the shit which they teach in school, but like. I have no idea about where which countries lie. If you ask me whether the USA is a country or a continent, I won't know. It's so fuckin' confusing for some reason? Like. I know that North and South America are continents," Iwaizumi frowns, "they are, right? Whatever, I don't care. But like. Is the USA a combination of both of them? Or is it something else entirely? Who knows? Certainly not me."

His best friend bursts into a fit of giggles and nudges his nose to Hajime's stomach, "Tell me more."

Iwaizumi tries to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and does what he's asked,

"I always make sure to pack a few extra apple slices and karaage since you like it better than the orange slices and katsu your mom packs for you. So that we can exchange it. Win-win situation, because your mom's katsu rocks."

He could feel the rise and fall of Oikawa's chest slow, and could see the lines in his face disappearing. His voice drops down to a whisper, "Your smile. How the corner of your eyes crinkle when you're happy or excited. How you sometimes laugh so hard that no sound comes out of your mouth. How you hate drinking coffee but think its scent is the most comforting thing ever."

He knows Oikawa is not listening. And yet, he continues, and up, up, up his heart rate goes, "It always makes me smile whenever you compliment me because something about it is just so genuine. You know all the right things to say when I'm feeling wrong. And even if you mess up, you are not hesitant to apologize and learn all over again."

His fingers in Oikawa's hair freeze, "You know me better than anyone else. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And. And you still love me for who I am."

Oh, how you love me.

For someone who boasts of having the eye of a hawk when it comes to Hajime, Oikawa fails quite spectacularly to see how the way he smiles at him was a little too gentle and how he looks at him like he was the most beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes upon, like he was the one who he'd like to come home to every day and wrap his arms around, like he was the warmth of his favourite blanket around his shoulders, like he was the sequin-studded night sky and the silver of the moonlight that peppers his skin with butterfly kisses.

When Iwaizumi closes his eyes, this is what he sees: lazy summer mornings spent rolling around on his bed for eternities, snow that bites his skin as he flops down on the blanket of white and stretches his arms with a shiver and a toothy grin, the sound of cicadas and the orange of leaves falling from trees and crunching beneath his feet, the sneeze that tickles his nose as he sits on a flowerbed, twisting a daffodil in between his thumb and index, and Oikawa. He sees Oikawa, with his smile so gentle and his eyes filled with warmth and hands always holding on to him and he just knows.

Oh.

His heart stutters.

I'm in love.

Oikawa mumbles something in his sleep and buries his face in his torso and Hajime lets out a breathless laugh.

Oh. I'm in love with you.

And that's it. There's no thundering heartbeat or tears springing to his eyes or horror clawing at his insides. It's a breezy, soft realization that leaves him warm all over with a dopey smile on his lips. It's not the kind of love that leaves you desperate and hungry for more, it's the kind that leaves a growing ache in your chest and you find that you don't mind it. You don't mind at all.

Because it was nothing new. Iwaizumi Hajime had always been in love with Oikawa Tooru, and the universe will vouch for that. If you ask the comets shooting past our earth if they’ve ever crossed this path when there was a time when a certain Iwaizumi Hajime was not in love with Oikawa Tooru, they would simply twinkle brighter, almost as if laughing at the ridiculousness of that thought. Because it had always been Hajime and Tooru, Tooru and Hajime. He would love him today, he would love him in all the years to come and he is certain he has loved him in all his previous lives and he would fight a million armies of ruthless monsters and cross all the oceans and mountains in this world to get a chance to fall in love with him in all his future lives.

Hajime bumps his forehead with Oikawa's and exhales.

He wonders how long he has until the ache in his chest swallows him whole.

***

Iwaizumi yelps in surprise and hisses out, "What are you doing?!"

Oikawa, perched dangerously on his roof, blows on his window and writes,'let me in <3' (Or so Hajime thinks; he might've just doodled a few balloons and stickmen. His handwriting is a hazard to society)

Iwaizumi drags his blanket cocoon along with him and slams the window open, putting on his most terrifying glare, "What the fuck?"

Fear seeps into his easy grin and Tooru chuckles nervously, "Hi? You didn't pick up your phone or answer your texts and I got really worried. But uhhh, maybe I should've given you a little heads up that I was gonna climb up to your window? Oh well," and then he does the most awkward jazz hands to ever exist that makes Iwaizumi want to hide in a corner and cringe his life away, "Surprise?"

He has half a mind to make the idiot looking at him like a deranged pigeon to go back to his house, but he can't move. There was a shake in his hands and a thousand needles pricking his skin and he felt unhinged, out of focus, and wrong. If Oikawa takes one more step near him or looks at him for a second longer, he is so sure that he will scream and God, was the room always this small? Were the walls closing in on him? He wants to take it off, take it off, he wants to tear his skin away from his body he-

"Hey, look at me."

Iwaizumi pulls the blanket closer to his body and lifts his gaze to see Oikawa.

Oikawa holds his gaze steadily, eyes radiating warmth, "Breathe with me. In and Out. Slowly."

Wrong wrong wrong he feels wrong and why is Oikawa looking at him?

"Hajime."

Iwaizumi inhales sharply.

"That's it. Now breathe out and repeat the same thing."

Iwaizumi collapses on the floor and exhales. He looked up to see that Oikawa wasn't staring at him anymore; his eyes were on the sky, his lips pursed.

Something in his chest loosens. He closes his eyes and breathes till the world isn't spinning beneath his feet, till his heart calms down. He digs the heel of his palms in his eyes and exhales shakily. He wants everything and everyone to disappear. The walls around him rise higher, higher, until they're all he can see.

Then, he hears a voice; A voice softer than a whisper, carrying itself through the walls he thought to be indestructible like they were made of cotton and hay. He can feel Oikawa's eyes crinkling in worry as he stares at the blue sky.

"Let me in, Hajime."

For some reason, his throat constricts and there are tears welling up in his eyes. The way his name rolled off his tongue was so tender , begging for him to just see that he was loved, oh so loved, and promising that he wouldn't mind spending an eternity just to let him know that. His words weren't a command; they were a plea. He wasn't breaking his walls down, he was waiting, waiting so patiently for Hajime to take them all down himself, with a smile and a heart so full of love just for him.

Let me in.

He pulls down the walls, brick by brick, with trembling fingers.

"Come in."

Oikawa gracefully jumps inside the room and slides to the floor, leaning against the wall. He tilts his head to the side and smiles weakly, "Hi."

Hajime cracks and crumbles and lets himself be seen , "Why are you here?"

"You told me that your bitchass aunt was visiting. I wanted to see how you were doing," he pauses, "You wanna talk about it?"

She stared at my chest the whole time. She called me by my dead name thrice. I feel like I'm drowning.

Hajime draws his knees to his chest. Fix it fix it fix it why can't I fix it? Why can't I make it go away? Why is everything so bright?

"It's okay. You don't have to talk about it," Oikawa says, crossing his legs. He strings his hands together, and blows out a frustrated sigh, "Okay. Do you... do you think it'd be better if I leave?"

Lungs filled with water and salt, he looks up. He feels a thousand eyes raking up and down his skin and he feels disgusting. He digs his nails on his arms and drags them down but he feels nothing. Where am I? Why's there so much noise?

Iwa-chan.

Why did Oikawa look so huge ? Why was he so close? Why did he look wrong? His eyes burn because there are so many colours and the world is melting and oh my god, he feels insane. Iwaizumi holds his head in his hands and rocks back and forth. Not real not real not real it's not real-

Hajime. It's going to be okay. Look at me, please.

He knows that voice. Was someone holding him? He's not sure. His skin was on fire and he doesn't know what's happening. He scrambles away blindly, mumbling, "Not real, not real, not real-"

"Hajime," a voice begs, "I'm real. I'm your Tooru. Talk to me, Hajime."

Hajime. Hajime and Tooru. His Tooru.

His wrist stings. He looks down numbly to see an elastic band circling his wrist. Slender fingers pull it back and clumsily let it slap against his wrist. It stings. The hair tie was brown. There was a distant memory anchoring him to the ground; brown, a blinding smile, fingers always reaching out. What was he trying to remember?

Oikawa pulls it back and lets it snap on his wrist again. A drop of water falls on Iwaizumi's hand. Was it raining?

"Hajime," he asks, voice firm and steady, "What do you see?"

"Hairtie," he feels like he's floating, "Your chipped nail polish," he blinks, inhaling, "Brown. The hair tie is brown." The blaring noise in his head reduces to a hum vibrating through his body. He blinks and sees his Tooru sitting in front of him, hands lingering on the hair tie, careful not to touch him. Brown. His eyes were brown and pretty and sad. My Tooru.

"You," he whispers, unclenching his fists, "I see you."

"I'm right here. I'm here for you and it's going to be okay," he lifts the corner of his lips into a wobbly smile, holding out his arms hesitantly, "Touch or no touch?"

A sob escapes his lips as he falls into the arms of his best friend, "Tooru," he gasps out, holding onto his t-shirt for dear life. Don't let me go. Please don't let me go, " Tooru."

"I've got you," Oikawa says, brushing away his tears, "I've got you."

Oikawa's arms around him tighten and pull him closer, making him sob harder. He fists his hands on his t-shirt and tugs , " Tooru."

"I'm here for you, Hajime. It's going to be okay."

And he doesn't disappear. He doesn't slip through Hajime's fingers like he's made of mist and magic. He stays and he holds him and whispers ' I've got you' over and over again in his ears. He stays, and he wipes away his tears and shares his pain, smiling. He stays, solid and warm and real, in Iwaizumi's arms.

When everything around him falls back into place, he pulls away from Oikawa and gives him his answer, "Stay."

A smile, happy and real, " Okay."

They share Oikawa's earphones and listen to pop and punk rock and classical music and screamo in silence till the sun sets and the orange light filtering through the blinds makes Oikawa glow. Iwaizumi lays his head on his shoulder.

"Iwa-chan," he lays his head on top of Hajime's, "Did you eat anything at all today?"

"...yes?"

Oikawa gasps louder than necessary and starts opening up his backpack, muttering, "Unacceptable. It's 5:37 and you haven't eaten anything? Outrageous."

Iwaizumi watches, warmth blooming in his chest, as he pulls out a spoon and a bottle of chocolate spread, "Aha!"

He raises his eyebrows, smiling, "You're gonna let me eat chocolate spread straight out of the bottle?"

Tooru pouts, and Iwaizumi has to resist the urge to kiss it right off his face, "Iwa-chan, even I am not that unhealthy. You're gonna eat this with," he pulls out a packet of milk bread triumphantly," this!"

Hajime's stomach flips uncomfortably to even think about eating. And he is certain that he doesn't have the energy to eat only to barf it all out. He grimaces apologetically, "Oikawa, I really don't think I can eat all that."

His friend opens his mouth looking like he wants to argue, but stops himself. He scratches his head and sighs, "Okay, you don't have to eat it. I didn't eat lunch either so we'll share?" seeing the hesitation in his face, Oikawa bargains, "I'll eat most of it. Deal?"

Hajime caves in, "Deal."

Oikawa grins and resumes the song playing on his phone (the theme of pink panther, which he listens to unironically). While he struggles to tear open the bread packet, Hajime lets himself sit back and admire him.

Oikawa's fan club likes to gush about how pretty he is in their school corridors as the duo walk by, earning an eye roll from Hajime and a fake laugh from his friend. Was he easy on the eyes? Definitely. Was he pretty? Of course. But only a fool would look at him and say the first thing that came to their mind was that he was just pretty ; Oikawa Tooru was finger guns and squinty eyes and booming laughter. He was burning passion and scraped knees and bloody knuckles. He was 3 am phone calls and the pink of cherry blossoms and love. Oikawa Tooru was beautiful.

Under the light of the setting sun filtering through his windows, Oikawa looks like he stepped out of a dream with his face painted in breathtaking hues of red and orange, with his coffee eyes and smile dripping honey. His skin is warm and his hair curls softly under his chin. He pushes his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand with a frustrated sigh as he dips the bread in the chocolate spread, his tongue poking out of his mouth absent-mindedly.

Hajime places his hand on his chest and listens; his heart was thrumming wildly, aching, begging, yearning for him. And as the song ends and a new one begins, he knows, crystal clear. He had always known. I'm in love with you.

Oikawa turns to him and holds out a piece of bread, his eyes smiling and shoulders relaxed, and he looks so beautiful and Hajime wants to scream, Won't you love me back, just this moment? Just this minute? Under this light, with the same melody coursing through our veins, won't you hold my hand and tell me you love me? Just this moment, won't you see me as I see you?

Instead, he just leans forward and bites the bread, and with it, Oikawa's fingers.

" Ouch!" he yelps, shaking his hand around wildly, making Iwaizumi smirk, "Iwa-chan, you're the absolute worst!"

"Why thank you."

He huffs indignantly and wordlessly holds out another piece of bread, which Hajime accepts much less aggressively than the last time. He doesn't notice the way Oikawa's face flushes pink at that.

"Oh, also," Oikawa mentions breezily, "We never really talk about career and shit. The last time I asked, you wanted to go pro with me. D'ya still wanna do that?"

He accepts another piece of bread from Oikawa and shakes his head, "Nah," he says, "I think I might actually consider architectural design. But if I chicken out at the last minute, I’d go for sports medicine. Not sure yet."

His friend chuckles and pops a chunk of the chocolate-covered bread in his mouth, "They are not related at all, Iwa-chan. It's gonna be fun to see you decide."

"Oh shut up, asshole. What are you gonna do? Six months ago it was still going pro, if I remember correctly. Is that still it?"

He scrunches his nose and waves his hand dismissively, "No pro volleyball for me. I think if I play professionally, it will just become another convenient thing to get obsessed about in a very unhealthy way. It's already fucking up my mind-space, with special thanks to Tobio-chan." he gets his forehead flicked for that. He swats away Hajime's hand with a faux glare and continues, "Screw it all, I'm gonna study astrophysics and become a researcher in JAXA. Time to do something that actually challenges and makes me happy. The world won’t be ready for astrophysicist Tooru. Watch me become a fucking rockstar in the world of science, Iwa-chan."

Hajime smiles and knocks their shoulders together, "Nice."

There was still a weight sitting on his chest, holding him down. But as Hajime listens to his best friend hum Bad Blood under his breath and makes stupid finger guns and jazz hands every once in a while with his shoulder pressed against his, he thinks that he'll be okay.

He leans back on Oikawa and scrunches his nose when his hair tickles his face, "Your hair has gotten a lot longer."

Tooru frowns, worried, "Does it look bad? Should I cut it?"

Of course not. You look gorgeous. You always do. Trying to hide his rapidly warming face, he stutters out, "No uhhh. It doesn't look all that bad." Before he could change his mind, he blurts out, "Maybe you should keep it for some time."

A smile blossoms in Oikawa's face, "Maybe I will."

***

7. seventeen.

i think it's only fair/  there's gotta be some butterflies somewhere (wanna share?) /  'cause i like you but that's not enough/ so if you will/  please fall in love with me

Iwaizumi stares at the letters in his hand and sighs. Okay. I got this. I got this. He inhales and raises his hand to knock on his door, but drops it at the last minute. When he turns away and just decides to do it on his own, he sees Oikawa's mom at the end of the stairs, glaring at him with a spatula in hand. He smiles awkwardly and waves, only making her raise the spatula in a more threatening stance. He turns back on his heel and pushes Tooru's door open. Let's just get this over with.

"Oik-"

Oikawa scrambles away from the mirror and wraps a blanket around his head, coughing, "Oh uhm hey, Iwa-chan. You didn't say you'd be visiting." He shrinks in on himself, eyes darting everywhere except Hajime's face, "Uhh now's not a good time so maybe come later?"

Hajime blinks. Once. Twice. Then he sits on the floor and lets out a deep, deep sigh, "Tooru, did you bleach your own hair?"

Oikawa sags, defeated, "Maybe," he admits, slowly pulling down the blanket, "But in my defense, I really thought I could pull it off."

"Oh my god," the tension in his chest rises, "Oh my god."

"Iwa-chan-"

"You- you look so... stupid! And you already looked stupid! Now you just look stupider!"

Oikawa bares his teeth at him menacingly, making his heart skip a beat. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Now, if you're done with memeing me, I have to go take care of this mess," he pulls the hair tie on his wrist and ties his hair in a tiny ponytail, "Get going, Iwa-chan."

Hajime grins, "Oh, I will leave. When I'm done memeing you."

Oikawa groans, rolling his eyes and turning away to search his cupboard for something. And suddenly, the pain in his chest that he had momentarily forgotten about resurfaces and grows and grows and grows. The envelope in his hands feels like a box of rocks.Iwaizumi's heart clenches at the sight.

He thinks about morning jogs where a pair of feet isn't chasing him, he thinks about studying under the dim lighting of his room which is quiet, quiet, quiet . He thinks about laughter and an arm slung around his shoulder all disappearing with the wind, and he thinks about the fingers always reaching out and never being close enough to touch.

What if things are never the same?

Tooru pries away the letter out of his hands and with a knowing smile, "Stop looking so glum, Iwa-chan. I'm not dying. So what if we may end up going to different colleges? You're not getting rid of me just because we may not see each other every day. You're stuck with me till the day you die."

Iwaizumi cracks a smile, "Oh, shoot. Thought this finally would be the thing that'll free me from dealing with your annoying ass. Seems like I was wrong."

The raven chuckles at Tooru's indignant squawk and accepts the forehead flick without protest. But when he reaches out to take the letter out of his hands, Tooru clicks his tongue and jumps away.

"You know what's better than opening a letter that literally holds your future?" His grin is sharp and his eyes glitter, geodes of smoky quartz, "Helping me dye my hair!"

It takes everything in him not to smile at that. He looks absolutely ridiculous and blindingly horrifying, with his choppy hair and his hands in mid-flourish and his neon orange shirt paired with white shorts. He is a disaster and Iwaizumi is whipped.

I am in love with a moron, he thinks fondly, good for me, good for me.

Iwaizumi shakes his head wildly like it would make all the mushy thoughts inside his head fly out. It doesn't work.

He gets up, "I'm gonna go downstairs and grab a bowl for the dye. You go get the other stuff and sit in the bathroom."

By the time he returns, Oikawa is already seated in his bathtub, scrutinizing the tiny lettering on the side of the dye bottle. He hands Iwaizumi a pair of gloves, a brush, and the dye wordlessly.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he sees the colour, "Pastel pink?"

"It's the end of an era, Iwa-chan!" His smile is more wistful than mischievous, "We gotta do something wild to mark this day."

Iwaizumi ignores the way his stomach twists and turns and pulls on his gloves, "Whatever you say, Shittykawa."

"Meanie."

He works in silence for a good amount of time. The quiet rests snugly between them as it always does. Oikawa would tilt his head before Iwaizumi opened his mouth to ask him to do the exact same thing every time. It's familiar and comforting and Hajime pushes the thought that it may be possible that he can't feel this sense of familiarity, this sense of warmth and being understood and home as often anymore to the darkest confines of his mind.

“Look at us,” Oikawa muses, lips tilted in a way that screams pride,”I’m going to one of the top universities to pursue my dream. And you decided not to be a chicken and do what you love. We’re all grown up now, huh?”

Why is he so afraid of leaving him behind? Have they been too close for too long that he has become codependent on his friend, like he needs him to survive? Yikes. That does not sound good.

"Hey, Iwa-chan?"

"Mhmm?"

"Is there anything you wanted to do with me but didn't get to do it yet? Like, to visit a certain place together or to watch some specific movie."

Iwaizumi stills. Where would I start?

"Iwa-chan?"

I wanted to tell you that every time I make you laugh, I feel like I won a fucking lottery. I wanted to hold your hand and swing it back and forth when we walked back home from school. I wanted to take you out on the best fucking date and watch your eyes light up in delight. I wanted to tell you that everytime I sit to sketch out something, the only words stuck in my head that I feel the need to get out on paper are: strength, grace and beauty so tender that it feels like it is made of nothing but light and strands of gold; all the words that remind me of you. I wanted to tell you that creating makes me happy and you inspire me to create. I wanted to wake up every day next to you and be the first one you see when you blink the sleep out of your eyes and mutter "g'mornin'". I wanted to tell you that I love you.

He chews on his bottom lip nervously, "Nothing specific comes to mind. Do you have anything like that?"

Oikawa tilts his head forward so that Iwaizumi can dye his hair more comfortably, "Yeah, loads. I wanted to get my first drink with you. Oh man, I still haven't gone to even a single carnival with you. Oh! And my first tattoo! I wanted to get it and take you with me because I wouldn't scream even if I'm in pain just in case you'd take a video of it. And you would stop me from getting it if you think I'll regret it later. So yeah."

Hajime forces himself to not listen and thinks about something else,”Hey, do you think the timings of our classes coincide?”

Oikawa squints and pouts, annoyed, “Not related to what we were talking about at all, but okay. And no, I don’t think they do. Your classes start at 10am and go on till 4pm, not counting the travel and eating out time lag. Mine starts at 8am and ends at 2pm, so I’ll have to wake up by 5am or earlier if I wanna go for my morning run and make it to the classes on time. So you’ll be in college during my break time and I’ll be studying during yours.”

Hajime tells himself he’s not disappointed that they won’t get to talk even half as much as they do now. That’s how growing up works. You let go of things just a little bit. He knows that his friendship with Oikawa is not something with an expiration date slapped on it, but he can’t help but yearn for just a little more time. Just these few years of college. There’s just too many things left unsaid and so many inches of his love’s skin to be mapped with his hungry lips and he will never know if he could have a chance to do that if he didn’t even tell him his feelings in the first place.

“Careful. Don’t smear the dye on the side of my face, it can be a pain to scrub out after it dries,” Oikawa’s questioning gaze finds him, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” His answer is rushed and leaves no space for further questions. Thankfully, Oikawa doesn’t push (he always knew how to read Hajime like an open book) even though he doesn’t look very convinced with his answer.

“Alright,” Oikawa says, head tilted to the small streak of light streaming in the bathroom through the window, “Did you cover all the spots?”

Hajime bites the end of the brush and gently tilts his friend’s head in different directions, checking if he missed to cover a place. Satisfied with his work, he plucks the brush from his teeth and hums, “All done. Now all we gotta do is wait for a bit and then you need to go take a head bath, Assikawa.”

Tooru reaches for his phone sitting on his lap, sulking, “There was no need for that nickname, Iwa-chan. You’re just making yourself look uncivilized.”

He ducks his head to hide his smile and walks towards the sink to wash the brush and the bowl, “You know that’s not going to stop me from using those nicknames, right, Shittykawa? They are fun to use, plus they suit your character perfectly.”

Oikawa places a delicate hand on his forehead, sighing like a maiden from the 1800's who had just found out that her partner had been cheating on her with her sole nemesis behind her back all along, “You wound me, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime barks out a laugh and raises his hand as if he was going to hit him hard. But he doesn’t and Oikawa already knows that, so he just smiles innocently and moves closer to him. Hajime rolls his eyes and smacks his shoulder without any force, “That was the goal. Good to know I achieved it.”

They bicker like that for longer than Hajime intended, making him curse when he realizes it has been well over half an hour,”Dumbass, go take a bath. Enough waiting, get your ass in the shower.”

Oikawa lumbers out of the bathtub, groaning, “Spoilsport. Also, you’re the one who needs to get your ass out of here, Iwa-chan.” Tooru pauses and smiles the smile that has sirens blaring in his head. He braces himself for the insane shit about to come his way, “Unless you want to join me in there?”

Needless to say, Oikawa’s ear (He doesn’t hold back his strength when he pinches him this time) and Hajime’s cheeks are burning a brilliant red for two very different reasons.

(They may not be for reasons as different as Hajime thinks they are)

 ***

Oikawa, that bastard, is one of those people who might as well pitch a tent and live in the bathroom. What even would a person do in the shower for a whole hour and a half, he doesn’t know. And he definitely doesn’t want to know the answer, either.

He has been playing Mario Kart on his friend’s Nintendo Switch for the last hour after giving up on scrolling through twitter. He’s close, so close, to beating that asshole’s high score when he hears the bathroom door slam open,”Iwa-chan, what do you think?”

It’s not a question; it’s a demand to be looked at. Typical.

“Yeah, yeah,” he thinks he can spare him a half-arsed glance and get back to the game. He is wrong. Oh, he is so wrong. And his ignorance comes at a cost; the cost being him not beating Tooru’s high score. That’s not even the part that pisses him off; what pisses him off is that he can’t even bring himself to care when Oikawa is just standing there looking like that.

His hair, now a shade of cotton candy pink, looks so sweet that it makes his teeth ache and his mouth water. Despite his best attempts to dry his hair properly, droplets of water drip on his shoulder, on the sleeve of his teal tank top that shows off the sculpted muscles of his arms. The material of the wet top clings to his body; Hajime can’t say if he’s delighted or horrified by that fact.

 He was toweling off his hair, trying to appear all nonchalant, but Hajime can see the worry swimming in his wide eyes and hidden in the subtle crease of his forehead.

Iwaizumi gulps.

He forces himself to tear his eyes away from Tooru; he means it quite literally. He has to pinch his own palm to make himself look away, to calm the want rising rapidly in his chest. He strangles the words out of his throat,”Uh,” he chokes, “It doesn’t look bad on you. It’s. It’s nice. The colour suits you.”

For a second, Oikawa smiles and there is no malicious intent or humour behind it. It conveys what it was meant to convey. Simple, contagious joy. The moment was held in the dips of their palms, in the secrecy of Oikawa’s messy room. There’s something thrilling about it; something that leaves all his nerves tingling, because this moment, like a million others, was theirs and even the world’s best storyteller can’t find the words to describe it because it was never his story to tell in the first place. To have something belong to you and only you, the delight that follows, the heady rush of it, cannot be compared to anything else. Hajime finds himself smiling back.

And then it all falls into place; he wants this. He wants a lifetime full of moments like this and more importantly, he wants to tell him. He wants to tell him that he’s in love with him and take him to that stupid carnival and get their first tattoos together and film him making a fool of himself while he’s drunk. College is something he wants to spend with his best friend by his side. It is not a need, but a persistent, stubborn want. 

But it doesn’t matter all that much, he decides. Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime may not be as invincible as they were when they first met, but their dirty fingers still reach out for each other without a second thought even now. Hajime can have his head filled with insecurities, but one thing he could never bring himself to doubt was the fact that their friendship was not something measly like distance could break. 

He knows and yet, he wants more. It is so sickeningly human to want . He doesn’t know if he hates it or not.

“Hey,” Oikawa says, voice softer than the cotton Hajime’s head seemed to be stuffed with,”Stay the night. Sleep here.”

Who is he to say no to that?

“Okay.”

***

Iwaizumi plugs on his earphones and closes his eyes.

When the first song gets over, his eyelids are drooping and his mind is begging him to fall asleep but he can’t, not yet at least. Not until he has made sure of something. He sighs and snuggles deeper into his blanket, just 5 more minutes and I'll get up. Just 5.

But he knows he won't. So he curses all that is holy and sits up, groaning. From the corner of his eye, he sees Oikawa snap his eyes shut quickly.

His lips quirk up, "I know you're not asleep."

No response. Iwaizumi sees the slight creases in his forehead and his downturned lips and something in him softens. He reaches out and cards his hand through the other boy's hair before he could stop himself.

"Tooru."

Oikawa inhales shakily and opens his eyes. They are glassy and so, so sad. "I know you can't sleep,"  he whispers. Oikawa's hair slips through his fingers like silk, "Do you want to talk about what you're thinking?"

He purses his lips and shakes his head slowly. Iwaizumi catches the subtle tremor in his fingers clutching the blanket and frowns. The moonlight filters through the curtains and drapes itself around Oikawa. He is a painting of melancholy and beauty and Iwaizumi can't look away, can't catch his breath.

Hajime brushes a strand of hair away from his eyes and gives him a smile. He shrugs off the hitch in Oikawa's breath as a sign of restlessness, lacing their fingers together.

Oikawa's hands are familiar, but strange all the same. They are unusually cold, but that's okay because Hajime's is warm enough for both of them anyway. He can feel the calluses in his fingertips and palms, and this part of Oikawa is something he knows better than anyone. The bumps and cracks of silver in his hands are an album. A shrine that whispers memories; some are gentle and soothing, and some are passionate and burning. But all of them are about him: Oikawa Tooru, the boy who loved and loved and loved. Oikawa Tooru, the boy who never thought to save a drop of that love for himself.

It's not like in the movies. Hands of the ones you love don't feel like they are tailored to fit in yours, no. They are not perfect; just like anything else in this world. But Oikawa's hand feels right . They remind him of endless summers and ringing laughter. They remind him of volleyball and late nights spent together, of a bond everlasting and true.

Oikawa's hands, Hajime thinks, remind him of home. And he doesn't mind it the slightest, "Come on. If you can't sleep, we might as well go for a walk."

***

It's colder than he expected it to be.

He hugs his arm around himself. Wisps of the night air weave through the thick material of his sweater and bite his skin. He glares at the empty air with his hands in his pockets as if he could scare the cold to submission. It doesn't work.

Oikawa seems to be doing way better than him. His eyes look clearer, all traces of fatigue gone and there's a bounce in his step. He huffs out a laugh when he hears Iwaizumi growl for the third time.

"What, Iwa-chan can't handle a little cold?" he teases. Iwaizumi turns to him with a biting remark on the tip of his tongue, which dies away the second he lays his eyes on his best friend.

Tooru was smiling; not his plastic, overly cheerful smile. It was his real one, which made the corner of his eyes crinkle and set the brown of his irises alight with a quiet kind of joy. His hair was ruffled and he looked... peaceful. He looked like the Oikawa he grew up with, the Oikawa who laughs without a care in the world, the Oikawa he thought he had lost. He looks like himself.

He turns back and mutters something under his breath("Stupid Oikawa and his stupid smile doing stupid things to me and making me act like a 13-year-old with a crush."), speeding up. Oikawa laughs louder and fastens his pace.

"Iwa-chan is so cute when he's annoyed," he coos, "Don't worry Iwa-chan, I'm here to protect you."

Before he could tell him to shut up, something warm settled on his shoulders. Iwaizumi stills and grasps at the fabric of Oikawa's coat. His mind short-circuits.

Tooru, oblivious to the fact that he just broke Iwaizumi, skips ahead. It takes him a few seconds to realize his friend is not walking with him.

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow in question.

"I-" his voice cracks and Iwaizumi clears his throat, a flush rising on his cheeks, "Aren't you cold? You should wear the jacket, To- dumbass." he finishes pathetically, deliberately avoiding Oikawa's searching gaze.

"Nah, you should wear it. I like the cold and I don't get sick very easily," he grins, "besides, you look so small and cute in my jacket, Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi chokes on his own spit.

He shoves Oikawa, hard, making him yelp, "Rude, Iwa-chan! I save you from the merciless cold and this is how you repay me?" he places a hand on his chest and staggers on Iwaizumi, "I'm hurt!"

Iwaizumi bites his lip to hide his laughter and slings an arm around Oikawa's shoulder, digging his knuckles on his head.

"Ouch ouch ouch!" he shrieks, "Can you stop being a brute for 5 seconds?!"

Hajime rolls his eyes," I will, when you stop being over-dramatic for 5 seconds."

Oikawa huffs and jogs ahead, but not before Hajime saw a smile spilling out of his lips.

The empty streets glow in the moonlight, making the city seem like it was made of silver and glass. The night remains quiet, save for the sound of Iwaizumi's thundering heartbeat. The wind laughs at him.

It feels like a crime, somehow; not telling him how much he loved him. It feels wrong to not show all the roses blooming under his skin when Oikawa looks at him because they are so pretty and their scent is nauseatingly sweet. With every smile, every breath, the ache in his chest increases and he pretends like he doesn't feel anything. He pretends like he doesn't know that when roses bloom, thorns always follow suit.

Because Hajime has always been a lover and a coward. He has gotten used to pink skies and beautiful things standing right in front of him, yet so far away.

But as he looks at Oikawa now, walking in front of him with his head tipped to the sky and a blissful smile gracing his lips (he looks like he was made of dreams and starlight), Hajime almost tells him.

I'm in love with you.

Then, he thinks of all that he has to lose and stops. I'll tell him later, he thinks (a lover and a coward).

Oikawa slows down to fall into step next to Hajime, "What are you thinking about?"

He wonders if Oikawa smiles when he's being kissed.

Iwaizumi smiles, hands fisted by his side, "Do you want to race me to the park?"

His eyes twinkle, "Asking for a race when you already know who's going to win? You must really like to lose, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi snorts and doesn't grace him with a response. Tooru sighs, "Why do I even bother with you."

Iwaizumi rolls back his shoulders, "On the count of three."

Oikawa flashes his teeth," One... two...."

And because he's a dirty liar and a cheater, Tooru starts off before he says three. Iwaizumi grumbles and runs behind him.

Oikawa's laughter echoes through the streets, and Iwaizumi smiles, running faster. He reaches out and pulls him back by the hem of his shirt.

"Hey! Let me-" his protests die midway through when Hajime's fingers reach his sides. He shrieks out a laugh, "Iwa-chan! Stop! You monster!"

But the latter continues tickling him, grinning. He doesn't stop until Oikawa is on the ground, cheeks flushed and gasping for breath. Then, he takes off.

He hears a loud, "Oh, two can play this game." behind him, followed by the sound of Oikawa chasing him. Hajime laughs; the sound comes from the hollows of his chest, slowing him down. It has been a long time since he laughed like that."Iwa-chan, catch me!"

Iwaizumi's eyes widen, but his body processes his words before his mind does. He crouches, hands ready to hold up Oikawa.

The boy slams on him seconds later, knocking the wind off his chest. Iwaizumi stumbles but miraculously manages to regain his balance. Oikawa's legs circle his waist and his hands are around his neck and Hajime is almost dizzy with a ridiculous rush of affection. His mind chants, Tooru, Tooru, Tooru, and he grips his thigh tighter, hoisting him up to his hip properly.

Oikawa laughs, breathless, "You caught me."

"Of course I did."

Oikawa rests his chin on the crook of his neck and Hajime's knees almost give out beneath him.

"So?" Oikawa prompts, "What are you waiting for? Take me to our destination, my trusty ride!"

Iwaizumi growls, "Shut up, or I'll drop you."

He knows he won't, and Oikawa does too.

As Iwaizumi runs towards the park, lungs burning and hearing the laughter of the boy he loves so dearly, the aching in his chest subsides to a mere throb. He feels invincible.

***

Iwaizumi drops Oikawa on the park's sandpit, shoulders heaving as he gasps for air. He collapses beside Oikawa, who was laughing to his heart's content. His eyes crinkle as he gasps for air, two crescent moons lighting up Hajime's sky. Iwaizumi coughs out a breath and shoves at his best friend, "Fucking asshole, you made me carry you for a whole ass kilometer. Bastard. Bitch boy. Pain in the ass."

Oikawa continues cackling, "And- and you carried me! You carried me all the way here just because I told you to! I knew you were bulking up those arms for a reason, but who would've known it was to carry me around!"

Iwaizumi scowls and presses his icy hands to his burning cheeks, shivering, "Shut up brat. You deflated chips packet. You good for nothing soft biscuit. You clusterfuck. You dysfunctional twink."

And it's at that very moment Iwaizumi Hajime realizes he fucked up.

The scene is quite comical: Two grown men lying on a sandpit built for kids no older than eight, two nights before both of them leave to study in two different colleges. And one of them just called his best friend (with whom he has been in love with since he was sixteen) a dysfunctional twink. Worst part is that he is not even sure if that is supposed to be offensive.

Just as he's about to fall on his feet and apologize, Oikawa starts full-on guffawing . He's laughing so hard that the sound almost sounds like a scream and tears trickle out of the corner of his eyes. He gasps, "Oh my, " he plants his face on the sand and tries to calm down, but to no avail, "I- can't breathe."

It takes Iwaizumi a few seconds to realize that he isn't joking.

"Jesus Christ, " he swears and makes his dork of a best friend sit up, "Dumbass, breathe. Don't you dare die on me because I called you a stupid twink."

Iwaizumi curses himself when he just laughs harder.

Oikawa stops laughing only after Hajime threatens him that he'll pour sand all over his hair. He chuckles and bumps his shoulder with Tooru's, lying back down. The brunette follows his actions, grinning, "I still can't believe you called me a twink and a useless twink at that!" He places a delicate hand on his mouth, gasping, "I'm so offended! If anything, I'm the most functional twink there is, mind you!"

Iwaizumi purses his lips so that he doesn't smile, but he's sure his eyes betray him as he says, "I hate you."

Oikawa's grin only widens, "No, you don't."

He can only sigh in response, "Yeah, I don't."

He ignores Oikawa cooing, 'awww!' and stares up at the sky. He slips his hand into Oikawa's without thinking twice.

(He doesn't hear the way Oikawa's breath hitches in his throat, and doesn't see the roses blooming on his cheeks.)

(What is it that makes us all so blind to the love the ones we love hold for us? What is it about having hope that is so terrifying?)

Suddenly he's seven, all dirty, beaten up, and yet, so full of wonder. And there he was, by his side, with his puffed-up hair and eyes shining brighter than any star to ever burn in this universe and a small smile dancing on his lips, like he always was. Looking like this is where he was always meant to be; holding Hajime's hand and staring up at the unknown, feeling like they were endless, infinite .

Iwaizumi stares at their linked hands and the way Oikawa seemed to glow under the moonlight. He looks so incredibly beautiful with his cotton candy hair and ever-so-slightly freckled skin, that it makes Hajime ache to do something . To hold him closer, maybe. To hold him so close till they were one. But he knows he can't do that, not yet, so he just settles for giving a small squeeze to his hand.

And Hajime realizes he doesn't want to let go of him. Not yet.

"Tooru?" he calls out, hesitant, making Oikawa turn to him and raise an eyebrow in question. He inhales and tries not to think of how reckless, how dangerous what he's going to ask is.

"Move in with me."

It's not a love confession by any means. But to Iwaizumi, it feels pretty darn close to the real thing.

Before he knows it, words are tumbling out of his mouth, laced with desperation, "Our colleges are not all that far away. We can get an apartment right in the middle of both our colleges. It's convenient for both of us if you think about it. We'll be sharing the rent, and we already know each other so there's gonna be no awkward conversations or bonding sessions, and uh. I'm good at cooking. You can clean. Or we can switch it up and-"

One second Tooru is staring at him with his smiling mocha eyes and the other, he's on top of Iwaizumi, hugging him so close that it's hard for him to breathe, "Yes," he says and it almost sounds like a sigh, like a breath of air he has been holding in for far too long, " Yes, you brute, I'll move in with you."

Iwaizumi is giddy, and almost high on love for the boy in his arms. He wraps his arms around his waist and lets out a breathy chuckle on his shoulder, pressing his lips on the material of Oikawa's worn-out T-shirt.

( Not a kiss , he tells himself, not quite )

He thinks he can stay there forever, in the middle of the park with rusted swings and slides, feeling impossibly warm in a cold, cold night with his love in his arms, looking at the way he doesn't bother masking his joy as he went on and on about how they needed to start apartment hunting as soon as they can, and oh my god, we have so much to do and Iwa-chan I didn't even start packing yet-

Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to kiss him and taste his smile under this quiet night woven just for them, where the wind was singing the sweetest melody and the moon was shining silver and beautiful and theirs.

Hajime likes to think that he did exactly that in another universe. He likes to think that he kissed him breathless and finally told him the words that have been pounding his chest, begging for release for years, "Tooru, I'm in love with you."

But in this universe, all he lets himself enjoy is his best friend's ( best friend and nothing more , his mind tells him and he aches) weight on top of him for a little longer than what would be deemed appropriate, lets himself bask in his warmth and talk to him about apartment listings and budgets and a life golden and glorious, waiting just for them.

(His heart screams for more, more, more and he doesn't even have the energy to silence it)

Eventually, he does have to say, "Oikawa, you're crushing me," earning an embarrassed squeak and a sharp jab to his side.

Hajime is not big on promises of forever (he has always been the cowardly one in the two of them); he finds them terrifying. Because to him, promises mean everything. He never says anything he doesn't mean and he's careful, so incredibly careful when he says something. It's not that he doesn't love that intensely, no. Quite the opposite, really. He has always loved more than his body could take and his mind could comprehend.

(Here's something about Iwaizumi Hajime: when he says he won't let go of you, he means it. He always does)

But the thought of telling that to the people he loves is something he never entertains, for he is afraid of seeing their eyes light up as they repeat what he told them back to him (afraid, afraid, he is always so afraid. he is exhausted, but at the same time, he chooses to pull the heavy cloak closer. he has known how it feels to be afraid for so long that he is not so sure if he can ever stop being so). He is afraid because he doesn't know what their words mean to them. He didn't know if Oikawa meant it when he used to say "When we move in together, I'm going to take you with me for a morning run every day." He didn't know if the word 'when' ( when , he had said, so certainly. when, not if .) meant the same to him as it did to Hajime. Did he also tuck those letters in a corner of his heart fondly and hold onto it? Did he mean it, or was it just one of the silly fantasies of eternity that being young colours your mind with? Hajime never knows, so he is always afraid because he doesn't know if he can take it if someone promises him of infinity and forever but lets him go one day (a lover and a coward.)

But one look at Oikawa, he wants to promise him everything; he wants to promise him that he won't stray far from his side, not even after forever falls apart. He doesn't mind; he doesn't mind if he parrots his own words back to him without meaning them, if he only laughs and calls him a sap, or if he smiles ever so softly. He doesn't mind setting himself up for heartbreak. It is a dangerous thought. He welcomes it with open arms.

***