Archive of Our Own

With a brick in hand, your lip-gloss smile 

Your scraped-up knees, and 

If you stay, I would even wait all night 

Or until my heart explodes 

How long until we find our way 

In the dark and out of harm? 

You can run away with me 

Anytime you want

There is a park a few streets down from where Hajime and Oikawa grew up. 

Getting to it is an easy enough feat that even a blind, directionally challenged donkey could do it in its sleep. Turn left at the corner, pass by two intersections and make a right at the corner house with the pink mailbox. 

Boom, Sendai Community Park.

The sign at the entrance boasts that the park was established in 1979, meant to memorialize the dead daughter of some wealthy businessman with too much money and not enough time for his family. 

Hajime isn’t sure what happened to her, exactly. Some say that she was the victim of a car crash at eighteen, others that she was kidnapped at five. Then, there are some that say that no one even died in the first place. That it was all a rumor made up by the local high schoolers to keep people out of the bathroom, where it’s rumored that her ghost resides, so that they could go in there and make-out in peace.

Hajime thinks that the ghost bit is horse-shit, but also hasn’t ever ventured into the bathroom alone to test his theory. Just to be safe.

Regardless of the possible presence of malicious spirits, the park is nice and well-funded with a couple of dedicated basketball courts, enough room for a pickup game of volleyball, three rusted water fountains, and a few newly added electric ports that allow patrons to charge their phones.

There’s a playground, too. With a metal slide that gets hazardously hot during the summer months and a pair of squeaky swings last replaced when he and Oikawa were nine. 

That weekend was, without a doubt, one of the coolest experiences they’d had to date. Even cooler than the time Hajime had scaled the oak tree outside his grandparents’ house and caught four, four stag beetles with one swipe of his net and the first time the pair managed to properly set and spike over the net during a community training camp combined.

They’d waited in line for a chance to try out the new swings with the other neighborhood kids for hours. Kicked their legs up high enough, the sound of their joint laughter rising as they counted to three when it was finally their turn, before launching their bodies off the seats in tandem. 

Experienced the sensation of flying for just a few seconds before crashing into the ground in heaps. Their laughter failed to cease and they had quickly dusted off their knees before rushing  to get back in line, Hajime’s right knee bleeding and Oikawa offering him a bright yellow bandaid from the little frog purse he used to carry around everywhere. 

“It’s a satchel,” he’d patiently explain to anyone who tried to make fun of him and Hajime always backed him up, not knowing what the hell a satchel was but loyally abiding to the best friend pact they made when they were seven. A pact that required them to prick their thumbs with a needle, press them together and spit in a dirty soda can they found at the base of a picnic table, and promise that they would always stick by each other’s sides, no matter what. 

So far, the pact has survived the test of time, an impressive feat if one really thinks about it, but back to the park. In Hajime’s opinion, its most alluring feature is actually the man-made hill that sits a bit away from the entrance, the playground, the track. Overlooks the entirety of the park due to its vantage, but is cleverly shrouded behind a grove of pine trees with a large oak dead-center. 

When they were younger, it was the make-out spot for the high-schoolers who liked to scale the incline and sit atop its semi-artificial grass, textbooks open on their laps and pencil cases out to create the pretense of studying. Though, honestly, who were they kidding? Everyone knew what they were doing up there, especially the nosy aunties who liked to bring their children to the park and gossip about the youth. How loose and vulgar they were and how they were going to make mistakes that they’d definitely regret in the future. 

Of course, Hajime was never able to find out if those not-so hushed whispers were true and if the high-schoolers really did regret the follies of their adolescence. Nor did he ever get to experience making out on the hill himself. It seems that the tradition graduated with those same high-schoolers ten years ago, all of them now in different places far far away from their small country town. Tokyo, China. India, France. America.

The hill hasn’t seen a kiss in years. 

Honestly, Hajime doesn’t mind. If anything, its abandonment is beneficial to him. The perfect thinking place now that he’s older and has many qualms on his mind. Important thoughts that deserve peace and quiet to be properly mulled over like his upcoming math test and the fact that his best friend of seventeen years will be leaving the country in exactly fifty-seven and a half days without a definite date of return. Just like those high-schoolers.

Yeah, that’s definitely a topic that needs to be pondered. 

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about it, really. Lots of people make bold declarations when they’re young — I’m going to be an astronaut. I’m going to be the president. I’m running away to Narnia. I’m going to Mars — but rarely do any of them actually follow through. 

Oikawa, though — he should have seen this coming, really. Oikawa’s too pigheaded to fail. When he’d first decided that he was going to train with Blanco, Hajime had been just as excited as his best friend, not truly understanding the sacrifices that Oikawa would have to make to follow his idol and achieve his dreams. 

As they got older, the claim had almost turned into a third companion, always with them, its presence unnoticeable at times because they were just so used to it. 

But then one Saturday two months ago, Oikawa had bolted across the street still in his house slippers, frantically waving his phone and bellowing Hajime’s name into the dead of the night. He’d managed to be loud enough to draw out one of their older neighbors. The century-old granny who had a love-hate relationship with Hajime’s mother but always brought them leftover mochi after the New Year. 

Her investigation had resulted in a knowing sigh when she was greeted by the sight of a bewildered Hajime, hair ruffled and limbs sleep heavy, desperately trying to support the weight of a weeping Oikawa, his best friend’s face damp with tears and legs wrapped around Hajime’s waist as he tried to weave his words into intelligible sentences. 

Of course, she (along with the rest of their neighbors) was well aware of Oikawa’s antics, especially when it came to Hajime, and after an offhanded comment to keep it down, it was three in the morning, had stepped back into her house and slammed the door. 

Somewhere during the course of Oikawa’s blubbering, Hajime had picked up the words accepted, volleyball, Blanco, and thank you, thank you, thank you. But it didn’t sink in until Oikawa had finally gathered enough coherence to utter the sentences that had set forth the mood for the upcoming months. 

That he had made the team. That all of his hard work had paid off. But most importantly, that he was going to Argentina. He was going to Blanco. And he was leaving Hajime here. Alone. For the first time in his life. 

He pensively raps his knuckles against his skateboard, the wheels roughed up from scraping against the uneven concrete and one too many failed ollies and rail-grinds as he skips to the next song on his MP3 player. Melancholic piano starts to play, fortifying the mood, and Hajime sighs as he pushes the board to the side. 

He hasn’t tried any of his more daring tricks today, not in the mood for an adrenaline rush. 

To be honest, he hasn’t had the desire to do anything recently. 

Not when there’s so much to think about that the space in his head where his brain resides feels like it’s been filled up with cotton balls soaked in liquid lead. The pressure has been building up for a while now, fizzling and popping and pressing down on him from all directions, leaving him with the most unpleasantly indescribable sensation. 

Two little boys run across the field at the base of the hill, screaming and yelling at each other as a fluffy red terrier chases after them, its high-pitched yaps echoing through the park. He watches as the shorter boy launches himself at his friend, the two laughing loudly as they tumble into a pile, before running his thumb over the back of his MP3 player. 

It’s covered in stickers. Layers and layers of the sticky paper-plastic stacked on top of faded ones over the years. There’s a few for the J-Rock band that he and Oikawa were obsessed with in middle school amongst the conglomeration as well as one for their favorite professional volleyball team. 

A label with his name scribbled in messy kanji and a few artistic pieces of graffiti from when Oikawa decided to take a silver permanent marker to the black casing. Hanamaki’s ugly signature, a Godzilla and three Pikachus. An Apple sticker and a mixtape that was added into the chaos at Mattsun’s insistence. 

And on top of it all is a huge puffy Hello Kitty with angel wings that takes up a third of the space. Her bow is pastel pink and round paws are curved around a heart the size of her torso. There’re little stars and hearts drawn around her in metallic red marker, courtesy of Oikawa, and an arrow with the words “Tooru <3” pointed to her as well. 

It is, without a doubt, the stupidest thing Hajime has ever seen and when Oikawa had first pasted the sticker on, he’d immediately gone home and tried to scrape it off. But of course, the lanky bastard knew him and knew his next course of action and had fortified the permanence of the sticker with a generous helping of super glue and that had been the end of that. 

The sticker is blazingly obnoxious and downright annoying, always getting caught against the edge of Hajime’s pockets and making the girls giggle when he pulls the MP3 player out during breaks. He doesn’t see a resemblance between the innocent looking cat and his best friend, and he’s thought of taking a screwdriver and hammer to it on more than one occasion. 

But right now, as he strokes over the faded sticker, the edges of the cat’s whiskers blurring with age and the swell deflating as well, he’s immediately reminded of the boisterous laughter and indignant yelling that took place that day, the sound not too different from the screech of the two boys roughhousing a few feet away. 

It’s definitely one of the many memories he’s going to constantly think of in the months to come. 

Something cold taps against Hajime’s cheek and he jumps in surprise. Yanks out his headphones and turns over his shoulder to look at his visitor, though deep down inside, he already knows who it is. There is only one fool in the entire world who would be daring enough to sneak up on him while he’s this deep in thought. 

His shoulders relax when Oikawa grins at him. Hands over an icy bottle of Pocari Sweat and drops down next to Hajime. He cracks open the plastic seal of his own bottle and takes a long swig before reaching for Hajime’s left earbud. 

His eyebrows immediately rise when he hears the song that the other has been mindlessly listening to and turns to look at his best friend. “Since when do you listen to pop?” 

“Am I not allowed to?” Hajime asks defensively, twisting the cap on his bottle. 

“No, but you usually complain when I play it.” 

“Well, I just felt like it today,” Hajime replies, not in the mood or headspace to explain that he’s only listening to it because it reminds him of his annoying best friend. The same best friend who’s leaving him here by himself. 

Oikawa holds up both of his hands in defeat and takes another sip of his drink before tilting his head back to look at the sky. Moments pass between them in silence, both slowly taking down the energy drink and listening to song after song. 

Finally, somewhere along the fifth one, Oikawa breaks the lull. “What are you thinking about?” 

Hajime sighs. Stares up at the sky as well. At the clouds passing in the wind and racks his brain for something to say. 

“Graduation. College.” You. Whatever we’re going to do next. 

He doesn’t voice the last bit though, too afraid of what Oikawa might say in response. 

“I know what you mean,” Oikawa laughs softly. He caps his bottle and places it down by his side before pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He rocks back and forth to the closing notes of the song they’re listening to before continuing, “It’s all so much. Sometimes I wish I could just run away. You know?” 

Hajime turns to look at him, head tilted to the side. The MP3 player clicks before switching to the next song. One of Oikawa’s favorites, the opening piano underscored by the beat of a steady drum setting the tone. “By yourself? You wouldn’t last a day.” 

Oikawa huffs a laugh before dropping his head down on Hajime’s shoulder. He pulls out a few blades of grass and tosses them away. “You and me, then. Just us two. Doing our thing like when we were kids.” 

His hair tickles Hajime’s cheek when he shifts, the scent of his sandalwood shampoo invading all of the other’s senses. Hajime lets himself bask in the moment for just a second before redirecting his attention to the sky. “I’d be down.” 

“You’d be down,” Oikawa repeats deadpan, turning his face so that his nose is digging into Hajime’s bicep. He uproots a bit more grass before poking a dandelion a few inches away from his hip. 

“Yeah,” Hajime replies, shifting so that the other’s head is resting more comfortably against his shoulder. “I’m always down to do whatever with you.”  

His words obviously awaken something unsaid in Oikawa because the other immediately tenses. Exhales sharply and sits up before snapping the dandelion by the stem and turning to stare at Hajime. 

There’s something different about his eyes. An emotion Hajime has never seen. The intensity Oikawa exhibits before delivering one of his skull-shattering serves combined with the nervousness he radiates when he’s falling deep into one of his downward spirals. 

Hajime has independently experienced both emotions on many occasions throughout his life, but this is the first time he’s seeing them together. And for some reason, that bothers him. That, despite having been friends with Oikawa for seventeen years, there are still some things he doesn’t know. 

He watches Oikawa lick his lips. Smack them twice before focusing his eyes on a spot just above Hajime’s left shoulder. Hajime turns over to look, follow his gaze, half expecting to see another one of their friends before he remembers. Remembers that Oikawa is the only one who knows how much he loves coming to this park. To this hill and hiding behind the trees to listen to some music and cloud-gaze. To watch the sky as it turns from blue to red to lavender to black, the sun slipping below the horizon like a perfect runny yolk before the stars emerge to guide him home.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa finally says after the longest bout of silence Hajime has ever experienced around him. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?” 

And that’s another thing. That, despite the fact that they have millions upon billions of cherished memories shared between them, more memories than the universe has stars, Hajime knows exactly what Oikawa is talking about. Which memory he’s choosing to evoke on this breezy Thursday evening. 

They were five at the time, hunting for dandelions amongst the grass and even though it was still mid-autumn, the frost had come early that year. Resultantly, they were only able to find a single weed, sad and lonesome, hidden among a thick field of clovers. And just as in tune back then as they are right now, both boys had noticed it at the same time. 

They ended up diving for it, screaming and pinching and roughhousing like they still sometimes do. Calling each other names, desperate to get their small fingers wrapped around the stem while trying to pin the other down. 

However, after calling timeout to catch their breaths and a long-winded discussion, they had come to the realization that they both wanted to wish for the same thing. The same exact thing. Which had been cause for celebration but also scheming. A way to trick the system.

It took some conversing, but finally with the innocence of their very logical, very intelligent young minds, they finally came up with a viable solution for them both to get what they wanted and acted upon it before returning to their mothers’ sides to proudly explain their method of madness, chests puffed out, hand in hand. All this did was elicit loud laughter from both women and a round of cooing, however, followed by many grainy photos taken on a disposable camera that the Iwaizumis still have tucked into an album back home. 

And while their wish (to go see the latest Pokemon movie) had come true, Hajime is positive that it isn’t going to be as trivial a matter this time around. Still. 

He swallows before replying, “You make the wish and I blow.” 

Oikawa’s eyes flicker to his face, gaze steadfast, and he nods slowly. 

His cheeks are starting to turn pink just like the time he decided to hold his breath until Hajime let him have a turn on his new Gameboy when they were six. 

To this day, Hajime can remember the sheer terror that ensued from not acquiescing to Oikawa’s threats. From not believing that he’d do exactly what he said he would. His best friend, lying still on the living room floor, cheeks flushed and eyes closed from supposed oxygen deprivation in his tiny little lungs and Hajime panicking because he thought Oikawa was dead and it was all his fault. 

Luckily, it had all been an act and while Hajime was trying to figure out how to tell his mother that he had accidentally killed his best friend by not sharing his new toy, Oikawa had jumped up, grabbed the game, and run into Hajime’s bedroom to lock himself in, cackling the entire way up the stairs. 

This time, however, the pink flush makes him look more alluring. Highlights the deep browns of his eyes, warm like hot chocolate on a frosty December evening and the teddy bear Oikawa still sleeps with, the apples of his cheeks, plump and enticing, the intensity of his gaze, steadfast and focused. His round button nose and sharp jawline and five sun-kissed freckles and Hajime stares. Stares at his best friend, backdropped by the colorful sky as the sun begins its descent behind the horizon, painting Oikawa in the most vibrant shade of red that has always been his color. 

The evening breeze has picked up as well, ruffling the leaves on the surrounding trees, causing a sharp whistle to sound through the air, and the two boys with the dog are shouting at each other about how it’s time to go home. 

Oikawa looks like he isn’t breathing anymore, face completely still, and he shakily brings the dandelion up to Hajime’s mouth, so close that Hajime has to cross his eyes to look at the fluffy seeds. 

It feels as if time has been frozen over, as if the Earth has stopped spinning for a moment, as if they are the only two beings to exist in the universe, tucked away in their own little bubble like always, just them two against the world, and when Hajime finally finds his voice, he asks, “Is it something important?”

Oikawa nods wordlessly before raising the stem up higher. 

“Then, you blow.”

He can do this much. They aren’t five anymore and Hajime’s sure that no amount of wistful wishing could solve the dilemma he’s in. Because despite how desperately he doesn’t want Oikawa to leave, the reality is that sometimes sacrifices need to be made in order to attain dreams and Hajime isn’t selfish enough to ask Oikawa to stay. Not for him. 

Besides, the little game only works when they’re both wishing for the same thing and Hajime is positive that staying in Japan, in their little country town by Hajime’s side, isn’t what Oikawa wants and so he nods encouragingly at his best friend. “Go on.” 

“No,” Oikawa whispers in return and the sound is so fragile, so unlike him, as if his voice is one of their mothers’ fine bone china cups, prone to shatter at the slightest jostle. “We have to do it together.”

Hajime furrows his brows and exhales sharply. One of the seeds flies off from the intensity of his breath and Oikawa quickly brings his palm up to protect the rest of the flower. 

“You must really want whatever it is that you’re wishing for,” Hajime finally says, his own eyes staring deep into Oikawa’s. Noticing for the first time just how beautifully they reflect the spectacular glow of the setting sun, even the brightest star in the galaxy falling dull in comparison.

Oikawa shifts so that he’s sitting cross-legged in front of Hajime and holds onto the dandelion stem with both hands, elbows resting on his knees. “I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in the world.” 

“You already made Blanco’s team,” Hajime raises a brow. “What more could you possibly want after that?” He racks his mind for years upon years of Oikawa-related memories. Of laughing and shoving and crying and hugging. Of sweat and tears and triumph and euphoria. 

Training with Blanco, with his self-assigned mentor, his idol, is the only thing Oikawa has ever wanted more than life itself. Sure, there’s the Olympics, but it’s definitely too early to begin calling upon deus ex machina just yet and, besides, Hajime has faith that Oikawa will make it there just fine on his own. 

So, what else could there be? 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, voice wavering, “please.”

And that’s the other thing. Whenever he uses that voice, the one that sounds like he’s reached his wit’s end and that he’ll crumple into a million pieces if he doesn’t get what he wants. Whenever that happens, Hajime becomes resolute in fulfilling whatever it is that Oikawa so desperately needs, even at his own expense at times. Because if there’s one thing he’s learned over the many years of being the other’s friend, it’s that Oikawa is his weakness. And as much as he’s tried, he just can’t.

He can’t stop the inexplicable urge to burn down the entire town over a single tear. To fall over prostrate and beg and grovel at whoever is involved to give Oikawa what he desires. To make sure his best friend never has reason for want. It doesn’t make sense and yet he doesn’t care because deep down inside, he wants Oikawa to have it all.

And so, when that voice is directed at him, with low sniffles and on the slight edge of mania, he has no choice but to give in. To do whatever it is that Oikawa is telling him to do.

He nods. Leans in and allows Oikawa to bring the stem closer to his face. Closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath and blows hard with all the strength in his lungs only to balk when he realizes he’s made a mistake. 

Because when he blows, he accidentally makes a wish of his own. 

Wishes and wishes and wishes some more. Wishes the hardest he’s ever wished that Oikawa gets his wish, whatever it is.

The sun has nearly reached the horizon when he finally opens his eyes. Stares directly at Oikawa whose cheeks are lightly stained with a few tears and feels his own heart ache at the sight before leaning back on his palms. “Guess we wait now, huh? How many years is it gonna take this time?”

Oikawa’s face is painted a breathtaking lavender and Hajime is beginning to reconsider what he regards as the other’s color. Slowly coming to the realization that Oikawa looks good in anything and everything, a kaleidoscope bursting and dyeing him all colors of the rainbow. Snot-nosed or smiling. With salty cheeks and a sweaty forehead and his perfectly coiffed hair that is fluttering in the wind. 

Oikawa smacks his lips together hesitantly. Stares directly at Hajime’s face, gaze once again steadfast before murmuring, “It’s only going to take a few seconds.” 

Hajime furrows his brows, heart catching in his throat as Oikawa sits up on his knees. Begins to lean in closer, infringe on more and more of Hajime’s personal space than he ever has until their noses are brushing and he can feel Oikawa’s breath against his face, and the last thing he hears is, “Remember, we made a wish together, Iwa-chan. It has to come true.” 

He feels soft lips pressed against his own before he can even blink; Oikawa exhaling sharply and his eyes fluttering shut as he gently slots their mouths together. Hajime stares at him in disbelief, goes a little cross-eyed as he tries to take in the entirety of the other’s face, of the long lashes brushing against Oikawa’s damp cheeks and the twitch of Oikawa’s fisted hand against his bare knee, stupefied in incomprehension.

He must sit still for too long, however, because, then, Oikawa’s pulling away. Face aflame and eyes looking like they’re half a second from bursting into tears, a delicate wrist pressed over his mouth. “I’m sorry. That was so stupid. I don’t know why I thought that would work. I’m sorry.” 

He moves to turn away and that’s when Hajime’s brain snaps to attention. Before Oikawa can put too much distance between them, he grabs the other’s wrist. Tugs him forward so that Oikawa collapses against his chest, hands curling around the zippers of his open hoodie, and scrunches his fingers into that silky soft hair.

Oikawa makes a noise of surprise and then another when Hajime tilts his head up. Scoffs and thumbs over his cheek before furiously smushing their lips together. Forcing the other’s mouth open beneath his own with a surge of newfound passion. 

It doesn’t take long for Oikawa to recover. Slowly but surely, he starts to respond. Makes an eager noise and shifts so that his right leg is thrown over Hajime’s hips and he’s settled in his lap.

His hands move up to tug at the back of Hajime’s head as well. To grab the well-loved beanie and pull it off. 

He tosses the grey beanie onto Hajime’s skateboard without breaking the kiss and immediately starts to run his fingers through his soft spiky hair, lips turning up into a smile that mirrors the one Hajime is sporting. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss like they’re dying. Like they’ve finally found a way to quench the thirst they’ve both been feeling for God knows how long, greedily making up for years of kisses that the hill hasn’t seen. 

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs as he presses harder against his best friend. He leans back, gingerly settles his hands on Hajime’s shoulders, lips swollen and a thin string of saliva connecting their mouths. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes look excited and Hajime grins before pulling him back in for another searing kiss.

His own heart feels like it’s been revved into overdrive and he finally understands. Understands the reason for his melancholy and the hurt in his heart that no longer seems to exist. Not when he has the object of his affections sitting warm in his lap, Oikawa’s fingers carding through his hair with fond mystique in every stroke, tugging and pulling and smoothing and clutching at Hajime in a manner that was never previously allowed. 

He can feel Oikawa’s smile growing wider by the second, the tremble of his hands, the slight stutter of his breath hot against his lips and the desperate hunger that’s running rampant, eons away from ever being satiated. And he understands.

Understands the teenagers of the past and why they loved this hill so much. The reasons for the rumors and why Oikawa’s heart is beating in his throat relentlessly hard, threatening to escape his body at any time.

They kiss and kiss and kiss some more. Oikawa whining his name and grabbing at his shoulders until Hajime finally relents and falls backwards. Brings the other with him and holds him steady with his left hand locked tight in his hair, the right gently curling around his waist. 

The sun has almost completely set now and in the seconds before the sky turns completely pitch black, the stars begin to make their appearance. They shroud Oikawa’s visage from all directions and Hajime feels his breath escape in staccato puffs as he stares up at his pink-cheeked, snot-nosed best friend who is beaming down on him like he’s conquered the world. 

The street-lamps lining the footpath click as they start to turn on, one-by-one in succession, and Hajime takes the chance to bridge his hips. Roll them over so that Oikawa is the one pressed into the grass now. 

Oikawa doesn’t waste any time in bringing his right hand up. Cradling Hajime’s cheek in his warm palm before sliding it back into his hair and tugging him forward for another kiss. 

He parts his thighs to make room for the other. Rests his dirty running shoes on top of Hajime’s bare calves before locking them at the ankles and loops his free arm over the back of his neck and they keep kissing. Heads turning and lips smacking, loud snickers erupting from deep within when they get a bit too eager and bump noses in their haste.

A lone dog barks in the distance and they’ve long lost the MP3 player, but Hajime can still hear it. Another one of Oikawa’s favorite songs, this one much more upbeat than the last few, blaring through the headphones about half a foot away. 

He pulls back. Stares down at Oikawa, both boys breathing visibly hard, and then gently presses their mouths together in a manner similar to the first kiss the other bestowed on him. 

Oikawa locks his elbows behind his head. Refuses to let Hajime escape after it’s over and instead tugs him into another kiss and then another and another. Some short pecks, and others more exploratory, tongues peeking out from between their swollen lips, tracing along the soft caverns of their mouths, the sharp edges of their teeth, breaths intermingling and fogging as the chill of the night slowly settles over them.

Finally, after what seems like hours have passed and the moon has fully taken over its shift, Hajime pulls away with a huff. They’re the only ones left in the park and he can see the bright glow of the security guard’s flashlight as he begins to make his rounds, searching to kick any remaining teenage miscreants out with strict instructions to go home. 

They have a few minutes before he spots them and Hajime uses the time to place his hands on either side of Oikawa’s head and grin down at him. “This is what you wanted so badly?” 

Oikawa crosses his wrists over his face and nods. “It feels so stupid now.” 

“It is stupid,” Hajime replies. He flicks Oikawa’s nose when the other drops his hands in indignant protest and continues, “As if you’d need a fucking weed to have me. You wasted a perfectly good wish. We could have become millionaires.” 

“It is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you, you gorilla. The only romantic thing that’ll ever happen to you if you keep up that attitude,” Oikawa snaps back, but he’s grinning just as widely when he rests his hands on the back of Hajime’s neck. Gently runs them up and down the soft skin and brushes his fingers along the short hairs at the base. 

Hajime resists the urge to make a pleased noise in return. Instead, he sits back on his heels and grabs Oikawa by the forearms. Jerks him up in one smooth move and then pulls him into another sweet kiss before resting his forehead against the other’s. 

He can feel the flutter of Oikawa’s eyelashes against his skin. His hot breath against his face and he exhales sharply before saying, “Not if I can help it.”

Before Oikawa can reply, however, a blatantly bright light falls on top of them. They both turn to stare right into the piercing glare of a flashlight before squinting up at the disgruntled security guard holding it, a stern look on his face. 

“Wha—” Oikawa starts, only to yelp in surprise when Hajime heaves him to his feet. Steps down on the edge of his skateboard to pop it into his hand before sweeping his MP3 player and beanie into the pocket of his basketball shorts. He threads his fingers through Oikawa’s and after kissing him on the cheek because he can, breaks into a sprint down the hill with a whoop, hair fluttering in the wind.

They can hear the annoyed voice of the security guard. The irritated, “Hey, you two! Come back here! Who are your parents?” as they run away from the older man. Oikawa quickly falls into an equally amused mood and they laugh loudly. Hoot and jeer at the other man as they put more and more distance between themselves and the hill and as soon as they hit the concrete, Hajime lets the board drop with a loud clatter. 

He hops onto it with ease. Keeps his fingers threaded through Oikawa’s and kicks off, confident in the other’s abilities to keep up. And true to his suspicions, Oikawa does. Effortlessly walks alongside Hajime, their hands never separating, like how they’d walk home from the park when they were younger. Palms clasped together, shoulders aligned, with strict instructions from their mothers to always hold hands. Stick to each other’s side. And to never leave the other behind.

It’s like second nature for them now and when they finally reach the park’s entrance, the faded greeting board, its letters barely legible in the dim glow of the streetlight, Hajime comes to a slow halt. He presses a foot into the concrete and turns to look at Oikawa who’s breathless and flushed and more alive than Hajime’s ever seen him after the sun’s set. 

Oikawa reaches over to pull Hajime’s beanie from where it’s sticking out of his pocket. Flicks off a few blades of grass before pulling it over the other’s ears. He fiddles with the brim for a few seconds, eyes furrowed in more concentration than necessary before finally dropping his hands and twisting them together. 

“So now what?” he asks, reaching over to grab Hajime’s right hand in his own. He traces his thumb along the backs of Hajime’s knuckles, touch gentle as it runs over the scraped-up skin. 

Hajime watches with inexplicable interest, thoroughly entranced by the sight of the thin pale fingers against his own darker skin, before taking in a deep breath and looking Oikawa right in the eye. “I dunno. What do you want?” 

And there’s that. He’s leaving the ball in Oikawa’s court. Letting Oikawa choose where they go from here. Because even though he wants this. Wants whatever this is with Oikawa, everything and all of it, the truth of the matter is that Oikawa is leaving and the last thing Hajime wants to do is pressure him into something that might have been the result of Oikawa getting swept up in the sentimentality of the evening. 

But even though the thought comes to mind, it quickly dissolves and Hajime is once again reminded of Oikawa’s stout nature. His pigheaded mulish personality and how once he sets his mind on something, he gives it his one-hundred percent. 

Oikawa’s next sentence is straightforward. Perfunctory. And exactly what Hajime desperately wants to hear. 

“I want this.” 

He glances up at Hajime shyly, a sudden stint of rare timidness falling over his gorgeous features as he continues to rub the back of his palm with his thumb. 

“I want this. If that’s okay with you.” 

His voice sounds so desperate, so raw. A hint of apprehension apparent in his eyes and he’s so ridiculous. So ridiculous to even fathom that Hajime could want anything but this with his best friend, his partner in crime, the boy with the frog purse and yellow bandaid, the boy with the weathered volleyball, and taped up fingers. The boy who knows about his special thinking place, about his favorite drink and how he takes his ramen, and who he spent a good portion of the last hour rolling around in the damp grass with, kissing and kissing and kissing so damn hard. 

The boy whose impending departure previously made him feel as if a piece of himself was dying alongside but whose sheer existence is now causing his heart to thrum dangerously offbeat. 

He gave Oikawa his first kiss on the hill. Let him reignite the tradition that he so desperately wanted to take part in, but only with the right person. The right person who’s been by his side from his first ever memory and will remain there until his last. He’s sure of it. 

He wants this. He wants all of this with Oikawa and everything more and when he voices it, he is just as succinct as the other because words are wasted effort when they have a billion memories between them. “Looks like you’re in luck. ‘Cuz I want this, too.” 

The resulting brightness that overtakes Oikawa’s face is strong enough to power the universe for the rest of eternity. His lips turn up, all scraps of hesitancy instantly fading and, instead, his fingers tighten around Hajime’s hand as mischief overtakes his expression. 

He leans forward on his tiptoes, eyes glittering and vibrant and all things splendid before clicking his tongue and giving Hajime a wink. “Seal the deal with a kiss?”   

Hajime laughs. The sound loud and boisterous amongst the staccato chirp of the crickets and for a second he feels like he’s on cloud nine, leaning down to press his mouth against Oikawa’s for the hundredth time today, giving him yet another one of the many kisses they will no doubt share from here on forth. 

“No take-backs,” he murmurs when he finally pulls away, a playful glint to his gaze. 

Oikawa shakes his head seriously. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says before rethreading their fingers so that they’re tightly woven together. 

He shoulder-checks his best friend before turning to lead Hajime down the dark road back home, his skateboard scraping against the uneven concrete, echoing out loud into the silence of the evening but still not loud enough to rival the sound of the blood pounding in both of their ears. The sound of euphoric triumph and anticipation for the future coursing through every little nerve and the excitement for every new adventure to come.