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Falling asleep in California for the first time, Hajime never thought that a twin bed could feel so empty. But this twin bed in his dorm room, a twin bed that Tooru had never squished into beside him, manages it. The duvet is a huge ocean and Hajime drifts through it, unanchored and lost.
Hajime lays starfished across the bed, hoping if he takes up all the space it might feel less like something is missing. He wears Tooru’s sweater even in the California heat, clutches a plush toy tightly to his chest as if he could absorb the stuffing to fill the hole in his heart.
There’s a cheap approximation of Tooru’s cologne—the closest Hajime could buy on a students’ budget—sprayed all over the pillow, but it doesn’t smell right. It’s just off and only manages to serve as a reminder that Tooru isn’t there, that any attempts to miss him less won’t bring him any closer or take them back to before they were apart.
He tries every position he can think of, spreading out wide and curling up small, and nothing makes him feel less alone. Nothing makes the ache in his chest or the tightness in his throat fade. Nothing brings him back to Tooru.
And without Tooru, Hajime can’t sleep. He hardly knows how to be human without Tooru by his side, let alone how to sleep without him. He huffs out a sigh and melts into the mattress, wishing for a black hole to swallow him and take him back in time.
Back to before he moved away. Back to before he accepted this college offer, back to before he even applied. Back to the sound of Tooru’s voice, the feel of his hands, the taste of his lips.
Hajime barely notices his racing heart, laboured breathing, or shaking hands. He throws the blanket off, squeezes the plushie in his hands tightly to give him something, anything, to keep him attached to the world. He feels like he’s falling, lost and scared, and the only thing that can catch him is Tooru. He knows it’s just anxiety, he and Tooru have sat through enough of each others’ panic attacks to spot the signs in a heartbeat, but the emotions have hijacked his brain and are in the process of steering the whole ship right into a whirlpool. It’s awful and he feels like shit and all he wants is to be in Tooru’s arms again.
His phone screen lights up briefly, a notification about battery or a news headline or something that Hajime doesn’t spare more than a glance. However, that screen light permeates the cloud of wallowing that surrounds his head and when it finally breaks through, he sits up faster than he ever has.
Ignoring the head rush, Hajime grabs his phone and pulls it off the charger. His fingers are clumsy as he opens his messages to Tooru, scrambling to type.
to: shittykawa
— tooru
— are you awake
from: shittykawa
— yeah
— are you okay?
to: shittykawa
— yeah
— are you busy?
from: shittykawa
— spit it out, iwa-chan
— what do you need?
to: shittykawa
— can you call?
There’s no response, for a moment, and Hajime’s heart starts to race. Then his phone starts to vibrate in his hand and he quickly accepts the call.
“Tooru?” he breathes into the phone, hesitant as if he doesn’t believe it’s real.
“Hey, Haji.” Tooru’s voice is warm and welcoming and Hajime thinks he might cry. “Now be honest with me. Are you okay?”
Hajime’s heart leaps into his throat. He shakes his head before remembering that Tooru still isn’t there. He can’t see him.
“I’m… no.” His voice breaks and so does he, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on his pillow so he can hide his face in his hands. “I miss you so much,” he whispers through his tears.
“Oh, hey…” Tooru sighs softly, “Haji, it’s alright. I’m here, baby.”
“But you’re not and that’s why I’m like this. I want to be happy for you and I am because you’re literally living your childhood dream but…” His frenzied ramblings are cut off by a sob, drawing his knees to his chest and still hugging that stuffed animal.
“Breathe, baby,” Tooru instructs gently, his voice so strong and calm that all Hajime can do is listen to him. “The box breathing stuff, just like we always do. I’ll do it too.”
Hajime nods a little, listening to Tooru’s breaths and trying to match him. After a minute of the exercise, he does start to feel better, less frantic and hysterical.
“Thanks, Tooru,” he mumbles, his voice a little hoarse. He presses his hands to his tired eyes, trying to relieve his headache slightly.
“You don’t have to thank me. Now get yourself some water, okay?”
Hajime leaves his phone on his pillow while he crosses the small room, grabbing his water bottle from the desk and sipping it slowly. “I wish you were here.”
“I wish I could be there, Haji. Hey… What time is it for you?”
Hajime glances at his phone screen and sheepishly says, “Almost three-thirty in the morning.”
“You need to sleep! It’s seven-thirty for me, my alarm went off at seven. But it’s late there, baby, you need to get some rest.”
Hajime’s anxiety starts to climb again.
“I can stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep.”
Oh. Hajime’s heart and breathing settle. Maybe that’ll be fine, then.
“Okay. Thank you, Tooru, really.”
“Mhm. Now go to sleep, Haji. I’m right here, I promise.”
Hajime moves his phone to the nightstand, plugging it back in, and lays down, drawing the blanket around himself. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.
“Goodnight, Tooru.”
“Night, Haji. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And Hajime finally starts to fall asleep, Tooru’s breathing on the other end of the phone and the blanket wrapped around him. And yeah, the cologne on his pillow still doesn’t quite smell like Tooru and the bed still feels empty without him, but the hole in Hajime’s heart is filled.