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“You’re a hundred percent sure about this?”
Hajime’s close enough for his breath to brush against Tooru’s skin as he talks, eyes meeting his as his brow furrows in uncertainty. It isn’t everyday that he’s perched atop his best friend’s lap like this, unusually conscious of his every breath and movement, but as Tooru insisted, there wasn’t much better of a way to go about tongue piercings.
“Yes, Iwa, you’ve asked me a million times. Just do it already.”
Tooru’s voice is void of patience, and the blink Hajime gives him in response is less flat than he wants it to be. He’s still staring at Tooru as he sets aside the piercing needle’s protective packaging, free hand searching the mattress for the sterile wipes he’d tossed somewhere.
“And you’re not gonna chicken out this time?”
He’s almost surprised by the offended look on Tooru’s face.
“Chicken out! Have I ever been one to chicken out?” He huffs, face twisting into a scowl, and Hajime can’t help but take note of his striking resemblance to a whiny toddler.
“Since you asked, yes.”
It’s a true pleasure to watch as Tooru draws in a dramatically deep breath to regain his pride, leaning back with his palms pressed against the bed and nose pointed up toward the ceiling.
“Your perception of me is incredibly flawed, Iwa-chan.”
“I can’t help it when there isn’t anything else to perceive.” Barely half a second passes before Tooru raises a hand and flicks Hajime on the shoulder, having little effect on him besides the small, goading smile that crosses his face. “Sit up,” He says without making an effort to hide the smile, noticing the way Tooru tries to resist the quirk of his own, previously pouting lips.
Tooru shakes his hair out of his face as he straightens up, only his glasses left to obstruct Hajime’s view of his dark brown eyes. This close, Tooru’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, his every feature comfortingly familiar. Hajime’s eyes wander a second too long from every perfection to imperfection—the curl of his eyelashes, the small scar on his eyebrow, the freckle underneath his eye that he couldn’t seem to quit complaining about (and every time, Hajime wanted to punch his own stupid sense of pride in the face for stopping him from saying how cute his freckles were).
“Okay. Ready?” Hajime asks one more time, earning an assertive glare from the other.
“One hundred percent.”
Tooru’s mouth is only about a half inch open, but instead of using his words, Hajime brings a gloved hand to his chin, needle resting between his index and middle finger, thumb hooked on Tooru’s bottom lip as he gently guides it down. He can hear the subtle shake in Tooru’s breath—whether or not it was from fear he wasn’t sure, but he certainly wouldn’t be surprised. Fucking scaredy cat.
As he picks up the piercing clamp, Tooru’s head shifts against his hand and he mumbles something unintelligible, making Hajime look back at him with a look on his face that said he absolutely knew this was coming. He lets his hand fall from Tooru’s lip, whose eyes follow the hand as it falls back in his lap before looking to the side as he catches his uneven breath. A laugh bites at Hajime’s throat, but he resists, raising his eyebrows expectantly instead.
“Don’t laugh at me.” Tooru pouts, barely moving his gaze.
“I’m not,” Hajime insists through stifled laughter.
“Fuck, I look stupid, don’t I?” Tooru’s voice shakes more than his breathing did, but the way he maintains his posture tells Hajime he didn’t want him to notice.
For a moment, Hajime is quiet, trying to sort out the thoughts of his head steering him between continuing to poke fun at him or ignoring his ego and letting himself say what was on his mind.
“You—stupid? No.” His words come out more stiffly than he intends, stammering as if he’s never given a compliment in his life. Tooru sinks deeper into the droop of his shoulders, exhaling softly, but as soon as Hajime notices he shakes his head, expression softening the slightest bit—only enough for someone who knows him as well as Tooru to notice. “I mean it.”
Tooru’s gaze wavers, but he still doesn’t quite look at Hajime. Every inch of his face is covered in embarrassment, and in an instant Hajime decides that his desire to put him at ease overpowers any kind of fear he has of sounding dumb.
He gulps, setting down all the tools he’s been holding. Hesitant, his hand finds the side of Tooru’s face once more—he isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but the feeling of Tooru’s warm skin against his palm is too pleasant to give up. His hand nudges his head just enough for their eyes to meet again. The first thing Hajime notices is Tooru’s widened eyes, and the second thing he notices is the racing of his heartbeat, pounding hard enough against his chest for him to worry about whether or not Tooru can hear it.
“It’s normal to be scared. I get it.” He’s surprised he can look Tooru in the eyes as he speaks, starting to feel his heartbeat catch in his throat. “I mean—when I got my ears pierced, I—” He pauses, glancing left and right with a serious edge to his expression as if he’s confessing a crime. Tooru’s head tilts in curiosity and Hajime looks back at him, trying to ignore the way it makes him lean further into his hand. “Don’t tell anyone this. I brought Godzilla with me.”
Instantly, Tooru sucks in his lips to stifle a chuckle, but it only lasts a moment before he bursts into laughter.
“Are you serious? That little stuffed lizard? That’s adorable!” Tooru’s words are barely coherent through his laughter, and Hajime, completely aware that he’s walked himself right into this, silently feels his pride dissipate in the form of Tooru losing his composure laughing at him.
“He’s not a lizard.”
“You’re not just making this up to make me feel better, right? Because that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever pictured.”
“I’m never trying to be nice to you again.”
Tooru lets the last of his laughter die out and grins, lifting a hand to rest carefully on Hajime’s wrist. The look on his face tells him that he isn’t blind to the red tint on Hajime’s cheeks, or the way he tries to avert his gaze without looking flustered.. Tooru sees it all, and there’s no way he’ll let it go without a fight.
“Aww, don’t be embarrassed, Iwa-chan. Unless you want me to keep on calling you cute.” How quickly Tooru managed to shift from pouty to mercilessly teasing astonishes Hajime—it’s almost as surprising as the fact that he’s still friends with this idiot. He holds up the piercing needle, glaring through his eyelashes at the mocking smile on Tooru’s face.
“I’m serious, I can’t wait to stab you.” Though Tooru doesn’t budge, the rough edges of his confidence dull just enough for Hajime to notice he still wasn’t quite prepared. He can’t help but notice the way Tooru’s grasp on his wrist tightens, as if he’s holding onto him for comfort, or security, or whatever dumb thing Hajime’s mind makes up to feed into his stupid unignorable feelings.
A small sigh, about as steady as his unpredictable heartbeat, leaves his lips, lending him time to recollect himself. Sure, Tooru’s hand hasn’t loosened at all, and his eyes haven’t even thought about leaving Hajime’s, but what can he do besides suck it up and stop being a vulnerable dumbass? It gets him every time, the sweet talk that flows so effortlessly from the captain, but dear god, he does it with everyone. What gives Hajime the right to think he’s different from all the rest?
“Here,” Hajime mumbles, leaning over to grab something on the head of his bed. As soon as he’s fumbled around enough to grab ahold of it, he shoves it begrudgingly against Tooru’s chest. “Feel free to squeeze the hell out of him if it hurts. Just apologize after.” He braces himself for another fit of laughter from Tooru when he looks down to see Hajime’s coveted stuffed Godzilla, but he doesn’t even chuckle.
Instead, a soft red hue flushes his cheeks as he reaches up to hold the plush, fingertips brushing against Hajime’s.
“Thanks.” His eyes are wide like before, until he melts into a gentle smile which only further confuses Hajime. What the fuck did he do to disrupt Tooru’s obnoxious charm so easily?
He’s quiet as he stares back at him. Every word he thinks to say is useless, as it becomes less and less important with each second he spends taking in the indistinctly flustered face inches away from his.
“I’m ready,” Tooru says suddenly, softly, almost in a whisper. When he speaks so quietly his words have a certain rasp to them; another thing Tooru hates that his best friend so hopelessly adores. Hajime blinks, eyebrows raising the slightest bit.
“For wh—oh—yeah.” Hajime looks away as quick as he stops talking, but he can still hear the snicker that escapes Tooru’s lips. Deciding to ignore it out of respect for his own dignity, he clears his throat and picks up the clamp and needle, once again making sure they’re clean. “Tilt your head up a little for me.”
Tooru only moves about a centimeter.
“More than that, dumbass.”
Two centimeters.
Hajime’s shoulders droop as he sighs, lifting a hand to hold Tooru’s chin and shift it to a comfortable height. Tooru couldn’t look prouder of himself when Hajime guides his mouth open again, corners of his lips turning up in a smile.
Hajime’s face falls flat at the realization, an exaggerated gesture of annoyance, but his cheeks are an unmistakable shade of red.
“Do you want the piercing or not?”
“You know I want it.” Tooru smirks, then lets his mouth fall open again.
“Fuck you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hajime watches Tooru’s smile slowly fade as his gaze follows every careful movement of Hajime’s fingers. Underneath the gloves, his skin is rough, calloused, but as he pinches the clamp over Tooru’s tongue—needle hovering so close he can feel it—his movements are more meticulous than ever, gentle and thought out as if Tooru will shatter at the touch. It’s mesmerizing.
“Alright,” Hajime’s voice is soft, comforting, Tooru can’t even think about the piercing when he hears it. “Breathe in—” His eyes narrow, face scrunching up but he remains as still as possible. Hajime’s breath hitches when he feels a hand on his thigh, clinging on for dear life. Oh, jesus. If he could cover his face and squeal right now, he would, but that obviously isn’t something he’d ever do in front of Tooru. Especially when he happens to be holding a needle in his mouth.
“—And out.” His voice is shaking but his hands are still as he slides the needle through, the pierce quick and effortless. But still, Tooru’s fingers curl against the fabric of Hajime’s pants; nails digging faintly into his skin, a whimper escaping his throat before the needle is diligently replaced with silver jewelry.
“There. How’s it feel?” Hajime tries to swallow his nerve, every ounce of his attention focused on the hand on his thigh; the loosening of its grasp, the persistence of its position. Tooru hasn’t moved an inch, and the moron doesn’t even look fazed, besides the evident pain on his face.
“Huh wuh buh.” An intelligible mumble is all Tooru can manage, giving Hajime great satisfaction at the chance to laugh at him as he pulls off his gloves and tosses them aside.
“I’m proud of you. Never thought you’d come around.”
Tooru smiles, but doesn’t say anything, looking off to the side. Hajime furrows his brows; he looks like he wants to say something, but no matter how long Hajime remains quiet, he says nothing.
Instead, he opens his mouth and wobbles his tongue around, letting the metal clang against his teeth.
“Don’t do that. Let it heal.”
Tooru scowls and hums in response, bringing his hands behind him to lean back on them—as he does so, the hand on Hajime’s thigh trails all the way down until it falls off his knee, making his eyes widen as he looks away, looks at anything but Tooru.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Tooru asks with a raise of an eyebrow, and he knows as soon as Hajime looks back up at him that he doesn’t have a response. The waver of his gaze is a telltale sign that he’s nervous, and the smirk that curls onto Tooru’s lips is a telltale sign that he can’t get enough of it.
The captain lets out a breath, letting the tension in his shoulders relax as he suddenly wraps his arms around Hajime, pulling him down to lie beside him on the bed.
Through his surprise, Hajime laughs, actually laughs, and Tooru can’t help but stare, smiling wide as he rests his head against the pillow.
“Thanks, Iwa-chan. Next time I’ll have to pierce yours.”
Hajime laughs again, but this time it comes off more as more of a scoff as he turns his head to meet Tooru’s eyes.
“Fuck no.”