Work Text:
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 N O W 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
Through a tiny airplane window, Iwaizumi Hajime watches the lights of a city fade away. From here, the sky and ocean are nothing but infinite blackness; in their place, the airplane cabin lighting fills the world with stars.
To Hajime, who grew up under starlight with someone who saw a vast unknown and decided he wanted to understand it, these constellations are unfamiliar. These are held in stasis between thick panes of glass, flickering on and off at the mercy of each passenger, entirely empty of the history created between two idiot kids freezing their asses off on rooftops and in hidden places. Those skies seemed like they were just for them, but these, Hajime shares with strangers.
It’s lonely, being alone in the skies, knowing the alternative.
The universe inside of an airplane cabin is unforgiving and unwelcoming. And disgusting. Everything here feels like it was specifically formulated to make Hajime irritable and tired.
The mechanics of the plane are horrible enough on their own. Hajime has traveled on them so much over the past few years, he’s intimately familiar with the many things to hate about air travel.
There’s the constant noise vibrating through his skull from the engines, the cabin filtration, and the rush of wind around the plane that create an awful, unending noise. The air is uncomfortably cold. It’s suffocating to breathe filtered air in a tin can of smushed strangers, like cold sardines.
But then there are the other horrors. There are always the other horrors. They’re guaranteed in the way space in the overhead bins never is, but they’re definitely free because there is no way anyone in their right mind would pay for them. They are simply a given.
And fuck if Hajime doesn’t wish he could regift the horrors.
Because there is always at least one upset child and their equally upset and arguably even more anxious parent. Someone usually has disgusting body odor, someone inevitably plays music without headphones, and there’s pretty much always at least one person who takes a near-lethal amount of anti-anxiety medications before takeoff. At least once, that has been the same person, and their seat was directly next to Hajime’s.
Good stuff.
This is a far cry from home, and farther from comfort. Not that home doesn’t ever mean a lack of anxiety or irritations, but that, at least, he’s accepted.
Yet he’s put himself into this situation again, because Hajime always seems to be going somewhere these days.
Hajime’s tired of all the traveling.
This time, at least, he’s going home; if not for good, then for a while.
The initial ascent of the airplane makes his ears pop. It pierces through the indistinct haze of sounds thrumming in Hajime’s earbuds and brings with it sudden, uncomfortable awareness of his surroundings. His earbuds work hard to drown it all out. His ears and head often hurt after plane rides, but a headache is very much worth the minimal amount of distance music affords him from the enclosed space Hajime is stuck in for the next several hours.
He turns up the volume after a particularly disgusting-sounding sneeze from behind him and stares out the window at this beloathed night sky, counting down the hours along with everyone else.
Everyone here, from the snotty-nosed to the business casual, is either coming or going. They will share in this miserable in-between until they touch down, because once they make the decision to go, it’s not like they can turn the plane around.
That fact in particular had freaked Hajime out on his first plane ride. That trip had been the first where he left with the promise of not looking back.
But that’s how airplanes, and life, work: to go anywhere is to leave somewhere else.
Or, to leave someone.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 T H E N 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
“Come to the roof with me, Iwa-chan.” Tooru’s smile is intoxicating, bordering that thin line between mischievous and sincere that makes Hajime’s heart race.
Hajime protests, because it’s his job to shoot down Tooru’s bad ideas that he secretly thinks are great. “We’re in the middle of a party, dumbass.”
Tooru rolls his eyes. He’d thrown off his graduation gown as soon as they were done taking pictures in the backyard, but he’s kept his cap on for the entire night. Hajime has been slowly losing his mind watching it droop ever farther to one side as Tooru receives hugs from generations of family members, half of which aren’t even related to him.
Hajime’s family needs to relax. It’s just high school. If they celebrate something as small and obvious as this, he doesn’t want to think about how they’re going to react to the big things. Tooru will probably be squeezed half to death when he makes a professional team. He might get mobbed all the way to death when Hajime gets him a ring.
But that’s for the future. This is just graduation.
And yeah, okay, Hajime will complain about his family treating Tooru like the favorite son, but that’s just because they’re annoying.
It’s different when Hajime treats Tooru like the favorite, because he’s the boyfriend. He gets first dibs on celebrations, and he’s allowed to be annoying about it. Plus, he’ll never be as annoying as Tooru.
In the crowded room, Tooru droops into Hajime’s side, pulling him back into the moment. See: the more annoying one.
“I think I’m all partied out. It’s roof time.” The extra spice Tooru adds to the phrase roof time only strengthens Hajime’s internal argument. Of the (few) things that have changed since their relationship status did, Tooru’s flair for dramatics have not.
Obviously.
Hajime sends a long-suffering smile to their mothers across the room while keeping up the act of acting annoyed at holding up Tooru’s limp body.
“Fine. Roof time if the idiot can use his own limbs to get there.”
“But it’s my graduation, Iwa-chan, and I’m simply beat.”
Hajime can barely hold the smile off his face as Tooru pushes even closer into his arms to emphasize just how fantastically exhausted he is. He slowly slides down Hajime as his socks lose their grip on the floor.
“Like it’s not mine too, Shittykawa.” Hajime is putting up a fight for the fuck of it, at this point. They both know he never learned how to say no to Tooru.
Not that he really wants to; not when it counts.
“These adoring supporters are here for me, though,” Tooru wags his fingers at Hajime’s grandma.
That’s what breaks Hajime. The sheer indignity of his 92-year old grandmother giggling at Tooru being annoying. He has no choice but to acquiesce to get this menace away from frail old ladies and easily-impressionable young relatives.
“Fuck off, let’s go.”
A couple of cousins wolf whistle from the kids table at the sight of big strong cousin Hajime getting coerced into kneeling down for his spoiled boyfriend to climb onto his back.
The indignity.
“Oi,” Hajime grunts and shakes the muscular legs wrapped around him, signaling to Tooru that it’s his sworn duty as the spoiled boyfriend being carried to flip off their enemies out of sight of any parents.
From the holler Hajime’s dad lets loose, Tooru failed.
That signals a good time to (gracefully? no.) make their exit.
Hajime uses eighteen years’ worth of accumulated muscle and mental fortitude to book it towards the stairs with a cackling maniac on his back and laughter on their heels.
“I can’t believe you fucked that up.”
“It’s not my fault people love looking at me!”
“I’m going to throw you down these fucking stairs.”
Tooru hoots and clings tighter. He’s got the grip strength of a goddamn crocodile in his legs. Hajime knocks him into the wall a couple of times on his way up just for the hell of it, and then drops Tooru ungracefully at the top of the stairs.
“Rude, Iwa-chan!”
Hajime shrugs. “This is the last stop for losers.”
Tooru makes a face at him, which has no weight, given the fact that his graduation cap is nearly sideways on his head.
“Joke’s on you, I’m the fucking king of these stairs and I will not be bullied in my own kingdom.”
Hajime rolls his eyes. King of the stairs status is eternal, apparently. It sticks no matter how many years it’s been since they slid down carpeted steps on old plastic storage lids.
A stupid achievement to carry through time, but who is Hajime to judge? He’ll be king of catching bugs until his last breath, because being really fucking stupid is a part of being friends, and Tooru can’t carry the burden alone, as much as he’s built for it.
Tooru pokes Hajime in the side to get him going, so they leave Tooru’s stepped kingdom behind to navigate through his dark bedroom by memory. Their graduation caps get dropped at the door.
The floorboards squeak beneath their feet and it sounds like quiet laughter after unenforced bedtimes. The window sticks like it has every time they’ve snuck around when they were supposed to be doing something else.
Outside, the roof that once held them up against the sky doesn’t seem quite strong enough for them anymore, but Tooru is as unbothered by potential party-ending cave-ins as about a parent finding them out past nine.
Hajime follows, like he always has, as Tooru shuffles across the tiles to the spot he saw a UFO for the first time.
Anything is an unidentified flying object if you can’t identify it, Hajime will tell him if he mentions it, because friends for as long as you can remember means recreating the same fights over and over in the name of comedy. Even the big ones remain in their own way over time, in changed habits or old scars.
Time’s funny like that. When you’ve been with someone for so long, moments can turn to years; years, to moments.
As soon as Hajime closes the window behind them, the night seems to wrap itself around them.
They sit down on the chilled roof together, and Tooru closes his eyes against the stars.
“Finally,” Tooru breathes into the quiet. It makes Hajime’s heart stutter.
Hajime has seen so many of his smiles, but the ones he wears under starlight have always seemed to fit him best. They’re the most vulnerable, the most honest.
Tooru spends a lot of time convincing himself and everyone else that he’s bigger and prouder than he often feels, but Hajime knows this. He knows it, and he knows how to see past the feints and bluffing. He’s accustomed to looking through the façade.
He also hasn’t had to try in a while, either. Honesty is easier than it’s ever been, and Hajime gets to see even more of it in Tooru than he has since they mutually discovered the novel new experience called having feelings. Romantic ones, in Hajime’s case. Ones, in Tooru’s.
Being an insider to Tooru’s feelings has always felt like a privilege, and now is no different.
The smile Tooru wears tonight is bittersweet. He aims it upwards; away from the party celebrating an ending.
Tooru holds his hand up against the sky, cupping stars in his hands like he used to hold fireflies. He holds them gently. Carefully. Wings, volleyballs, and now memories, Tooru has always been careful with his hands.
The years fade into the night; the memories flicker into stars. Someday, when Hajime looks up again, these years will be unreachable and distant as the constellations they spent so long searching the skies for.
“I’m going to miss this.” Tooru breaks the silence.
Hajime tucks his arm behind his head. He feels it too, the breath before the fall. They can’t escape the gravity of the ending, even up here.
“Me too.”
“It doesn’t even feel real, like is this really happening? Did we seriously just graduate? Am I seriously about to leave? Is this it?” Tooru asks the air.
Hajime responds, “Fuck. I guess so.”
Because this has all kind of been unsaid between them before this, and even though they’ve heard it enough in the past year, Hajime still hasn’t fully reckoned with it: this is the end of so much and the beginning of so much more.
They’ve both known for a while what they’re going to do about it; it’s just been the matter of waiting. They’ve both sat in that on their own, next to each other. Maybe because saying it before now would’ve made the last year feel like it was ending sooner, maybe because it would’ve meant the goodbye was closer.
They don’t have much longer now.
“It’s fucking exciting, though,” Hajime says. His shoulder finds Tooru’s.
“Fuck yeah it is.” There’s a thickness to his voice that only comes from snot.
It makes Hajime huff a laugh. Tooru will always be Tooru: headstrong and crass and determined and constantly plowing his way ahead. He’s the river that never stops rushing forward. He throws himself at life’s walls until he breaks through, or breaks.
But there will also always be moments where it catches up to him.
Moments like this.
When Tooru remembers he’s human. When he remembers that as much as he loves to win, he hates to lose, too.
He leans closer against Hajime, not-so-subtly wiggling his way into Hajime’s embrace until Hajime gives up and pulls his free arm from behind his head to pull Tooru closer.
They hold each other like that for a while, watching the stars. They look back like a reminder: there is so much more left to do.
The noise from the party is muted and far away, the light from it distant. Tooru’s body is warm tucked into Hajime’s. Time will move forward, and them with it. But for tonight, Tooru holds the stars in place above them and it suspends time long enough for Hajime to take his hand.
It’s cruel of the world to have given them so much time before they figured this out and so little time now to sort out what to do with themselves in the distance.
Tooru might be thinking the same thing next to him. Hajime wants to ask, but although they’re right next to each other, already he can feel something like distance between them. It wasn’t obvious earlier, when they were grinning for the cameras and watching their friends beat each other up with their diplomas to the cheers of extended family, but in the quiet, it’s clear.
It’s going to be a long time before he and Tooru share the same sky again.
“I don’t want to lose this.” It’s so quiet, Hajime almost doesn’t hear Tooru reaching out for him.
The places they’ve chosen to go threaten so much, especially now. Hajime knows this already, and still, his chest aches with the vulnerability of showing his heart when he isn’t sure what the future will bring.
“You’re not going to. I’m right here.”
Silence stretches between them. It fills the weeks, the months, the years that lie ahead.
Tooru breaks it gently, his voice whispering into the stars.
“But what if you aren’t when I get back?”
There it is.
The big, monstrous question that has hung over their heads ever since they made their respective decisions to go in different directions. It looms above them in the darkness between stars, in the uncertainty of what lies ahead.
There’s no way to know, here, on a rooftop at eighteen years old, where their lives are about to take them. Even just graduating has already changed so much; who knows what will stay the same and what will be left behind as they move forward.
But Hajime wants to be.
Fuck, does he want to be. Hajime wants it with every part of himself. In his head and in his heart, down to the marrow in his bones, he wants it. He wants to be here for Tooru for the rest of his life. He wants to remain in lock step with his best friend. He wants to stay in this rhythm they’ve fallen into over the years spent side-by-side. Like walking while talking, matching steps without really ever having to try. Hajime knows what Tooru is thinking, what he wants, what he needs, simply by virtue of always having been close enough to figure it out.
And it feels like Hajime’s already loved Tooru for a lifetime, but there’s so much left for them to do, and so much of it threatens to throw them out of sync.
The question remains, the answer unknown. The only way to know for sure is to find out the hard way.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
A few weeks later, Hajime walks Tooru to the airport and tries not to cry about it. He’s carrying Tooru’s bags for him because Tooru’s hands are completely full right now. One’s holding Hajime’s and the other, a one-way plane ticket to the other side of the world.
Hajime is also holding the bags because if he wasn’t doing something helpful he would probably be going insane. More insane. He’s fine.
The backpack Hajime wears is a horrible teal monstrosity that weighs about a thousand pounds and between it and the new suitcase he wheels behind him, he’s holding just about everything Tooru will have with him in Argentina.
In Hajime’s opinion, this setup is at least one hundred and sixty pounds too light, but they packed everything in there that would fit, so he’s going to have to make his peace with it. Eventually.
For the past few weeks, Hajime has helped Tooru slowly sort through the mess of deciding what he was going to leave behind in Japan and what little he could take with him.
The result of their efforts had been a tiny pile, almost too small to believe. It was made up of only the most necessary things: clothes, shoes, toiletries, immigration documents, snacks for the road, and not much else.
The trophies that line his shelves will stay there to collect dust. The shelf of video games and CDs will go unused, save the few games Tooru deigned to let (only) Hanamaki borrow. All of the textbooks and notes he kept over the years for some reason will stay where they are. The tacky bed sheets aren’t going to go on his bed in Argentina. The pile of volleyballs in his closet will be replaced with new ones.
This morning as Hajime was walking the familiar route to Tooru’s house to pick him up, he was hit with the realization that he might never do it again. For almost ten years, he had walked one block to his best friend’s house nearly every single day without fail. In rain or shine, winter or spring, Hajime knew the way to Tooru’s home like the back of his hand.
When he let himself in and Tooru’s family warmly greeted him into their home, the scene was so familiar it almost felt like nothing was about to change.
But it was. And it is.
Because Tooru has almost two days of travel ahead of him, and then who knows how many years after that.
“Iwa-chan, I think I’m the one who’s supposed to look nervous here, not you.” Tooru squeezes Hajime’s hand, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Normally it’s the other way around, which Tooru is obviously also thinking about, based on the knowing smile he gives Hajime now.
Tooru has already changed from the boy he was when he first confessed his desire to follow his mentor across the ocean to see what he could do with a dream and a willingness to do whatever it takes to make it happen.
He’s always been restless and hungry, but since making up his mind, something has settled in him.
Hajime frowns back at Tooru’s smile, because nine out of ten Tooru smiles hold mischief and Hajime isn’t ready to see the remaining one in this new context yet. Because more than a diploma ever could, that will spell the end.
And Hajime just wants a few more moments before then. Before goodbye.
“If you were a normal human, you’d be the nervous one. But you’re a lunatic, so someone’s gotta do it. You’re welcome.”
That makes Tooru laugh loudly and swoon against Hajime’s side, blatantly disregarding the fact that they’re standing in a public space and people can see how much of a loser he is, as well as the fact that Hajime is kind of asking a legitimate question. Typical.
“My lovely boyfriend is being dramatic for my sake. He’s so considerate!”
“Like fuck am I the dramatic one,” Hajime grumbles while pushing against Tooru’s grinning face. If this was supposed to be a serious and heartfelt goodbye, Tooru’s certainly making an effort to make it not be one now. Their wholesome farewell has devolved into a half-assed wrestling match.
Half-assed, as in a grown man acting like a big baby clings to his ever-suffering boyfriend and annoys the shit out of him until said boyfriend gives up and lets him do what he wants.
Since he’s being sentimental, Hajime wraps an arm around Tooru after only a few moments of fighting back. It’s kind of difficult with muscular, noodley arms holding his torso in a death grip, but Hajime is a seasoned veteran of Tooru Oikawa Being Annoying, so he manages. Somehow.
“I feel bad for everyone in Argentina already.”
Tooru smirks up at him. “Bet you wish you were them, huh?”
“Only so there’s someone with experience handling a childish, petulant, dramatic, irritating—”
A voice over the airport speakers interrupts him to announce the next flights arriving. Hajime pauses to listen, watching the way Tooru’s face shifts. It’s only barely, since he’s obviously doing some sort of mental gymnastics to avoid experiencing legitimate human emotions in this airport, but it’s there.
“That’s you,” Hajime says gently, all joking cast to the side.
“That’s me,” Tooru replies, and the mask slips just a little more. “Guess this is it, then.”
Hajime hands over his backpack. A pause settles between them; a moment of quiet where Hajime watches Tooru avoid meeting his eyes.
And then Tooru finally looks up and Hajime can see the tears through his awful fake smile. Hajime grips the backpack strap tighter in his hand and watches his best friend struggle to keep it together. “You’re really gonna say such rude things to me right before my big trip?”
Hajime barks a laugh. “Oh shut up and give me a proper goodbye, asshole.”
Tooru throws his arms around Hajime in one swoop. Hajime immediately drops the bag and the suitcase and all reservations about being one of those couples in public and hugs Tooru back with everything he has.
“I’m gonna miss you so much.”
“I’m gonna miss you more.” Tooru mumbles into the crook of Hajime’s neck. The sappy petulance tickles.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hajime catches sight of the fragile little slip of paper Tooru clutches in his hand peeking out over his shoulder. It’s such a little thing, but the plane ticket Tooru holds so tightly is both a beginning and an ending. It means that Hajime is about to leave the love of his life in an airport with no way home. It means they’re about to go their separate ways, because for Tooru to stay would mean Hajime is holding him back, and for Hajime to go would mean giving up his own dreams.
All Hajime can do is bury his head in Tooru’s shoulder and hope he holds tightly enough to convey what he can’t bring himself to say out loud.
“Okay, you’re suffocating me, you brute,” Tooru whines, squeezing Hajime tighter; like he knows what Hajime is telling him and he’s saying that he understands, and he’s sorry.
He’s all muscle. Every part of him is as familiar to Hajime’s body as his own. Being in his arms is as much of a home as any Hajime has ever known.
But they have to let go eventually, because Tooru has a plane to catch.
It’s just for now. It’s just Argentina.
So Hajime releases Tooru. Tooru bends over and slings his backpack over his shoulder. It holds so little.
Hajime thinks of the Aoba Johsai jerseys still hanging in Tooru’s closet, left behind.
They had three years with those, and Tooru wore his well. For all that Seijoh was, when Hajime thinks the jersey with the number one hanging in a half-empty closet while Tooru checked in for his flight to Argentina, it finally starts to feel real, what Tooru is setting out to do now.
Hajime left a piece of that hunger behind in favor of a more stable career on the sidelines, but Tooru isn’t.
All of the volleyball he’s ever played has been for the love of it, and now he’s setting out to try to make a life out of it. In his hand holds the ticket that will take him away from everything he’s ever known, and towards everything he’s ever wanted.
And the smile that he shares with Hajime shows it all.
Tooru Oikawa stands in front of him now, with bags in hand and a smile on his face, looking older than he ever has. Hajime steps forward and cups his face.
“I love you.”
Tooru sniffs. “I love you too.”
There’s something different in this smile, different from any time they’ve ever said goodbye. Because there’s never been a moment like this, where saying goodbye isn’t just see you later. Tooru’s eyes say what neither of them want to voice: this is a goodbye for now and for a long time to come.
It’s not forever, but to young hearts, it certainly feels like it.
Hajime’s eyes catch on the pins, one spaceship and one monster. There’s a lump in his throat where something like good luck should be, but it catches and cuts on the way out.
“Go fuck them up.”
Tooru tips his head back and laughs.
“You know it, Iwa-chan. See you on the other side.”
Hajime can only watch as his best friend and the love of his life walks through airport security. He loves his best friend enough to let him walk forward, knowing full well he might not come back.
And it sucks. It really, really fucking sucks. But Hajime is just going to have to get used to missing him.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 THEN 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
3/21
From: Tooru
08:22 iwa-chan
To: Tooru
08:23 What
From: Tooru
08:25 imy
08:26 :(
To: Tooru
08:28: It’s been like two days
08:35: I miss you too
From: Tooru
21:07: i want to go home
21:11: this sucks
21:20: theres a flight back in two days. theres a seat available
21:21: i could find a D2 team to play on and get a job and still be near you and mattsun and makki and my family and not be alone on the other side of the world
21:28: i dont know if i want to do this iwachan
Outgoing Call: Tooru
21:45
(28 minutes)
From: Tooru
22:32: i love you iwachan thank u
4/1
To: Tooru
12:39: *image attached*
From: Tooru
12:43: you look so dumb how did you get blackmailed into doing that omfogmgomg do u have more i need more
To: Tooru
12:48: Nieces are monsters. I’ll send more later after I get the glitter out of everything
12:50: Isn’t it past midnight there? Go to bed I’ll be here tomorrow
From: Tooru
12:50: what are u my mom
12:51: also dont tell her but its hard to sleep lately
12:51: its so hot
12:54: i miss home
To: Tooru:
12:58: You’ll get used to the heat. Try to go to bed anyway and call me when you can
13:02: You’re missed every day
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
“Hey, can you see me?” Hajime squints into his screen and waits for the incoming video to load.
A minute later, Tooru shows up from across the ocean. He’s got a big dumb grin on his face that makes Hajime’s heart immediately start going crazy. It’s only been a couple months and they talk all the time, but seeing Tooru’s smile in real time hits Hajime like he doesn’t think anything else ever will.
“I can see you!” Tooru’s smile immediately grows mischievous. “There’s my handsome Iwa-chan.”
The eye roll comes back to Hajime like muscle memory.
“Yeah, here I am, don’t get twisted about it.”
“I’m so twisted.” Tooru laughs at Hajime’s groan. He looks good, as much as Hajime can tell from the pixelated version of him. The apartment he managed to find is pretty small, but there’s obviously a window next to him, sending in bright rays of light that nearly blow out Tooru’s face completely. It’s not much, but he’s there, and barely-intelligible voices crackling across oceans is the best they can ask for now.
Hajime leans back in his shitty dorm room chair, ignoring the suspicious creaking the wood makes, and stares at this new version of Tooru painted in pixels. There isn’t much different about him yet, apart from his hair being a little longer and the bags under his eyes a little more pronounced than when Hajime saw him last.
It wasn’t even long ago, but it feels like ages. It took so long for Tooru to get set up with reliable enough internet to text regularly, so this conversation is probably the most they’ve talked at once since they said goodbye at the airport, and it’s only been a couple of minutes.
There is no fucking way Hajime is going to let that make him sad or anything close to wistful now, because his boyfriend is here (kind of) and this is as good as it’s going to get.
Tooru notices Hajime staring at him and cocks his head, quirking up his mouth in an all-too familiar expression.
“Like what you see?”
“Maybe. Not like you’ve got a problem with anyone looking at you.”
“Especially you.”
“Stop flirting with me and tell me how Argentina is.”
“But I love to flirt with you. I’ve been desperately missing the way you turn all red.”
“Shut up or I’m going to break up with you.”
Oikawa stares through the screen with a truly, horrendously, horrifically, almost impressively smug expression plastered all over his face. “Okay, Iwa-chan, go ahead. Do it. Right now.”
Hajime flips him the bird and says “Fuck off,” but he’s laughing while he does it. He’s never not been down atrociously bad for his annoying best friend, and thanks to an awful and embarrassingly bad confession in high school, they both know it.
He mutters expletives with the warmth in his cheeks lingering.
Tooru tips his head back and laughs. It rings from Hajime’s shitty speakers like bells, carefree and light.
“I’ll tell you about Argentina if you tell me about university.”
“Shittykawa, you’re being slippery.”
Tooru shrugs and smiles, fully aware that Hajime will agree on his stupid proposition if it means Tooru has more time to work himself up to talking about whatever’s been going on on his end. Because, well, if Tooru wants something and it isn’t unreasonable, who the hell is Hajime to try to deny him anything?
“Fine.”
“Yay!” Hajime scowls at Tooru’s tone, but he still continues to indulge Tooru’s mulishness because why the hell not. If they had all the time in the world, he wouldn’t mind wasting time shooting the shit and pretending to scold Tooru when he’s being particularly Tooru-ish. But they don’t, because this is a half hour video call and there’s barely enough time to just catch up.
“It’s… different than what I thought it’d be.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
Tooru’s eye roll glitches midway through. Hajime taps the side of his laptop, hoping for a reconnection. Video might have been too much for the new internet.
“Iwa-chan?” Toou’s voice sounds far away.
“Tooru? Can you hear me?”
Tooru’s face unfreezes, then freezes again, then cuts out completely. “Hold on, I’m going to move closer to the box thing.”
Hajime waits impatiently for the spinning wheel of death to stop its bullshit and let him see his boyfriend again. He takes a sip of water and sits back in his chair, annoyed, while he waits.
This isn’t exactly an ideal method of having a conversation.
The audio cuts in and out, zested with some very familiar swear words and what sounds suspiciously like Tooru slapping his computer. When he returns a minute later, the four pixels of his face look equal parts annoyed and apologetic.
“Sorry, what were you saying? This internet is fucking shit, I missed all that.”
Hajime bites down his frustration. It’s not Tooru’s fault his apartment has ass internet. There isn’t anything Hajime can do about it from here either. He can only sit back and hope things will get better.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
4/14
To: Tooru
10:21: You still good for later?
From: Tooru
22:42: i can right now! still can’t get service anywhere in this apartment smh
Incoming Call: Tooru
22:58
4/20
From: Tooru
03:06: didn’t make the team
Outgoing Call: Tooru
21:10
22:03
22:11
4/21
To: Tooru
13:02: ?
4/22
Incoming Call: Tooru
02:43
4/22
Outgoing Call: Tooru
15:36: Oikawa, it’s me. Maybe try returning a call after a voicemail like that, yeah? It’s fine if you’re busy, but I don’t know shit if you don’t tell me what’s going on
4/24
From: Tooru
17:11: Sorry
17:15: it’s been really crazy trying to get set up here and find a job while I wait. i just let it get to me for a sec is all
4/25
To: Tooru
06:03: Gonna kill you. Call me back dumbass.
Incoming call: Tooru
19:22
From: Tooru
21:00: love u toooooo iwachhaaaaannnnn ;)))))))))
To: Tooru
21:01: Sorry you have the wrong number
From: Tooru
21:09: *image attached*
To: Tooru
21:20: …
From: Tooru
21:22: ;)
To: Tooru
21:29: *image attached*
From: Tooru
21:30: :O
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 N O W 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
From: Tooru
04:15: SOOOOOOOOON (○｀ε´○)／＼(○｀ε´○)
To: Tooru
10:02: Thanks. Not looking forward to the plane ride
From: Tooru
13:55: ( ˃̣̣̥ ▵ ˂̣̣̥ ) you say that to ME, haver of all the airline miles in the world
To: Tooru
18:26: I do. I do say that to you. What are you gonna do about it.
18:28: On the plane btw we’re about to take off
From: Tooru
18:30: ON THE PLANE, IWA-CHAN? //NOW//??
To: Tooru
18:31: No, dumbass. Reiterate. On a plane. Plus, like. Babies. And someone is coughing like theyre tryna spread a fucking plague
From: Tooru
18:32: aha so later?
To: Tooru
18:32: PLAGUE.
From: Tooru
18:33: kinky…
To Tooru:
18:34: BLOCKED.
From: Tooru
18:59: :)
19:00: but do NOT die of plague i forbid you. i have big plans for you
To: Tooru
19:01: Kinky
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
There is a box outside the new apartment when Hajime arrives, suitcases in tow. He hasn’t brought anything besides what can fit in one carry-on and one checked bag back with him. There isn’t much he’s carried between any of the places he’s been, apart from the contacts in his phone and the clothes on his back.
He sets his bags down inside the apartment Hanamaki and Matsukawa helped scoped out online and helped him rent from abroad. They were easy to stay in touch with. Catching up was as simple as Matsukawa sending a picture of Hanamaki laying on their kitchen table with a pizza box on top of his unconscious body and Hajime replying with an outdated meme.
Hajime lifts the box from the hallway and carries it into the reasonably-priced, semi-furnished apartment. It’s small, just big enough for two.
He should unpack, but the label on the box catches his eye. The sender’s address is familiar. Hajime’s bags remain unpacked in the corner of his eye and the shower is calling his name, but he runs the single kitchen knife that came with the apartment along the seam of tape and pops open his unexpected package.
Inside is a pile of soft clothing in familiar colors.
“See you soon.”
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
He did it. Hajime is finally here. It’s been a long road, but he made it to where he’s wanted to be for so long, and it feels just as satisfying as he ever could have hoped for.
The sign outside his new office door says in two words the goal that took years:
Iwaizumi Hajime, Athletic Trainer
As far as things go, gymnasiums are pretty similar no matter where in the world they are. Whether there are high schoolers or professionals on the court, the sound of volleyballs hitting the floor and sneakers squeaking is always the same. There are always the high ceilings, the bright lights, at least a little sweat mixed into the air. Ball carts, training platforms, spiking trainers. Coaches, athletes, trainers.
Hajime has been in this position, standing in a new gym with new people, in some form or another, many times over the years. As both an athlete and then as a trainer, he’s gotten used to having to get used to things. A lot has changed in a few years.
Hajime has changed a lot, and he’s moved around almost as much, but throughout it all, in both his personal and professional life, volleyball has been a kind of polar star for Hajime against which Hajime can orient himself. It’s steady and solid, always there to come back to.
He wears a different uniform now, but it doesn’t matter as much as he once thought it might.
The athletes and the team behind them are friendly. Everyone seems excited about getting a new trainer on the team, especially one who just came from a well-known collegiate team in America. Hajime’s resume speaks for itself, but the connections he’s made within the athletic community have clearly made an even bigger impression.
The familiarity of it is what really makes it sink in. This is what Hajime spent seven years chasing. The grueling university track, the years abroad, certifications, internships, residencies, sleepless nights and missed loved ones. It was for this: a guaranteed lifetime working adjacent to the sport he’s loved for more time than he hasn’t. He’s made so many decisions and given so much of himself to stand right where he is now.
The sidelines aren’t exactly where he thought he would end up when he was fifteen, but Hajime knows that this is exactly where he wants to be.
It’s where he feels like he belongs; supporting teams with skills and knowledge built up over years. Hajime has a unique combination of firsthand experience with both playing the sport and helping the body recover from it, and he has learned from the best in the world how to synergize the two. He grew up next to someone who showed him how to bring out the best in people, and he’s learned how to do it for himself.
There are pieces of him everywhere; reminders of someone who had been with Hajime for the beginning, but isn’t here right now.
It’s okay, and it has been for a while, but some things don’t change. Though the long season of life pushes onward, part of Hajime will always be looking over his shoulder, wanting to share another victory with someone who was once always at his side.
It’s a good thing he won’t have to wait much longer.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ 𖥔 ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
Hajime is asleep when the lock turns. His breathing stutters when the door creaks open. He’s blinking awake when the hall light is flicked on. His body automatically snorts an exhausted laugh when he hears something heavy fall onto something soft and someone quietly muttering profanities in response.
He nearly knows those words by heart now, despite the fact that they’re in another language and slurred to the point of incomprehensibility.
It’s late.
Hajime doesn’t check the clock, because the hour doesn’t matter so much as what it brings. Or, who.
It’s cold in the apartment, and Hajime isn’t fully awake yet, so he takes a few moments to just lay, listening to the sounds of Tooru coming home.
Hajime doesn’t have to see through their bedroom wall to know Tooru abandoned his luggage at the door and is on his way to the refrigerator. He’s always hungry when he gets back from traveling.
He’ll find food waiting for him, pre-portioned and ready to be reheated, because when Hajime got home from his new job and made dinner, he made enough for two.
Hajime slips from the sheets and slides into his slippers before making his way to the kitchen. The apartment layout is still new, and he has to keep a hand on the wall to find his way.
Tooru is watching his pasta spin slowly through the screen of the microwave.
Hajime comes up next to Tooru now, silently joining him in leaning against their kitchen counter. As Tooru’s food rotates in front of them, he drops his head onto Hajime’s shoulder. Hajime runs his hand through the softness of Tooru’s hair, smiling to himself at the content sigh it earns. The small intimacies afforded by proximity feel like a privilege now, more than ever.
When the microwave beeps, they break apart, Tooru going for his food and Hajime towards the cabinet where he saw two glasses earlier. Tooru’s footsteps drag on the floor behind him. One day, Hajime wonders, will the hardwood bear the wear marks of the time they spent here? Or maybe they’ll move on to somewhere new before then.
They meet at their new kitchen table, which isn’t new so much as it is new to them, conveniently sourced from a friend of Tooru’s who had happened to be moving. Hajime sets their waters down between them. There are already dents and scratches in the dark oak from the renters before them.
Tooru looks exhausted. His smile is tired, but happy.
“Hi, Iwa-chan.”
There are moments in time when there is as much meaning in silence as any words. Now that Tooru is here and they’re home, the silence wraps around them like an old friend. It’s familiar and comforting in a way that feels like time has shifted around them. Like all of these years have been seconds, and they were never apart for more than a day or two.
But still, Hajime looks across the table at his best friend, and the years are there, the difference in him as visible as if he were next to a photograph from the day they graduated. He’s taller and broader, a couple age lines starting to form at the corners of his eyes. He’s steadier in himself now, too.
And even hunched over a bowl of pasta eating it like the wild beast he is now, he’s still so beautiful.
Tooru looks up at Hajime, mouth filled with food. He’s lit from behind, haloed by the soft golden light of their kitchen, and Hajime is so in love he almost can’t feel anything else at all.
What a lovely, wonderful thing, to help take care of someone you love. What a beautiful privilege it is to get to live alongside them.
Like two planets that find each other in the vastness of space and choose to alter their orbits to pass by each other. Over and over again, spinning in the revolutions of life, on a path they’ve determined will meet again.
Hajime spots the empty dish and takes it before Tooru can. Tooru catches his arm as he stands up and brings Hajime’s free hand to his lips.
“Sorry I couldn’t be here when you moved in. It’s the league’s fault. They hate me,” Hajime can feel the apology as much as he sees it in Tooru’s tired eyes.
Hajime chuckles and kisses Tooru’s temple. He smells like his travel products and the indescribably unpleasant smell of airport. He started to wilt while eating but now he’s now practically asleep on their new table.
“I’ll get over it. Go to bed now,” Hajime gently untangles himself from the noodle arms and makes his way to the sink.
Hajime is rinsing his bowl when Tooru’s chair scrapes on the floor behind him. He leans back into the arms that wrap around him again, half surprised Tooru decided not to simply fall asleep on the dining room table.
For Tooru, good habits can start in weird ways, like deciding that he’ll always shower before bed so he can spend more time on his hair in the morning, which has inordinately resulted in him falling asleep in odd places far less than ever before. He still occasionally passes out on Hajime’s shoulder on public transport, but that’s a part of him as much as the rest.
“Gotta thank my sexy partner for a delicious meal first.”
Hajime huffs and leans his head to the side, finding Tooru there already. The swing from tender to evil is stupidly easy for him, but Hajime’s used to it.
He’s slightly less used to Tooru pressing his lips to the sensitive skin on Hajime’s neck in the low light of their new apartment. Hajime can feel the knowing smile in Tooru’s kiss at his automatic physical response.
Even at this hour, the love of his life is a bastard.
“Love you. I’m gonna shower, meet me in bed?” Hajime can practically hear the eyebrow wiggles behind him.
Tooru’s laugh carries through their apartment at Hajime’s grunt of affirmation, and it’s ridiculously late and they’ve both had long days and there’s still so much unpacking to do and it’s going to be ages until Tooru is out of the shower, but that single note of such easy happiness fills the spaces of this place they they finally get to call theirs.
The years have not come easily, the time hasn’t always been gentle to them. The distance less so.
There has been so much waiting and wanting and wishing, and there’s so much left to go. They’re just two people built like rivers, made to keep running. It took until now to meet back up again, and they both know it’s going to be a long time until they settle down fully. But the years between now and then will be a joyful ride that Hajime can’t wait to live alongside his best friend.
Hajime puts Tooru’s dishes away and hangs his jacket on the door. He collects the dirty laundry from Tooru’s bag and deposits it in the hamper atop his own work clothes, flipping off lights as he works his way back towards their bedroom.
Tooru’s bag itself goes into their shared closet next to his own.
One morning more than five years ago, Hajime had grabbed his bag and found an alien charm hanging from it. It had been clipped on in the dead of night by a temporary visitor up to no good. And there it stayed, the twin to a small monster charm somewhere over an ocean. Until now.
Hajime smiles down at the ugly things and closes the closet door quietly on their smushed little faces.
Tooru joins him in bed no less than an unreasonable time later. He smells like his fancy hair products and he’s wearing a stolen shirt and when he crawls into bed next to Hajime, his hair is still slightly damp from the shower, which must mean he’s well and truly ready to settle in for the weekend. It means that tomorrow morning, he’ll wake up complaining about his awful hair, and Hajime will agree, and then somehow he’ll be the one getting made fun of for still loving Tooru in spite of its splendid awfulness. He’ll agree to that too.
In less than a minute, Tooru’s arm finds its way around Hajime and light snores fill the room. Typical.
“So much for big plans with me, huh,” Hajime says quietly, smiling to himself in the darkness. He can’t see the stars from where they lay, but he can almost feel them smiling back at him, welcoming them home.
He drifts off like that, wrapped up in Tooru in their new apartment, finally beneath the same night sky.