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Tobio keeps stealing glances at him. Hajime’s aware of it but whenever he looks over to try and catch him doing it, Tobio’s quick to look away, even as the blush on his cheeks easily gives him away. Still, Hajime keeps quiet, bites the inside of his cheek not to smile. And then he realizes there’s no actual good reason for that, so he stops and lets his happiness easily show on his face.
“What?” Tobio asks, turning to him, tone curious.
“I’m happy,” Hajime tells him and Tobio’s still blushing, but he doesn’t look away this time.
“Good,” he says and Hajime lets out a laugh because it’s not the reply most people would give but it’s perfectly Tobio. “I’m happy too,” the words come out almost too fast, Tobio in a rush to make sure Hajime knows it. Hajime appreciates them, but he already knew. Tobio’s facial features have always been an obvious tell on his feelings.
“Good,” Hajime says back, doesn’t try to disguise the amused tone in his voice and it makes Tobio huff, then lean sideways into Hajime, a pressure there and then gone the next moment, but he keeps the backs of their hands touching.
It’s Hajime’s turn to huff as he interlaces their fingers, Tobio blushing but continuing to look at Hajime, who stares back, drinking him in.
“You sure you know the way?”
Tobio rolls his eyes, “I’ve gotten better with directions.”
“Even when they’re in a different language?” Hajime continues to joke, knows that Tobio doesn’t mind and, sure enough, he just does his best chipmunk impression. Not that Hajime has ever told him that, nor does he plan to.
“My Italian’s improving too.”
“I know,” Hajime says, is the one to lean sideways into Tobio this time. “Talk to me in Italian, baby,” by the time he’s finished, he’s laughing and so is Tobio, but he still does as requested.
“Sei bello.”
Hajime can feel his smile soften, is capable only through lots of practice of kissing Tobio on the cheek while continuing to walk. “Thanks. You too.”
They continue to walk in silence for a few more moments before Hajime breaks it, once again smiling – it’s not like he doesn’t smile in Tokyo, but it’s barely left his face since he arrived in Rome two days before and he has no plans in changing that, even if his face muscles start aching –, “so you’ll order for us in Italian?”
Tobio’s already done it. Asked for a table for two, ordered their food – Hajime’s thankful, otherwise he’d just be having carbonara, the one dish he’s sure of what it is –, then the bill (Hajime’s going to have to learn that if he ever wants to pay for a meal). Hajime has absolutely no idea if his Italian is good or not, but usually they receive smiles and last night Tobio’d taken them to a small restaurant near his place, where the owner had greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, then spent five minutes talking in rapid-fire Italian, which to Hajime was the same as him speaking… well, any European language that isn’t English.
“What did he say?” Hajime asked after he was gone and some cold meats had been delivered to their table even without their ordering them, though Hajime was getting used to that.
“I have no idea,” Tobio had answered, matter-of-factly, already eating and Hajime had started laughing because of course Tobio didn’t, and chances are the man knew that but didn’t care because, despite what the man himself might say about it, it was always easy to talk to Tobio.
“We’re here,” Tobio says and Hajime realizes he missed his answer while daydreaming but Tobio’s just gone with it, the same way Hajime does when Tobio’s suddenly too caught up thinking about volleyball.
It’s another small place which, Hajime’s starting to realize, is where they’ll usually find the best food. These are the places that have barely changed in years, with pictures depicting a business being handed down through generations.
There are quite a few sweets on display and Hajime lets go of Tobio to check them out, though he won’t be the one picking. Tobio promised him a typical Roman dessert and that’s what they’ll have. Anyway, they all look so good, Hajime doesn’t think he’d be able to choose.
Still, he does keep an ear on Tobio, picking up his slow, “due maritozzi, per favore.”
He pays and then gets two plates of some type of dough, almost looks like a bread, with a lot of cream inside. Hajime feels his mouth watering, even as he’s not sure his stomach will be able to handle that. He might not be the athlete of his team, but he still tries to at least eat healthily. Then again, he’s already accepted he’ll be going back to Japan a couple of kilos heavier. Worth it.
“Let’s sit outside,” Tobio says and Hajime goes in front to open the door for him. “Thanks.”
They sit down and start eating. Hajime’s pretty sure he’s making a mess, Tobio in front of him sure is, cream around his lips, on his nose. Hajime laughs and if they were alone, he’d lean forward to lick him. As it is, he wipes a hand to get his phone out, switches the camera so they can take a selfie.
“Smile,” Hajime says and Tobio does, the two of them looking like little kids. Hajime goes back to the cake. “What did you say it was called?”
“Oh. Huh,” Tobio starts, then pauses and Hajime raises an eyebrow. Is it a swear word? The only thing Tooru had told him to do while in Italy was to try the coglioni di mulo, to which – after some research – Hajime had sent back was from a different part of the country. “It means husband.”
Hajime blinks, mouth hanging open. He closes it and it’s his turn to say “huh.”
“It’s just a word. A name. I’m not…” Tobio’s blushing, eyes fidgeting between his plate, Hajime and their surroundings. “I’m not asking.”
“Right,” Hajime lets out. Tobio’s not looking any more relaxed and, in a tone possibly trying a bit too hard to sound casual, Hajime says, “that would be quite the way to propose. Very chill.”
“I’m not-” Tobio starts, then breaks off, seeing something in Hajime – he knows his cheeks are warm, and his eyes keep straying too, even as they quickly find their way back to Tobio – that changes his tracks. “Do you think so?” Hajime wouldn’t call Tobio’s tone eager, but close to it. Like he’s taken a deep breath before letting the words out.
“Yeah,” Hajime says and then, because he has a reputation to maintain, he smiles, winks, “but you’re not proposing.”
Tobio huffs, but there’s no hiding the way his eyes are shining, skin around them crinkling. “I’m not.”
“Okay,” Hajime says, lips twitching but, once more, it’s a battle he’s happy to lose and he lets himself smile.
“It would be corny,” Tobio continues and Hajime shrugs.
“I think it would be sweet.”
A pause. “Did you just-”
Hajime starts laughing, can’t help it and Tobio rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “Maybe I will propose with a dessert. It’s what you deserve.”
“Because I’m so sweet?”
“Yeah. Dolce,” Tobio says and Hajime’s back to blushing. It doesn’t escape him that they’re both still covered in this cream-not-chantilly.
“Well. At least now you know it would work,” Hajime says, back to trying too hard to sound nonchalant. Tobio’s eyes widen.
“So you would…?”
“Yes,” Hajime grins, tongue-in-cheek. “But you’re not asking.”
Tobio doesn’t huff, doesn’t do the chipmunk imitation, instead he looks Hajime in the eyes, seriously, as he lets out, “I will.”
“Oh,” Hajime’s happy he’s not holding the… husband, Hajime doesn’t remember what Tobio called them inside the shop, because he would absolutely drop it. “Good,” he says.
“Yeah?” Tobio says, again in that breathless voice and Hajime nods, gets one back and then they continue to eat.
Hajime wonders if it will happen before he leaves. Or if Tobio’s waiting until he’s back in Japan permanently. Either way, Hajime wouldn’t be surprised if Tobio already has a ring. After all, Hajime does. But he’s more than willing to keep carrying it with him for a little while longer.