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Hajime sits at the kitchen table in horror, still trying to process the damning information his mother has just casually shared with him.
“You’re telling me you had to call the school to make sure Tooru and I were in the same class?”
His mom doesn’t even bother turning around to witness his shock, too busy chopping vegetables for lunch. “I always thought Tooru would be the one throwing a fit, but you were the one who insisted he needed you,” she replies. “And by some miracle, we made it happen.”
Hajime is aghast, his forgotten breakfast cooling on the table in front of him. “I wanted to be with that asshole? On purpose?”
His mom yawns, and it’s not until she shoots him a quick, mischievous grin that he realizes she’s teasing him. “And you are surprised by this because…?”
“Okaa-san,” He complains. She rounds the counter to ruffle his hair affectionately before fitting a bento into his hand.
“Hajime, you know how you are about Tooru,” she tells him with a knowing weaved into her voice that makes him feel a little too seen, right now. “You’re going to be late.”
He gets up from the table with a sigh, walking over to the island to reach for another bento from the cabinet. “For Oikawa,” he explains over his shoulder as he begins to pack it with steaming rice.
He scowls when he hears his mom’s suppressed giggle, not fooled for a second. “What! He forgets!”
“I’m not wrong,” she coos.
“You’re not,” he admits tiredly, wrapping the bento quickly in the nearest furoshiki he can find before heading for the door. “And I’m leaving!”
~~~~
“You were so cute.” Oikawa’s mom laughs heartily at his indignant expression over her cup of tea. “Sensei told me you stared out the window and refused to speak until Hajime walked in the door.”
Oikawa opens his mouth to defend himself, but he remembers all too well.
As soon as he’d walked into the door, he had immediately felt Iwa-chan’s absence like a stone dropping in the bottom of his stomach. It had just felt wrong without him, and he’d been too young to know how to hide it.
He wouldn't have done a great job of it, anyway.
He had other friends in the class, and ultimately he would’ve been fine, sure, but why be fine when you could be with Iwa-chan?
If he had to spend hours and hours sitting in a boring classroom all day, why couldn’t he do it while kicking Iwa-chan under the table (he started it!), sticking his tongue out at Iwa-chan, stealing food from Iwa-chan’s bento—
“If it makes you feel any better, Hajime was the one who asked for you,” his mom mentions, interrupting his train of thought.
“I remember,” Oikawa admits. “And yes, it does make me feel better, actually.”
He chooses not to say that he still remembers the feeling of sheer relief shivering down his spine the moment he saw Iwa-chan’s little face in the doorway, clearly eager to find Oikawa despite his scowl.
He chooses not to say how he’d held onto Iwa-chan’s hand for the rest of the day, sweaty and nervous, and how Iwa-chan had let him– knowing Oikawa was afraid they’d send him back if he dared to let go.
He chooses not to say yes; he still feels that way when Iwa-chan walks into a room, despite his worries that he ought to have stopped feeling like this long, long ago.
It’s still on his mind as he watches Hajime bound down the stairs to meet him for their morning walk to school, the same way he has for as long as he can remember.
“Good morning, Iwa-chan!” he greets. He’s been spoiled, he thinks, getting to see him every day. Soon he’ll be deprived, and then what will he do?
“Hey,” Hajime says briskly, and presses a neatly wrapped bento in his hand. “Here.”
“You made one for me?” Tooru asks, staring at it in his hands even though this isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he doubts it’ll be the last. Iwa-chan’s always looked after him from the moment they’d met, after all— he just can’t tell if it’s a commitment or a habit.
“We had extra,” Hajime says defensively, and Oikawa can’t hide his knowing smirk. “And you didn’t eat enough before practice yesterday.”
“And you get mad at me when I call you a mom,” Tooru jokes, neatly dodging Hajime’s swipe of wrath.
“You know, I heard a good story from my mother this morning,” he begins, observing Hajime’s face carefully as they begin walking down the street together. He hums nonchalantly, looking forward toward the horizon, and Oikawa takes the opportunity to keep going.
“She told me someone asked– no, demanded to be in the same class as me when we were assigned to different ones,” he brags, hoping Hajime won’t hear the note of nervousness in his voice. “Though that’s far from the only time someone’s asked for such a thing, to think that Iwa-chan was my first admirer—“
“Can you not talk out of your ass this early in the morning?” Hajime retorts, shoving him by the shoulder. “My mom told me the same thing. They must’ve talked about it yesterday.”
They make it to the end of the block before Oikawa decides to try again.
“Do you remember doing that?” he asks. “Asking for me?”
“Kind of,” Hajime shrugs, and Tooru winces, holding the bento a little tighter to his chest. “Do you?”
“Well,” he hesitates, but continues when Hajime turns to watch his face as he responds, “When my darling mother reminded me of the details, it may have rung a bell or two.”
“I remember you started crying after I came in,” Hajime mentions without preamble. “Why?”
“I couldn’t help it!” Oikawa squints up at the sun, wondering if that’s why he’s starting to feel a little sweaty under the collar. “You said, ‘Cut it out ‘cause I’m here now.’,” he recites, smiling sheepishly despite himself. “And you wanted me to forget?”
“I said something that cool, huh?” Hajime grins broadly, and Tooru swears his heart skips a beat.
He looks so handsome with his bright green eyes glinting in the early morning light, broad-chested but still lean, sporting that boyish smile of his that’s always managed to set Oikawa on fire no matter how many times he’s seen it.
He is everything he could ever dream of in a best friend, a partner in arms, an honest and reliable ace– and it hits Oikawa again, then and there: I won’t have this– him– forever for much longer.
The truth is that there’s no real difference between first-grade Oikawa and who he is now: he’s always loved two things most, and they were a package deal. Iwa-chan and volleyball, volleyball and Iwa-chan. He knows that some childlike, stubborn part of him still wants to stare out the window and hope Hajime will find his way back to him– but that’s not a guarantee anymore, and it’s not something he feels would be fair to ask.
He feels a strange pang of jealousy towards his seven-year-old self for not being afraid to want Iwa-chan by his side, for never questioning his longing in favor of trusting the connection between them. Life was simpler then.
He knows Hajime is off to America soon, knows he’s as hungry for his own dreams as Oikawa is, but the idea of never telling him how he feels, of watching him start a life without him– or, god, hearing about him falling in love with someone else–
When he turns to face Hajime, he sees the growing concern on his face, and suddenly the idea of not telling him terrifies Oikawa more than anything else. I can’t do this, he thinks with a sudden desperation, I don’t know why I thought I could.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get used to being without you,” he blurts aloud before he can stop himself. “What if it’s forever, Iwa-chan? I get to see you every day, I began with you, how am I supposed to—“
“Hey,” Hajime interrupts, and his tone is serious, the way it always gets when he knows Oikawa needs it to be. “Didn’t I tell you to keep going without hesitation?”
“I’m not hesitating,” Tooru corrects haughtily, trying his best not to burst into tears. “I’m going to do what I need to do to get what I want, and I know you’ll do the same. I’m just going to miss you while I do it.”
Hajime stares at him for a beat, letting Tooru’s words hang in the air between them. Oikawa stares back, unsure of what else to say.
It’s all out there, now, isn’t it? His messy, needy, lovey-dovey feelings are all out there and Iwa-chan will start making fun of him any minute--
He startles when Hajime suddenly bursts into laughter, warm and loud and loving. “You’ll never change,” he says, and oh, how he makes that sound like he’d never want anything else. “But tell me something: does that apply to us, too?”
Oikawa feels his mouth go dry. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, go do what you need to do, and I’ll do the same,” Hajime tells him. “Follow through. Become the best. And then, come back to me.”
Oikawa stops walking, gaping at him like a fish.
“Iwa-chan,” he says slowly. “Don’t mess with me. Not about this.”
“I’ll wait for you, if you want,” Hajime continues casually, like he’s talking about the weather. “I want to.”
“Hajime!” Oikawa yells. He doesn’t know how to express how full he feels– fear and awe and sheer joy rushing through his veins with every word. It feels like every dream of his can come true, suddenly– like it already has.
He should’ve known Hajime would read his mind.
“I just thought I’d say it already,” Hajime shrugs. His clenching fists betray his nerves, but he looks Tooru straight in the eye, sharp green and fierce and brave to the end. “Do you feel the same?”
“You have no idea,” Oikawa breathes, stepping closer to pull Hajime in by the collar, suddenly needing to touch him. He still can’t tell if he’s dreaming, but he wants– god he wants–-
“Can I kiss you?” He asks.
Hajime looks away, but the tips of his ears burn bright red. Oikawa’s heart melts. “Just a little one,” he pleads. “I’ll save the real one for later.”
“Hah? For my first kiss? Hell no,” Hajime finally replies, his voice suddenly rough. “Wait until the end of the day. We’ll– we’ll have more time, or whatever.”
“Alright,” Oikawa replies slowly, remembering himself as he tips Hajime’s chin up with a finger. He smirks as Hajime finally meets his gaze, watching in shock as Oikawa unabashedly drags his eyes across Hajime’s mouth. “Get ready, Hajime,” he teases. “You’re going to be a mess when I’m done with you.”
“Uh huh,” Hajime gruffs, twisting out of his grip and walking ahead with a flustered expression.
~~~~
It’s not until Oikawa sits at his desk for the first class of the day that it begins to settle in. He taps his foot against the floor as his teacher begins their lesson, and blows hot air through his bangs. He can’t seem to stop fidgeting. Was I dreaming this morning? He wonders. Did that really happen?
He sneaks a glance or two at Hajime at least every ten minutes, trying to see if he’ll react. Not yet, he chastises himself. He finds solace in the fact that Hajime can’t seem to sit still either, glaring at the clock as though it’s personally wronged him.
When the bell rings for lunch, Hajime takes him by the wrist and leads– no, drags him to a deserted hallway.
When he finally turns to face him, he looks as impatient as Oikawa feels.
“Just do it,” he demands. He plucks out the hem of Oikawa’s tucked-in shirt with covetous fingers, tugging their bodies together. "Kiss me."
Oikawa nearly closes his eyes when he feels fingertips accidentally brush against the bare skin of his stomach, as their everything bumps against each other. Hajime feels so warm against him, all well-earned strength and corded muscle. It’d be so easy to give in, kiss him all messy and rough, and leave him panting and rumpled for the rest of the school day. It still feels like a dream that he even wants Tooru in the first place.
It’s just that, well– he’d been issued a challenge by his number-one rival. Oikawa Tooru doesn’t take those lightly.
“You can wait,” he coos, crowding in as close as he can bear. He wants to kiss away the little divot between Hajime’s eyebrows when he frowns at him. “I don’t go back on my promises, Iwa-chan, and I promised you I’d kiss you at the end of the day. Plus, I still have to eat my loving husband bento.”
“Goddamnit,” Hajime groans, tilting his head back to hit the wall. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Oikawa tells him, sliding his hand into Hajime’s. “Let’s eat.”
~~~~
At their usual table, Oikawa digs in while Hajime watches, chin in hand, his own bento left untouched in front of him.
“Mmm, Hajime,” Oikawa moans, licking his lips before giving him a salacious wink. “This is delicious.”
“Is it,” Hajime replies dryly, his eyes flicking over his mouth, and a flash of heat runs through Oikawa like lightning. “Wouldn’t know.”
“Try some,” Oikawa offers, and plucks a piece of unagi from his tray. Hajime opens his mouth obediently and chews for a moment, thoughtful.
“My mom is an incredible cook,” he sighs, and opens up his own bento.
“Iwa-chan’s such a messy eater,” Oikawa chides as he watches him wolf it down, his voice lilting and affectionate— and though Hajime complains, he indulgently leans into his touch and lets him do whatever he wants.
As he slowly slides his thumb across Hajime’s bottom lip, Oikawa wonders– how long have they been like this?
What Oikawa’s not prepared for is when he does it a second time, Hajime pulls his thumb between his lips and sucks the food right off of it, his heavy gaze fierce and steady as he waits for Tooru’s reaction.
Oikawa pulls his thumb free from Hajime’s mouth and pops it straight into his own, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks off what’s left. Two can play at that game.
“Guys,” Makki cries, startling them both. “We’re right here!”
Oikawa shakes his head a little in an attempt to snap out of the something that was building between them.
“Yeah, you guys have been acting weird today,” Matsukawa chimes in. Oikawa had forgotten he was there. “I mean, you always flirt in front of us, but I draw the line at whatever this is.”
“Shut up,” Hajime growls, reaching over the table to try to deliver a hard smack to Mattsun’s shoulder, but he leans back before he can reach. “Mind your business.”
"I'm trying to," Makki replies. "Please let me." Mattsun snickers into his soup bowl.
“We’ll be good,” Oikawa promises, winking at Hajime, who immediately looks away.
For now.
~~~~
By the time the bell finally rings for their last class of the day, Oikawa has had it. This time, he’s the one to pull Hajime against the crowd and through the doors, to where he knows they won’t be disturbed.
When they’re finally alone, he lets go of Hajime's hand. His palms suddenly feel sweaty, and he stuffs them in the pockets of his school blazer hastily.
”Hi,” he manages to croak, his heart too busy trying to climb out of his throat.
He’s never, ever felt nervous about kissing someone. Then again, he’s never kissed Hajime.
“I waited,” Hajime toes the ground with his shoe. “I waited all day. You gonna kiss me or what?”
Oikawa takes a minute to take Hajime in, to commit him and this moment to memory: his flushed cheeks, his gruff shyness. He vows silently to tell Hajime just how cute he was one day far, far in the future.
“Why don’t you come and get it, Iwa-chan,” he teases, his confidence regained, tugging long fingers into the loops of his slacks. “Show me how much you want it.”
“Fine, you asshole,” Hajime says with the courage of a thousand men, and he tips his toes up to press their lips together.
It’s warm, it’s perfect, it’s everything he's ever wanted-- and when Hajime leans back to blink at him, his warm breath still lingering on his lips, Oikawa can't let it lie.
He feels all that anticipation boil up and over in his chest as he presses more kisses to his soft mouth, again and again and again.
“I’ll give you— a polite one— in a minute,” he promises breathlessly. He can’t seem to stay away long enough to finish a sentence, desire tumbling through his body like an avalanche. “Just– mmm— hold on—”
“Shut up,” Hajime murmurs hoarsely, threading Oikawa’s hair tight between his fingers as he sucks at his bottom lip, making him gasp before he slips a tongue in his mouth. He’s hot and rough and everywhere, and he makes the hottest sound Oikawa’s ever heard when he finally gains the courage to slide his hands over Hajime’s ass and squeeze.
God, he sounds so good, Oikawa thinks as Hajime growls into his neck, and his brain feels like overheating from where thoughts like those could lead him.
They pull apart for a second, panting harshly in the small space between them. Oikawa can feel Hajime’s warm breath against his mouth, and he can’t help but grin. He watches in awe as Hajime grins back.
It feels real, suddenly, that they’re doing this. As new as it is, and as hot and bothered as it’s making them both feel–- it’s still just them.
He’s still the Hajime he’s always known, the mouth-breather who loved bugs and spiking tosses and knocking Oikawa upside the head– that is, when he wasn’t busy making Oikawa fall head over heels in love with him.
He’s both the seven-year-old and the seventeen-year-old who has always looked out for him, who has his back and his heart and every single kiss he’ll ever give. He’s the one who searched for him at the door of that classroom, knowing that they were always meant to walk through each one together.
“We really could’ve been doing this all this time, huh,” Hajime mutters, and he presses a soft kiss to his jaw. “How much time do we think we have before practice?”
Oikawa huffs out a laugh, tipping his forehead into Hajime’s. “Enough time to get you riled up for drills,” he taunts. “C’mere.”
They kiss until their lips are sore in broad daylight, and it’s a wonder that they hear Oikawa’s watch beep. They break apart and run to the gym doors with flushed faces and mussed hair.
Nothing comes before volleyball, after all.
They try their best to straighten up before walking in the door, but it’s no use. They arrive to a chorus of obnoxious wolf whistles— but Oikawa just grins broadly as Hajime bares his teeth at all of them, their hands still knitted together.
“Just for that: ten laps for warm-up, everyone!” Oikawa calls, and the team groans irritably.
Later, he spots Hajime’s drill with Yahaba, and watches with pride as he relentlessly spikes toss after toss Yahaba sends his way. He’s as ruthless on the court as he always is, full of energy and aggression, and as he slams yet another ball onto the ground with a satisfactory thwack, Oikawa can’t help but smile.
What a good play tactic, he notes smugly. It’s one he plans to use every moment he can until they part. And then again, after he does what he needs to do, and then returns: to Hajime, to wherever home may be, to wherever life may take him.
Then, he vows, he’ll keep him forever.