Work Text:
you take up every corner of my mind
Hajime loves Friday evenings, not only because he can turn off all the stupid alarms with the stupid, torturous default melody of his IPhone, but because he sleeps with Oikawa. He's been doing it practically all his life.
After Friday practice, the two of them walk together to Oikawa's or Iwaizumi's house, take turns taking showers (I'll go first, you idiot, I'm sick of you leaving me without hot water; I didn't know that neanderthals took hot showers, Iwa-chAN LEAVE THAT PAN BEHIND, IT WAS A JOKE, IT WAS A JOKE), have dinner with their parents, clean the kitchen, sprawl out on the double sofa (at Oikawa's house they usually do it on the tatami because most Fridays Tooru’s sister, nephew and brother-in-law come over, and despite being 32 years old already, Tomoe is still a restless brat who hogs the whole sofa just to annoy Tooru), they tangle their legs and get sucked into the new episode of the series or movie they are following with each house (at the Iwaizumi's they are watching Next Fashion because Iwa-mum’s fascinated by fashion and it's fun to watch her and Tooru fight when their favourites are voted off; at the Oikawa, they have started season two of The Mandalorian because the Oikawa have geekiness in their DNA).
Afterward, they follow their nightly routine: they brush their teeth amidst jostling and giggles that they share with their reflexes on the mirror (you look like you have rabies, Iwa-chan; you are rabies, Shittykawa) and Iwaizumi finishes with his facial cleanser while Oikawa, with his bunny-ear headband, does his double cleansing, applies his toner, eye contour and moisturiser. When they finish, they race from the bathroom to the bed to see who gets there first and gets the space by the wall. Oikawa almost always trips him, Iwaizumi almost always pulls his shirt back and it's Tooru who almost always manages to win (just because you have ostrich legs; nice way of assuming you're short- IWA-CHAN, OW, OW, THAT HURTS, NOT THE HAIR, NOT THE HAIR).
They rest on the bed (or on the double futon in Oikawa's house, naturally) and show each other memes and TikToks, exchanging thoughts on various topics that pop up in their timelines, chuckle at Hanamaki’s weekly story time on his Instagram’s close friends (on Fridays after training, he helps out at his parents' shop and always has some absurd anecdote to share). Eventually, they settle down to sleep together, a routine they’ve always followed—something that has become an everyday, natural, and indispensable part of their lives. Tooru’s usually the one who snuggles into Hajime's chest, tucking his head under his chin and resting one of his long legs on his hip. Hajime is usually the one who wraps him protectively, resting his cheek on that chocolatey clump of tousled curls and sharing his warmth with him because how the fuck can you be a fucking ice cube even in summer, Coldkawa.
Dreams on those nights are nicer and serene, less heavy and less tiring.
And, as much as Hajime cherishes Friday evenings, Saturday mornings hold an even dearer place in his heart. He's the earlier riser between the two (most of the time because, despite all these years, Oikawa never mastered the art of fucking remaining perfectly still during sleep, hitting Iwaizumi with a hand or foot, or monopolizing all the damn blankets in winter). And, one Saturday more, Hajime carefully untangles himself from Octopukawa long enough to stretch out, groaning with pleasure when his back creaks a little. He then rubs his face, sighing before blinking, getting used to the light that sneaks in between the curtains, and turns his face towards Oikawa.
Tooru sleeping soundly is perhaps the most endearing and comical spectacle he has ever witnessed. Face down, half of his face nestled into the pillow, and the arm that had been resting on Hajime now tucked beneath it, his hair pointing in a thousand directions. His unmoving eyelashes gently brushing his reddened cheeks like caramel apples, his mouth slightly ajar with drool sliding down his cheek, the colourful kinesiology tapes on his bare shoulders peeking out from under the sheets, his back rising and falling in a slow, quiet rhythm like undisturbed river water.
It's peaceful, it's familiar, it's domestic, it's everything Iwaizumi wants in this life and in others.
The smile comes easily to Hajime's face as he gazes at Oikawa, completely captivated. He extends his hand towards his face and, using his knuckles, gently caresses his cheek, feeling its warmth against his skin. Tooru's forehead wrinkles slightly, his breathing hitches for a few seconds. His jaw moves, as if chewing, before mumbling something unintelligible and burying his face a little deeper into the pillow. However, he doesn’t shying away from the cuddles. Iwaizumi has to pucker his lips to stifle a laugh, leaning down to place a soft kiss on Oikawa’s forehead before rising off the bed as carefully as possible.
He doesn't take long in the bathroom; he relieves himself, cleans his hands and face thoroughly and rinses his mouth before returning to the bedroom. A bemused smile forms on his face when, just like every Saturday morning, finds Oikawa sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes with a frown, fully awake now that his source of warmth is no longer beside him.
"Good morning, princess," he jokes, in that slightly huskier, slightly deeper voice he has every morning, as he approaches the bed.
The setter shoots him a withering glance under his eyelids still half closed from sleep, sticks out his tongue and Iwaizumi laughs, being able to hear in his silence his it's fucking nine o'clock on a Saturday morning, Iwa-chan, don't talk to me, who gets up early at this hour on a fucking Saturday? How old are you? Ninety? And, for a second, Hajime no longer sees his eighteen-year-old Tooru, but the ghost of the six-year-old Tooru, sitting between the sheets, smaller and thinner, with a bigger head and longer hair, dressed in E.T. pyjamas that are too long in the sleeves.
Tooru has always been dreadful with mornings, he hates waking up early (unless it’s for morning training, which is when he doesn't hate it, but merely dislikes it and tries to hide it as best he can). Also, he’s that kind of person who remains silent until he’s had breakfast. It's one of the facets that Hajime loves the most, because it's something intimate, something surprising about Tooru, something that not many people know, something that Hajime’s always known, something that belongs to him and that he knows Oikawa isn’t ashamed to show him because it's Iwa-chan, it's Hajime.
"Come on, get off your ass, I'll make tamagoyaki for breakfast." When his best friend (well boyfriend for three months now, but he has yet to get used to the word for the sake of his heart health) registers his words, he arches an eyebrow. "Yes, dummy, also pancakes with blueberries, chocolate and banana." Iwaizumi answers his silent question and Oikawa seems to perk up, though the smile that breaks out on his face is soon disturbed by a big yawn.
Hajime sneers and playfully ruffles Oikawa's hair with one hand, provoking him a snort and yet another withering glare. Finally, Oikawa kicks the sheets off the bed and drags his feet—clad in ridiculously Stitch socks (because, unsurprisingly, Tooru is the kind of person who sleeps in socks)—toward the bathroom, accompanied by another yawn.
"Don't fall asleep on the toilet bowl again!" Iwaizumi reminds him, his grin widening when Oikawa peeks his hand under the threshold of the bedroom door, pulling him his middle finger out before continuing his journey to the bathroom.
It's when he's finished plating, arranging the blueberries and strategically placing the strawberries along the chocolate path on Oikawa's pancakes next to his portion of tamagoyaki, that he senses arms (now covered in the baggy sleeves of a blue sweatshirt, because even in June, Tooru is a dramatic chiller) enveloping his waist from behind, accompanied by the weight of a head resting heavily on his shoulder. Hajime smiles without stopping his task, subtly resting his head on Oikawa's still tousled hair. He snuggles a little closer, rubbing his forehead against his neck, his lips soft from the cherry balm brushing against his skin, ruffling it and teasing the butterflies that have been living in Iwaizumi's stomach for years.
"I'm almost done, babe, you can take the coffee cups to the island" He speaks softly and the taller one hums, kissing the curve of his neck, just above the jugular, before peeling off and taking the tray with the cups. His is the rectangular mug shaped like Wall-e (the first gift Takeru gave him) that holds cold coffee with hazelnut milk; Iwaizumi’s a mug sculpted like Godzilla (a gift from Oikawa simply because I saw it in a shop and thought of you and wanted to buy it) with black coffee.
Iwaizumi hears the shuffling of Oikawa's feet on the floor, the soft tapping of the tray on the island and stool being dragged out. He quickly finishes with his plate, smearing his own pancakes with honey and muesli, and carries both breakfasts to the island, leaving Oikawa's plate in front of him. His best friend’s (boyfriend’s) eyes sparkle and he smiles broadly like a child at Christmas. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes with amusement, taking a seat next to him, resting his knee on Tooru’s.
"Iwa-chan is the best man of the world"
Ah, finally, his first words. But this time, Iwaizumi doesn't mock, and smiles warmly at him, gently tapping his knee.
"Now, eat."
They both thanks for the food and take the first bite of the pancakes at once, groaning as the sweet mix of flavours floods their palates. And they eat breakfast together one Saturday more. Oikawa’s energy begins to blossoms with each passing second and sip of coffee, manifested in talking with his mouth full, teasing Iwa-chan, leaning against his side, resting his leg on his thigh and stealing pieces of his pancakes (I put you one fucking pancake more specifically so you'd stop stealing mines, Shittykawa; but yours has honey in it, Iwa-chaDON'T PUNCH ME WITH THE CHOPSTICKS, YOU UNCIVILIZED GROSS). And, amidst the playful chaos, there are stolen kisses on cheeks, foreheads, and lips, each one infused with the delightful essence of the honey.
Honestly, Hajime would sell his whole damn soul if it meant that every day of the week was Saturday.
"Oh, look, 'tou-san already sent the selfie!" Oikawa grins with amusement, turning his mobile from where he's sitting on the countertop near the dishwasher, where Iwaizumi is finishing putting away the dirty dishes.
Hajime looks up, smiling too.
Like every Saturday, their parents embark on a tradition of going out for breakfast together. This ritual predates the arrival of Hajime and Tooru in the world and has only been interrupted during certain holidays or the recovery periods when their mothers were regaining strength after childbirth. Of course, Tooru and Hajime have been participating in the tradition for as long as they can remember; and even when they are old enough and, like today, there are Saturdays when they opt to stay at home, their parents always consider them, ensuring a connection through their LINE group. Then, on these Saturdays spent at home, a selfie arrives, portraying their parents smiling and beaming. In these images, its typically Oikawa's mother holding up her mobile phone, showcasing the cherished image of Tooru and Hajime (a photo among the thousands she lovingly preserves) as if they’re with them.
"And they say they're going to the mall, so they'll possibly eat out." Oikawa adds, gently swinging his legs as turns his mobile back to him.
"Want to join them later?" Iwaizumi asks, closing the dishwasher door before walking over to the sink and washing his hands.
"Mmh, depends" His smile takes on a more playful tilt, eyes narrowing in amusement as he inclines his head, glancing at Hajime. Warily, Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow, slowly turning off the water tap. Unfortunately, he is all too familiar with that expression, "Would you like to go eat with them? Or with me? Or ea-?"
"Oh, we're not doing this" Iwaizumi interrupts, blinking, attempting to ignore the heat building up in his ears.
"Come on, Iwa-chan, don't be boring!"
"I'm not being boring, I'm avoiding embarrassment. And I'm pretty sure what you're trying to say is fucking embarrassing."
"I'm embarrassing Iwa-chan?!" Oikawa holds a hand to his chest, eyes widening in mock pain. "And me innocently thinking he loved me wholeheartedly! Is this what betrayal feels like?!"
The other man rolls his eyes, his lips itching to curl into a smile.
"You're really a great drama king."
"But am I your great drama king?" Oikawa tries again and Iwaizumi can't help but smile anymore, nodding as he approaches him.
"Yup, stupid, my great dramatist king" He gives in and Tooru widens the curve in his lips, spreading his legs further apart for Iwaizumi to settle between them.
Seijo's ace strong hands encircle his narrow waist, sneaking under his hoodie, his thumbs caressing his skin. Oikawa's firm legs wrap lazily around his hips, his arms embrace his neck, his fingers roaming over the smooth scrape left by his recent cut.
Tooru loses himself in the forest of Hajime's eyes, Hajime sinks into the chocolate sea in Tooru's eyes. And the goofy grin doesn't leave their lips. Oikawa leans in close enough to rub noses, letting out a giggle so shy, so delicate, so pure that Iwaizumi's heart shrinks inside his chest. In that moment, as warmth intertwines with vulnerability, he thinks for a fleeting second if he truly deserves someone as extraordinary as Tooru.
Because Oikawa is ethereal. Behind that spoiled, stubborn, and overly clever persona lies the Oikawa who keeps dreaming of the stars, who has an outlandish laugh, who becomes a bit shy with displays of love, who rises with resilience after every fall, and who purposefully slaps the backs of those who walk around defeated. He is always there for everyone, caring for them in his own way; and feeding on his mistakes, destroying himself to rebuild himself.
"You know, Iwa-chan?" He mutters, swinging his legs subtly as one of his hands returns to Iwaizumi's face. His long fingers navigating his skin with care, his eyes following them as if he's afraid of losing himself in a place he's travelled his whole life. "Sometimes, I feel like I can read you as if I wrote you myself" Confesses, cheeks now dusted with red.
Hajime widens his smile, eyelids closing slightly as Oikawa's thumb strokes one of his eyebrows. "Really?" Asks, also softly, as if they were sharing the secrets of the universe.
"Mmh" He hums to nod. "And I have to say, I'm a really amazing writer."
Laughter bursts from Iwaizumi's soul, a melody that resonates in both low and lively tones, and he shakes his head at Tooru's smile.
"You aren’t amazing, you're impossible."
"Hey, I didn't write you that roughly!"
Hajime rolls his eyes in amusement before kissing Tooru's warm cheek (who squawks when he gently bites it too) before hiding his face in his neck. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath of the sweet scent that has been with him all his life. He can almost feel Oikawa purr as he wraps his arms around Hajime a little tighter, dropping his head onto his shoulder as well, snuggling in.
"Did you just write me or our whole story too?" He whispers against his skin.
"Our whole story, of course" He replies, his restless fingers tracing delicate, formless lines on the fabric of his shirt. "It's a childhoods friends to lovers to husbands, with a touch of drama, hurt/comfort and a little touch of angst, but brimming with fluff, humor, cuddling, and soft moments. And it concludes with the most beautiful and spectacular ending.”
"What about that little touch of angst?"
"You know, when someday aliens come to the planet and need one of humanity's brightest brains to study it, I'll have to sacrifice myself for humanity and abandon you for a period of time."
Iwaizumi snorts, leaving a chaste kiss on Tooru’s neck, his smile widening as Oikawa shivers slightly beneath him.
"I hope it's a long period of time so I can enjoy the peace of mind that was denied to me all my whole life.”
"Mean, Hajime, really mean!" Tooru squawks indignantly, delivering a playful but gentle slap to his back. Hajime doesn’t miss the opportunity and retaliates with a light pinch to Tooru's side and, before Tooru can literally kick his ass with his foot, Hajime gracefully disengages from him, making a swift exit from the kitchen. "Hey! Don't run, you fucking coward! Come back!" Oikawa shouts at him as he leaps down from the counter and hurries after him, grabbing a pillow in his stride through the living room.
The house resounds with banter, the air filled with playful insults lacking any sting, laughter weaving through childish protests, and pillows hitting arms and unsuspecting backs.
Hajime loves Fridays and Saturdays but because he loves Tooru with a magnitude that neither words nor stars can cover.