Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first kiss was an accident.

Summer meant a lot of things, but most importantly it meant an endless amount of time to play video games in the thicket of woods behind Iwa-chan’s house, where they could get as rowdy as they wanted and could, if they felt the overwhelming need to, use swear words without anyone getting mad at them. Tooru was pretty sure this was what freedom felt like.

“Go! Iwa-chan, go!”

“I am going--just--hold on--”

“You’re not going! You’re gonna lose!”

Somehow they’d been able to pool months of allowance money, and together they’d bought a GameBoy they took turns using, sharing between one another seamlessly. While neither of their moms were really in love with the idea of their sons spending so much free time playing video games, they adored how well the boys were getting along. Their boys, who loved to try and pummel each other into the ground and never spoke lower than an eardrum shattering decibel. So the Gameboy was approved.

“Go!”

“I’m--shit.”

Tooru jumped, using Hajime’s shoulders as leverage. “GO.”

“I’m trying! I--YES!”

Triumphant tinny music trumpeted from the speaker. Hajime whipped his head around, smile wide. “Ha! See, I wo--”

He didn’t realize Tooru was so close (“Personal space, Oikawa,” Iwa-chan always yells at him. “Three feet at all times.”) and as he whipped his head around to gloat their lips brushed--less of a brush, more of a definite press. They press together and linger for a beat--the beat his heart skipped just before they both wrench back. Iwa-chan slapped a hand over his mouth, falling back onto his other hand as Tooru falls elbows first down onto the dirty.

Iwa-chan pointed, bright, bright red. “That doesn’t count!”

Tooru didn’t say a word. It felt like his blood was about the boil and burst through his skin from his toes to his ears, and all they could do was stare at each other with wide eyes. He brought a hand up over his chest, heart pounding through bone and flesh it felt almost like it was between Tooru’s fingers rather than between his ribs.

“Hajime!” a voice called through the trees. “Tooru’s mom wants him home for dinner!”

“C’mon,” Iwa-chan was suddenly up, moving swift and purposefully as he reached to grab Tooru by the wrist, forcing him to his feet. “We gotta go.”

Hajime walked him home and left him at the front door without saying another word, and when Tooru climbed into bed that night he wondered what Iwa-chan had meant. What hadn’t counted, and what any of it could be even counted for. He turned over onto his stomach and pressed his hot face into his pillow.

The second time, it was on purpose.

“Aren’t you curious?”

Hajime turned the page in his book. “Nope.”

“Iwa-chan, come on,” Oikawa stomped a foot against the floor. His hair was messier than usual hand wrung, and he kept moving. He'd been on this subject for a few days now, stuck the way only Oikawa Tooru could get about something so dumb. First kisses. Hajime felt his ears go hot, and Oikawa exploded in a wave of flapping arms. He looked every inch of the pre-teen that he was, especially when he pouted like that. “Don’t you want the first time to be with someone you care deeply about?”

His mind flickered for a moment, going way way back to a memory wedged between patches of summertime sun, and he almost wanted to say something like, didn’t our first time already happen?

Instead, he said, “Exactly why I don’t want it to be with you.”

Oikawa stared. Either he was about to storm out and give up, or he was about to start crying.

“For the love of--fine,” Hajime snapped his book shut, turning his gaze forward. “Do your worst.”

For all his foot stomping and demands, Oikawa deflated into something just this side of shy suddenly, shifting his weight from foot to foot and tugging the sleeves of his shirt down past his wrists. It was too big on him, and it dangled down past his knuckles. They both wore clothes too big at their mothers' insistence that they would grow into them. Hajime wondered a lot if feelings were like clothes. If you could grow out of those, too. “You have to stand.”

Hajime heaved out a long sigh, tossing his text to the side and getting up on his feet. He kept his body controlled, in step, not fidgety like Oikawa’s, even though on the inside his bones felt like they were vibrating, an invisible chord struck. Afternoon light filtered in through open blinds, falling over Oikawa in a glow, sharp edges looking sharper, the creases on his face darker, everything that much more pointed and glaring. He’s beautiful, Hajime thought suddenly, and not for the first time.

“Well?” Hajime made a face, letting his arms slap against his sides. “This was your idea, yo--”

Oikawa's hands came up, on the sides of Hajime’s neck, ducking just enough and swooping in a fluid motion, almost like it had been practiced a thousand times before, like he was about the set a ball. His thumbs brushed the corners of Hajime’s jaw, and Oikawa kissed him.

Hajime thought his heart could burst, and it took him a moment, staring at Oikawa’s long dark eyelashes, to remember to close his eyes. Not knowing what else to do with them, his hands moved on their own to grip at the sides of Oikawa’s shirt, and the initial hard pucker melted into something nice. He could feel hot breath against his cheek as Oikawa exhaled, fluttering and thin and long.

Then Oikawa’s tongue was suddenly sliding against Hajime’s mouth, and his lips parted in surprise, maybe to yell something, but all that came out was a tiny grunt that might have been more on the whimper side. Oikawa’s fingers were in his hair, bringing him closer as their kiss turned open and wet, but careful.

He didn’t know how long this kiss lasted for. All Hajime could think about, breathe in, and taste was Oikawa, heart beating so hard and fast it seemed impossible Oikawa couldn’t feel it. And if Oikawa could feel that, then he’d know--

Hajime pushed a hand against the center of Oikawa’s chest--a half mistake, because he couldn’t avoid seeing red wet lips and glassy eyes, staring with dark question marks in blown pupils. Even though his heart was still jackhammering inside his chest, Hajime pulled himself together, and invisible string tied to his spine, straightening him, composing him.

He swallowed to rid the hitch from his voice, and said, “That’s enough.”

That seemed to slam Oikawa back into some kind of reality (Oikawa Reality--he almost shivered at the thought), and he brought a hand up to his lips and wiped them. Hajime felt a low punch of hurt.

“Right,” Oikawa’s voice did break. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

The book that was perched on the edge of Hajime’s bed fell to the floor with a thud that sent them both jumping out of their respective skins.

The third time, it was a dare.

Drunk sleepover. Hajime knew it had to happen eventually. He supposed the end of their senior year together was as good a time as any, though he distantly wished he’d done this on his own. He had no clue what kind of drunk he’d be, but staring at the bottom of his empty glass he didn’t feel all too different. Except now when he spoke the words seemed endless, constantly spilling out in a stream of unfiltered rambling. All the things he usually kept in his head--dumb shit like he thought Mattsun’s shoes were cool or that the air was really crisp tonight and holy hell look at that moon--were suddenly tumbling out of him.

Dangerous. He reached for another bottle.

“Never have I ever,” Mattsun said, “Felt a girl up in public.”

Makki’s eyes narrowed. “You could’ve stopped at felt a girl up.”

Oikawa was the only one to throw a shot back. Iwaizumi stared as his throat bobbed with a swallow. Liar, he thought as the guys jostled Oikawa with elbows and fists, Oikawa laughing and going, “Don’t be jealous, you cute little virgins.”

Iwaizumi glowered at the liquor in his own shot glass.

“Never have I ever,” Makki tilted his drink, “Kissed a guy.”

So he was drunk, and more than drunk Iwaizumi Hajime was an honest man. He didn’t pull punches, he didn’t back down, and he didn’t lie during a game of Never Have I Ever.

So he took the shot.

When he slammed it against the table, every eye was on him. Including the wide, bewildered gaze of Oikawa. He blinked, mind fogging with the sudden memory from an eternity ago, slick mouths pressing together, the electric jolt of Oikawa’s tongue just barely swiping against his own--

“Holy shit,” Kaneo fell forward on his hands. “Who?”

“What do you mean who?” Mattsun rolled his eyes. “It could literally only be one person.”

He jerked his head towards Oikawa, who hadn’t made a damn sound this entire time (and hadn’t taken his damn shot).

Makki winced, bringing his glass to his mouth. “I don’t like how well I can picture that.”

Hajime scowled.

“Hey,” Mattsun said on his other side, leering. “Bet you won’t do it again.”

Oikawa made some kind of sound. “You’re both so childish---”

“That’s really rich coming from you, Brattykawa.”

Hajime moved the half full bottle of something or other out of the way, and threw himself.

There was an oof below him as his legs came up to straddle Oikawa’s lap, hands fisted into the front of that ridiculous floral patterned button down, their mouths slammed together.

It wasn't a good kiss by any means--it hurt, there were teeth, and Oikawa made this strangled noise that struck right through Hajime’s gut, flailing underneath him until he went rigid as the feel of Hajime’s tongue slipping in the same time his hand slipped up the front of Oikawa’s shirt. Somehow, he thought deliriously, he wanted to erase every other person who’d ever kissed Oikawa Tooru from his mouth. He wanted to brand himself there. He wanted everyone to know.

There was, over the music, the sound of both cheers and hollers, egging them on.

Hajime ripped himself away with a throaty exhale, chest heaving. The dim light of the room glazed Oikawa’s eyes, half-lidded and gazing up at him with his lips slick and parted, hands above his head and shirt rucked up over his hips, sliver of belly showing. Hajime had the impulse to push it up, pull it off, pull it all off and sink back down.

Then Oikawa threw him off, and Hajime thudded against the floor with a roar of his friends’ laughter busting out above him.

The fourth kiss was breathless.

His first semester of college was less of the whirlwind Hajime was expecting, and more of a...staring at his phone, wanting to pick it up and just call Oikawa, and wondering why Oikawa hadn’t called him. He met people, sure. Classes were hard, sure. He missed his parents and his room and his favorite home cooked foods worse than he thought he ever could, and when he could manage to sleep his dreams were all deep, soundless, and took place in high school.

So suddenly, somehow, beyond every pillar of logic and reason and sensibility, Iwaizumi Hajime found himself on a five hour train ride into Tokyo without telling a soul.

The real kicker was--and there were plenty, like how he spent all his money on the ticket, how his phone was dead, how he left at 5am with no spare clothes or anything--was that he didn’t even know where Oikawa actually lived. They’d never exchanged addresses, and Hajime suspected because it was maybe a little too hard to actually say during those last few weeks before graduating, spinning around each other, trying to pretend that everything was the same. To actually say, this is where I’m living. It’s nowhere near you.

He knew where the school was though. That was a start.

Walking around the campus with stiff legs and day old stubble, it was too easy to picture Oikawa against this backdrop. To picture him talking to girls at the front gate, leaning against brick in an ridiculous outfit with his hair wind tussled and those ridiculous glasses on. Or walking in long strides across the quad with his bag and an armful of books and an iced coffee in his free hand. Melding so seamlessly into a place, a life that Hajime had never touched. He winced as a flutter of laughing students pushed by.

There was a hand at his elbow, and he whirled around, hoping beyond all hope that---

It was a girl. Her hair was done up and her lipstick was bright, a pen tucked behind her ear and a notebook under her arm as she stared up at him with the strangest expression.

“Um, excuse me, but,” her head tilted “Are you...Iwa-chan?”

He’d never heard that nickname come out of anyone else’s mouth before. “I--yes?”

“I’m sorry, I know this is really weird but,” she smiled. “You’re friends with Oikawa-kun, right?”

“Do you know where he is?” Hajime blurted. “My phone is dead and he never picks up when I need him to answer anyway and---”

She took him by the wrist and pulled him, wordless, and suddenly they were cutting between the buildings, through to an outdoor patio that looked to be part of the cafeteria. Sprawled out on the knoll next to the tables were students lounging on blankets, studying and eating and talking to one another.

“Oikawa-kun!” the girl called out. “I have a surprise for you!”

The unmistakable voice rang through the air, and Hajime found the familiar head of messy hair, that long sloped neck, those shoulders instantly as Oikawa turned from where he was talking to some other students. “Is it that you’re madly in love with me, Chi-chan, because I already know---” Oikawa blinked rapidly, maybe in disbelief. “Iwa-chan.”

Hajime jammed his hands into his pockets. “Yo.”

“Iwa-chan?” the guy standing next to Oikawa asked, leaning around to look. “The Iwa-chan?”

“Uh, yeah, hi,” Hajime waved, then slid his attention back around to Oikawa. “I just felt like--are you crying? Don't cry, you idiot! I'll punch you!"

Big, snotty crocodile tears started dripping down Oikawa’s pink face, and he dropped all the books he was holding and started sprinting at Hajime full force with his arms stretched out. “I-Iwa-chan!”

Hajime caught him, but his knees buckled under the sudden weight and they collapsed back. He swore, head throbbing where it’s bumped against the ground. But he was distracted by the warm wetness against his throat.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa blubbered. “I hate you. Why are you here? Why didn’t you say you were coming? Why don’t you ever call? I hate you.”

Hajime sighed, body relaxing. He brought his hand up and around to ruffle the back of Tooru’s hair. “It was a surprise, dumbass. And why don’t you call me?”

“C’mon, Oikawa,” a voice said from above. The guy. He had Oikawa by the back of his shirt, pulling him up. “Get off the kid so we can be introduced properly.”

Being introduced properly was spending two hours in the warm grass chatting with Oikawa’s new friends, and Hajime was surprised to find he was only a little jealous at the sight of Oikawa fitted into this group of strangers. He’d built them up in his mind to these faceless entities sinking claws into Oikawa and dragging him away forever into a place Hajime could never reach. In reality, they ragged on Oikawa and made him happy and Hajime could live with that.

“He didn’t talk to anyone for the first month he was here,” Chi-chan twirled a finger. “It was kind of sad. So I knew I had to take him under my wing.”

“I’m shy,” Oikawa held a hand to his chest. “It’s part of what makes me so cute.”

“You’re literally the most obnoxious person I’ve ever known,” Iwa-chan snorted. Everyone laughed, save Oikawa whose eyes were shining and couldn’t keep still. He was wearing those fucking glasses. It took Hajime a moment to realize he was staring, and forced himself to look away.

Chi-chan turned to him. “You should ask Oikawa to show you his room.”

Hajime blinked. “Uh.”

“We’ve already seen it,” she said. “Haven’t we, Tsuda-kun? And we have class soon. Both of us.”

Tsuda held his hands up in silent surrender before he was being dragged off.

“Oikawa-kun, I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” she waved with her free hand. “It was nice meeting you finally, Iwa-chan!”

“Oh,” Hajime felt his face heat up. “You, too.”

A warm breeze swept through the grass, through Oikawa and Hajime. Someone laughed at one of the table, bursts of life all around them. Hajime felt an undeniable truth; that he didn’t belong there.

“C’mon,” Oikawa stood, moving like water. He brushed the grass off the back of his jeans. “I’ll show you.”

The walk back to Oikawa's dorm was long, winding, and silent. Hajime's throat tightened as they scaled steps two at a time, thinking this was it. This was some kind of impasse. He was so sick of those.

“Well,” Oikawa’s keys jingled. “This is it.”

Walking in, Hajime was hit with a blast of cool, dark air. It smelled like Oikawa. So incredibly, undeniably familiar. It was summer afternoons in the woods behind his house and it was studying on his bedroom floor and it was sweating on center court and it was burnt rubber and it was Oikawa and it was home.

“I don’t really have anywhere for you to sleep---”

“You’re gonna have to share your futon, you jerk.”

Oikawa seemed to shrink against the door. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“The hell would it bother me for?”

Oikawa’s gaze sliced through the stilled air. “You know why. You’ve known why since we were 12, Iwa-chan. Don’t play dumb. It’s not cute.”

“I didn’t know jack shit back then,” Hajime grunted. “And I’m just starting to figure things out now. The only one playing at something here is you, Oikawa.”

His expression hardened. “Shut up.”

“Playing like you just want to see what kissing’s like,” Hajime stepped forward. “Playing like you’re such a ladies man. Like that night at Hanamaki’s never happened. Like you’ve got too much pride to call me, to talk to me, when you’re really just scared.”

“Stop,” Oikawa shook his head, backing up. “Stop talking.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Hajime stopped short right in front of him, and he waited for big brown eyes to finally look up. He felt his own face make some sort of expression, caught between hurt and pleading and trying too hard to seem neither. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Oikawa finally tore himself away form to door, and as he did it seemed like he was falling forward, not a care about gravity in him as he collapsed into Hajime and kissed him like he’d been dying to. He probably had been, as much as Hajime had been dying to kiss him back.

Hands rucked up shirts and hair, twisting and smacking lips and legs slotted together, hips rocking forward on their own accord and whimpers shoved back by bitten lips and long, hitched sighs. It was never ending, it felt like, caught wanting more but both of them still too unsure to make the next move. It was better that way, Hajime thought. They’d be forced to take it slow instead of hurtling full speed ahead into something that was too important to rush. Hajime didn’t know what was on the other side of this--this, right now, kissing his best friend, the guy he’d been in love with before he could even put it into words--but he knew he wanted to be worthy of whatever it was. For the both of them.

They stood, mouths open, lips just barely brushing, breathing heavy into each other as they tried to rein themselves in. And Oikawa, that asshole, with his half lidded, glazed eyes, so close but clouded in that heavy wave of want, let his tongue slide past his own lips, past Hajime’s, just barely touching Hajime’s. Eyes open, locked, faces bright red, Hajime pressed his tongue forward too. He’d never kissed someone like this before. Was this even that? It felt dirtier, especially when Oikawa made this little mmmn sound like he didn't know exactly what that would to to Hajime.

He surged forward, his hands in Oikawa’s hair, sucking on Oikawa’s tongue until he buckled back against the door, Hajime needing to hold them both up. And even then he didn’t stop.

"You're trying to kill me," Tooru gasped the moment they finally actually broke away, breathing hard.

"Like you're not trying to the same damn thing."

Oikawa grinned--a mean, terrible, beautiful fucking grin before he yanked Hajime forward by the fisted collar of his shirt.

The fifth time got lost somewhere between the fourth and the hundredth, and now Tooru had no idea how many there’d been. Stolen and given and shared and countless. Countless kisses for Tooru’s innumerable love, clinging and smothering and endless, but somehow Hajime took it all. Just like he always has. Tooru didn’t know how he ever doubted him.

He snuggled closer, bare knees bumping under the covers. He never knew how lovely it could feel to have knobby hairy knees pressed together. He watched Hajime’s eyes blink open, mouth stretched into a yawn.

“G’morning.”

Hajime burrowed back into his pillow, voice scratchy. “You watchin’ me sleep? Creep.”

“I can’t help it. You’re so gross looking it’s captivating.”

Iwa-chan pounced, pinning Tooru down through a scramble of tangling limbs that melted as their bodies pressed flush together, peppered kisses reaching up into the thousands by this point almost five years on.

“Hey,” Tooru squirmed, and Hajime hummed, kissing down his neck. “We need to get up--my sister’ll be here in like an hour.”

A heavy sigh, Hajime’s head dropping against Tooru’s chest. “Is Takeru coming?”

“Obviously.”

“That kid’s a demon,” Hajime grunted, lifting his head to glare at Tooru. “Clearly it runs in the family.”

Tooru smushed a hand against Iwa-chan’s face. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Ow--like what?”

“Like when he grows up you’re gonna fall in love with him.”

Hajime pulled himself up, straddling Tooru’s hips and smashing a pillow down over his head. “Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound right now?”

“I’m not ridiculous.”

“You are,” Iwa-chan fell forward on his hands, on either side of Tooru’s face. “Because it’s ridiculous you haven’t realized by now that you’re stuck with me for life, Shittykawa.”

Tooru’s heart swelled to the point of bursting, and he reached his hands up, cupping the back of Hajime’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss. And they kept kissing, grinning into smacking lips until one flip too many sent them falling off the side of the bed.

/end.