Chapter Text
The first thing that made Hajime look up in Japan was snow. The car ride was silent, save for the soft hum of the engine, a blanket of snow quieting the sound of rubber against asphalt. His mother had called out to him in their own tongue, still unable to say full sentences in Japanese. The familiar language, like a band-aid over a wound, is nothing but a faraway thought now, the wound opening whenever he hears his same mother speak Japanese as if she had always known it.
“Junior, look!" She pointed with her lips as she rolled down the car window, her hand reaching out to catch the falling crystals. "Umuulan ng niyebe!”
He didn't know what the word meant, half-certain that his mother had never used the word before with how awkwardly the sentence came out of her mouth. But it was enough to make him look up from his balled-up state, still throwing a tantrum after his last farewell to his beloved grandmother was cut short by his parents rushing to get to the airport, only to end up sitting in the waiting area for three more hours. He looked even through swollen eyes and a runny nose. He looked to find unfamiliar crystals raining down and serving as yet another cold reminder that he wasn't home anymore.
He missed the humid air of his home country– the feeling of sweat running down his back as he ran through the alleys and streets. He missed the ambient noise: The honking of cars and the shouting of barkers. It's as if the snow had silenced all life.
It was after the white blanket had melted, once birds started to sing again and the air began to feel heavy, when Hajime found the second thing that made him look up in Japan. He had been sitting on one of the swings in an otherwise empty park after hours of looking for a basketball court to no avail. He was hugging the ball tightly, the smell of plastic clinging to his olfactory while his eyes were glued to the floor.
The air was heavy and his old basketball jersey stuck to his skin. At least then, he could close his eyes and pretend that he was still home. He could almost hear kids from the neighborhood laughing, their mothers yelling for them to come home, the dogs barking and– an unfamiliar voice speaking in a tongue not his own.
"What's that?"
Hajime flinched at how close the voice was, the other boy's breaths hitting his spiky hair. He hadn't even looked up, let alone given a response, but the child asked another question.
"What's your name?” The boy said in Japanese. Hajime barely understood the words spoken, even after a week of lessons.
His mouth opened slowly as if he had forgotten how to speak with how long he had gone without using his voice. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”
“Do you play sports too, Iwa-chan?” The nickname caught him off guard but he welcomed it for it reminded him of the many nicknames his titas would switch between every time they met.
"Yeah," Hajime responded, finally glancing up. "This is a basketball."
The boy pouted– an ugly expression on such a pretty face. "Do you want to play volleyball with me?"
Hajime nodded. As if out of pure instinct, he dropped the basketball he once treasured so dearly just to catch the volleyball that the boy tossed to him.
Oikawa, he came to learn, was as opposite to snow as one can be. Oikawa is bright, his blood running as warm as fire itself, like a glimmering star hidden behind the sun’s light on a hot summer day. Quiet days were filled with his boisterous voice. Snowy sceneries were covered up by his cheerful form. He was a welcome change.
"Iwa-chan?"
The nickname gets through the thick fog of thoughts in Hajime's head.
"You're so distracted," Oikawa whines, waving his hands in front of the other boy.
"Who wouldn't be when talking to you, 'kawa?" Hajime averts his gaze, feigning annoyance in an attempt to hide his urge to stare.
His comment makes Oikawa laugh, the sound overpowering the nearby cicadas yet unable to hide the thumping of Hajime's heart. The sound slowly dissipates until it's consumed completely by the nature surrounding them.
Their walks together were always surprisingly filled with comfortable silence. It lays over them like the blanket they would share on sleepovers when they were younger. Hajime welcomes it wholeheartedly, reminding him of home.
"Iwa, are you really quitting volleyball after middle school?"
Oikawa’s voice came out as a whisper, so quiet that Hajime almost missed it over the nervous drumming of his heart.
"It's not that I want to quit, Tooru."
Like his dusty basketball, the nickname sits in the air between them. Suddenly feeling the need to defend himself, Hajime continues.
"It's what my parents want– you know that. I have to focus on my studies and get into a good school so that–"
"But you do want to play, don't you?"
If this were a normal conversation, Hajime would have started yelling at Oikawa’s interruption. But, instead, he felt his throat tighten.
"Of course, I do."
Hajime thinks of the volleyball, whenever it’s perfectly set to fall where it would be optimal for him to hit. Hajime is forced to look up, to keep his eyes off of the ground as he leaps. He could see Oikawa through the corner of his eyes, watching him as he strikes the ball. His palms burn.
He didn't always like volleyball but, for as long as he can remember, he's liked Oikawa. He could have chosen to play basketball or to devote himself to his studies as his parents had asked him to. But ever since Oikawa tossed him the ball that one summer day in the playground, he swore to always catch it– so long as he kept tossing to him.
"But what about you?" Hajime asks once the silence stretches for too long. He’s never been the type to like talking about himself anyway. "You've been overworking yourself again, haven't you?"
Oikawa laughs. It scrapes against his throat. "It's only natural for the captain to work hard."
Hajime's eyes linger on the calluses forming on the other boy's fingertips.
"Is it because of that new setter?"
Oikawa's breath hitches, his muscles stiffen, and his knuckles freeze his fingers in an uncomfortable position. But in truth, it's such a miniscule reaction that only someone who's known and watched him for years would notice.
Hajime pats him on the back. Oikawa has always been the one to be good with words, but Hajime still tries to say something, the sentence falling awkwardly from his lips.
"The team believes in you, Tooru-san." He uses the sweet nickname again, one that falls from his lips as naturally as snow falls from the sky. “I trust you. The boy won't be replacing you anytime soon.”
His words make Oikawa smile albeit softly. Beneath the rays of the setting sun, he almost looks like he's burning. Hajime feels like he's burning too, only, he hopes that Oikawa won't notice.
“Thanks,” is all that Oikawa replies. But the sorrow in his eyes remains as if he had made a realization about the truth of the world and can't seem to get rid of it.
Hajime wonders if he looks the same.
—
Hajime nearly spits out the lunch he just stuffed into his mouth.
“You are not seeing my parents!”
Oikawa pouts, taking another piece of the snacks Hajime brought: A small plastic container where his mother had transferred a pack of Bread Pan, mere leftovers of what she was able to bring from her last visit to the Philippines.
“Why not? I'll just tell them about how much you love volleyball so that you can keep playing!”
Hajime sighs deeply, his brows furrowed in frustration. He always talks about Oikawa– is always at the boy's house and whatnot– but had never actually brought him to meet his parents.
Just from the thought, he can already hear the kinds of things that his mother and father would say. They would take one look at Oikawa’s lean figure and effeminate body language, or worse, hear him speak, and say something along the lines of, “This is the captain of the volleyball club?”
At worst, they might take one look at Oikawa and realize that this is the boy that their son has been in love with for the past few years. He thinks he's done a good enough job at hiding that fact, as well as the fact that he likes boys at all, but he can never be too sure.
“They aren't like your parents, Oikawa. They're stubborn and quick to judge and–” Hajime stops when he remembers how rarely ever Oikawa’s parents are home. How could Hajime forget? It's the reason why the other boy would invite him over so often.
He swallows thickly but Oikawa only stares at him with wide eyes, seemingly unoffended by his words. Hajime turns around to scoop his rice with his spoon. “You wouldn't be able to change their minds.” Upon saying the sentence, his frown grows even deeper.
Oikawa sighs, leaning on his palm just to stay within Hajime’s line of sight. “Could you at least invite them to our next practice match?”
Hajime, after finally being able to swallow his bite, replies. “No way! They don't care about volleyball so they would just get bored and angry.”
Oikawa lowers his hand even more, bent sideways on the lunch table now just to meet Hajime’s lowered gaze. “Even while watching me?” He asks playfully.
Hajime pushes his face away with an outstretched palm. It isn't forceful enough to hurt but Oikawa still makes a show out of it. “Even more so while watching you.”
With a sigh, Oikawa sits straight and eats Hajime’s snacks quietly.
The fact that the other boy would always eat his food doesn't go unnoticed to Hajime, at times he does it even without asking. It eventually became a habit for Hajime to bring extra food, knowing that Oikawa would help himself to it. Looking at his slender arms and thighs, God knows he needs it.
“I'll quit volleyball after middle school,” Hajime mumbles after taking another bite. “That's that.”
He watches Oikawa’s fist tighten through the corner of his eye, the crumbs on his fingers falling to the table. The sight makes him furrow his brows. “You’re a great setter, Oikawa,” he wants to say. “You’ll have many other, even better, players lining up just to spike for you.” But the words don’t form on his lips.
“I thought you wanted to play.”
Hajime makes a troubled expression. He doesn't want to play volleyball, he just wants to play with Oikawa. If he were honest, as long as it's with him, then anything would be fine. But since it's volleyball that he wants to play, then Hajime will keep doing that for as long as he can.
It isn't his fault that his parents think that playing sports is a waste of time and thinks that he should be studying and working towards getting a high-paying job. It isn't his fault that his parents think that volleyball is a “girl’s sport” and that he should have kept playing basketball or even started baseball. It isn't his fault that his parents only want the best for him.
But it is his fault for giving Oikawa the false hope of being able to play with him until the boy got tired of it. It's his fault for promising him that they would be playing volleyball together at nationals with Hajime spiking the ball that Oikawa sets, especially at difficult moments. As he always has. It's his fault that his friend is now so troubled with his own family issues.
“Let me eat dinner with you. They wouldn't mind, would they?” Oikawa repeats his first proposal, making Hajime groan as he closes his lunch box.
“They wouldn't but I would–”
“Please, Iwa-chan.”
Hajime, for once, finds himself cursing Oikawa’s pretty hair for hiding his expression from him. The boy's voice cracked as he spoke, certainly on the verge of tears. Hajime sighs. He’s such a simple man. If Oikawa asks for it in that tone then he would give him the world.
He averts his gaze as he replies. “Fine.”
—
“My mom's the stricter one. You have to take her hand and press it to your forehead as soon as you see her, okay?”
Hajime glances at Oikawa, who's walking leisurely with his hands crossed behind his head.
“‘Kay,” he drawls.
Hajime smacks his shoulder, making the boy wince in a massive overreaction.
“Are you even listening!?”
“Yes!” Oikawa cries. “Take her hand and press it to my forehead! Greet them nicely, don't be rude, don't be impatient, what else?”
When he replies like that, Hajime can't really bring himself to complain. But he can't keep his worries from bubbling to the surface. His hands shiver but he shoves it in his pockets. He swallows thickly everytime Oikawa’s eyes are on the road. He can't imagine how the other boy can be so calm.
“Just– be good.”
Before he realizes it, they're in front of his house. The sound of the barking dog gets louder, followed by the sound of his mother shooing it inside.
“Junior? Is that you?” His mother shouts in a mix of the two languages he was raised in.
“Yes, ma. I brought a friend.”
He hears his mother click her tongue as she opens the gate. “Why didn't you tell me you were bringing someone?” She scolds him in Filipino before skillfully switching to Japanese to speak to Oikawa, a perfect smile suddenly appearing on her face though the strands of hair left loose from her ponytail stick to her cheek. “You're Hajime’s friend?”
Hajime scrutinizes Oikawa as he takes his mother's hand and presses it to his forehead before smiling at her with the boyish smile he shows only to people older than him. “Hi, Iwaizumi-san! I'm Oikawa.”
"Ah," his mother hums. "So you're Oikawa-kun! Oh, I've heard so much about you."
She smiles fondly at him, glancing at Hajime as if to say, ‘Since when did you have such a nice friend?’ Hajime can only sigh in relief.
Upon entering the house, Oikawa acts much better than Hajime had expected. He helps in preparing the food, bantering with his mother as he does so. He's never seen his mother smile so widely as she laughs at his stupid jokes. It makes him think that, perhaps, the ability to laugh so easily at Oikawa’s corny jokes runs in his family.
His father comes home not long after and Hajime takes his bag from him. He seems surprised at first to see Oikawa’s wide eyes looking up at him but, soon enough, he's ruffling the boy's hair and they’re talking about basketball together. The thought of Oikawa sitting in front of his computer until late hours of the night just to research the sport makes part of Hajime giggle. But the other part of him wants to scold the boy for staying up late again despite the many times he told him not to.
Before the evening grows cold, dinner is laid out and they sit around the small table, Oikawa sitting beside Hajime.
His father nods at him and Hajime makes a sign of the cross. Oikawa follows them in closing his eyes and putting his hands together.
If he could, Hajime would pray for him and Oikawa to be able to play volleyball together for a longer time. He would pray for time to freeze at their last match, his hand just about to strike the ball into the opponent's court as Oikawa watches with a proud smile– His ever-perfect sets putting the ball right where Hajime needs it to be. He would pray for his parents to be there amongst the crowd, cheering for their son once he's finally made them proud. He would pray for a smile to be present on all of their faces, and for the world to stop spinning then and there– For that moment to be immortalized in time and space itself.
But he couldn't. Even if he ever found the courage to ask for it out loud, he doubts that God would grant it.
Instead, he offers a simple prayer of thanksgiving, repeating the same words he has been taught to say before each meal.
The utensils clink against the plates and his family starts to eat the dinner served– a sweet dish of milk and pineapples and chicken that his mother calls 'Pininyahang Manok'– blissfully unaware of the turmoil that their son is going through. Oikawa seems hesitant to eat at first, the picky eater that he is. But with Hajime’s elbow prodding against his side, he eventually takes his first bite, then a second, and, soon enough, he’s scarfing the dinner down.
“Oikawa-kun, you said that you're the captain of the volleyball team.” His father starts, his arm resting on the table as he does so, chopsticks still in hand. His eyes are sharp against Oikawa’s round ones and Hajime can't tell if it's simply because of his exhaustion or a sign of some deeper animosity. “How's Junior doing there?”
Oikawa giggles at the nickname, making Hajime hit his thigh with his knee. He clears his throat before giving an answer so perfect that it feels rehearsed. “He's the ace of our team, Iwaizumi-san! He's probably scored ninety percent of our team's points in total. He never misses a serve too!” He beams, nearly falling off his seat in excitement.
Hajime has to actively keep himself from physically cringing at his overt exaggeration. His parents seem to believe it wholly though, their judging expressions softening into proud smiles.
“You didn't tell us you were that good,” his mother mutters to him as she holds his hand. He turns away, unable to hold her gaze out of shame because he isn't that good at all. He works hard but really, it’s Oikawa who does most of the heavy lifting.
“Volleyball is a good hobby,” his father starts once more, his emotions indiscernible. “But what do you want to become in the future, Oikawa-kun?”
Without hesitation, as if expectations didn't matter to him at all, Oikawa replies, “A professional volleyball player.”
It stuns his parents and Hajime has half a thought to bury himself underground. He admires Oikawa’s passion, the bright fire being the thing that draws him so closely to the boy and kindling his own passions as well. But to speak about passion in front of his one-track-minded parents is completely out of the question for an obedient son like him. It might have been a mistake to let Oikawa meet his parents after all.
His father coughs. “And what do your parents say about that?”
“They tell me to do what I want to do.” He mulls over his next words for a moment. “Money is important. But if I do what I love, success will follow eventually.”
A short silence stretches over the dinner table. Hajime feels his parents’ gazes boring into his head but he keeps his eyes lowered.
“Hajime,” his father says. “What is it that you want to do?”
He swallows thickly, suddenly regretting eating so much for dinner. “I think I want to play volleyball– But only until highschool! At least, for now.” His voice dwindles down to a whisper. “That's what I want to do right now.” He repeats his last words, hoping that they act like a safety net, in the hopes of letting his parents understand that he's still open to changing his mind and doing what they want him to do. He will listen to them above everything else but right now, at the very least, he wants to be able to keep playing volleyball with Oikawa.
Hajime expected to hear the clinking of utensils against the table in disappointment or even a deep sigh. But instead of a harsh scolding, his father laughs. It's the first time that he's laughed in a long time, the sound as foreign to him as it is to his father's lungs as he has to clutch his stomach afterward.
“Alright.”
With that, the conversation ebbs and flows smoothly as if nothing had happened. He hadn't expected his parents to take the news so well. He glances at Oikawa, finding that the weird spell that he uses to charm Hajime seems to work just as well on his parents. After all, he's rarely felt like an outsider to his family. Though they have walls put up, he couldn't really be distant as he was the only child they had. But now, as they speak to Oikawa, he finds himself falling silent and resigning to become a spectator, like he were nothing but a speck in the crowd watching a volleyball game– unable to even cheer as he watches Oikawa play skillfully in awe.
It makes him think of a distant future, one that seems so far away that it's practically impossible. They would be sitting around a table eating dinner together, not unlike the scene right now. The only difference would be that his parents' hairs would be much grayer and the skin on their faces would have begun to sag. Oikawa would be much taller and broader with himself not being so different. And, most importantly, they would have two gleaming rings on their left ring fingers. Just like the ones his parents don. They would still be chatting and laughing, as if nothing had changed. The summer heat would still be sticking to his skin like glue as the electric fans take the moisture away for but a moment before it eventually returns.
“Iwa-chan?”
He shakes his head, the soft voice pulling him back to reality. Oikawa is staring at him, sauce dripping down one corner of his lips. Hajime has to grip his shorts just to keep himself from wiping it off.
“You have to finish your food, Junior!” His mother scolds from across the table. Her own plate is wiped completely clean already. How long had Hajime been daydreaming?
“Okay,” he responds and begins to scarf down his food, ignoring the way his throat tightens and his tears threaten to spill.
Afterward, his mother quickly puts him to work washing the dishes, saying that Oikawa had done too much already. His friend sticks his tongue out while his mother's looking away and Hajime scowls at him.
He can't quite hear their conversation over the running water but he can’t help but smile at the mere thought of them getting along. As long as whatever they’re talking about isn't something that would make him regret bringing Oikawa to his home later on, then he can’t see the harm in it.
Once he’s finished his chores, Hajime returns to the living room to find his parents chatting with Oikawa as if he were their own child. His parents always seemed so distant towards other people in their neighborhood that the sight makes Hajime beam with pride. Suddenly, words that his mother never uttered ring in his ear, since when did you have such a nice friend?
Oikawa is and has always been his best friend.
And as his friend puts his shoes on, Hajime feels his mothers hand heavy on his shoulder.
“He's a good kid.” She tells him, in Filipino again as if to keep the words hidden from Oikawa though her smile reveals it nonetheless. “I hope he finds and marries a girl just as sweet as him.”
Her words cut through Hajime’s heart with the sound of a knife against the cutting board. He swallows thickly, suddenly feeling his mother's concerned gaze lingering over him. He forces a smile onto his face and has to individually will every muscle and tendon of his to move into a nod. Then, like a robot, he repeats her words through a haze of tears.
“Oo nga po. I hope he marries a girl.”
“Thank you for tonight!”
Oikawa bows at Hajime’s parents, the lights reflecting blue hues on his smiling face. His parents wave them off as he runs to stand beside his friend, his mother's hand falling off his shoulder as he does so. They walk away from the home in silence, the sound of the barking dog slowly replaced by the quiet singsong of frogs and different insects.
“You don't have to bring me home, you know.”
Hajime shrugs. “My parents would kill me if I didn't.”
Oikawa laughs, his shoulders shivering. Even in the quiet provincial evening that gradually grows colder, Hajime feels awfully warm beside the other boy.
“They seem nice.” Oikawa suddenly says, his smile the smallest it's been tonight. “I know that they aren't perfect and all but– you know, they seem sweet.”
Hajime nods. He argues with his parents a lot and disagrees with most of their opinions. But he can't deny that they're nicer than a lot of other parents.
He can't quite remember when Oikawa mentioned it, the conversation blending into countless others in his head, but he talked about his family once. The rarity by which he speaks about them should be a big enough sign but he explicitly mentioned feeling distant from them too: His parents are too busy to care that much about him and his older sister is too old for them to have ever developed a close relationship with one another.
With that thought in mind, the sentence slips from Hajime’s lips without him noticing.
“You should eat dinner with us more often.”
Oikawa stops dead in his tracks, his hair hiding his face again.
“Seriously?”
Before Hajime can regret his words, he nods. “Yeah, seriously.”
Suddenly, Oikawa turns to him with tears in his eyes.
“Iwa-chan!” He cries out as he wraps his arms around Hajime, who jumps at the sudden contact.
“What are you doing!?” He shouts and tries to pry Oikawa off. But the boy only presses himself closer to his head, his cheek awfully hot under the cool evening. “Stop using your height to your advantage!”
Oikawa only laughs in response, his arms still holding Hajime as if he would fizzle out and disappear the moment he lets go. He loosens his hold enough for them to be able to walk again but keeps an arm around Hajime’s shoulders.
Laughter bubbles up easily from between them both after that. Hajime desperately tries to seem more enraged but fails as soon as Oikawa talks about potential dinners with his parents. They would point at the way the trees bend, talk about the silly sound that the frogs are making, and even listen to each other's laughs all just to laugh even harder.
For just a few moments, Hajime forgot the feeling of his chest tightening.