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Oikawa Aimi taught Tooru how to say ‘Hajime’ when he was a year and a half. She has video evidence of it somewhere in an old hard drive. It took him a few hours, but she really wanted him to learn it. After all, Iwaizumi had already learned to say Tooru’s name, and she wanted her son to reciprocate.
But Tooru has always been competitive, even as a toddler. Hajime wasn’t enough. If Hajime could say Tooru, then Tooru wanted to say Iwaizumi.
The long word, though, was difficult for little Tooru to pronounce. The consonants were tricky, and his tongue kept tripping over them. He tried. And tried. And tried again until his face scrunched up and his cheeks went pink with frustration.
The closest he got was a garbled "Iwa... cha...!"
Aimi had barely opened her mouth to encourage him when Tooru lit up, eyes bright with triumph. "Iwa-chan!"
It wasn’t what he was aiming for, but everyone cooed over how cute it was. And when Tooru shouted it again at the park the next day, Iwaizumi waddled over, like he’d answered it his whole life.
Hajime never corrected him. He just kept toddling after Tooru, taking his hand and following him anywhere he wanted to go.
After that, it stuck.
The problem was that, since he called him Iwa-chan all the time, it’s no surprise that the other kids got used to the nickname as well. And then one day, a boy in their class called Hajime Iwa-chan while they were playing football.
All hell broke loose. To say Tooru threw a tantrum is an understatement.
The teacher had to call his mom, but since she was at work, she arrived just a few minutes before the usual pickup time.
When she got there, she found her son still looking teary-eyed, sitting on a bench and holding Iwaizumi’s hand with such a serious look on his face it was almost comical. She would’ve taken a picture if she weren’t worried about her kid. The teacher was standing beside them, talking to them.
“I’m here, Tooru. What happened?” She kneeled on the floor in front of him.
“Mom,” he said in an unsteady and small voice that gives her the indication that he’ll cry again. “Iwa-chan is mine. They were trying to steal Iwa-chan away!”
He let go of his friend’s hands to wrap his arms around his mother’s neck. She hugged him back, but Oikawa realized that in doing so, he had let go of Iwaizumi’s hand, so he quickly grabbed it again, as if fearing he’d disappeared if he let go.
“What do you mean, Tooru?” His mother asked, confused.
At the lack of response from her son, Aimi looked to the teacher for answers.
The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “Another kid called Hajime-kun Iwa-chan ,” she explained. “Apparently, Tooru-kun doesn’t like it when other kids call him that.”
“He’s my Iwa-chan!” Oikawa argued.
Aimi didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry.
“But baby, Hajime isn’t gonna go anywhere, no matter what the other kids call him, right?” she said, drying the kid’s tears with her thumb.
“I won’t leave,” Iwaizumi agreed, giving his friend’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“You can’t control what other kids call or don’t call you,” Aimi continued. “As long as it’s not rude—in which case, please tell your teacher or me—it doesn’t change anything if others use the same nickname you use for him. You’re still best friends anyway, aren’t you?”
Tooru looked at Hajime, doubtful.
“Yes,” Iwaizumi nodded.
Tooru lit up.
“See, Tooru? You have nothing to worry about.”
The kid didn’t look convinced but he nodded anyway. Without prompting from his mother, he looked at the teacher and said: “I’m sorry, Yoshida-sensei.”
The woman smiled. “It’s okay, Tooru. I’m glad you’re not sad anymore.”
“Well, hello.” Iwaizumi’s mom arrived to pick up her kid and encountered the scene. “What happened here?”
Aimi shook her head. “I’ll explain on the way home. Are you ready to go, kids?”
The two kids nodded and jumped down from the bench. After apologizing again to the teacher, they left, hand in hand, walking right in front of their mothers as the two adults chatted and laughed about the whole affair.
***
Tooru hasn’t thrown a tantrum over the topic since, but that doesn’t mean he likes it when someone calls Iwaizumi by the nickname he came up with when he was little.
The first time it happens again in elementary school, Oikawa says nothing, but he’s so grumpy about it that he doesn’t calm down until Iwaizumi declares publicly that he doesn’t like when other people call him Iwa-chan, that he just lets Oikawa call him that because he’s used to it.
The second time is Takeru, his nephew, who uses the name. He’s three years old, and Oikawa’s sister has been leaving him to play with Hajime and Tooru while she’s busy, so it’s natural that it rubs off on him. When his mother notices, though, she’s quick to tell little Takeru that that is no way to address someone older than him, so nothing happens.
Still, back then, Oikawa was too young to understand that what he was feeling had a name.
Jealousy.
But then it happens again in high school.
This time, a cute girl from a different class who clearly has a huge crush on the wing spiker is the one who calls him Iwa-chan .
She does it casually, with a sweet voice and a practiced smile, like she’s known him forever. Like the nickname belongs to her, too.
And Tooru doesn’t throw a tantrum. Obviously, he’s not four years old anymore.
He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t yell.
He just… freezes.
His first instinct is to snap at her. Something mean, and stupid, and way too dramatic. Something that’ll hide the truth behind a joking tone. But he bites his tongue, tells himself to grow up, and pretends it doesn’t bother him.
It definitely doesn’t bother him. Nope, not at all.
Except.
He spends the rest of the day sulking. His tosses at practice are a little too sharp. He pretends he doesn’t hear Hajime when he calls for the ball. And when Hajime finally corners him by the shoe lockers, frowning like he’s trying to solve an equation that won’t balance, Tooru shrugs and says he’s tired.
“You’ve been weird since lunch,” Iwaizumi points out.
“I’m fine,” Oikawa lies.
He’s not. He’s spiraling.
Because what the hell is wrong with him? People like Hajime. Of course they do. He’s strong, and kind, and good-looking in that quiet way that makes girls giggle behind their hands. And yeah, okay, it’s annoying when they flirt with him. But that’s normal, right? Best friends get annoyed when someone tries to take their friend away.
Except Tooru doesn’t feel normal.
He feels off balance. Ugly. Possessive. Like a kid again, fists clenched and crying because someone touched a toy he decided was his.
He hates it.
He hates it even more when Iwaizumi tells him, completely unprompted, that he’s not into that girl while they’re walking home in silence.
“Oh,” Tooru says, trying not to sound too interested. “Yeah? Why not?”
Because the girl is pretty. Really pretty. He knows a lot of his classmates have crushes on her. She has beautiful brown hair, a bit wavy, that she always wears in different hairstyles. Her skin is pale as porcelain, and she’s short, but still curvy. All men seem to be into that.
Hajime shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know. I guess she’s not my type,” he says, but it’s clear there’s more to it. After a few seconds, he adds: “I’m just not into girls.”
There’s a beat of silence, and Tooru feels the floor shift underneath him, the world tilting a little on its axis.
“Oh,” he says again, a little softer this time.
Something hot and fizzy settles in his chest. Not panic. Not confusion.
Hope.
Oh, shit .
He’s unsure what expression is on his face, but Hajime’s suddenly fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, eyes flicking up, then away.
“I haven’t really told anyone,” he adds. “I mean, mom knows. But it’s not like I’ve announced it or anything.”
“No, yeah,” Tooru says quickly. “Yeah. Of course. That’s totally…yeah, cool.”
‘Cool???’ What the fuck? Who says that?
His brain is short-circuiting. There’s a warm rush of relief flooding his chest, curling in his fingertips, and he hates himself for it because this isn’t about him . Hajime just told him something important, something vulnerable, and Tooru is busy having a mini gay awakening right there in front of him.
“I mean,” he says again, forcing a smile that feels like it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “thanks for telling me.”
Iwaizumi nods, and for a second the tension eases.
But then Oikawa’s mouth runs ahead of his brain again. “So... you don’t like that girl because she’s a girl?”
Hajime gives him a look. Not annoyed, just tired. “Yeah. That’s what I literally just said.”
“Right. Right. Got it.”
Tooru folds his arms and looks down at the floor like it’ll give him answers. But all he sees are Hajime’s shoes, scuffed from practice, laces perfectly tied.
Do I like him?
It’s a stupid question. An impossible one to answer. He’s never really thought about it like that before. He’s never needed to. Hajime has always just... been there.
His Iwa-chan. His favorite person. His constant.
But now everything’s blurry, and his heart is racing, and he wants to say something like “ me too” to match the shape of the moment, but he can’t. Not yet. He’s not ready.
Instead, he blurts out: “If anyone gives you shit for it, I’ll kill them.”
Hajime raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “As if I needed you to. I can kill them myself.”
True. Iwaizumi has always been physically stronger than him, as much as he loathes to admit it, and as much as he laughs at him for being shorter.
“You’re right,” he chuckles and wraps his arm around his shoulders.
He barely survives the walk home.
His face is hot the whole time, and he keeps replaying the conversation over and over in his head. Iwaizumi’s voice. His expression. The way he said ‘I’m not into girls ’ so casually, like it wasn’t a nuclear bomb dropped directly onto Oikawa’s frontal lobe.
With a racing heart, he greets his parents and pets his dog before locking himself in his room and collapsing onto the bed like he’s been mortally wounded.
He lies there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to stop thinking. It doesn’t work.
So he sits up. Then stands. Then starts pacing.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Okay. Okay. It’s not that big a deal , he tells himself.
So Iwa-chan is gay.
Cool. Chill. Good for him.
And what about him? He is…what?
Supportive. A good friend.
Toooootally normal about this.
Except he’s not. Because the second that girl called Iwa ‘Iwa-chan,’ something snapped in his chest like a rubber band stretched too far. And now he knows why.
He wasn’t just annoyed. He wasn’t just being possessive.
He was jealous.
Because that’s their thing.
That nickname is his.
He claimed it before he even knew what claiming someone meant.
And Hajime never complained, never stopped letting him call him that even if, in the eyes of others, it became more and more embarrassing and ridiculous as they grew up.
Tooru groans and drops face-first onto his bed again.
“Oh my god,” he mumbles into the sheets. “I’m in love with him.”
It feels ridiculous to say out loud, even to himself. But now that the thought’s escaped, there’s no putting it back.
He’s completely, utterly screwed.
***
It’s been three weeks since that moment of realization.
Three weeks since Tooru had his crisis on the floor of his bedroom, face buried in a pillow while he came to terms with the fact that he is, in fact, disgustingly in love with Iwaizumi Hajime.
It’s been hell.
Because now every glance feels like it means something. Every time Iwaizumi touches him, even casually—a hand on the back of his neck, a shoulder bumping his while trying to spike the same ball, their fingers grazing when they pass water bottles—Oikawa short-circuits a little. He tries not to make it obvious, but judging by the way Iwaizumi keeps looking at him like he’s trying to solve a puzzle, he’s not doing a great job.
Tooru’s been slowly losing his mind.
So when Iwaizumi snaps at him after practice for being off his game, Oikawa’s already tightly wound. One more nudge and he snaps.
“You’ve been messing up receives too many times,” Hajime says, jogging up to him as the gym empties. “What the hell’s going on with you?”
“Oh my god, nothing’s going on with me, okay?”
“You’ve been zoning out all practice!”
“Well, maybe I’m just tired! Did you think of that?” Oikawa asks, shooting him an angry look.
“I’ve been telling you to rest more instead of staying late to practice every day! If you’re tired, just go home and sleep, dumbass!” Iwaizumi argues.
“How will I ever get better if I don’t practice?”
“You won’t get better if you hurt yourself, either. Especially if you’re tired. Just go home,” he repeats. There’s a beat of silence before he adds: “I’m starting to think you’re just avoiding biking home with me for whatever reason.”
Tooru hesitates for a moment too long.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t wanna go home with me.” Iwaizumi crosses his arms and stares at him, waiting for an answer. “Are you angry at me?”
Oikawa sighs. “No, Iwa-chan, I’m not angry at you.” But by the tone of his voice, it seems as if that is exactly the issue.
“Bullshit. What is it? What did I do?”
“Nothing, Iwa-chan. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t be stupid, Shittykawa, just tell me.”
“Nothing, Iwa-chan, nothing!” He screams, then feels bad for screaming and runs his hands over his face. He’s going to cry. “You didn’t do anything. It’s just me. Just…” He sits on the floor, face still covered. “Leave, please.”
Of course, Hajime does not. He sits down next to him instead.
They remain quiet for a while. The only sounds are the birds chirping outside and the distant chatter of other students leaving their club activities.
After a few minutes, Iwaizumi bumps his knee against Oikawa’s.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” Oikawa replies. He rests his head on his knees and looks at him.
“Wanna tell me what’s bothering you?” Hajime asks.
“I don’t know,” Tooru says, averting his eyes. He traces circles on the floor with his index finger. “I’m scared,” he adds in a whisper.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won’t run away,” he reassures him with a soft smile.
You might , Oikawa doesn’t say. He picks at a loose thread on his knee pad, still not meeting Hajime’s eyes.
“I don’t want things to change,” he murmurs.
“They won’t,” Iwaizumi replies, way too fast. Then he hesitates. “I mean… not unless you want them to.”
That catches Tooru off guard. His head lifts slightly, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
Hajime shrugs. It’s forced, defensive. “I don’t know. I just…you’ve been acting weird ever since I told you I’m gay, so maybe you don’t wanna be friends anymore or…”
“Of course not!” Oikawa straightens. “No, I mean, of course that’s not it! Why would I not want to be friends anymore?”
Iwaizumi’s expression relaxes, clearly relieved. “Well, what is it then?”
“I…Well, you are right, actually, kind of.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “I want things to change between us, but not in the way you think.” Tooru’s voice trembles as he speaks.
“What do you mean?” His friend frowns.
“I think I like you,” Oikawa blurts out before he can stop himself. “No. I know I like you. I’ve been a mess for weeks because of it. I kept thinking maybe I was just confused, or—” He groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “—just losing it, but I’m not. I like you. And I hated when that girl called you ‘ Iwa-chan’ because that nickname’s mine and you’re not…” Tears threaten to escape his eyes. “...You’re not mine, and that shouldn’t bother me, but it does.”
He takes a shaky breath and finally looks at him. Hajime’s cheeks are flushed slightly, but he’s not pulling away. Not frowning. Just… watching him.
Oikawa exhales a sad laugh. “There. You can run now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Iwaizumi says, and this time it sounds certain. “I like you too, stupid.”
Tooru’s heart skips at least three beats.
“What?”
Hajime chuckles at his dumbfounded expression. “I’ve liked you since we were like twelve,” he says. “I just didn’t want to make things weird between us, so I never said anything,” he explains. “But I never wanted to stop being close to you. And lately,”—he shyly extends his hand to tuck one of Oikawa’s hair on his ear—“I’ve wanted more than just close.”
Tooru’s entire body is buzzing, warmth flooding through his chest. He moves without thinking and wraps his arms tight around Hajime’s body. It takes him a few moments to react, but then Iwaizumi hugs him back. Oikawa hides his face in the crook of his neck.
“Are you crying?” he asks.
“Shut up,” Tooru shoots back. The combination of fear, relief, and happiness has indeed made him shed a few tears.
Hajime laughs. “You’re such a baby.”
“Well, I’m sorry for having feelings.”
Iwaizumi smiles, grabs his best friend’s head, and slowly raises him. He dries his tears with his thumbs and strokes his rosy cheeks.
“You’re so stupid,” he says. Oikawa opens his mouth to say something, but Hajime speaks again. “And cute. Stupid but cute.”
So instead of saying anything more, Tooru kisses him.
It’s a little rushed at first, all adrenaline and instinct, but Hajime doesn’t hesitate. His hands tighten slightly on Tooru’s waist, anchoring him as he kisses back, just as eagerly. It’s warm and dizzying, the kind of kiss that makes time slow and speed up all at once.
When they part for a breath, Tooru’s eyes are wide and shiny, lips slightly swollen, and he whispers, “Can I…?” with a tilt of his head.
Hajime, flustered but trying to play it cool, nods. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”
So Tooru shifts, awkwardly at first, knees bumping, half-laughing as he climbs into Hajime’s lap and straddles him, arms looping around his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” he says, voice small and stupidly fond.
Iwaizumi smirks. “Hi.”
They kiss again, slower this time, more sure. Oikawa’s fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of Iwaizumi’s neck, and Hajime’s hands settle at his waist, thumbs brushing under the edge of his shirt. It’s soft and tentative, but he still gets goosebumps.
They stay like that for a while, kissing in the middle of the empty gym, sun filtering through the high windows, hearts doing full somersaults in their chests.
Eventually, Tooru rests his forehead against Hajime’s and exhales.
“We should probably go before someone finds us like this.”
They untangle slowly, still smiling, and gather their stuff in a dreamy kind of silence, like they’re scared that speaking too loudly might break the spell.
As they step out into the cool early evening air, Oikawa reaches out, hesitates, and then takes Iwaizumi’s hand.
Hajime squeezes once. There’s no teasing, no commentary. Just that small, solid pressure that says I'm here.
***
They’re all back in Japan for the off-season, catching up with the old crew at an indoor gym someone rented out for a nostalgic "friendly" game that somehow devolved into serious trash talk within ten minutes.
After the match, everyone’s stretched out on the floor or slouched against the walls, drenched in sweat and complaining about sore knees like they're 80 instead of barely pushing thirty. Oikawa is having even more fun than when he plays for the national team. He missed his friends so much.
“Iwa-chan!” Hanamki says, overly sweet, overly flirty, as he flops down next to him. “Can you take a look at my arm? It’s been bothering me since that block.” He’s talking to Iwaizumi but looking straight at Oikawa, smirking.
On second thought, Tooru doesn’t think he missed them that much.
“Oh yeah, Iwa-chan , you should check mine too. It’s been making a weird noise,” Matsukawa joins in.
“Stop flirting with my husband,” Tooru complains and throws his towel at them.
“But isn’t treating people’s injuries literally his job?” Hanamaki asks. “We’re just seeking medical attention.”
“Go look for medical attention somewhere else,” Oikawa says, crossing his arms and throwing himself dramatically into Iwaizumi’s side. “This one’s off-limits.”
“You can’t hoard the team trainer just ‘cause you married him,” Matsukawa says, grinning.
“Yeah,” Hanamaki adds, “Iwa-chan has a duty to the people.”
Oikawa’s eye twitches.
“Stop. Calling. Him. That,” he snaps.
“Why?” Matsukawa asks. “It’s cute.”
“That’s my nickname for him!”
“Aw,” Yahaba coos from the sideline, overhearing as he stretches. “Possessive Oikawa is back. I missed this.”
“I didn’t,” Watari deadpans, exhausted of them already.
A couple of the others pick up on it now, laughing, and start chanting “Iwa-chan” in increasingly ridiculous tones. Hanamaki even throws in a high-pitched one like a swooning fan. Kunimi doesn’t say it out loud, but he mouths it with deadpan intensity just to get on Oikawa’s nerves.
Iwaizumi groans and buries his face in his hands. “I swear to God.”
Oikawa gets up, threateningly but half-joking. “I swear if any of you call him that again, I will personally remove your vocal cords.”
No one cares. They keep using the nickname repeatedly until their food arrives at the izakaya they go to later and they get distracted.
“They’re assholes,” Hajime tells him on the way home. “But you know I’ve only ever liked it when you called me that.”
Tooru smiles, smug and satisfied, and maybe a little, just a little, in love. “I know.”