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It’s late, and Hajime wants to go home. Even more so, however, he wants Tooru to take a goddamn break.
The clubroom has been vacant for a while; practice ended hours ago. But Tooru insisted that Hajime stay with him to try out a new attack, and the ace couldn’t really say no.
After the day started fading into night, after the two became slick with sweat, Hajime decided that they’d practiced enough. He had to drag the setter away from the gymnasium because hold on Iwa-chan, we’re not done yet!
In the clubroom, Hajime rummages through his locker to find a spare shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tooru reach for the hem of his jersey, but he pauses. His eyebrows knit in what seems to be contemplation and he bites his lower lip. Tooru runs his hand through his hair.
The frustrated look disappears in an instant. “Iwa-chan, you can go ahead without me! I need to practice my serves!” he announces with his usual bravado.
Hajime scoffs. “Your serves are fine.”
Tooru beams. “Iwa-chan, was that a compliment? Have you finally recognized my greatness? How sweet~!” He winks and turns away, heading towards the door.
You’ve got to be kidding me, Hajime thinks to himself. Tooru needs to relax, his serves are fine — hell, his serves are borderline flawless, and the last thing the team needs is for the captain to overwork himself (again).
“Trashy Oikawa,” he growls, and either of them can register it, Hajime tackles Tooru to the ground, and Hajime prides himself as the setter goes down with an uncharacteristic squawk.
Straddling Tooru’s waist, Hajime crosses his arms and glares down at him. “You’re done practicing.”
Tooru’s face splits into a mock smile and he glares right back at him. “This is cute, Iwa-chan, now get off of me.”
“No way in hell,” Hajime says firmly. “If you bust your knee again, I’ll kill you. We’re going home.”
“It won’t be for that long! And if you want, you can stay and watch,” Tooru negotiates.
The scowl on Hajime’s face voices his answer. Tooru’s slightly playful demeanor falls away, and he glowers. “Iwaizumi, get off of me,” he demands.
“I will if you promise not to go back to the gym,” Hajime says. Tooru frowns and stays silent.
Hajime groans, thoroughly annoyed. “If you don’t promise, I’ll just stay here. I’m in no hurry,” he lies. He’s tired, he wants to go home, but he needs Tooru to comply with him.
Tooru smirks. “You’re lying. You want to leave school and go home. Nothing’s stopping you, Iwa-chan.”
Hajime groans exasperatedly. Sometimes they can read each other a little too well. And when Tooru’s being stubborn, there are few ways to make him stop acting like a child. A solution blossoms in his mind, but it’s a last-resort answer. Hajime’s eyebrows furrow.
Desperate times, he supposes, call for desperate measures. He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Do I really have to do this?” he asks Tooru. The other teen narrows his eyes in confusion.
“What do you mea-” The captain’s voice is cut off with a choking sound as Hajime places his hands on his sides, giving a quick but firm squeeze.
“You know what I mean,” Hajime declares. “This is really childish, but I’ll do it if I have to.”
Panic replaces annoyance in Tooru’s eyes. “Iwaizumi don’t you fucking dare.” Hajime smirks because he knows he has already won.
Hajime rakes his fingers from his ribs to his hips. Tooru throws his head back and lets out a peal of laughter, arms flailing erratically. Hajime repeats the action again. And again. And again. Tooru’s reactions are just as loud and violent as the first time, if not more so. Hajime becomes a little amused – as he always does when he tickles Tooru – about how such a (generally) composed, collected, charming teenager can fall apart so easily.
Hajime stops abruptly, his hands stilling against Tooru’s sides. “Do you want to go home now?” he asks.
Tooru opens and closes his mouth a few times as if contemplating his next course of action. As Hajime raises an eyebrow to prompt an answer, he sticks his tongue out in defiant finality. The playful action contrasts heavily with his cold glare, which contrasts heavily with his rosy, blushing cheeks.
Oh, he’s being particularly stubborn today. “That’s fine,” Hajime replies with a cocky tone. He takes Tooru’s wrists in one hand and tugs them up above his head, which is easy despite the setter’s thrashing. Hajime’s title of “champion arm-wrestler” isn’t for nothing.
Hajime’s fingers slowly inch towards the soft skin of Tooru’s inner bicep and he could hear the almost inaudible whine of protest from the back of the setter’s throat. This is a weak spot of his and they both know it.
A light drag of the his fingertip is enough to drive Tooru mad. With feathery touches and unparalleled mercilessness, Hajime brings tears to his friend’s eyes and causes his booming laughter to become uncontrollably silent.
Hajime’s index finger swirls on the smooth skin and occasionally dips into the setter’s exposed underarm – Tooru bucks vigorously when it does, almost throwing his attacker up into the air.
“Fine!” Tooru shrieks after he becomes oversensitive and the tickling becomes unbearable. “Youhuhu win!”
Hajime quickly retracts his hands and rises from the ground with senses of relief and triumph. “Cool,” he says as he grabs his messenger bag. Heading out the door, he calls, “Hurry up, I won’t wait for you.” He waits anyway.
The entire walk home, Tooru has a salty little pout on his face. Hajime tries to start a conversation, but is met each time with curt replies.
“That store’s having a sale on milk bread.”
“Okay.”
“Mattsun and Makki invited us to a hotpot tomorrow.”
“Mhmm.”
“I think I just saw a UFO.”
“Obviously.”
“Hey.” Hajime lightly shoves Tooru’s shoulder with his own. “Don’t be such a grump.”
Tooru stops in his tracks and faces Hajime with an unreadable, neutral expression. He takes a step closer, and then another one.
Shit. Hajime is taken off guard and remains frozen in place as Tooru leans over to snake his arms around his waist and bring his lips to his ear. The image is intimate, which isn’t necessarily uncommon between the two. Even so, Tooru is toying with the line between friendship and more with an unusual zest. Hajime can’t help but feel hyperaware of the scene unfolding in front of him.
“Just you wait,” Tooru whispers teasingly. His nose nuzzles up against the shell of Hajime’s ear and his fingers lightly trace patterns along his sides; the shorter teenager twitches. “I’m gonna get you back.”
With that, his typical playfulness is back. Tooru draws back swiftly, blowing kisses to Hajime and wishing him a good night before skipping in the direction of his home. The other boy is left alone, choked and embarrassed, albeit strangely elated. He stays planted on the sidewalk for several seconds.
Heart pounding, the cold twilight air blowing on his hot skin, Hajime looks up at the stars and smiles.