Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sol 1,276
Mission Log #612

I miss him.

They finish setting up the greenhouse by the end of their second week. It’s smaller than Tooru’s used to, with only enough room for two columns of plants as well as his and Yahaba’s individual workbenches right near the door, but he supposes that doesn’t really matter. It’s enough room for them to get a few crops started and see how they’ll react to the soil of this new planet. Getting those plants to flourish in the small, rocky field just outside the greenhouse’s clear tarps is the ultimate goal, as the JAXA directors made sure to stress in training. The greenhouse is simply the starting point.

Tooru gently places the mizuna seedling plug into its hole and scoops the greenhouse soil— a precise mixture of both Earth and Carystus dirt— to cover up its roots. He’s careful to make sure it’s fully planted, and to give it the exact amount of water it needs, conscious of their team’s limited resources of both seedlings and water. In the other column across from him, Yahaba does the same with a potato spud, just as they had for the radishes and rice and wheat and other such JAXA-approved plants that fill the rest of the dirt in the greenhouse. Yahaba is possibly even more cautious in his movements than Tooru, determined to make this first experiment of theirs a complete success.

Tooru doesn’t worry too much though. He has a good feeling about these plants. And if they survive, as Tooru is certain they will, then running out of seedlings won’t be an issue, regardless of how the plants fare in the natural environment of Carystus.

“Just think, Shi-chan,” Tooru says as he stands and brushes dirt from his pants, “in a few more months we’ll be eating home-grown vegetables again. Instead of those nasty freeze-dried meals we’re forced to endure.”

“They aren’t so bad,” Yahaba replies, though it sounds more like a question than anything else. Like even Yahaba’s unsure of the quality of their special space meals. Tooru scrunches up his nose.

“Try telling yourself that in a month, Shi-chan. You’ll be begging for these vegetables by then.”

He looks up at the arched poles and clear canvas holding their sanctuary together. Light beams through the material, brighter than the Sun in their own solar system would have. Already, the greenhouse is soaking in the light, soaking in the warmth, trapping it all within the confines of the canvas. They’ll probably need to figure out a way to shade the plants a bit from the intensity of this new sun, but for now they’ll just see how the plants hold up. It might not even matter in the end.

The clear blue sky is familiar to Tooru though, and reminds him of his home back on Earth. That penthouse apartment with the rooftop garden, far above the hectic crowds of Tsukuba, which he shared with his boyfriend until their team’s launch to the Alpha Centauri system. The sky here is even brighter and clearer, unobstructed by the skyscrapers and thick smog Tooru is so used to. Only the smallest wisps of clouds crawl across the horizon, and at night the velvet darkness is strewn with the light of millions of stars— some familiar, many alien, all beautiful.

It’s not a bad place to spend his life, Tooru figures. Even if he does miss some of the comforts of Earth, and the people attached to them.

“How’s the planting going?” Kuroo asks, leaning his upper body through the door to check on their progress. Even in his casual clothes of a white tshirt and tan cargo pants, he still wears the bright red armband of commander.

“All finished. Just as I said we’d be,” Tooru answers with a flash of his signature peace sign. Kuroo rolls his eyes, and Tooru grins. “How about the Hab? You get communications working yet?”

“It’s all set up, except for your workbenches. If you’re all finished, I can get Akaashi in here to get your desktops hooked in.”

Tooru glances back at Yahaba, who’s putting all of their equipment back into the plastic crates at the other end of the greenhouse, and then nods. “Yeah, we’re good. Go ahead.”

It’ll be nice to finally receive all those missed messages from when they were at light speed. Of course, the trip had only been a few weeks for Tooru and the crew, but all of that equaled to around five or six years for the people back on Earth. He wonders how many messages his family sent during that time, and whether the botany team back at JAXA headquarters sent along any new experiments for him and Yahaba to conduct. Maybe he’ll finally be able to have a live feed call with Hajime again! Goodness knows how much he’s missed seeing his boyfriend’s face; those few weeks without contact felt like an entire lifetime.

He and Yahaba retreat to the small kitchen area of the Hab and eat some of those nasty freeze-dried meals while Akaashi temporarily takes over their greenhouse, getting both of their desktops online and ready for use. They discuss their preliminary observations and future plans for their first batch of crops, which Tooru will take note of later in the mission log as per regulation. But for now, it’s fun to discuss the eventual success of their plants.

Tooru imagines fields of grass and wheat and flowers covering the now-barren landscape, fed by the scattered lakes and underground water reservoirs of Carystus, and tries not to think of the life on the planet they left behind. Tries not to think of his rooftop garden, or the apartment he used to inhabit, or Hajime’s broken expression on the night they whispered their goodbyes before Tooru’s launch, attempting to push it all to the back of his mind behind visions of this alien world terraformed.

It doesn’t work, but at least he tries.

Sol 16
Mission log #118

The Hab and greenhouse are all set up and ready for whatever Carystus throws at them. I was doubtful about the canvas holding up against the weather at first, but it’s apparently stronger than it seems. Kei-chan says it’s able to withstand wind speeds of up to 600 mph without tearing or stretching, so it should be up to task, despite my doubts.

Planted the first seeds the other day. Brassica rapa nipposinica, Oryza sativa, Raphanus sativus, Triticum aestivum, Cucumis sativus, Brassica rapa perviridis, Arabidopsis thaliana, Pisum sativum, Solanum tuberosum, and Allium cepa. It’s too early to tell yet, but they seem to be taking to the environment so far. Will keep watching and taking notes. If all goes well, we’ll start experimenting outside the greenhouse with the next crop.

On a personal note: I’ll get to call Hajime at the end of this week. First time since before going to light speed. I’m excited, but also nervous.

Tooru is seven when he sees his first meteor shower.

His parents take him out to a remote field, where the lights and smoke of the city won’t get in the way of the view, and they lay out a tattered, plaid blanket atop the lush grass. There are others who do the same; families with children around Tooru and his brother’s ages, who all saw the report about the meteor shower on the news that morning and decided to turn it into a grand affair of sorts. Tooru recognizes a few kids from his class at school, and they play tag together under their parents’ watchful eyes as the sun sets and the sky turns from blue to orange to pink to navy, the first twinkling of diamond-like stars being strung up across the velvety darkness.

“Tooru!” his mother calls when it becomes too dark to continue playing. He doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t really care about staring at the sky, but still he obediently returns to his parents and sits snug in his mother’s lap, where her warmth chases away the chill of the night air. “You’re going to miss it if you keep watching the ground, Tooru,” she says. “You have to look up to see the magic.”

Tooru doesn’t really get what she means. The sky, when he glances up, looks just the same as it always does, except with a lot more stars. Nice to look at, but kind of boring.

Still, it’s nice to lean back against his mother and sit in the gentle quiet of the night, soft murmurings of distant conversations slowly lulling him to sleep. His focus flickers, eyelids drooping, sight growing blurry until all the stars above seem to be swimming through a pool of bright stardust. They wink down at him, and dance with diamonds beneath their feet, and Tooru swears he can hear the wind whistling through them, high and clear and pure.

A flash of light cuts through his vision.

His eyes open wide and focus clears. The night sky is silent and still, like the streak of light Tooru saw never happened in the first place. He can almost believe he just imagined it as a product of his sleepy mind, but then another streak flies across the darkness. And then another. And another. And even more. Falling and falling and falling in bright streams before burning into nonexistence. Brilliance raining from the heavens.

Tooru is enchanted.

He’s ten when he gets his first telescope— just a toy compared to the massive machines real scientists use, but powerful enough for Tooru to make out all the valleys and craters flecked across the moon’s surface on clear nights. Some times to even see Mars or Venus when he’s positioned just right. And he wishes and wishes to look closer, to look beyond, to see all the things he’s read about in the books of his school’s library.

He’s fascinated by the worlds beyond their atmosphere. Wants to know everything he can. His teachers talk about their orbits, their sizes, their atmospheres, their moons. About the different space programs and all the astronauts that visited the moon and Mars and Venus, and the probes that went to star systems far beyond where humans could travel.

Tooru laps it all up like someone dying of thirst.

He builds a mini galaxy out of plastic cups and Styrofoam spheres and, with his father’s help, hangs it from the ceiling of his bedroom, with their solar system suspended right above his bed. In the right corner, he hangs Sirius A and Sirius B with all the smaller stars that make up the Sirius Supercluster, while Tau Ceti and its five planets take the left corner. And in the middle of the room he places Alpha Centauri A, B, and Proxima Centauri, along with all the planets and moons orbiting the three different stars.

At night, when the glow-in-the-dark stars on his walls and ceiling are the only source of light in his room, Tooru lays on his bed with a toy space ship in hand and imagines what it’d be like to fly through space, past all the planets of their solar system, and journey to a world unknown.

The Fujin probes were sent by the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency, with the assistance of the newly reestablished National Aeronautics and Space Administration of America, to search out close star systems with habitable planets as part of Japan’s new colonization program.

Tooru first hears of the probes when he’s twenty-two, fresh out of university with a double major in plant biology and chemistry, and applying to train with the Japanese space program in Tsukuba. The probes are a pretty big deal within the science community, with their advanced measurement systems and light speed capability, and news of their development fills the various forums Tooru frequents for about a year, until they launch into space and then seemingly become irrelevant. He, like the rest of the world, forgets all about the probes for a time, and it’s not until much later, after Tooru’s already graduated from the space program and is working with the JAXA botany team, that he hears about them again.

Tooru rushes home early that morning, after a shift in the lab lasting until three in the morning. Even at such an early hour, Tsukuba Science City is still wide awake, with people milling in and out of almost all of its 300 research facilities with deep bags under their eyes which match Tooru’s own. But Tooru’s too tired and far too distracted to really notice. He only pays enough attention to avoid bumping into them as he walks away from the research centers to the suburban district of the city, and his blessedly peaceful apartment.

It’s completely dark when he steps inside. Hajime’s coat and shoes sit by the door, next to the tree trunk umbrella stand Hajime once bought him as a joke and Tooru still refuses to get rid of. Tooru toes off his own sneakers and tosses his messenger bag onto their beige suede couch as he crosses the apartment to their bedroom, where he finds Hajime already asleep. Tooru doesn’t even bother to change out of his slacks and button down shirt; he’s so exhausted that he just crawls into bed and curls his body around Hajime’s, with one arm draped across Hajime’s waist and his nose buried in the feathery strands of Hajime’s hair.

His boyfriend smells of fresh pine, and Tooru breathes it all in, letting the familiar scent fill his senses and chase away all the tension from a long day at work. He must have showered when he got home, Tooru thinks, and only briefly regrets that he won’t be able to do the same until he wakes up tomorrow morning.

Hajime stirs next to him, rolling over to press his face against Tooru’s shoulder and intertwine their legs. “You’re home,” he whispers into Tooru’s shirt. His hands slide up Tooru’s chest, over the smooth cotton and each individual button, and he lets out a soft grunt. “You didn’t change.”

“Don’t wanna,” Tooru whines. “I’m too tired. And moving takes work.”

“Big baby.”

Smiling, Tooru tightens his hold on Hajime, who grumbles sleepily about the movement and the shirt buttons poking against his skin and being woken up at nearly four in the morning by a big baby man, but still shifts to accommodate their change in position. His breath blows warm across the skin of Tooru’s neck, fingers curled into Tooru’s shirt, and it’s all so familiar and peaceful that Tooru can’t help the rush of fondness that washes over him like a gentle wave. He can’t imagine anything better than this, right here, holding Hajime in his arms.

He trails fingers down Hajime’s back, tracing every small bump of his vertebrae down his smooth, warm skin. “I heard something interesting today,” Tooru murmurs. “One of the Fujin probes made contact from the Alpha Centauri system. Apparently, its first measurements show good possibility for sustaining life.”

“Researchers gonna be,” he yawns loudly, “busy. Late work for you?”

“No. Not yet,” Tooru answers easily. Tonight was just a fluke, a few experiments falling behind that desperately needed some attention before he could turn in for the night, but so far it doesn’t seem like he’ll need to stay any later than usual for the foreseeable future. And for that, at least, he’s grateful. He hates having to work through the night, having to miss the small bit of time he and Hajime are able to get between the hectic schedules their different jobs. Hajime hums a little, as if in agreement, then nuzzles his face into the crook of Tooru’s neck.

“Too bad. ‘S quiet without you.”

Tooru laughs and pokes Hajime in the side, right underneath his rib where’s he’s most ticklish. “That’s rude, Hajime. And here I was about to tell something amazing. Maybe I’ll just keep it to myself now.”

“Impossible,” Hajime answers, smiling against Tooru’s skin. “You’re terrible with secrets.”

“No I’m not. You take that back.”

“Nope. Remember two months ago?” he asks, bringing up the incident when Tooru single-handedly ruined a close friend’s surprise party by accidentally slipping it into their conversation without even realizing. Tooru can’t really argue with him about it, knowing full well it was all his own fault, and Hajime seems to know this. He lifts his head up to grin lopsidedly at Tooru, eyes still hooded with sleep. “So what’s this amazing thing you won’t tell me?”

Tooru presses his lips together and stares down at his boyfriend. Watches the shadows play across his dark skin and disheveled hair, sees the amusement dancing behind the languor in his eyes, and Tooru caves.

“They’re talking about sending a team out there if the samples continue to be good,” he admits. “I think we should apply.”

Hajime’s eyes widen. His smile falls just a bit. “That’ll mean saying goodbye to everything and everyone here. That team won’t be coming back,” he says. Almost whispers, really. “Our friends. Our families.”

“Yeah, but just think about it, Hajime! We’d be the first ones to live on an alien planet! We’d get to discover a whole new world!”

He thinks back to when he first applied to the space program, and all the excitement he felt toward the possibility of interstellar discovery. To go beyond their solar system and into the unknown, where no one else has ventured before. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

Hajime seems more hesitant about the idea, judging by the worried lines between his brows. But if he is he keeps his thoughts to himself. “It might just be a rumor, Tooru,” he says, laying his head back against Tooru’s shoulder. Tooru cards his fingers through Hajime’s hair, and Hajime lets out a tiny sigh. “Let’s just get some sleep for now, ok?”

Tooru presses a kiss to the top of Hajime’s head in response.

Sol 72
Mission Log #137

Plants are looking good! First sprouts have already popped up, and they seem to be growing like normal.

Good news: we won’t have to wonder about them thriving in the actual soil of Carystus. I’ve been analyzing the soil next to the greenhouse, and even took some soil samples whenever we did our mini-explorations away from the Hab just to make sure. But it all checks out. All necessary minerals seem to be present, especially in the soil near the pools of water we found the other day. I think the only places we won’t be able to plant are desert areas. Like the one the Fujin rover found the other day, about 26,000 kilometers east of the Hab.

(We’re still trying to think up names for it. I wanted to call it Arrakis, but I got overruled. Sorry, Frank Herbert.)

But anyways, that means our crops could theoretically grow across most of the planet. Just depending on the light exposure and the weather.

The extra sunlight I was worrying about actually turned out to be a good thing in the end. Carystus days might be longer, but the weather gets more temperamental and dusty as the day goes on, so that little boost of extra sunlight in the mornings is good for the plants. Evens out the low amount of exposure they get in the afternoon/evening. But now the weather is what’s worrying me. These wind storms are getting stronger and more frequent. I’m not sure if this is a typical occurrence, or if we’re just in some sort of storm season, but if it doesn’t let up I’m not sure the plants can withstand it. At least not the wheat, or the mizuna. Maybe the potatoes and radishes can if the dirt isn’t blown away from them.

Will have to keep watch on weather. Maybe start taking wind measurements if the storms don’t seem to let up by the time our plants are ready to harvest.

“That doesn’t look good,” Bokuto says over the radio. Tooru glances from the tiny grasses in the creek bed he’s analyzing to where Bokuto’s standing, several yards away. He’s facing the east, where large, dark clouds billow in a long line across the horizon. “Yo, Commander. You seein’ this?”

“I see it,” Kuroo responds. He’s a good two miles or so behind Tooru and Bokuto, in a shallow pool of water that Futakuchi’s combing for organism activity, but there’s a tightness to his voice that tells Tooru the storm cloud’s just as visible and menacing to Kuroo as it is to them, and that worries him.

There’s a long beat of silence over the radio. Bokuto turns around with tablet in hand to look at Tooru, who stares right back without saying a word. They’re both waiting for Kuroo’s command. They can neither continue with their tasks nor pack up and head back to the Hab without Kuroo’s say-so. All they can do is wait and watch the storm building over the flat line of the horizon.

It’s still a good bit of distance away from them; Tooru estimates maybe three or four hours before it even gets close to where they’re now standing. It looks stronger than usual though. Definitely darker. Small flashes of lightning rippling through the heavy mass in a sporadic staccato. Even from a distance, Tooru can feel the change in atmosphere, cool wind blowing across his cheeks and through his hair where there was no wind before. There’s a sort of metallic smell to it that fills his throat and mouth as he inhales, and it sits heavy on his tongue.

He doesn’t like the feel of it. There’s something about the storm that raises the hackles in his mind, and it’s all he can do to just sit there and wait instead of fleeing back to the relative safety of the Hab.

“Alright, we’re scrubbing,” Kuroo finally tells them. “Pack up and head back. We’ll meet you there.”

Tooru doesn’t need to be told twice.

He doesn’t bother to take a sample from the creek bed. Just packs up his equipment and goes, crawling into the back of Rover 2 while Bokuto takes the front. Bokuto all but floors the acceleration in their haste to get away, and normally Tooru would chastise him for that but right now Tooru’s only focused on fleeing the storm. Reckless driving be damned, he’s not about to get stuck in that unknown anomaly. Even if he loses a few years of his life from Bokuto’s sharp turns.

They reach the Hab at the same time as Kuroo and Futakuchi. Already the wind is picking up. And what was a slight, metallic breeze back in the field is now a growing gale, strong enough to blow Tooru to the side and send him stumbling into Bokuto. He catches Tooru about the waist and sets him straight, then all four of them hurry into the safety of the Hab without another word. Kuroo doesn’t even give Bokuto a look, though he must know exactly the kind of driving Bokuto did in order to catch up with the other Rover, which was a full two miles closer to the Hab than their own. That alone says more to Tooru about the gravity of the storm than any words ever could.

“Storm,” Kuroo says in explanation when the four of them tumble into the shared living space of the Hab, causing both Akaashi and Yahaba to shoot up from their seats in alarm. Kuroo quickly waves away their exclamations and concerns, and instead asks, “Is everything sealed? Nothing left open? Nothing outside?”

Akaashi shakes his head. “No, we’re all set. Unless,” he glances in Tooru’s direction, “the greenhouse?”

“I’ll check on it,” Tooru answers.

In truth, he’s a little worried about the greenhouse as well. He rushes across the Hab’s living space, down the hallway to the door connecting his greenhouse and the Hab. Somewhere between one end of the hallway and the door, the brunt of the storm actually hits, and it shakes the walls of the Hab beneath its pressure. There’s a little scraping sound across the roof. Sharp particles getting blown across the thin metal. It reminds Tooru somewhat of a typhoon, except with dirt instead of pouring rain and wind speeds twice as fast as the most violent formation. Maybe even faster.

Tooru bites his lip. He knows the greenhouse itself is closed off from the storm, but he’s a little doubtful about the security of the tarps that cover it all, despite Akaashi’s assurance of their durability in strong winds. If any part of the tarps rip, the plants he and Yahaba worked so hard to cultivate won’t stand a chance. Not in this wind.

He sees a vision of his rooftop garden back on Earth, ceramic pots pushed from their places and shattered across the ground in piles of dirt and leaves and petals and pottery shards, and he feels anxiety curl deep within his gut.

The noise grows louder when Tooru opens the door, and a burst of acrid air rushes past him. Tooru doesn’t wait for the door to open all the way, but slips inside the greenhouse in a frenzy. Thankfully, however, he finds everything exactly as it should be within the greenhouse, minus the storm raging just outside, growing stronger and stronger with every gust.

The tarps ripple and snap under the force of the wind, but don’t show any signs of ripping or flying apart. Inside, his crops continue to sit in complete tranquility, unaware of the thick cloud of dust blocking out the sun, of the screaming winds and flashing lightning, and Tooru lets out a short breath. His plants are fine. They’re safe. There’s no need for him to worry. At least not about his crops.

A bright flash fills the greenhouse and blinds him. He blinks, spots clouding his vision, and presses his back against the Hab wall, his left hand resting on the cold surface of his metal workbench. A shiver races down his spine. All around, the poles creaks, tarps cracking against the storm like a whip. Sands and particles scrape against the plastic material. Tooru’s heart pounds. The howling doesn’t cease.

Is this what it’s normally going to be like? he wonders. Is this what I’ll have to get used to?

When his sight clears, it’s much darker. The Hab is fully encompassed by the storm, and what sunlight they usually get around this time in the late afternoon is completely wiped away by the thick clouds being blown across the planet. Tooru glances down at his workbench to switch on his lamp, but instead his gaze lands upon the plain ceramic pot holding a small, flowering cactus.

He pauses. His finger brushes against the small pot, the only plant he’d brought from his actual apartment in Tsukuba.

For a moment, he’s back there. The howling is nothing more than the wind from a typhoon— still frightening, but hardly dangerous with how securely their apartment’s built. The plants all sit around him in their decorated pots, snug and warm and safe from the tempest outside thanks to Hajime’s help in bringing them down from the rooftop garden. A little slice of peaceful paradise inside their dark living room. He leans back against Hajime, feels Hajime’s strong arms wrap around his torso in a loose embrace, as familiar to Tooru as the beige couch they’re resting on and the thick quilt tucked snug around them both, and Tooru relaxes. Safe. Secure. Loved.

Another flash of light, and he’s back in the greenhouse. The cold metal of his workbench and constant flapping of the tarps does little to alleviate his fears, and he longs to be back home on Earth, or to at least have all of his earthly comforts here on Carystus with him. There’s a pain in his chest he refuses to acknowledge, and a weight in his stomach he staunchly ignores.

He takes the cactus plant back to the small room he shares with Yahaba and sets it on the small table beside their bunk bed. The storm continues to rage, but it’s less noticeable here, in this small room with only a single wall facing the outside. More like a bad rainstorm back on Earth than the terror it actually is.

“It’s ok,” he whispers to the cactus as he gets comfortable on the bottom bunk, all bundled up in blankets, with his spare pillow pressed against his back where another person’s warmth should be. His fingers ghost over the smooth surface of the cactus’s pot. “It’s ok, Iwa-chan. We’ll be ok.”

Sol 93
Mission Log #144

We’re officially experiencing a storm season of some sort. The first storm was bad, but then they kept getting worse as the weeks went on. Now they’re starting to weaken, and to bring rain too. That’ll be good for the soil.

Miraculously, the Hab and greenhouse have survived. As have all of us. And all the plants.

We harvested the first potatoes during one of the storms. They grew just like they should. We replanted, and are also holding on to a potato for when the storms stop. All the others are a part of our diet now, along with the mizuna and the radishes and some others. The wheat will be ready to harvest soon too. Then we’ll just need to wait for a good time to start planting outside.

No other news today. Too tired to think. Storms aren’t conducive to sleeping. At least not for me.

Tooru bursts into their apartment that night like a whirlwind, slamming the door open and rushing into their kitchen, where he knows Hajime most likely is. He’s holding an open envelope in his hand, and already, despite having received it only a few hours ago, it’s all wrinkled and torn from the amount of times Tooru’s crushed it beneath his fingers from sheer excitement.

It doesn’t matter though. He knows exactly what the letter inside says. He’s read it so often that he has it memorized.

As expected, he finds Hajime in the kitchen, sitting at their small table with about three books open in front of him, and a whole binder full of official-looking papers held in his hands. Tooru briefly notes how rare it is to see Hajime bringing work back from the lab to their apartment, but doesn’t linger on the thought. It’s not like this is the first time Hajime’s done so, and with the sudden upswing in assignments due to the upcoming missions, it’s not really surprising. But busy or not, Tooru’s not about to let Hajime’s extra work put a damper on his spirits, and he plops himself down on Hajime’s lap before his boyfriend can utter a word of protest.

“Why are you still working?” he whines, pushing Hajime’s binder of papers from his hands onto the table, where his boyfriend can no longer reach them. Hajime huffs and scowls up at Tooru. There’s a little splotch of ink on his cheek, right next to his nose where he always taps his pen while thinking, and it crinkles up endearingly in the line of Hajime’s skin when his nose scrunches in annoyance.

“Tooru, please. I need to finish this.”

Tooru shakes his head. “Take a break for once, Hajime,” he says, and wipes the ink from Hajime’s face with his thumb. “Your weird-looking graphs can wait one more night. We should be celebrating.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to be celebrating tonight?” Hajime asks. He looks unamused. Probably because Tooru has uttered that exact same statement a million times before, sometimes for reasons as inconsequential as buying a new plant for his rooftop paradise, or seeing the premier of a new TV show he’s been dying to watch.

This time, however, he says it with good reason, and he gives Hajime a smug smile as he brandishes the crinkled letter in his hand before Hajime’s eyes, turned so that the JAXA seal and Mikaboshi logo are both plainly visible. “Ta-da!”

There’s little change in Hajime’s expression. At least not to the eyes of anyone less acquainted with Hajime’s little idiosyncrasies and twitches. But Tooru can see the hint of a smile threatening to break out from Hajime’s stubborn scowl, the small tremble at the corner of his lips that give away his pleasure and excitement. He glances over at the counter closest to them, and Tooru follows his gaze to see a matching envelope sitting atop the grey granite, identical to Tooru’s down to the worn creases and hasty tear through the JAXA seal.

“You got one too! I knew it!” Tooru crows triumphantly. Hajime breaks and lets his smile dawn across his face like the rising sun, and Tooru can’t help but to throw his arms around Hajime’s neck in a haphazard embrace.

Hajime laughs and holds Tooru steady, keeping the both of them from toppling to the ground. “I didn’t want to say anything until you had yours. I knew you’d want to celebrate together.”

“As if there was any doubt we’d be chosen,” he jokes. But it’s true. With three successful launches and several years of dedicated service under their belts, he and Hajime are the perfect choice for this mission. He had no worries about them getting accepted into the program. He’s just glad to see they were chosen for the first launch. “Just think! We’ll be the first humans to stand on a planet outside our own solar system!” He looks up at the ceiling, envisioning their future on a foreign planet, and their chance to become legends. “We’ll be considered heroes, Hajime! People will talk about the Mikaboshi I crew for centuries. We’ll be in history books, and science books. People will probably write biographies about us. Or at least research papers. Think they might make a movie about us one day?”

“Tooru,” Hajime tries to interject, but Tooru waves him away, not noticing the way Hajime’s smile falls with every word he utters.

“No, no, no. Seriously think about it. Think about how incredible this will be! The history we’ll make is comparable to Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin! Do you even realize?”

“Tooru.”

“We should go out to dinner to celebrate. After all, we won’t be able to enjoy such luxuries in about a year or so. We’ll be living off freeze-dried food packets, and you know how much I hate those.”

“Tooru.”

Tooru pauses mid-breath and glances back at Hajime, feeling the air rush out of his lungs when he sees Hajime’s brows furrowed, concern etched in every crease.

“What exactly does your letter say?” Hajime asks. Quietly. Which is odd because Tooru knows every mission letter JAXA hands out uses the same kind of wording, minus a few details here and there and the actual mission assignment.

“Well, you know. The standard. Got your application, reviewed it, Oikawa is totally outstanding and awe-inspiring,” Tooru jokes, trying to lighten up the atmosphere that seems to now be hanging in the kitchen at twice the normal pressure. Hajime just stares at him, and Tooru swallows back his teasing smile. “I’m assigned to the crew of the Mikaboshi I mission.”

Hajime closes his eyes, then breathes out. He gently nudges Tooru off his lap so he can stand and walk over to the letter sitting on the counter, which he passes over. Tooru is confused, because why would Hajime have him read a letter he already knows the contents of? There’s no difference between Hajime’s letter and Tooru’s own besides the name printed on it. Even the excited crumpling is identical, paper creased from hours of countless unfolding and refolding.

Tooru humors him though, and skims the paper. He’s right about the wording. It’s the same as usual. A carbon copy of Tooru’s own. Except for the assignment details near the bottom of the letter, where his heart freezes at the sight of a single, bolded phrase:

Mikaboshi II.

Dear Mr. Oikawa,

Thank you for your interest in the Mikaboshi program. After reviewing your application and your many years of service to the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the program.

We would like to remind you that, by applying to the Mikaboshi program, you have agreed to help set up a self-sustaining colony on the planet Carystus, which orbits Alpha Centauri A at a distance of 1.26 astronomical units. It is a one-way trip.

According to your qualifications, you have been selected to join the crew of:

Mikaboshi I
Position: Payload Commander, Lead Botanist
Flight Director: Ukai Keishin
Departure Date: TBA

Your Flight Director will contact you with more details as necessary. Should you wish to terminate your position in this program, speak with your Flight Director immediately. Crew positions will be permanent at the end of this month. Please make all necessary arrangements prior to your departure.

Sincerely,

Furudate Haruichi
President of the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency

“So how does it feel?” Takahiro asks over the raucous chatter of the bar, leaning into Tooru’s shoulder so his voice can be heard. “Being a full-fledged astronaut, I mean.”

His words waft in front of Tooru’s nose, where Tooru can smell the alcohol on his breath, but Tooru finds he doesn’t care. Not the way he used to when he and Takahiro were struggling through the slogs of advanced biochemistry and biostatistics and genetics, drowning themselves in cheap beer every other weekend to forget their failed lab results. Tooru doesn’t care about the tiny slur in Takahiro’s voice, or the way he’s pressed against Tooru’s side, chin hooked over the leather shoulder of Tooru’s new, official JAXA Astronaut Corps jacket, or the dopey smile across his face that must be nearly identical to Tooru’s own, considering the ache in his cheeks from smiling so much.

Tooru doesn’t care. He can’t care. He’s too busy celebrating the fact that he’s here. A newly-minted astronaut already slated for his first mission to Mars in a few weeks. Just days away from beginning launch preparations. Just hours from becoming a graduate of the JAXA space program.

“Surreal,” he answers. “All this time dreaming and now I’m finally here. Graduating. What will I do with my time now?”

Takahiro grins. “Well, y’know. There’s the whole Mars thing coming up. Keep you busy for a while.”

“True,” Tooru laughs.

It’s kind of incredible, really, knowing that he’ll be standing on the rusting dust of Mars’s surface in only a matter of months. There’s a small research center, he knows, already set up in the Amazonis Planitia by a research team from years before, so it’s not the sort of pioneering expedition he’s always had in mind. He’ll be the 167th person to set foot on the Red Planet since NASA’s first landing almost forty years before, continuing the work of countless biologists and botanists before him. Just another blip in the history of space travel. But it’s enough.

It’s at least better than being stuck on the International Space Station for two months, like his first trip into space. He’ll finally get to stand on a foreign planet. See the stars from a new sky. And anyways, he has years ahead of him to explore the unknown. This is only the beginning for him.

He glances around the bar, at all the space program graduates currently celebrating with friends and family. He recognizes faces: Kuroo and Bokuto huddled together in a corner, Moniwa attempting to keep Kamasaki and Sasaya from wreaking havoc, Kiyoko talking with Daichi and some tall, nervous fellow Tooru’s seen wandering around the astrodynamics section of JAXA headquarters. And, in the middle of it all, Hajime, leaning back against a table with a half-drunk beer in hand, laughing at something Issei just said.

He throws his head back, dark hair at the nape of his neck brushing the leather of his own JAXA jacket, and lets his chest heave from the force of his laughter. A sound which, unfortunately, gets lost in the general chaos of the bar. But Tooru can still imagine its loud bubbling burst. Has heard it near a million times in their three years of friendship, as familiar to Tooru now as the glow-in-the-dark stars still plastered on his bedroom ceiling. Just as comforting too. Like finally coming home.

His heart flutters, and he tears his gaze away before Hajime can stop laughing and see Tooru staring at him with stars in his eyes, as has been happening with ever-increasing frequency as of late. Hajime just gives him a smile when it happens. The special one reserved only for Tooru, all soft around the edges and eyes folded into twin crescent-moons of delight. The one that always steals Tooru’s breath in the same way shooting stars did when he was a child.

This is bad, he thinks, glaring down at his empty hands, which curl and uncurl against his thighs, all anxious and sweaty. This is dangerous territory to be in. Not just because Hajime is his best friend, and crushes on best friends don’t really tend to work out very well, from what Tooru’s heard. But then there’s also the Mars mission coming up. There’s so much he needs to do and prepare for, he has no time to deal with this growing infatuation of his, except in trying to set it aside. And that’s really the crucial bit.

He sighs. “Maybe I should invest in a hobby.”

“Maybe you should just go over there and kiss the poor guy,” Takahiro deadpans. He shifts, turning so that his back rather than his arm is now leaning against Tooru’s side, then rolls his head backwards to rest atop Tooru’s shoulder while adding, “I’m tired of watching you two dance around each other.”

“We haven’t been dancing around each other.”

Takahiro snorts. “Oh come off it. You two have been practically married since last year, after the… was it the space station thing you guys did together?” he asks, and Tooru grudgingly nods, knowing exactly what his friend is referring to. He can’t even deny it, because he remembers just how close he and Hajime got during those two months in space, and he knows what Takahiro’s saying is sort of true. “Just give the guy a break already.”

“We’ve talked about this before, Makki. You know why I can’t.”

“No. You’re just using the Mars mission as an excuse to be a coward,” he says, nose wrinkling. “JAXA has dealt with astronaut couples before. Even sent a pair up to the Moon’s research center a few years back on the same mission. If they could make it work, so can you.”

“Married is different from dating.”

“Not for you guys,” he says gleefully. Practically sings it. Then, beaming up at Tooru, he reaches over his head to pat Tooru’s cheek and adds, “You’re like our resident old-married-couple or something. If his ring doesn’t end up on your finger, I’ll have no hope left for humanity.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Tooru laughs, but he can’t stop the heat crawling up his neck and over his ears at the image Takahiro’s words conjure up. A small house out in the country, with a large garden and a dog or two running about. Hajime on the front porch, tinkering with some new project while Tooru lounges by his side in the summer heat, listening to the songbirds and the high keen of whirring cicadas.

It feels so natural to imagine a future together like this, the same way having dirt beneath his fingernails and dreams full of distant stars feels natural. For once, nothing in his vision seems out of place, or forced to fit in. And when he glances bashfully back at Hajime, it’s easy to see him there. To see wheat waving in golden waves behind him, his dark skin even darker from the sun’s caress, light glinting off a golden band around his ring finger. To see a life together.

Maybe that should alarm Tooru, considering they aren’t even dating yet, let alone considering marriage, but it just doesn’t. Not even the slightest bit.

Hajime turns his head at that moment and locks gazes with Tooru. His laughter stops, disappearing from his lips like morning dew in favor of the warm smile dawning across his face, soft as the pale pink and blue sky just before a sunrise. Tooru feels heat spread from his ears all the way down to his toes. His fingertips tingle.

“After the mission,” he finally tells Takahiro, because it will be difficult enough to concentrate on his work with Hajime smiling at him like that without adding anything else into the mix. “I’ll talk to him about it after the mission.”

It isn’t right, Tooru decides in the dark of night, after Hajime has fallen asleep and Tooru is left staring at their star-covered ceiling, knowing that soon, in about eight to twelve months actually, he and Hajime won’t get to share the same bed. Or the same house. Or planet. Or even the same solar system. Not for another six years, at the very least.

Something about that doesn’t make sense to Tooru. He’s so used to having Hajime beside him, where he can see the tiny twitches at the corners of his mouth, and hear his soft, sleepy snorts and sighs, and feel his heartbeat pounding steadily beneath the palm of his hand. The very idea that Hajime won’t be there, right within reach, is unfathomable. It just… isn’t right. Tooru won’t stand for it.

“He’s one of the best pilots we have,” Tooru argues when he corners Ukai, his mission’s flight director, outside the JAXA headquarters a few days after receiving his letter. “He should be a part of our mission!”

“We already have a pilot,” Ukai points out.

“But is he as good as Iwaizumi?”

“You’ve worked with Bokuto before. You tell me.” Ukai crosses his arms, a lit cigarette held loosely between two fingers of his right hand, and leans back against the brick wall of the building. He looks unimpressed with Tooru’s arguments, but then he’s not usually a man who’s easily persuaded. Tooru’s had enough past experience with him in the space program to know this. “We already chose the teams, Oikawa. Unless someone drops out completely, we can’t change them.”

“No. You’re just refusing to consider—”

“Tooru,” Ukai interrupts, and Tooru knows better than to argue with his flight director when he’s using that tone of voice.

He shuts his mouth, feeling very much like a small child being scolded by their parent, and shrinks back into himself as he considers the situation. Ukai won’t budge on adding Hajime to his crew, this Tooru knows. And part of Tooru is afraid to question why. Because, as good as Bokuto Koutarou is, (and Tooru will admit he’s a very good pilot when he puts his mind to it; probably even one of the best in their program), he’s no Iwaizumi Hajime. Not to Tooru. Never to Tooru.

Maybe that’s the problem.

“This isn’t right,” he mutters, more to himself than to Ukai, who does Tooru the courtesy of at least pretending not to notice Tooru’s distress. There’s something heavy sitting in his gut, and the weight of it makes him sick, almost like the first time he dealt with vertigo. An apt comparison since this entire situation has turned Tooru’s world, and everything Tooru knows, on its head.

He scrambles to make sense of it all. To find some sort of reason for the separation he’s being forced to make. A separation Tooru had never thought he’d have to endure, considering how he and Hajime have always been paired up for flights, ever since their first year in the training program. Hajime’s pilot to Tooru’s more specialized positions. A packaged deal.

Was he too quick to assume though? Did the program directors not care about the chemistry of their partnership in relation to their mission success? Or perhaps… did the program directors care too much?

Tooru tugs at his fingertips, sending little aches through his hand to distract from the growing nausea in his stomach. “This is because I’m dating him, isn’t it?” he quietly asks. Ukai looks over at him, glancing from the corner of his eyes, and then slowly, thankfully, shakes his head.

“If it was about your relationship, we wouldn’t be sending you guys up there at all.” He lifts the cigarette he’s holding to his lips and takes a long drag. The smoke billows out in a white stream, which wafts up into the sky to join the heavy smog overhead. A cloud ceiling that leaves Tooru anxious, itching to break out. He shuffles his feet against the concrete. Beside him, Ukai sighs. “Look, we know you two would work fine together. That’s not what we were worried about. Bokuto’s scores were just slightly above Iwaizumi’s. That’s why we chose him.”

“Then put me on the second mission crew instead.”

“Are you kidding?” Ukai exclaims, coughing around the smoke he just inhaled from his surprise. And if Tooru didn’t feel like a scolded child before, he definitely feels like one now, mentally cowering under Ukai’s heavy gaze like he’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You’re our best botanist. We need you on the first crew.” There’s no way for Tooru to refute that, knowing just how vital his role is to the overall success of the mission, so he just stays silent. Even though he really just wants to argue until he’s able to get his way and set his world right again. He presses his lips into a thin line and turns away from the temptation, just as Ukai narrows his gaze on Tooru. “I don’t get you sometimes. Isn’t this your dream?”

Tooru isn’t so sure anymore.

Sol 183
Mission Log #234

Seems like the storms have been growing shorter and less violent these days. The Hab doesn’t shake as much, at least, but I don’t know how reliable that is for measuring wind strength. Luckily, we have Yahaba, who, along with studying the wonderful world of plants in college also apparently studied weather patterns? Maybe that should be the other way around, since his first major was in atmospheric sciences and he just happened to decide that tacking on a botany minor was a good idea.

Regardless, he’s now our resident weather man, and he thinks the storm season is finally passing. Good enough for me. I’m anxious to get these plants in Carystus soil. The sooner we can plant, the sooner we can tell the scientists back on Earth to send the next batch of astronauts. So long as these crops actually succeed.

On a side note: we’ve now lived in the Hab for almost half of a year!

Well, a Carystus year that is, since it’s on a 468 day orbit. If we’re counting Earth days, we’re closer to half a year. Just past half a year, actually, if we take Carystus’s longer days into account and add all the extra, accumulated hours into 24-hour days and blah blah blah. Point is, it’s been somewhere around 270-something Earth days or so for us since our original launch, and that means it’s holiday season! And of course, we Hab boys are going to celebrate in style. (Read: with shitty holiday decorations Futakuchi smuggled into our payload because he loves holiday season way too much.)

Well, it’s not every day you get to celebrate Christmas on a different planet. I guess it’ll be fun, but I don’t know. It’ll be the first Christmas in six or seven years that Hajime and I won’t spend together. It’s a little weird…

I’ll just have to get used to it, I suppose.

There are six crew members for the Mikaboshi I flight including Tooru, who accepts his assignment as Payload Commander with at least some degree of alacrity. It ranks him third in the crew, after the Commander and Pilot, but it’s the highest assignment he’s ever been given, and the highest assignment he could ever expect to be given considering how both Pilot and Commander are roles typically reserved for astronauts with years and years of flight experience, and Tooru’s never really been interested in that track of work. It’s a balm of sorts for his frazzled thoughts, though not enough to keep him from questioning his place in the crew. And Hajime’s absence.

He meets the rest of his crew about a week after confronting Ukai, sitting around a table in one of the small conference rooms of JAXA’s main building. He already knows their faces and names, has already worked with most of them on previous missions or Earth-bound assignments, but now he looks at all of them with new eyes. His crew. His only companions for the next six years.

Tooru prays that time passes quickly.

Kuroo lounges back in his chair with his feet crossed atop the table, hands linked behind his head, looking as usual like he has not a care or concern in this world. He doesn’t talk much, having called this meeting for no other reason than for all of them to meet each other, but then Tooru doesn’t expect him to. Kuroo’s always been the quiet one in mission meetings like this. And Bokuto, sitting beside him, fills Kuroo’s silence with endless chatter about how excited he is and how much he’s looking forward to this and how they’ll be the first ones to stand on a planet outside their own solar system, isn’t that cool? Isn’t that totally rad?

Tooru tries not to listen. Tries not to think about how he was saying the exact same things to Hajime just a little over a week ago.

The other three members of his team also seem to be ignoring Bokuto’s enthusiasm, with varying degrees of success. The only person, aside from Kuroo, who even looks like he’s paying attention to the mindless chatter is Yahaba, but from the glaze in his eyes and the constant clenching and unclenching of his fists on top of the table, it’s obvious Yahaba’s usual respect for authority is being severely tested by the situation at hand. Most likely made worse by Futakuchi’s goading comments and quiet snickers. Tooru privately wonders if all environmental biologists are like this, or if it’s just Futakuchi’s personal brand of irritating.

Probably the latter, Tooru decides, watching a small twitch appear at the corner of Yahaba’s right eye. But at least he’ll keep things interesting during the trip. If the crew doesn’t decide to just kill him by the time they reach Jupiter, that is.

Maybe that’s why the higher ups chose Akaashi to be their Flight Engineer, instead of someone more outspoken like Nishinoya or Yaku. Maybe they hope his quiet nature will balance out the rest of their more volatile personalities. Tooru thinks it’s a pointless hope.

As does Akaashi, judging by his body posture. He sits beside Bokuto, avoiding the pilot’s violently waving hands, and just stares at the ceiling with empty eyes, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else except here, in this room, with this team. And Tooru can sympathize, because truthfully he’s not sure he wants to be here either. Not because of the team itself, but because of that gap Tooru still senses while facing the members of his crew. That little hint of gravity they’re missing which would pull them all together.

Because it’s a good team, Tooru will admit. Well-matched. Well-balanced. Perfect for what JAXA wants them to do.

And yet, to Tooru, it still feels all wrong.

“You should be on my crew!” Tooru complains to Hajime, who stands in their kitchen with his back towards Tooru chopping vegetables. It feels like the millionth time Tooru’s said this since they got their letters. In reality, it’s probably the billionth or more. He knows himself well enough to be aware of this, though he also never argues this much about something unless he truly believes he’s right. “We’ve always worked together. Always. Even during training. Splitting us up now just isn’t fair.”

Hajime, as usual, ignores the outburst and continues chopping. The quick, dull clack of the knife against a plastic cutting board fills the kitchen in a steady rhythm. Not flustered at all. “JAXA isn’t looking at what’s fair. They’re looking at what’s best for the overall mission,” Hajime points out.

“If that were true, they would have put you as our pilot.”

“You’re being stubborn,” Hajime argues. “We both know Bokuto’s a better pilot than I am. And he works better with your Commander than I do too. He’s the best choice for this mission.” There’s a pause in his words as he tips what he was chopping into a pan on the stove. It sizzles and pops for a moment, filling the kitchen with the scent of onions and garlic, then gets replaced with the knife’s clacking as Hajime starts chopping once more. “There’s nothing we can do about it anyway. This is JAXA’s decision.”

“Not entirely,” Tooru retorts. He taps his fingers together, then flattens his hands against his thighs. “I could drop out.”

There’s a falter in Hajime’s steady rhythm. Just the slightest pause, so brief that no one aside from Tooru would be able to pick it out. But Hajime doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t turn around. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Is it stupid to want to stay with you?”

“Don’t you dare fuck up this mission’s success for something so selfish. They need you, Tooru.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to accept that?” Tooru’s hands curl into fists in his lap, underneath the counter where Hajime can’t see them even if he turns around. Which is just as well, since they start shaking from the effort it takes not to just vault over the counter and knock some much-needed sense into Hajime. He lets his nails dig painful crescent moons into his palms and glares at Hajime’s back. “You don’t have any problem with this at all? You’re fine with being separated?”

“We’ve been separated before-”

“But not for six years!”

There’s one more clack, and then the kitchen is silent.

Hajime sets down his knife. He bows his head, shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his dark grey button-up, and takes a deep breath. And for once Tooru thinks his words have gotten through to Hajime. All his thoughts, hesitations, worries. But then when Hajime turns around, his expression is just as composed and determined as ever. And Tooru can’t take it.

“Tooru,” Hajime sighs as Tooru stands from his stool and walks out of the kitchen. But Tooru doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to hear Hajime’s arguments anymore. Can’t stand his professional, detached tone. Tooru crosses the room to the spiral staircase leading to their rooftop, where Tooru hides himself amongst his plants.

The roof is small, made smaller by the overflow of flowers and greenery all around the edges. There aren’t many places for him to hide, but it doesn’t matter. Hajime won’t dare follow him up here. Not with how upset Tooru obviously is. The rooftop is his sanctuary. His holy ground. And Hajime knows very well he’s not welcome here unless invited up. It’s the one promise Tooru knows will never change, will never be broken, even if all the others are.

Tooru sits in the corner of the roof, where he can curl up between the green and red of the Japanese Andromeda and Viburnum tinus, and pulls his knees to his chest. All around, the sounds of life waft up from the city below. Cars passing, crowds walking, planes passing overhead. Tooru presses his forehead against his bent knees and takes it all in. He focuses on the sound, on the cloying scent of flowers on either side of him, on the cool touch of wind against his bare arms, and he tries not to think.

At the end of their second year in JAXA’s training program, they receive their first missions. Just up to the International Space Station for a few weeks to get a taste of actual space travel, but it’s exciting enough to leave the students talking for a few weeks until the crews are posted.

It’s the first time Tooru’s seen everyone arrive at the training facility on time in the two years he’s been here. Even Kuroo’s on time and crowding himself in front of the mission board with everyone else, dark hair sticking up every which way over the heads of everyone else. He probably didn’t have time to attempt taming his bed-head in his rush to see their crews.

Tooru has a nice spot near the front of the crowd, where he can easily see the board. It’s still blank for the moment, but it can’t be long now. Just a few more minutes, once the clock above the board ticks its way to 0800, and then they’ll know for sure. Who will be launched space-side, and who will remain on the ground to await their turn.

There’s no way Tooru won’t be chosen for the first launch. Not after the score he and Hajime wracked up in the flight simulator the other day. And he just got clearance for a new experiment from the JAXA botany lab which would require a couple of weeks of testing in a zero-gravity environment. Granted that aspect of the experiment can wait a bit if Tooru isn’t chosen, but surely getting clearance now is a good sign, right?

Tooru thinks so. He hopes so.

He glances back up at the clock. Only a minute left to go until the crews are posted. Awareness sparks through the gathered crowd, and anticipation grows to palpable levels, so thick it could be compared to the density of 55 Cancri e. Tooru’s no different though. He’s also anxious to know his launch date and, far more importantly, his crew members.

A few more seconds. Just a few more.

A gasp goes up as the mission boards flicker to life. Bright white fades into existence behind the glass, then black text scrolls down the screens to fill list after list with names. ISS Missions One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six. And at the beginning of each list, their approximate launch dates.

Tooru, like the rest of the crowd, surges toward the screens to find his name. He scans each list, one after another, starting from the bottom, until he finds his name sitting right in the middle of the first mission’s crew, just as he’d been hoping. He recognizes the names of the rest of the crew from various classes and training exercises, but no one he’s particularly close to. All except for…

“Iwa-chan!” he calls out, looking frantically over the sea of people for a specific head of dark, spiky hair. It’s hard to pick him out from the rest of the crowd, but Tooru eventually finds him standing near the back of the crowd, signature scowl pulling at his lips, and Tooru waves. “Iwa-chan! We’re on the same mission crew! Mission One!”

Hajime wrinkles his nose and yells back, “Stop using that stupid nickname, dumbass!” However, there’s a tiny twitch in his right cheek that betrays the smile he’s trying to hold back. It’s not hard to see he’s pleased.

Honestly, Tooru’s relieved. He likes the other members of the program well enough, and they all seem to at least tolerate him and his need for perfection, but none so well as Hajime, who takes all of Tooru’s eccentricities in stride. Knowing Hajime will be with him, keeping him in line and focused, eases something inside Tooru he didn’t know existed.

He thinks of the two months they’ll spend on the space station, floating among the stars Tooru’s always admired, and he beams at Hajime. “Let’s work well together! I’m counting on you, Iwa-chan!”

“Yeah,” Hajime answers. “I’m counting on you too, Oikawa.”

Tooru finds little brown spots on the leaves of the new sprouts and immediately knows they’re in trouble. He doesn’t know why they’re in trouble, but they are, and it rankles Tooru’s nerves to realize transferring crops into pure Carystus soil and atmosphere won’t be as simple as he’d been hoping it would be.

Just a few days since sprouting, and already the test crops are dying. Drying out? Lacking nutrients? Ravaged by some sort of native plant disease? Tooru doesn’t know yet. There’s no way to tell from a single glance. Tooru squats down and rubs a leaf between two of his fingers. It crackles and flakes away beneath his thumb, and when Tooru lets go the entire sprout flops over onto the ground, tiny stem nearly bent in half. Maybe it’s a moisture thing? Or is the sunlight too strong when not diluted by the greenhouse tarps? Did it dry the plants out?

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand. There are far too many possibilities for Tooru to even try and guess what went wrong. He’ll need to sample the plants. Do some tests, make some observations, maybe run a few more trials. Hours and weeks and months of work and frustration. Then maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll have an idea of what’s happening, and what he needs to fix.

“A few of the sprouts near the back are still fine,” Yahaba informs him, surveying the field, “but for the most part this batch is a bust.”

Tooru takes a deep breath, then looks out over the plot of dirt they’d prepared for this first test. He’s inclined to agree with Yahaba’s opinion. The dying sprouts won’t last much longer as they are, and until they know what’s causing the plants to fail there isn’t much either he or Yahaba can do to save them. As much as he hates to admit it, Tooru’s plants have lost. This victory must go to the rock-covered planet they’re battling against.

“We’ll dig them up,” Tooru decides, “and conduct tests. See what we did wrong.”

He pushes himself up and stands with hands on his hips, looking off into the distance. In his mind, he sees wild grasses rippling in seas of green and gold beneath the cool breeze, and green clouds across the horizon where trees have sprung up, all lush and tall and full of life. Tooru blinks, and the image is gone. All he can see is miles and miles of barren, brown land scattered with grey rocks. Void of life. Empty.

Tooru turns his back on the scene and walks toward the greenhouse to grab supplies. The sooner they dig these plants up, the sooner they can test them and find an answer, even if he has to lose sleep to get there. They have a limited time frame to get these crops going after all, and Tooru is nothing if not determined.

He’ll make that image in his mind a reality some way or another. Before the next mission crew arrives.

Sol 221
Mission Log #272

Plants are dead. Not really sure why just yet, but we’ll get there.

Yahaba and I are starting testing on the sprouts tomorrow. We’ll need to go over soil samples again and compare them to the mixed Earth-Carystus soil we used in the greenhouse, just to make sure we aren’t missing out on anything. I don’t think it’s the ground though. I think it’s something in the atmosphere. Or something connected to sun exposure. Because the plants were growing just fine until they sprouted up, and that’s when they started to die. There’s just something in the atmosphere that’s killing them. Something we need to fix.

Nothing else to report, really. Bokuto, Futakuchi, and Kuroo are having some kind of dance party in the Hab’s mess hall. At least they’re enjoying themselves.

I envy them. I really, really do.

“Adjusting by two degrees,” Bokuto says over the flight simulator’s intercom. His voice sounds like one of those old radios from decades long ago, all crackling and distant and broken, because the simulator itself is a thing from the past. Tooru knows it hasn’t been replaced since the days of the first Mars landing missions, with only minimal changes made to the interior to keep it up to date with the changing instrumentation and keep it accurate to the space crafts being launched into space.

The simulator tilts up just slightly as Bokuto shifts its course, and some muffled muttering, too quiet to be heard clearly through the speakers, fills the quiet of the control room where Tooru’s holding camp with Sawamura Daichi, their backup flight director. Probably some double checking on angles with Kuroo before starting the docking procedure. Tooru can’t see them through the shell of the simulator, but he imagines the two of them with heads pressed together, Bokuto’s tongue sticking out in concentration while they both assess their position, and Akaashi sitting to their right with his hand hovering over the control panel, just waiting for the all clear to begin procedures.

Tooru doesn’t envy their positions. Or the amount of pressure that falls on their shoulders because of it.

“Alright, I’m docking,” Bokuto announces after another moment. Kuroo and Akaashi chime in not long after to confirm the action.

Tooru crosses his arms and looks up to watch the progression of the simulated craft on the control room’s screen as it creeps inch by careful inch towards the simulated docking point of their command module— the light-speed capable machine that would carry them through space to the Alpha Centauri system. Small beeps start when the craft is in docking range, growing faster as the craft gets closer, until there’s no space left between the simulated craft and the docking point and the beeping stops. A successful exercise without any mishaps.

“Good job, boys,” Daichi tells them over the intercom. “Why don’t you take a break before we try anymore?”

“Actually, can we repeat the exercise one more time?” Bokuto asks. Behind his voice, Tooru can just barely make out the resigned sighs of his other two crew mates. He can’t blame them. He wants to sigh himself, and he’s not even taking part in the training exercise.

“Again, Bokuto?” he asks, exasperated.

“The approach was too slow. I can do better!” The words crackled over the speakers in an earnest rush, and this, Tooru knows, this need for perfection in every situation that’s so similar to Tooru’s own, is why Bokuto was chosen as their flight’s pilot in the first place. And Tooru can’t help but grimace.

“You’ve flown this simulation a million times now, Bokuto. And every time is a success. Just give it a break.”

“Just one more time,” Bokuto pleads. There’s a whiny edge to his voice. One that usually means he’ll soon be begging with puppy dog eyes and a broken-hearted chant of please, please, please until the rest of them, weak as they are, finally break and give him his way. He’s so desperate to get this exercise right.

There’s a bit of shuffling, a bit of hurried mumbling, and then finally a soft sigh. “We’ll practice one more time, Sawamura-san,” Akaashi says. He’s giving way to Bokuto’s request, but even Tooru can hear the finality in his tone that says this is truly the last time for them. The last shot to get this right before moving on. So unyielding even Bokuto can’t protest. “Coincidentally,” Akaashi continues, seeming almost bemused now, “why are you here, Oikawa-san? I thought this was your day off?”

Tooru tosses his head and sniffs indignantly. “Now how could I let my poor crew mates spend all day training while I just sit at home? What kind of guy do you take me for?”

He doesn’t bother to mention that if things were as they should be, he wouldn’t be here at all. If this mission had turned out as he had planned, if they had been placed on a crew together instead of being separated. If he and Hajime hadn’t been forced into an argument…

Tooru shakes his head. No use thinking about it right now, when there’s nothing he can do to change it. He looks back at the control room’s screen, where the simulation has already been reloaded for Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi and focuses on their steady progress. Watches how Bokuto guides the simulated craft with more confidence, more finesse, and tries not to think of what Hajime would do if he was in Bokuto’s place.

Beside him, Daichi flips a few switches, surprising Bokuto with new obstacles to navigate, and then leans back in his swivel chair. He folds his hands together atop his chest and glances at Tooru from the corners of his eyes, which Tooru pretends not to notice. He also pretends not to notice the way Daichi’s lips pinch together, or how his brows pull together to form lines of worry across his forehead.

“Akaashi has a point, you know,” Daichi says softly. Tooru would label his statement as hesitant if not for the confident set of Daichi’s shoulders, and the calm way he turns his gaze back to the screen as he adds, “You’re supposed to be resting at home. Taking care of those bags under your eyes.”

Tooru forces a bright smile across his face and tilts his head to the side. “Ah, Dai-chan. You of all people know that Oikawa and resting are two things that don’t go well together.”

“I do. Which is why I have Iwaizumi on speed dial.” He pushes back from the controls and spins in his chair, just enough so he can face Tooru head on instead of glancing to the side. A finger taps against his chest, and he tilts his head to the side. “So what did you do this time?”

“I’m offended that you think I’m at fault here.”

“Well Iwaizumi’s a saint, so it has to be you.”

Tooru scowls and refuses to dignify that with a response.

He’s not at fault here. He didn’t do anything wrong, and technically neither did Hajime. If Tooru had to place blame on anyone, he’d place it on those bastards that split the two of them into different Mikaboshi crews. None of this would be happening if they’d just let Tooru switch into Hajime’s crew, or vice versa. Just as long as they weren’t separated.

Wrinkling his nose, Tooru averts his gaze and stares at his reflection in the shiny, silver control panel beside him. The image is all warped, face shape more resembling an hourglass than the oval Tooru knows it to be. But even with cheeks pinched in and eyes stretched slightly farther apart than they really should be, he can still make out the dark, heavy bags beneath his eyes. The exhausted droop of his hair. The small creases from where his brows had pinched together in worry all through the night while lying in their bed as silent and as far away from Hajime as possible.

How many nights had it been since he was able to sleep through the night properly? How many days since they’d last spoken more than a few curt words to one another?

He’s so tired. Exhaustion clings to his limbs like a heavy quilt, calling him to the peaceful oblivion of sleep Tooru just can’t seem to find anymore. Every time he closes his eyes, he’s returned to that evening in the kitchen. Back to their fight. He can only see Hajime’s blank face. Can only remember his detached tone, his easy acceptance, his complete lack of emotion in the face of their separation.

Did Hajime even care anymore? Was Tooru so easy to let go of?

“Say, Dai-chan,” he asks into the quiet, over the tiny beeps and humming of the simulator, “you’re in a relationship, right?” Tooru doesn’t wait for Daichi’s confirmation, already knowing the gossip he’d heard about Daichi and that silver-haired kindergarten teacher is accurate, but pushes right ahead to ask, “What if, hypothetically, you two were forced to move to opposite ends of the world and couldn’t see each other for several years? And what if, when you found this out, your partner was just kind of… nonchalant about it? Like they weren’t bothered at all?”

Tooru fiddles with his fingers and keeps his eyes glued to the ground. He knows he’s being pretty obvious. Only someone truly stupid would miss the connection between the hypothetical situation and Tooru’s own, and Daichi is far from stupid.

It’s the first time Tooru’s mentioned the strife between himself and Hajime to anyone. Not even Takahiro and Issei, arguably their closest friends, know about the fight, unless Hajime talked to them about it. It’s a little strange, if he’s honest. Not because he and Daichi don’t know each other very well, because after several years of working together they definitely do, but because Tooru’s not used to talking about these issues with anyone besides Hajime. They usually settle their issues with each on their own before it can reach the point of needing outside advice. So this whole thing is not what Tooru’s used to at all.

Daichi also seems surprised by the confession. And why wouldn’t he be? It’s not like Tooru or Hajime ever brought their issues to Daichi before this, except in the form of petty complaints once the issue had already been solved. They’ve never asked for his advice before either. Especially Tooru, who always preferred figuring things out on his own to admitting his own weaknesses. He still does, but truthfully he’s at his wit’s end.

As much as it grates him to admit it, Tooru needs help with this. He really needs help.

There’s silence in the room as Daichi considers him, broken only by the simulation’s beeps. Tooru can feel the weight of Daichi’s gaze like bags of sand hanging from his shoulders, and he still can’t bring himself to look at Daichi. He can’t. He can’t.

There’s a sigh from Daichi. Then, “If it was me, I’d probably end the relationship.”

The words hit Tooru like a meteor, leaving his thoughts reeling. End the relationship? Break up with Hajime? Is that something he should be considering? Because, despite all the strife and tense silences and doubts, that’s something Tooru never even thought of. He’s not even sure he wants to think about it. Just letting the idea float through his mind causes his chest to squeeze up and make it hard to breathe, and he really doesn’t think he can do that. He’ll fight tooth and nail to keep Hajime, even drop the program and all of his dreams if that’s what it takes to stay by Hajime’s side. As long as he doesn’t lose Hajime.

“Tooru,” Daichi says earnestly, pulling him from his thoughts before he self-destructs, “don’t misunderstand. My relationship is at a completely different stage than yours is. I just started dating him, we barely know each other, and I’m not sure we could weather something long-distance like that. But you and Iwaizumi are different.” Tooru’s chest loosens at this. Finally, he looks over at Daichi and sees a gentle, understanding smile. “If you really want this relationship, I have no doubt you’ll make it work. I’m sure Iwaizumi thinks the same way. Just talk to him about it. Don’t decide things on your own.”

And Tooru just nods because Daichi’s right. Of course he’s right. Tooru’s just being an idiot thinking about all this and working himself up without even talking to Hajime. Isn’t that what they do? Discuss problems and work together to find a solution? Why should this be any different?

The beeping of the simulator speeds up as Bokuto once again approaches his target. Tooru lifts his head to watch him navigate on the screen and confidently move through the docking procedures. This time, he pulls the attempt off perfectly.

“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice asks.

Tooru snaps his head up, both surprised to be addressed and eager to meet a fellow astronaut cadet, and finds the breath stolen right from his lungs. The other male stares down at him with bright, hazel eyes behind strong eyebrows and wayward strands of feathery black hair that sticks up in all directions. It’s a piercing stare, made even more disconcerting by the stiff but confident set of the rest of his features that says he knows exactly what he’s about, even if the rest of the world doesn’t. It’s the exact kind of determination and self-assurance Tooru’s always wanted but never quite possessed.

“No,” he manages to choke out in answer to the guy’s question. “No, it’s free.”

The guy quirks a tiny smile at him and drops into the seat. Heavily, like a rock. Making it clear he’s there to stay. He lifts the strap of his shoulder bag over his head to set the bag on the floor beside his chair, and Tooru’s gaze is drawn to the shifting muscles of the guy’s dark arms. The muscle definition is incredible. Even at rest, the guy’s arms show more muscle than Tooru’s arms at full flex ever would, and while that really intimidates Tooru, it also makes him incredibly curious. What sort of guy is he? How did he get here?

“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he introduces himself to break the ice, and holds out a hand for the guy to shake. “I’m part of the botany section.”

The guy looks at his hand for a moment before slowly stretching out his own. His grip is firm, strong, confident, and nearly crushes Tooru’s hand. But Tooru finds he doesn’t really mind. “Iwaizumi Hajime. Pilot.”

“Hoping to be a pilot?” Tooru amends for clarification.

He knows that’s what many of the people in the room are there for. At least half of them are engineering or physics graduates hoping to get a chance at flying a spacecraft. It’s the true position of glory in the space program. Pilots get all the fame and attention, particularly because mission commanders are almost always chosen from the pool of experienced pilots. Tooru’s not humble enough not to hope he’ll be the exception to that rule, but he’s well aware of where his talents lie. Which is to say in the opposite direction of the pilot, as a mission scientist.

Iwaizumi, however, shakes his head. “No. I’m a pilot,” he confirms. “Joined the Air Force after high school and got my education through that.”

“Wow,” Tooru breathes. No wonder he’s so fit. And to already have some piloting experience of sorts, to already be ahead of the majority of the other hopefuls; that’s kind of incredible, in Tooru’s opinion.

Their conversation is cut short when the classroom door slams open and a middle-aged man— presumably their instructor— walks to the center of the room, where everyone sitting at the circular table can see him. He sets an old-fashioned leather briefcase on the projection desk and looks around at them all. The buzz of conversation falls silent in deference to his position.

Oiwake Takuro looks just like every other professor Tooru’s had in school with his dark, slicked back hair and the widow’s peak pointing down to the deep wrinkles across his forehead, and he runs this first class of the space program just like a university might. He takes roll call and passes a syllabus around, then drones on and on about assignments and grades and policies that can all be found on the paper they’ve just been given. Tooru loses all interest in the matters being discussed once that syllabus is in his hand. He can read all the important details later. No need to deal with that right now.

Growing bored, he sighs and slumps over the table. He starts doodling around the margins of his syllabus with his blue ballpoint pen— little stars and asteroids and spaceships, and one tiny astronaut with a group of aliens on the surface of a rocky planet. Over the astronaut, he draws a little speech bubble in which he writes the words “take me to your leader”; an ironic shift from all the movies and TV shows about aliens on Earth, in Tooru’s opinion, and one that makes Tooru smile to himself. Imagine one day landing on a planet with sentient lifeforms and demanding to meet their leaders. Humans would become the fearsome aliens for once, instead of the other way around.

There’s an amused huff of breath beside him, so quiet Tooru almost doubts its existence at all. He doubts even more when he looks up to find Iwaizumi completely absorbed in whatever Oiwake is saying. But there’s a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he wants to smile but is holding himself back. Did Oiwake say something amusing? Or one of the other cadets perhaps? Tooru was watching some of the other cadets earlier, before Iwaizumi sat beside him, and he honestly wouldn’t put it past a few of them to joke around in class.

Tooru lightly taps his pen against the table and Iwaizumi’s gaze drifts from their instructor, meets Tooru’s gaze and holds it, sharp hazel boring straight through Tooru. The corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth twitches again. Amusement sparkles in his eyes. And it dawns on Tooru.

Iwaizumi is watching him.

Tooru sucks in a sharp breath and looks back down at his syllabus in an attempt to will away the embarrassed heat that wants to fill his cheeks. His blush isn’t exactly the most attractive thing, turning his face into a splotchy, bright red mess that he definitely doesn’t want this man with the arms of Thor to see. Or anyone else in the class, for that matter.

Iwaizumi is still watching him though. Tooru can feel his stare burning into the side of his face. He’s probably still sporting that stubborn not-smile too, or maybe that tiny grin he threw at Tooru when he first sat down. What does he look like when he smiled without restraint? Do his lips pull back to show flashing teeth and pink gums? Does his face crunch up and turn his eyes into tiny slivers of happiness? Does he beam at others like he’d swallowed some tiny, personal sun?

What would it feel like to be the one to cause such a smile?

Chewing on his bottom lip, Tooru places the tip of his pen in a blank space between two large planets and a cluster of stars. It glides smoothly over the paper as he quickly scrawls out “lunch after this?” with all the anxiety of a teenager facing their first crush. When Tooru looks up again, Iwaizumi huffs out a impatient breath and turns his attention back to Oiwake, though a ghost of a smile still lingers at the corners of his lips.

Tooru takes this as a yes.

“What is this?” Hajime asks when he returns his lab that night, arms full of documents and reports he was no doubt going to use as a distraction from Tooru’s continued cold shoulder. Or at least that’s what Tooru thinks the plan was from the way Hajime’s clutching them to his chest, almost like a defensive shield.

He starts to take a hesitant step forward, then appears to think better about it and remains where he is. Instead, he looks over the spread Tooru’s spent all day preparing with wide eyes. The lit candles on the table and counters. The newly-mopped tile floors and gleaming stove. The bottle of Hajime’s favorite red wine on the table between two bowls of steaming ramen— the only dish Tooru can confidently cook without Hajime’s help, though Tooru privately wishes he could have cooked something slightly more romantic.

“Tooru, what is this?” Hajime asks again, but softer this time. A little breathless. And it almost makes Tooru want to cry because god he’s missed that voice. He’s missed it so much.

“My apology,” Tooru answers. He folds his hands in front of him, fiddling with his fingers because he doesn’t know how else to deal with the nerves twisting and churning in the pit of his stomach.

He feels off-kilter. Unnaturally unsure of himself and his own words. It reminds him of the first time they had lunch together, back when they were both new cadets in the JAXA space program just trying to figure each other out. Except that they aren’t strangers now. And this isn’t their first fight. And Tooru knows the troubled distance between the two of them is something he put there himself, with his own two hands, like a complete idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, tongue tripping over the words in the same way a small child might stumble while learning to walk. Vulnerability has never been something easy to show, and it takes a few tries and several deep breaths for Tooru to explain, “I shouldn’t have cut you off. I was just so mad at… at everything, really. At JAXA. My crew. Myself. This whole situation. And then you were so calm about it all, like you didn’t even care, and that made it so much worse.”

“I was just trying to keep things in perspective.”

“I know,” Tooru admits. “I know you were. You always do.” He pulls nervously at his fingers and turns his head away, looking at the small, orange flames and melting wax of the candles. Little suns in the dark of the kitchen. Stars meant just for him and Hajime that won’t live past the night. Tooru lets out a shaky breath. “I’m scared. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

He doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching, but immediately melts into Hajime’s embrace when his strong, dark arms wrap around Tooru anyway. He knows Hajime too well to be surprised by the gesture. Comfort comes to Hajime as naturally as breathing, and the familiar security that Tooru finds in his embrace smooths his frazzled nerves. He drops his head onto Hajime’s shoulder and twines his arms around Hajime’s waist, never wanting to let go.

One of Hajime’s hands comes up to stroke through Tooru’s hair. “It’s only for a little bit, Tooru.”

“Six years,” Tooru corrects. “Six whole years. At the very least. With almost no communication.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Tooru makes a sound of protest and pulls Hajime even closer, until there’s no space left between them at all. Maybe if Tooru holds him long enough, they’ll become inseparable. Then the mission crews won’t matter.

“What are you so afraid of, Tooru?” Hajime murmurs, rubbing soothing circles between Tooru’s shoulder blades. “Six years is a short time compared to all the years we’ll have together. This isn’t the end of us.”

“I know,” Tooru says. “I know, but sometimes it feels like it is. Like my going ahead of you will break us apart somehow.” His fingers curl into the stiff fabric of Hajime’s dress shirt, clutching at Hajime with all the fervor of someone about to lose something precious. As if by letting go Hajime will disappear from him, never to be found again. He shuts his eyes and tries to will that thought away. “I guess I just want you to want me to stay.”

Hajime sighs into his hair, warm breath blowing over Tooru’s scalp and ear. He sounds tired. Resigned even. It’s the first show of exhaustion he’s given since they found out they were on different mission crews, and it hits Tooru that maybe Hajime had been just as conflicted and worried over their separation as Tooru, but had just been hiding it all behind a brave face.

“Of course I want you to stay. How could I not?” he confesses. His hand gently scratches at Tooru’s scalp, then strokes down his neck and across his shoulders. Slowly, he and Hajime begin to sway. Just a gentle rocking from side to side as Hajime adds, “This is your dream though. And probably the only chance you’ll get. I can’t ask you to give that up for me.”

“I don’t want this dream if you’re not there.”

“I will be,” Hajime promises. “It’ll just take me a little longer to get there.”

Tooru laughs softly at that. He feels Hajime’s smile curve against the shell of his ear, and suddenly all of his worries feel lighter. Not gone or completely assuaged, but easier to carry. Easier to forget.

“We’ll be ok, Tooru. You’ll see,” Hajime tells him before pressing a kiss into his hair.

Tooru is inclined to agree.

Sol 485
Mission Log #359

Yahaba and I replanted some crops outside of the greenhouse today. Not as many as the first time, just in case they fail again, but enough for us to see whether our modifications will work out or not. Likely we’ll need to make some more adjustments, so we’re continuing to grow the genetically modified plants inside the greenhouse as well where we can easily experiment, but the hope is that what we’ve already done will be enough. We have only five years to get this figured out, and still so much we need to do once the crops succeed.

At least the plants in the greenhouse are still doing well. As long as we have that, we’ll be fine. We just need to grow enough to continue to survive, if only just barely. But I won’t let it come to that if I can help it. I’m not considered the best botanist at JAXA for nothing!

I also really don’t have anything better to do except lay around and think. And right now, I really don’t want to do that.

Tooru spends his afternoons at home tending to his rooftop garden and baking in the sweltering air of early summer. Water falls from his plastic, teal watering can onto the plants lining the far edge of the rooftop. In this heat, the soil soaks it all up with greed, and Tooru really can’t expect otherwise. It’s one of those days without wind or shade, where the heat just sits over the city and Tooru just wants to melt onto the ground, or to lay around the house and do nothing at all. Everything seems a little bit slower today, a little more reluctant. Even the traffic passing on the street below sounds lazy, and the people seem to crawl along at a snail’s pace.

Tooru sets the watering can down and wipes away the sticky sweat beading at his forehead. “It’s so hot,” he whines, and purses his lips in a pout. Behind him, Hajime grunts in agreement from where he’s lying spread eagle on the floor.

“I don’t know why you wanted to come up here in the first place. We should’ve just stayed inside.”

“But Hajime, the plants! I can’t just leave them to die of thirst!”

Hajime grunts again. And when Tooru glances over his shoulder, he sees Hajime, skin already several shades darker from the summer sun, with a hand over his eyes to block out the sun. “Hurry it up. Shittykawa,” he says. The use of the old nickname makes Tooru smile. “I want air conditioning.”

“You can go back inside, you know,” Tooru counters, which only makes Hajime snort.

He won’t go back inside alone, and both of them know it. Especially with the launch only a few days away, and their time together rapidly drawing to a close. And if Tooru wants to waste his afternoon taking care of his plants, then Hajime will do the same, despite all of his half-hearted complaints.

Tooru sighs and traces a finger around the edge of a ceramic pot. He really should take these plants to the botany lab. They can’t stay here. God knows Hajime couldn’t keep them alive if his life depended on it, and it’s not like Tooru can just take them with him. They’ll be better off in the hands of his fellow botanists, even if he thinks Kageyama might kill them out of spite. He can’t bring himself to take them from the rooftop though. His little garden has always been his comfort and sanctuary, and emptying it of all his plants feels a little like tearing his own heart from his chest.

Maybe he should just leave them for Hajime to deal with. It’s not like he’ll be coming back. If they die under Hajime’s care, it’ll have no effect on Tooru’s future at all.

“What time are Makki and Mattsun coming over?” he asks, finally turning away from his plants.

“Not for a few hours. I think they want to take you out to a nightclub or something,” Hajime answers. And that was just like their friends, wanting to spend their last night together out on the town. Tooru isn’t surprised at all, but neither is he excited as he usually would be. He wonders why that is.

Hajime rolls his head to the side and peeks at Tooru from between his fingers. A small frown tugs at his lips. “We can stay home if you want.”

“No it’s fine,” Tooru says, shaking his head. “I won’t get many more chances for a night out.”

He doesn’t mention why, but it doesn’t matter. They both know. They’re both aware of the upcoming launch date and the six years of separation they’ll have to endure. Tooru is even more aware of how little time he has left on this planet, with all he’s come to love. The places. The people. All of his friends and family.

Tooru looks at the city scape off in the distance, running a hand through his windswept hair. He understands now the hesitation Hajime had shown when they’d first talked of applying to the mission. Just knowing he’ll be saying goodbye to two of his closest friends tonight leaves a hollow sort of space inside him. He’s not really sure he likes it.

Did he make the right decision? Is this truly what he wants?

Hajime stands up and pulls Tooru into a hug, arms snug around Tooru’s waist and chin hooked over his shoulder. He’s just as sweaty as Tooru, maybe even more so, with perspiration dripping down his bare arms and soaking into the back of his cotton tank, and the heat radiating off him makes Tooru feel even more prickly and lethargic than he already is, but Tooru doesn’t complain. He savors the moment, like a flower soaking in the sun, and tucks it away in the back of his mind for the years to come.

He really must be an idiot to be giving this up. Truly. The absolute worst.

“Tooru,” Hajime whispers into his ear. His fingers slip beneath Tooru’s shirt and fan over the heated skin of his lower back. “Leave the plants. Let’s go inside.”

Tooru just nods and lets Hajime pull him inside, back to their bedroom where the air conditioning blasts just enough to take the edge off the heat as he and Hajime tumble together into their bed. He stretches out over the cool, white sheets. Hajime crawls over him and just stares. His fingers ghost over Tooru’s face, from brow to cheek to jaw, as if memorizing every bump and angle of his skin while he still can. Counting every eyelash. Every small crack in Tooru’s lips.

Tooru swallows thickly. His fingers curl in the hem of Hajime’s shirt, unwilling to ever let go, even while the soft ticking of the clock on the nightstand counts away their time. He doesn’t want to give this up. Doesn’t want to say goodbye, even for a day. If only he could stop time right here, on this hot summer’s day with Hajime by his side and nothing to worry about except the scorching sun and the sweat on his skin and the slightly broken air conditioning that only barely keeps the heat at bay.

He doesn’t want to give this up. Refuses to even think about anything beyond this moment and these sensations. Drowns himself in every second like a man dying of thirst. And when Hajime leans down to press their foreheads together, Tooru knows he’s doing the same.

“You’re still working?” Bokuto exclaims. He’s practically falling over the table Tooru’s claimed in the large living area of the Hab and getting completely in Tooru’s way, with his arms stretched over the entire table, save for the corner where Tooru’s set his cactus plant for the night. Annoyed, Tooru turns a glare on the pilot, but Bokuto’s puppy-dog expression tells Tooru that he just doesn’t care about all the trouble he’s causing. Or maybe he doesn’t realize. Tooru can never really tell with him. “It’s night time. You need to take a break.”

“I have things to do, Bokuto. These plants aren’t going to grow themselves,” Tooru argues.

In a way that’s a lie. The plants will grow without Tooru’s help, so long as they get planted in the ground. But whether they’ll survive without the research he and Yahaba have been doing is the bigger question, and one Tooru wants to be fully prepared for. He’ll work through the night if that’s what it takes to make the crops survive. Particularly with what appears to be another storm season closing in on them. Tooru’s not quite sure the crops they’ve already planted will be able to withstand the wind force this time around; he needs to find some way to make them more durable. Or more adaptable. Anything.

Bokuto softly whines and arches over Tooru’s table like a frightened cat, hands holding onto the edge closest to Tooru so his arms obscure all of Tooru’s research and samples from view. He bows his head, and the tips of his bleached hair brush over the graphs Tooru’s so meticulously been studying. Tooru is left to stare at the thick band of black hair that stretches from Bokuto’s roots halfway up his erratic hair instead.

Is Bokuto doing this on purpose? Tooru thinks he’s doing it on purpose. There’s no way he doesn’t realize just where he’s placing his limbs, or how it’s affecting Tooru’s work. It’s just too convenient.

“You work all the time,” Bokuto complains. “Even Keiji’s taking a break.”

Tooru glances across the room and sees that Bokuto’s telling the truth. Akaashi has finally emerged from that nest of wires and computer screens that he calls his work space in order to quietly lounge between Kuroo and an empty chair Tooru assumes belongs to Bokuto. He doesn’t see Futakuchi or Yahaba, but then Tooru doesn’t really expect to. Futakchi, he knows, is using his free time to catch up on all the messages he’s received from back home that he hasn’t been able to read due to their busy schedule. And then it’s common knowledge in the crew that Yahaba prefers to turn in early— healthy habits and all that, though Tooru’s not sure it makes much of a difference. They get so much sunlight on Carystus that sleeping in a little won’t hurt.

But that just leaves Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi available. And, as much as Tooru likes them each individually, he’s not really keen on having a pow-wow with all three of them at once.

There’s a weird sort of dynamic there that Tooru can’t quite grasp. Not that it bothers him. It’s actually kind of nice how Bokuto’s crazy personality keeps both Kuroo and Akaashi from becoming too serious or morose, while both of them try their utmost to keep Bokuto’s head out of the clouds. Especially that second bit. Bokuto’s enthusiasm is simply exhausting when left unchecked, in a bone-deep, soul-deep kind of way that takes days of complete silence to recover from. Which none of them can really afford.

Having the three of them together on a mission is nice, and works with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. It’s just that being around them, just the three of them, when not on an expedition always leaves Tooru bumbling around like some sort of fourth wheel. Which, in turn, reminds him that he’s actually alone here. That he doesn’t have that sort of partnership to rely on. Or even the comfortable bickering that Yahaba and Futakuchi share after so many JAXA classes and assignments together. He’s the odd man out here. Surrounded by the rest of his crew, sure, but still all alone.

Kuroo’s mouth is moving, relaying something or another to Akaashi with a fond tilt at the corner of his lips. Akaashi smiles and nods. He’s totally relaxed for once, and slowly leaning closer and closer to Kuroo as they talk without even seeming to realize it. Comfortable. Familiar in each other’s company.

Something painful tugs at Tooru’s heart. The sharpness throbs through his chest until he finally looks away from the two and back at the papers Bokuto’s still obscuring.

“I need to get this done, Bokuto,” he says, attempting to nudge Bokuto’s arms off the table. Or at least far enough to the side that Tooru can return to his work. “We have plenty of years to use for hanging out, and very limited time to get these crops growing.”

Bokuto pouts at him in response. Tooru doesn’t really understand how someone with biceps twice the size of Tooru’s own can look so small and helpless, but somehow Bokuto manages to make it work. Sadly for him, Tooru himself is well-versed in manipulating emotions to get what he wants, so the wide eyes and quivering lip do nothing to change his mind.

“Maybe next time,” Tooru says, and halfway means it. As long as either Yahaba or Futakuchi are there to suffer along with him.

Bokuto sighs and pushes himself up from the table. “Suit yourself,” he replies. “I dunno how you keep working all the time, but I won’t stop you. Just don’t overwork yourself, yeah? Thinking too much will fry your brain.”

Tooru doesn’t give an answer. He shoos Bokuto away and watches him rejoin Kuroo and Akaashi on the other side of the room. They joke and laugh, not loud enough for Tooru to hear, but he still feels himself pulled toward them. There’s a longing in his chest so strong that he finds it difficult to return to work, even with Bokuto no longer in his way. Not for his three crew members specifically, but for the camaraderie. The closeness.

Tooru longs for dark, spiky hair and hazel eyes. For nights spent on wooden floors, staring up at the artificial stars on their ceiling, and mornings spent dancing around each other in their complicated but well-practiced routine. For afternoons in the heart of Tsukuba with friends, and weekends spent in Miyagi with family. And for everything Tooru left about four light years away.

Maybe Bokuto’s right. Maybe Tooru does need a break.

He leans back in his chair and looks over all the papers strewn across it. The petri dishes and microscope slides on one side, his potted cactus sitting on the other side. “What do you think, Iwa-chan?” he asks quietly. “Think I should stop for the night?”

A stupid question, really. He doesn’t need the cactus to talk in order to know what the answer would be. The chastisement that would fall from Hajime’s lips if he saw what Tooru was doing. And that only makes the longing in his chest more painful.

Tooru looks away from the cactus and picks up his pen. He returns to his work.

Tooru’s welcomed home from the Mars mission like a sort of celebrity. At least among the biology and botany departments of JAXA’s headquarters.

He’s less excited by this than he thought he would be. His experiments on Mars were a resounding success, and helped to clear up some lingering questions about planting Earth crops in extraterrestrial soil that researchers had been struggling to answer since their first attempt at terraforming Mars almost a decade ago, so it makes sense to find himself hounded at all hours by fellow scientists and various plant-based scientific communities as soon as his feet were back on Earth soil. What Tooru didn’t expect, however, was how exhausted all the attention would make him feel. How absolutely burnt out.

He hasn’t left the lab in several days. Three? Maybe four? He can’t really remember. The time blurs together between reports and research and three-hour naps snatched on the ratty old couch in the employee lounge. How many cups of coffee has he consumed today? How long has it been since he last had food? Tooru can’t say. He’s lost track of it all. Of everything except the slides of Mars-grown fungi he’s supposed to be observing. Though he really doesn’t want to.

For the first time since university, research feels like a double-edged sword. He loves the work, the discoveries, and basks in the respect success brings to him, but he finds that every success also catapults him further into the spotlight, with all the responsibilities and pressure that come with it. He’s so weighed down by it all that it’s almost like he’s standing in the core of the Earth. Except instead of being transformed and refined into something precious, he’s just disintegrating piece by tiny piece.

He trips his way across the lab, muttering a constant stream of “fuck my life” as he searches for the notes and bottled solution he’s somehow managed to misplace within the last twenty minutes, and feels very close to just bursting into a million chunks of fleshy mess. Or combusting maybe. Being engulfed in a massive fireball doesn’t sound all too bad at the moment. At least he wouldn’t need to worry about making more earth-shattering discoveries. Or about the lecture he’s sure to receive from the lab supervisor if he can’t find that stupid bottle of solution.

Where is the damn thing? Tooru could have sworn he’d set it right here.

The lab door slams open and Tooru drops the stack of paper he’d just picked up during his search in surprise. The pages scatter and flutter to the floor in complete disarray. A large, disconnected circle of white set against the lab’s blue tile floor all around his feet.

He tips his head back, eyes closed, and lets out a long breath. Just his luck really. Now he’ll need to pick up and sort through all the papers. And he’ll have to sort it meticulously, because, of course, the papers weren’t even his. They were someone else’s research. Someone else’s hard work that Tooru just scattered all over the floor.

“You’d better help me clean this up,” he says to the intruder. It was their fault things got this way in the first place. Tooru will be damned if he’s the only punished from this whole mess.

There’s a snort, and Tooru cracks one eye open to peek across the room. Hajime’s standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed, just staring at Tooru. One of his eyebrows is quirked, and his lips are pressed thin. Thoroughly unimpressed.

“How long have you been here?” he asks. Tooru doesn’t answer, both because he honestly can’t remember, and because he knows how Hajime will react if he said as much. He’s not really wanting another lecture today. The one he’ll get later for the missing solution is enough for him.

Instead of answering, he kneels down and starts gathering the papers he dropped into a neat pile. His silence is telling enough, and Hajime sighs. Footsteps echo off the tile floor. Hajime stops opposite of Tooru and drops down to the floor to pick up whatever Tooru can’t reach himself. Tooru looks up at him briefly, then turns his gaze back to the floor, feeling his chest tighten and warmth crawling up the back of his neck.

Hajime’s hair is still longer than usual, apparently untouched since they’d returned from their mission, with dark strands falling into his eyes and feathering across his nape. Tooru’s not used to the sight. Typically, Hajime keeps his hair close cut except while on missions. Military habit, most likely, though Tooru’s told him time and time again that longer hair suits him. Now Tooru curses whatever god it was that made Hajime listen to his advice, because the change is making it extremely difficult for Tooru to focus on what he’s doing. All he can think about is running his fingers through that hair and seeing if it’s as soft as it looks.

Would Hajime care if Tooru started petting him? Probably. Better not risk it.

Hajime hands him the paper he picked up and Tooru shuffles it all together into a single stack, keeping his eyes down for his own sanity. He feels Hajime’s stare boring into him. Taking in Tooru’s wrinkled clothes and abnormally pale skin and disheveled hair. “Did you even sleep last night?” he asks.

“Of course I did.”

“Liar,” Hajime mutters. Tooru almost jumps when the cool pad of Hajime’s index finger presses against his cheek, right under his eye. “These bags are so heavy you’d need a crane to lift them. It’s a wonder you’re even awake right now.”

“Sheer force of will and like a million cups of coffee,” Tooru admits, albeit reluctantly. He’s not surprised when Hajime tuts in disappointment. Nor when Hajime takes his arm and hauls him into a standing position, holding him in place as if afraid Tooru would tip over at any second. Which, Tooru has to concede, isn’t unfounded. It has happened before.

Hajime takes the papers from his hands and sets them on one of the lab tables. “Worry about them later,” he says when Tooru makes an affronted sort of noise. “We’re getting out of here for a bit.”

“I still have work to do,” Tooru protests. Hajime doesn’t listen to him and just tugs him toward the door, not even stopping to let Tooru change from his lab coat or properly put away his equipment. Anxiety squeezes his chest. He really hopes this break Hajime’s forcing on him won’t mess with his results. He really needs to get it right, because he really doesn’t want to explain to his lab supervisor how he somehow managed to ruin a simple analysis of space fungus.

There’s a pattering on the roof of the hallway Hajime drags him down. Tiny, repetitive thuds that remind Tooru of when squirrels would scamper across his roof back in Miyagi, except on a much larger scale here. A whole army of squirrels and other small creatures.

Tooru absentmindedly makes the connection between sound and reality just as Hajime tows him around the corner and into the lab’s lobby, where large, glass windows reveal an overcast sky and water drops pouring from the sky. Rain, his brain supplies. The first storm of the summer season. And the first bit of rain he’s seen since the Mars launch over half a year ago. Mars had it’s own storms, of course, but all of them were made of wind and dust. No liquid to be found, and not even a hint of thunder to remind Tooru of home. Those dust storms were all Tooru had known in the last three months. He’d nearly forgotten what rain looked like.

Hajime lets go of him, but Tooru barely notices. He no longer needs to be dragged from the lab anyway. Instead he walks out all on his own, lab coat and all, until he’s standing on the sidewalk, free of the lab’s shelter, with arms outstretched to embrace the rain. It’s warmer than he was expecting, made even warmer when the sun briefly breaks through the cloud cover to wash over his skin. He wishes he could be in the middle of a field, where the scent of damp earth and sweet grass could surround him, but at least the concrete helps to amplify the rich, clean smell of ozone dropping into their atmosphere. It works as a balm on Tooru’s chaotic thoughts and slowly brings him back to a state of relaxation. No expectations. No frantic worries. Just sweet rain and water-soaked clothes sticking to his skin.

He’s pushed from behind and is sent stumbling into the empty street. Slicking back his wet hair, he glares over his shoulder, ready to lash out at Hajime for being so rude and ungentlemanly. How dare he push Tooru when he was just starting to enjoy the rain? But then Hajime flies past him with a giant leap and lands smack-dab in the middle of a large puddle, sending an impressive splash of water over both himself and Tooru.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru whines, though it comes out half-sounding like a laugh as Hajime continues kicking water at him. Tooru covers his face with his arms. He hears Hajime snicker, and then gets pulled by the wrists further out into the road.

“Come on, Oikawa,” Hajime coaxes. “Let loose. Live a little.”

His fingers slip from around Tooru’s wrists to latch onto Tooru’s hands instead, and he spins the both of them around in a large, messy circle. Tooru laughs and just follows the momentum. Something light and warm bubbles up inside of him and fills his chest as Hajime keeps spinning and splashing him.

He can’t remember the last time he actually played in the rain. Maybe some time in high school, when his club had gotten rained out of their outside activities, but Tooru can’t say for sure. He likes this though. The simplicity of it. The easy fun that somehow makes it all the more magical, particularly because this isn’t something that can be found just anywhere. Dust storms and wind storms are exciting in their own way, but not really ideal for playing in. Not like rain. It’s an experience exclusive only to their planet. Only to home.

“You’re such a child,” Tooru says to Hajime, who just splashes him again in retaliation.

There’s a large smile sitting where Hajime’s usual scowl is found. Not the soft smile Tooru usually sees directed his way, but one far rarer. Hajime smiles without any reservation or restraint, so both his teeth and gums show while beneath the dark, wet fringe of hair plastered down his face his eyes are narrowed into tiny slits from the lift in his cheeks. There’s a light flush to his cheeks. From excitement or embarrassment, Tooru can’t say, but it colors Hajime’s face in a way that leaves Tooru almost gasping for breath.

He’s never seen Hajime so relaxed or at ease. He wants to see it every day of his life.

He needs to see it every day of his life.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispers, reaching up to frame Hajime’s face with his hands. There’s no real lead up to what he’s about to say. He doesn’t even really think about it, or about how Hajime will react. That really doesn’t matter to him. It just feels right in this moment to finally give voice to the emotions he’s been harboring for years, to the words he’s held onto for so long. “Hajime, I think I love you.”

Hajime’s smile turns soft, but now Tooru can see every ounce of affection and care in it that he’d only seen glimpses of before. His fingers skim up Tooru’s cheek, light as the rain trickling down his skin, as if afraid Tooru might break or disappear. As if Tooru is the most precious thing in the world. Then he cards his fingers through Tooru’s hair and draws him close so their foreheads are pressed against each other. Tooru feels his words like a summer breeze against his mouth.

“Me too.”

Sol 521
Mission Log #371

The others are out exploring the planet today. Checking out some areas we haven’t yet been able to cover, including some large pools of standing water off to the east. Futakuchi’s all excited. He’s hoping they’ll find some sort of native fish or amphibian. I’ll admit that would be pretty cool.

I opted to stay behind today. The plants are doing better, but are still having some issues. They need a lot more work before I can even think about exploring, but at least I have everything I need right here with me. Plenty of time to see Carystus in the future. I just want to get this right.

The one bad thing about this: the Hab is way too quiet.

“All systems set. Communication is five for five,” Akaashi says. His voice is just a bit distorted through the speakers of Tooru’s helmet, but the words are clear and they send Tooru’s heart into overdrive. “We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander.”

“Copy,” Kuroo answers. He leans forward in his chair, reaching across Bokuto next to him to flip a switch. Tooru watches the lights of all the space craft’s systems blink, ready for use, and feels his stomach tighten. He places his gloved fingertips to his stomach, pressing into the buckle of the seatbelt harness and the material of his space suit, and takes a deep breath.

This is it. No turning back now.

Kuroo looks over the back of his Commander’s seat, between Bokuto and Akaashi at the front, and glances first at Futakuchi, then Yahaba, and then at him before turning back around for launch prep. His head turns towards Akaashi as he says, “CAPCOM.”

Akaashi nods. “Go.”

“Guidance.”

“Go,” Akaashi says again.

“Telemetry.”

“Go.”

“Pilot.”

“Go,” Bokuto says this time. He and Kuroo bump fists, then Kuroo faces front once more.

“Mission Control, this is Mikaboshi I. We are go for launch. T-minus three minutes, thirty seconds to launch.”

Tooru leans his head back and closes his eyes. Only three minutes until the engines kicked in. Three minutes until they leave the Tanegashima launch pad with the mind-numbing roar of a successful launch. Three minutes until lift off from Earth, never to return.

He tries not to think beyond that. Hajime, he knows, is standing in the mission control room back in Tsukuba with Ukai and Daichi and the rest of their team, watching the countdown to Tooru’s flight from the safety of Earth for the first time instead of sitting right there beside him. Tooru’s so used to having Hajime’s steady presence there beside him; having Yahaba fill the chair on his right throws him all off. That spot is reserved for Hajime. Anyone else there just doesn’t make sense.

“One minute,” Akaashi says.

He never ended up giving his plants away like he’d been planning. He hopes Hajime will be able to take care of them, or to find someone else that will. Just as long as he doesn’t throw them out or leave them on the street curb for someone else to find. Tooru doesn’t know if he could handle that sort of thing. Though it’s not like he’ll have any way of knowing. Especially once the ship gets up to light speed and sending messages becomes pretty much impossible.

Still, it ties his stomach in knots to think of all those plants he’s nurtured just left abandoned on the curb or in the dumpster. Like they never meant anything in the first place.

“T-minus ten,” Akaashi says, “nine… eight…”

“Main engines start,” Bokuto says, pulling down on one of the levers on the control panel.

“Seven… six… five…”

The engines slowly rumble to life. Tooru feels the rockets first, vibrations traveling beneath his feet and up through his chair as the ship quivers with pent up energy. Then the rumble crescendos and crashes over them. It fills his ears until he can barely hear Akaashi’s countdown through the speakers of his helmet. His hand curls tighter against his stomach.

“Four… three… two…”

The final number is lost in the roar. There’s a jolt, and then Tooru’s pressed back into his seat by the sheer force of the launch, like some giant, invisible hand was forcing him further and further into the cushion of the seat, and maybe trying to push his through the entire seat as a whole. His stomach seems to have gotten left behind at the launch pad, but that’s ok. He doesn’t really need it anyways, right? He’s more concerned by the frantic pounding of his heart against his ribcage, and the pressure on his chest that’s making it hard for him to breathe.

He’s relieved at least that he’s somehow managed to bring his heart along with him. Physically at least. There’s a hollowness inside his chest that has less to do with the actual organs and their presence, and more to do with what the organs care about. And in that case, Tooru knows his heart isn’t with him. It’s still back on Earth, safe in the hands of someone he won’t see again for another six years.