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In his entire eighteen years of life, Hajime has never believed in ghost stories.
One might think that, consequently, this should suffice to deter his friends from trying to make him go along with their shenanigans, but alas—
“Aww, come on, don’t be a spoilsport, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa coos, batting his lashes in a pseudo seductive fashion. “Didn’t you say you weren’t scared in the first place?”
“Sure. But I’m still not gonna do it. It’s pointless,” Hajime clarifies. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, resisting the warm push of Oikawa’s weight against his side. He can beg and tease all he wants, Hajime’s not going to give in. Not this time.
“Boo,” Matsukawa calls from the couch where he’s playing with Hanamaki’s hair, blissfully ignorant of the sour look on Hajime’s face.
Oikawa pouts. “It’s supposed to be fun, Iwa-chan!”
“Why don’t you do it, then?” Hajime suggests. Considering the fact that this is supposed to be a Halloween party, it’s been surprisingly tame so far—enjoyable, even. Until Oikawa brought out his blanket, a bunch of candles, and a flashlight, that is.
“Two words!” Oikawa tries again. “Please?”
“Six, technically,” Hanamaki corrects, and Oikawa sends him a venomous glare. He grabs the makeup mirror again, shoving it into Hajime’s chest. Somehow, Oikawa manages to put on what Hajime dubs ‘puppy-eyes from hell’, and his defenses crumble. Despite the strong front he puts on, Hajime is a weak, weak man when it comes to Oikawa.
“Okay, fine. Give me that,” he snaps, yanking the mirror from Oikawa’s grasp to prop it up on his knees. “But if something happens and you freak out, it’s your own fault, Shittykawa.”
“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cheers, entirely ignoring the insult tacked on to his name—he’s too used to it. Hajime’s face settles into a deep frown, wrinkles prominent on his forehead (not that he cares).
The room goes silent, even Matsukawa’s hands stilling, strands of pink hair trapped between his fingers.
Hajime clears his throat and takes a breath. He fixes his reflection in the mirror with a glare.
“Bloody Mary,” he sighs. Oikawa gasps, hands slapped over his mouth.
“Bloody Mary.”
Hanamaki makes a small noise in the back of his throat, and from the corners of his eyes, Hajime sees Matsukawa pull him against his chest, arms around his middle. What are they scared for?
“Bloody Mary.”
Silence. For a full minute, no one dares speak a word. Eventually, it’s Oikawa of all people who heaves a sigh of relief. His spine cracks in an attempt at loosening up his muscles, and Hajime hands him back the mirror, expression rigid, and huffs, “There you have it. Total bullshit, proven once more.”
“Don’t be rude, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawks. “It’s all just for fun, you know. It’s your turn to pick a game to play, by the way.” With that, Oikawa gets to his feet, brushing invisible dust off his clothes. “I’m going to the bathroom for a bit, but I’ll be right back, so you better start thinking!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Hajime watches him make his way across the room, hips swaying just a little. The way Oikawa opens and closes the door with utmost care makes Hajime wonder if he forgot that the four of them are the only people in the house. Shaking his head, Hajime turns to his other two friends to find them still wrapped around each other—like they’re half expecting a ghost to pass through the walls.
“What’s up with you guys? Are you scared?”
Matsukawa frowns. “He made me say ‘Bloody Mary’ last year, and the chandelier fell from the ceiling. Didn’t Oikawa tell you? It was pretty creepy,” Matsukawa explains, playing with Hanamaki’s hands.
“Well,” Hajime says, “nothing happened today so I’m sure it was just a coincidence. Stuff like that happens all the time.”
“You don’t understand,” Hanamaki says. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are wide; the room seems darker than it was before, the candles flickering ominously. “It didn’t happen right away. It happened when Oikawa—”
CRASH.
“—left the room…”
A blood-curdling scream rings through the house, shaking Hajime to the core. His heart gives out for a beat or two, and the shock sends him reeling. Hanamaki slides out of Matsukawa’s embrace and onto the floor, his eyes the size of saucers. Matsukawa’s stunned into immobility. And Oikawa—
“Oikawa!” Hajime scrambles to his feet, almost tripping over himself as he dashes out of the room, into the hall, and up the stairs to Oikawa’s bathroom. He doesn’t even bother knocking; he throws the door open with a bang, his body on autopilot. All warmth seeps out of him in seconds.
Mirror shards cover the tiles, glinting in the artificial light. Blood splatters taint the pristine white of the room—they’re on the wall, in the sink, on the floor. And in the middle of it all, on his knees, is Oikawa.
Hajime throws himself down beside him, cupping his hands around his face to force it up. Oikawa’s eyes are puffy and red, tears streaming down his cheeks. Streaks of carmine paint his hands, the skin over his knuckles broken. His shoulders tremble as he chokes out a tiny “Iwa-chan”. Something shatters inside Hajime.
He pulls Oikawa into a hug, his nose pressed into the space behind Oikawa’s ear. “Hey, it’s all right, I’m here now,” he whispers, stroking Oikawa’s back. Oikawa shivers, hiccupping with every other intake of breath. Hajime can feel his heart pound against his ribs.
“What happened?” Hajime asks, even though he has an idea.
“I was so scared, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sobs, more tears escaping, “I l-looked into the mirror to ch-check my hair, and there was something b-behind me. Or I thought there w-was, so I panicked and—” He holds up his bloody hands, still shaking. Hajime raises his eyebrows.
“You smashed the mirror?”
“My parents are gonna be so mad!” Oikawa cries, rubbing his face against Hajime’s shoulder.
‘This is your own fault. I warned you,’ Hajime wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shushes Oikawa, hugging him until he stops shaking. Oikawa goes very quiet once his tears have dried, melting into Hajime’s touch like liquid.
“Say it,” he mumbles after a while.
“Huh?”
“Say that you were right already. I deserve it.”
Hajime’s lips twitch. “You got enough of a punishment. Come on,” he says, pulling Oikawa to his feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
By the time the two of them get back to the living room, Matsukawa and Hanamaki have passed out on the couch, Hanamaki snoring like a chainsaw.
Oikawa makes a retching noise. “Are they spooning? On my couch?”
Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Is that your way of telling me you don’t want me to sleep in your bed with you tonight?”
Oikawa flushes a furious shade of red, and he grabs Hajime’s hand in a stranglehold. He bumps his shoulder against Hajime’s. “Of course not.”