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"Thank you, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, stroking Iwaizumi's shoulder, letting his hand travel down his bicep and arm, ending with a squeeze of their hands as Iwaizumi stands up and leaves. Oikawa goes back to finishing the last of his rice, bento on his lap.
Having a peaceful lunch on the rooftop is probably Matsukawa's favorite part of the day. The four of them sharing an amicable conversation with one another. A Wednesday with wonderful weather, although a little chiller since Matsukawa runs cold, but nice nonetheless.
"Yuck," Hanamaki exclaims, pushing his own bento aside—unfinished.
"Milk bread is not 'yuck', Makki, just because you have no taste doesn't mean—"
"Not that! Your disgusting PDA is what's yuck. The way you stroked Iwaizumi's arm," Hanamaki shakes his head in rapid motions.
"Can't blame him, though," Matsukawa unhelpfully adds.
"… PDA?" Oikawa cooks his head to the side with a frown.
"Yes, can you tone it down, please?" Hanamaki opens a bag of chips, offering one to Matsukawa that he accepts with a small smile.
"What do you mean?" Oikawa frowns at them.
Hanamaki raises an eyebrow—munching on several potato chips at once before answering, "the touching and caressing? The stroking of hair, the squeezing of wrists, the prolonged eye contact… You and Iwaizumi are this close to making out in front of us," he gestures his thumb and pointer finger together, exasperated.
"Your fingers are touching, Hiro," Matsukawa points out with amused half-lidded eyes.
"Exactly."
Oikawa seems lost on the topic at hand until—slowly but surely—his eyes widen. "Me and Iwa-chan…?"
There's a long silence filled with tension that Hanamaki and Matsukawa seem aware of but unable to care about. Oikawa on the other hand…
Matsukawa slaps Hanamaki's shoulder repeatedly. "Oh, Hiro, I think he was actually unaware—"
"This is all your fault!" Oikawa points at Hanamaki with a blush rapidly coloring his face, all the way to his hairline and ears.
"What? How is it my fault?"
"Are you just having this realization?" Matsukawa asks Oikawa, thoroughly confused.
"You pointed out all those things!" Oikawa glares at Hanamaki, ignoring Matsukawa altogether. "Those were friendship things!"
"Nope," Matsukawa answers, helping himself to another chip.
"Now they're all jumbled up," he gestures wildly and dramatically with his long arms, "romantic things!"
"They were always romantic things! It's on you for falling for Iwaizumi," Hanamaki gets defensive, leaning forward to yell in Oikawa's face.
"What?!"
"When you were children."
"CHILDREN?!"
"And not realizing it sooner!"
"FUCK YOU, MAKKI!"
"And I've been traumatized since I've known you two!" Hanamaki finishes—indignant pout on his lips, surely offended by the implication that he's responsible for Iwaizumi and Oikawa's inability to keep it in their pants.
"Same here," Matsukawa joins in solidarity.
"Agh!" Oikawa pulls at his hair, falling on his back. "What the fuck?"
He stews in self reflection for a couple minutes, muttering words to himself that Matsukawa doesn't strain his ears to hear. The screeching of the door opening pulls Oikawa out of his outburst and he straightens like a lighting rod—former meltdown forgotten.
Iwaizumi walks over, sitting beside Oikawa and dumps the two packages of milk bread on his lap. Nobody moves, and a certain kind of tension overpowers Matsukawa's desire to sigh at the absurdity of their previous conversation. Iwaizumi—alien to said tension—pushes Oikawa's bangs out of his hair before busying himself with his canned cold brew.
This time, Matsukawa doesn't hold back the unflattering snort before reaching for another chip.
⟡
"So typical of you two to know about important things and not tell me, you guys are terrible friends," Oikawa greets the next morning, sitting on his seat in front of Hanamaki. There's dark circles around his eyes and his hair looks less combed than usual—still stylish though.
The classroom is mostly empty, since Matsukawa and Hanamaki always get there early on Thursdays, to discuss the latest episode of whatever anime they're watching the previous night. It's Yuri on Ice this time around, and Matsukawa has a lot of thoughts about Viktor on a green yukata. But unfortunately he can't voice them out now, thanks to Oikawa and his massive realization that he should've had when they didn't know each other, to spare Matsukawa the hassle. Although he can't deny it's a bit entertaining.
"Yeah, yeah, we're the ones that are terrible," Hanamaki rolls his eyes, also resigned to leave their discussion on hold in favor of listening to Oikawa whine about his feelings.
"You are! You also didn't tell me about Kyoutani's crush, or that spontaneous trip to Tokyo you guys had, or Tobio's appendix almost bursting!"
"We ran into that ginger number ten at the hospital, we weren't actively involved in that," Matsukawa says.
"See? What were you doing at the hospital?" Oikawa asks in concern.
"Issei hurt his shoulder trying to perform a parkour trick," Hanamaki chuckles.
Oikawa sighs in despair, throwing a glare to both of them. "Are you okay?" He asks, genuinely, to which Matsukawa responds with a reassuring nod.
"Anyway, you also knew about Kyoutani's crush, you're not dumb," Hanamaki says. "It's actually kind of scary how perceptive you can be."
"Just like you knew about your own feelings, deep down," Matsukawa glances at Oikawa, realizing that maybe some are clueless to Iwaizumi and Oikawa's relationship. Ignorance really is bliss.
"But this is… I can't even begin to…" Oikawa turns to the window with a faraway look—it makes Matsukawa think that maybe he's one of those people that believe their life is a black and white classic movie.
Pondering more about this whole thing, it must be something overwhelming for Oikawa. But it has an easy solution, thankfully.
"What is it?" Hanamaki pulls Oikawa out of his head. "You know what to do, right?"
Oikawa's response is to raise an eyebrow—narrowing his eyes in anticipation of Hanamaki's obnoxious suggestion.
"Make out with him."
"But somewhere else," Matsukawa interjects.
Oikawa's gaze pulls away with a disbelieving huff. He looks away towards the window once more, chin resting on his hand. "You guys don't understand, even if I'm aware of this now, Iwa-chan is—"
"Also in love with you?" Hanamaki finishes for him.
Oikawa side eyes him scornfully, as if those words are a personal insult.
"Oikawa," Hanamaki says, uncharacteristically serious. "You know it's mutual, right? Otherwise why is Iwaizumi reciprocating all of that affection?"
"You don't get it, we've been like that since we were children, that's just our friendship," Oikawa argues. "Until you ruined it."
"Did we ruin it though?" Matsukawa looks at him, considerate. Even if it was hard for Oikawa to recognize his own feelings, it was just the way things were going to go. Them falling for each other is like the rotation of the earth, or the flowers blooming in spring—just the natural order of things.
Oikawa sighs, forcing an unspoken understanding between Matsukawa and Hanamaki not to discuss the topic any further.
⟡
It's been a week, and even though it was entertaining for Matsukawa to witness Oikawa have a meltdown and a pining crisis all within five days, it has lost its novelty by now. At this point, Hanamaki is throwing comments left and right in the presence of both Iwaizumi and Oikawa to gauge where they stand, romantically. Given the absence of Oikawa's good mood, Matsukawa thinks there hasn't been any progress so far.
They're at the gym, having a strategic meeting for one of their oncoming practice games. The team is from some university that Matsukawa forgot the name of but is looking forward to play against. Oikawa is leading the discussion with his captain demeanor—all serious and focused, calculating moves and lineups while he stands beside Iwaizumi.
"—and this will be the signal for it," Oikawa explains, tapping his right thigh twice.
"Mmm, I don't know," Hanamaki says, rubbing his chin in thought. "I'll probably get confused."
"What?" Iwaizumi asks.
"Yeah, you've done that before, what if I mistake it for another play? You should change the signal," Hanamaki nods to himself and this is the moment Matsukawa understands what he's doing.
"To what?" Oikawa asks, a little defensive.
"Oh, I know!" Hanamaki claps his hands with a huge grin and Matsukawa tries to suppress one of his own. "You should blow Iwaizumi a kiss, I'll definitely remember that."
"What?" Oikawa clenches his fists so hard Matsukawa expects blood to drip any second now.
Iwaizumi's eyebrow twitches, both of them sporting soft blushes over their cheeks—the sight funny enough to elicit a snort from Kunimi.
Coach Mizoguchi steps in, scolding Hanamaki for making stupid suggestions. He throws Kunimi a menacing glare for good measure before getting back on track with their meeting.
After that, Iwaizumi and Oikawa are unable to hold each other's gaze throughout the whole meeting.
"That was a dick move, Makki," Oikawa glares at Hanamaki on their way to the gate.
Matsukawa feels exhausted from the productive practice, but in a good mood. Watching Iwaizumi trying to explain their team's formation while his face resembled a tomato was definitely the highlight of Matsukawa's month.
Hanamaki chuckles, ignoring the glare in favor of giving Oikawa a piece of milk bread. He immediately snatches the treat away and takes a big bite out of it—still glaring at Hanamaki but with less anger behind it. Matsukawa sure admires Hanamaki for always being prepared.
"Did you see Iwaizumi's reaction?" Oikawa opens his mouth to argue but Hanamaki stops him. "No, you didn't, you were too busy avoiding his eyes to see it."
"I was not—"
"Issei, did you see Iwaizumi's reaction?"
"I most certainly did," Matsukawa responds with a nod.
"Would you be so kind as to paint us a picture?" Hanamaki motions him to elaborate.
"Stop ignoring me!" Oikawa whines only for them to resolutely ignore his misery.
"Absolutely," Matsukawa straightens his imaginary tie. "Iwaizumi appeared to fidget most of the meeting, often tripping over his own words while trying to explain simple terms that he's been familiar with for the longer part of his life. His face was blushed, and although a mere mortal could blame that on the heat of exercise, it was before any real exercise was to be had."
Matsukawa's professional tone earns him a groan from Oikawa—munching away angrily.
"Iwaizumi was also avoiding the gaze of our captain, at all costs, very pointedly looking away before their eyes could meet. And every time such a thing occurred, the heat on his face seemed to intensify."
Hanamaki hums approval at Matsukawa's words—fingers rubbing his chin as his eyes close in understanding.
"Now, this means that your previous comment, prompted Iwaizumi's mind to wander to a place where the words 'Oikawa' and 'kiss' were in relation to each other," Matsukawa goes on. "That would lead us to a conclusion—and I say conclusion, not hypothesis—that Iwaizumi was most definitely picturing that specific scenario all meeting, thanks to your helpful suggestion, Hiro."
"Thank you so much, Issei, very colorful explanation. Only a stupid person would fail to see that was exactly what went behind Iwaizumi's reaction this afternoon," Hanamaki shakes Matsukawa's hand while pointedly looking at Oikawa.
Oikawa finishes the milk bread and adjusts the strap of his gym bag. "You guys are stupid," he pouts.
"We're saying Iwaizumi likes you back, just do something about it," Hanamaki says.
Oikawa sighs—no rebuttal to Hanamaki's advice—but his expression softens in consideration.
Matsukawa and Hanamaki have said their piece, albeit theatrically, but they have. It's on Oikawa and Iwaizumi to solve this one out. And even if they think it's more complicated than it actually is, Matsukawa doesn't want to invalidate their feelings.
As their best friends, it's their job to give them a push in the most embarrassing way possible.
They part ways with Oikawa—waiting on Iwaizumi to close the gym—and the look of contemplation on his face reminds Matsukawa that Oikawa has always been a go-getter, hasn't he?
⟡
Tooru shifts his weight as he waits for Hajime. Looking up, he realizes there might be rain later, so they'll have to hurry home. Leaning against the school gate—fiddling with the zipper of his jacket, gym bag over his shoulder—he sighs. There are things that need to be done. One, block Matsukawa and Hanamaki from all social media. Two, banish them from Tooru's life completely. And three…
If Tooru really thinks about it—like he has done for the past week—it all adds up. There's no one more important to him than Hajime. It is incomprehensible for Tooru to even imagine a life without him. The mocking, scolding, laughing, crying, reassuring, taking care of Tooru. He doesn't even remember the years when Hajime wasn't there.
And even if the thought of kissing Hajime crossed his mind a couple times before, it was just a fleeting one. Tooru never gave himself the time to entertain it because he was too busy being present by Hajime's side. Too busy making plans, playing volleyball, stealing each other's clothes, watching awful movies—that Hajime always picks—and trying to come up with new ideas on how to annoy Tooru's sister.
Matsukawa and Hanamaki might be idiots, but they would never lie to Tooru. Not about this kind of stuff, anyway. Although they have certainly mastered the lying by omission, the bastards.
Tooru was so sure that all he felt for Hajime was friendship, that the way they treated each other was how best friends act towards one another—at least the ones who have been attached at the hip since the age of five, in their case.
If he digs a little deeper, he's never thought about kissing Matsukawa, or wanted to sleep pressed up against Hanamaki—that would be a nightmare.
But with Hajime, it's all about how comfortable and safe he makes Tooru feel. The million ways he knows how to ground him. To Hajime, Tooru is a flimsy crystal display—with all of his insecurities and most vulnerable parts inside for Hajime to see, recognize and heal.
"Ready to go?" Hajime arrives, putting his water bottle away and starting to walk towards their neighborhood.
Tooru nods, following on autopilot, still trying to put his mind in order. He notices the sky getting darker as the wind picks up, forcing him to zip up his jacket.
He feels torn between believing his friends about Hajime feeling the same, and act on it. Or take a step back and avoid losing the only person who truly knows him and stills chooses to stay beside him. Even so, Tooru is sure nothing in this world could stop him from wanting Hajime in his life. And he hopes the same goes for Hajime.
He knows he needs Hajime as much as Hajime needs Tooru, but these feelings are something else entirely. It's different. Or maybe it's just more. Maybe Tooru can have everything he already has with Hajime—the support, the laughter, the reassurance, the cheers, the tears. But also have his hugs, kisses, touches, glances, his love.
"I told you it was going to be windy," Hajime scolds, zipping up his own jacket. "Why you always prefer to look stylish before taking proper care of yourself is beyond me."
Tooru grunts an affirmation, unresponsive. Another clear example of how Hajime is always looking out for him. He probably has an extra hoodie in his bag for Tooru.
Hajime always makes a show of how it's so difficult to be Tooru's friend, but he's also the most considerate person Tooru's ever met. Always meeting his needs without asking anything in return. Hajime will bitch about it endlessly, but Tooru knows that if he didn't want to be there for him, he simply wouldn't. Hajime's strong character wouldn't allow him to do something he doesn't really want to do.
"What is with you?" Hajime bumps his shoulder, his tone confused but it changes into awkward with his next question. "Were you weirded out by what Hanamaki said? You know he's a moron."
Out of the corner of his eye, Tooru sees Hajime scratch behind his ear—a nervous tick that he's been familiar with since childhood.
"We're you?" Tooru asks, tone a bit too eager to know what Hajime thinks about it. About Tooru. About the implication behind Hanamaki's words.
He seems surprised by Tooru's direct question—eyes big, mouth slightly open, cheeks slightly pink. Tooru drinks it all in, as he feels his own face heat up.
Hajime looks ahead again but his steps turn slow. "It's Hanamaki, he's always looking for ways to mess with us."
Tooru hums, matching Hajime's pace.
That much is true, but it doesn't say anything to Tooru. Did it make Hajime uncomfortable? Did it prompt his mind to wonder about what it would be like to kiss Tooru? Did he find the implication absurd?
They walk in silence for what feels like the longest, most tense trek to their houses they've ever walked. Hajime pulls out his phone to answer a couple of texts and Tooru distracts himself with the impending rainy clouds that will soon reach their neighborhood.
It all feels like one of those moments in video games, when one action dictates the course for the rest of the story. Tooru knows Hajime will be here for him, no matter what. And he wants and loves him, in every way—angry, exasperated, satisfied, charming, focused, excited, annoyed.
Tooru's always been greedy when it's about Hajime, and it has got him this far, why change now?
They reach Tooru's house first—the front door light is off, meaning his parents are out. Hajime lives three houses down the street, so he always leaves Tooru at the door before getting home himself. Only this time, he waits. As Tooru walks towards the door, he suddenly turns around midway. He sees Hajime rooted at the entrance of Tooru's garden gate—hands in pockets and shoulders tense. He looks back between Tooru and the street ahead, lips thin as if containing words he's unsure whether to say or not. The lamp post above him does a good job of showing Tooru all of it.
"Iwa-chan," Tooru retraces his steps, dropping his bag on the floor. "Can I ask you something?"
Hajime tenses even more by his approach, he breathes in and nods, searching for Tooru's gaze.
"Do you think our friendship is weird?" Tooru grabs Hajime's sleeves, pulling out those calloused hands from the pockets of his jacket—undoing the fists and smiling lightly at how sweaty Hajime's hands are. So endearing.
"Why do you ask?" Hajime frowns in confusion, losing some of the tension in favor of questioning why would Tooru ask that.
"Don't answer my question with another question," Tooru pouts.
Rolling his emerald eyes at him is Hajime's immediate answer, but he shift the embrace of their hands to intertwine their fingers. More comfortably. "I don't think it's weird, it's just us," he shrugs. "Did someone say anything to you?"
Tooru chuckles. Sometimes he forgets how protective Hajime can be of him. "No, I just realized I don't want us to change. But I also think I want more," Tooru confesses.
Hajime searches in Tooru's eyes—forest green stripping Tooru bare. He's the only person Tooru will let himself be seen by, to be dissected by—words, actions and thoughts. And this is no exception.
Hajime swallows, pulling Tooru slightly closer by their joined hands. "More as in…"
"As in… I want to blow you a kiss during a match," Tooru smiles.
That earns him a chuckle, Hajime boyish smile that has his class enamored present on his lips.
"As in I want to hold your hand without it meaning just friendship."
Hajime's cheekbones glow in a beautiful shade of red under the lamp post. Tooru feels himself mirror the color on his face—hands trembling and a sense of trepidation taking over his insides.
"I like you, Tooru."
The remaining words get stuck inside Tooru's throat. Leave it to Hajime to disarm him with ease.
"No, actually," Hajime brushes Tooru's bangs away from his face with the gentlest touch—Tooru's every cell in his body reacting to it. "I love you."
Closing his eyes, Tooru brings their foreheads together, basking in the closeness that was always there but has a new meaning now.
"How long?" Tooru whispers, doubting he'll be able to hold the weight of the answer.
Hajime's low chuckle gets trapped into the minimal space between their faces. "If you ask that, that's cheating."
Tooru wraps his arms around Hajime's shoulders. "If you say since we were children I'm going to punch you, and Makki next," he says.
"Then I guess you'll never know," Hajime pinches his rib before securing his arms around Tooru's waist.
The sting behind his eyes becomes more prominent as the seconds pass. Tooru's love for Hajime at this very moment feels heavy and all-encompassing, tangled with Hajime's longing, Tooru's relief. It fills the atmosphere with a heavy anticipation that matches their heartbeats in rhythm.
"Me too, Hajime, I'm sorry it took me so long," Tooru's fingers lace behind his neck, the rapid staccato of his heart loud even to his own ears.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Hajime whispers against Tooru’s lips, pushing the words inside with a kiss.
Everything Hajime kept to himself, all the affection he longed to give Tooru over the years is finally on the surface of his lips. Saying the words Tooru was too deaf to hear, the actions Tooru was too blind to see—Hajime pours everything into it.
Softly, he traps Tooru’s bottom lip between his own, framing his face with rough, reliable hands. Tooru is more than happy to let Hajime lead—gently, slowly, maddeningly good. Their tongues get acquainted with each other in a shy encounter, creating a delicious, slow friction that has Tooru humming pleasantly into the kiss. Their racing hearts pound so loudly, seconds away from bursting out of their chests, to collide into each other and become one.
Their ragged breaths bring Tooru to the present—them standing in front of his house, making out in the middle of the sidewalk. Tooru pushes Hajime away and promptly covers his face.
“Is the Oikawa Tooru getting shy on me now?” Hajime teases, pinching Tooru’s cheek.
“Shut up, anyone can walk by,” Tooru protests, dragging Hajime towards the door.
With the door light off, it's easier for Tooru to grab Hajime by his jacket and bring their mouths together once more. There’s no tentativeness this time, their lips glide together like silk through a ring. Tongues moving against each other hotly as Tooru’s fingers bury between Hajime’s hair. Tooru feels the hard surface of the door against his back—Hajime caging him in while his hands explore the bare skin of Tooru’s waist.
“Son,” the porch light turns on.
Tooru pushes Hajime away—roughly, fast as lightning—causing him to trip backwards into the pathway. His pained groan goes unregistered by Tooru in favor of the numbing embarrassment that fills his whole body.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you two, but your mother was watching from the window and I deemed it appropriate to interfere, you know, before she decided to bring her camera,” Tooru’s dad says through the door.
“I was not!” Tooru hears his mom argue.
His dad clears his throat before opening the door. “We’re about to have dinner, Hajime-kun, you’re welcome to join us, just let your mom know you’re here.” He closes the door with a resounding click Tooru is sure was heard all around the block.
“Well,” Hajime gets up from the floor, “at least we saved ourselves that conversation,” he grabs both their bags and makes his way inside with Tooru on his heels—reluctantly.
“Sorry I pushed you,” Tooru says between laughs, sitting down on the genkan to change into house slippers. “God, this is awful, my parents are going to be so annoying.”
“They’re not going to be the worst of it, though,” Hajime hangs Tooru’s jacket before taking off his own.
“Fuck, Makki and Mattsun," Tooru wails. "Who’s going to tell—“
“Not it!”
“Not it!” Tooru says last. “Fuck!”
“Language, Tooru!” his mom scolds from the kitchen.
Hajime’s laughter rumbles inside the walls of Tooru’s heart. He leans down, tips Tooru’s chin up to kiss his cheek and leaves to help set the table. The gesture is so unbelievably domestic Tooru’s not sure his body is still solid mass.
It’ll be impossible to pry away the smile on his face.