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In another life where Oikawa Tooru is a superspy or a prince or the most annoying lawyer to walk the face of the Earth, he would be suiting up for murder. He might pull a classic poison-in-the-cup or order them to be executed or sue their life out from under them and maybe every shred of their dignity too just for good measures.
But in this life Oikawa Tooru is a twenty-two year old volleyball player and the only thing he can do is hold his boyfriend close and whisper soft words while he cries.
Hajime is laying on his lap now, sound asleep. The worst is over. The worst is over.
(For now.)
Yet despite it all, he still can’t stop running his shaking fingers through Hajime’s spiky hair. Toru can’t stop crying, a pillow shoved in his face, desperately trying not to wake him.
“You’re with me, Hajime. Everything’s going to be ok. You’re with me, Hajime. You’re with me, Hajime. You’re safe now, Hajime…”
A boyfriend is supposed to comfort you. A friend is supposed to comfort you. To support you. To love you.
Judging from Hajime’s current condition, Tooru knows exactly how well he’s doing.
---
Hajime called him in the middle of the day. He was stuttering. (Hajime doesn’t stutter.)
“Tooru?” His voice was soft. Delicate , Tooru would later think while making dinner for two in his kitchen, fragile , and completely unlike him.
He could hear him hiccupping between words. “Tooru, I’m at the airport. Can you come pick me up?”
Thirty minutes later, Hajime’s luggage was in the backseat of his car.
---
Hajime got into an argument with his mother. That’s it. That’s all Tooru was able to piece together after a week.
An entire week.
Iwa-chan always came to him. Iwa-chan always found him. Whether it was after a lost match to Shiratorizawa. Whether it was because he couldn’t stand to look at his parents and only ate lunch because Tooru packed an extra bento for him.
Tooru always remembered to pack an extra bento whenever he saw Iwa-chan’s bedroom light still open late at night.
All of this means that whatever this is, it’s much, much more than anything they’ve dealt with before.
Heavier.
To the point where Hajime won’t even, can’t even, Tooru reminds himself, don’t be unfair, talk to him about it.
---
Hajime is still asleep when Tooru goes for his morning run. He has been, these past few days.
Hajime is still asleep when Tooru finishes making breakfast. Because contrary to the beliefs of one Hanamaki and one Matsukawa, he’s picked up a basic skill or two living on his own.
Hajime is still asleep when Tooru packs the other half of the meal into tupperware and puts it in the fridge. Hajime’s still asleep when Tooru presses a kiss to his temple and opens the blinds in his room halfway to let a select few rays of sunshine in.
And Hajime glows in the rich morning light.
It feels wrong, almost, to be playing volleyball when he knows Hajime’s in his apartment, unwell. Volleyball and Hajime had always moved in tandem. But he’s an adult now, and this is his job now. He can’t bail, and certainly not when Iwa-chan isn’t there to pull him back into line.
His sets are as immaculate as always, and Tooru wonders if he’s turned into a terrible hybrid of Ushiwaka and Tobio-chan. The perfect setting machine. Years ago he would’ve been jealous.
Hajime’s usually already ordered dinner by the time he gets home. They talk, sometimes, about everything and nothing. Tooru laughs at Hanamaki’s new haircut. Hajime writes a comment about Matsukawa’s too-quickly growing beard.
Other times they don’t. Tooru’s hands cup Hajime’s face, and that’s all they need. The racing cars outside fill the silence instead.
---
Hajime doesn’t break down often. Not in general, not even while he’s in Tooru’s apartment and alone for most of the day.
It always felt so random when he did. He was watching TV or washing dishes or cleaning the table, something so ordinary and mundane, when the world tilts on its axis and Hajime falls , falls , falls .
And Tooru can’t catch him every time, doesn’t know how to catch him every time and just stands there so utterly helpless, desperately holding Hajime tight in his arms and murmuring soft words and silently praying, to anything, everything , that he’s not making everything worse.
---
He takes Hajime out for a movie on Saturday because if his boyfriend traveled halfway around the world to get to him, Tooru would absolutely make the most of it.
“Drive-in theaters are great, Iwa-chan. The blankets, the cuddling, the being kilometers away from any form of civilization, instead living apart from the status quo in a barren world on the backdrop of a fantastic James Bond album.” He wipes a tear from his eye and sighs. “It’s beautiful, really.”
“You just want your own theme song that plays every time you do anything,” Hajime murmurs with his head on Tooru’s shoulder, leaning across the center console. “And you wouldn’t survive a day without hot meals, Trashykawa.”
“You would bring me food, Hajime. ‘Cause you loooooove me.” He checks the stereo. “I think that’s the right station. We can get in the trunk now.”
“I’m going to spill my drink over your head if you keep talking like that during the movie.”
“NOOOO IWA-CHAN THE SUV IS A RENTAL.”
The opening wraps the interior of the car in a layer of blaring trumpets. Tooru opens the trunk and puts his glasses on.
A twinkling soundtrack steers the camera in a few wide arcs from above a dark city before settling on two girls in an upstairs bedroom.
Tooru watches Hajime’s head tilt towards the nearest speaker. It’s only a matter of time before—
“Tooru, what language are they speaking?”
“Ah Iwa-chan,” he puts on his best cheeky smile, “you don’t need to know Spanish to understand this movie. Just feel the ~vibe~ of the ~alien~ in the movie.” Tooru punctuates the sentence with gratuitous noodle arms and almost knocks over his popcorn. “But I’ve always considered myself to be a bit of a polyglot.”
“Watching, what was that movie again? Divo Pan ? Watching it in its original German doesn’t make you a polyglot, Shittykawa,” Hajime says, moving the food into cupholders. “Neither does pirating UFO IRL . Don’t think I already forgot your trash English grades at Seijoh.”
Tooru leans against him with their legs intertwined under the many layers of blankets. “For your information, it’s Divoká planeta in Czech. Or La Planète sauvage in French, if that’s the language you prefer of course, Iwa-chan. But if you insist, we could add some German subtitles in there just to spice things up~”
“Shut up, dumbass.” He burrows deeper into the blankets. “Shut up and translate, dumbass.”
The movie… isn’t that interesting. Or well-written. Or well-cast. Tooru can keep going.
Hajime talks about how the CGI is “so bad it’s good,” a direct quote taken from his ten minute long rant and gets jumpscared not a minute later by a perfectly rectangular alien sliding through the wall behind the main character and subsequently tackles Tooru into the window panel.
Hajime carries him outside the car to cough up the soda he inhaled while he was laughing.
The scene changes rapidly. “So Emily is asking Daniela for advice because she likes Erdor. Remember Erdor, the hot alien boyfriend? But remember, Daniela likes Erdor too. So this whole scene is Daniela giving advice to Emily to get together with Erdor while trying not to look sad.” Tooru squints at the screen. “Now Emily just hugged Daniela and went ‘I’m so glad we’re best friends who will always trust each other and depend on each other’ oh poor, poor girl.”
The movie ends a little melodramatically if a little expectedly. Emily hugs Daniela before she gets on the spaceship with her alien husband Erdor. Daniela promises to stay in touch and text her every single day. Tooru wonders why Erdor gave Daniela his phone number with a wink right before they left.
“Soooo, Iwa-chan did you know that the movie originally aired in Portuguese—”
“ No. ”
---
Tooru’s bed is barely big enough for him and his E. T. plushie, but Hajime clung to him so tightly on the first day while he was piling blankets on the floor for himself to sleep on that Tooru just couldn’t bear to pull away.
And for the most part, everything works out. Neither of them really move that much when they sleep (they wouldn’t have had as many sleepovers as a kid if they did) and it isn’t like this is the first time they’ve slept in the same bed together, lips tangled and bodies flushed together in a much more intimate situation than they are now.
So it’s a bit novel, but not uncomfortable, when he wakes up with Hajime splayed over him, half caging Tooru with his arms, their legs coiled together, the bottom hem of Hajime’s shirt pressed against the waistband of his shorts.
It does worry Tooru when Hajime lays on his lap, awake, unmoving, and completely expressionless. His head is tilted towards Tooru’s torso, eyes unfocused, while Tooru sprinkles light kisses around the shell of his ear. Hajime leans into his embrace slightly and loosely crumples the bottom of Tooru’s shirt in his hands.
He brushes a strand of Hajime’s hair back and slowly massages his temples.
“Shhhhhhh,” he whispers, his lips grazing Hajime’s ear. He repeats, moving his head back and forth.
He gently cups Hajime’s face with his right hand, tracing circles across his chin and neck. Tooru brings his left hand up to the side of Hajime’s head. His fingers flutter over and around Hajime’s ear, occasionally touching down to comb through his hair.
Hajime turns on his side and wraps his arms around Tooru’s waist. Tooru ran his fingers down his back, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, and up again, bunching up the fabric under his hand.
Hajime tucks his head into the side of Tooru’s waist. His breathing slows. Tooru watches his shoulders rise and fall in an almost hypnotic manner while he drags his nails across Hajime’s scalp, twisting his hair slightly before letting go and smoothing it back out.
He brushes the nape of Hajime’s neck with his hand and arches down to press kisses around the outline of his face.
“Hajime,” he whispers. “Are you asleep?” Tooru repeats the last word a few times, stroking his hair slowly. “Can you hear me right now?”
He lifts Hajime off his lap and eases him onto the bed. Tooru lays down next to him and holds Hajime against his chest. “I love you,” he murmurs, tucking Hajime’s head under his chin. “I love you.” Tooru wraps his arms around him. “I love you.”
---
They’re sixteen years old, sitting in Tooru’s bedroom in Miyagi after they finally beat that stupid level in that stupid game where you work together with your stupid friends to feed that stupid giant meatball to stop it from taking over the entire stupid world.
Tooru collapses forward with his stomach against the ground. He rolls over to look at Iwaizumi and pushes himself up, leaning on his arms. “We’re never playing that level again.”
Next to him, Iwaizumi falls back against the bed frame. His eyes are closed and his breathing is ragged. “I could kiss you right now,” he says, head tilted towards the ceiling.
The world suddenly turns on its head and dives into slow motion. He sees Iwaizumi chew on his lower lip. He sees Iwaizumi’s pale knuckles gripping the carpet.
He can’t move. Tooru’s muscles are engaged, ready to act, ready to move to his Iwa-chan , but he just sits there, completely frozen.
Then he starts crying. Uncontrollably. One of Iwaizumi’s hands immediately darts forwards to comfort him while the other hesitantly pulls himself back.
“Oikawa?” he hovers above Tooru, his hand floating a few centimeters away from Tooru’s shoulder. He hears Iwaizumi’s uneven breath next to him.
Tooru whips himself around and dives into Iwaizumi’s arms. They tumble onto the floor in a disgraceful crash.
“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi’s voice sounds more strained this time, more afraid.
His arms awkwardly wrap around Tooru’s body while Tooru soaks his shirt in his tears. “Listen, Oikawa we can just forget—”
“Do it, Iwa-chan. Kiss me.”
Iwaizumi’s hesitant breath dances over his nose. “Are you sure—are you completely sure? A hundred percent—”
Tooru responds by pressing their foreheads together.
“I’m sure,” he says in a low voice.
Tooru looks into Iwaizumi’s eyes, feeling the flutter of Iwaizumi’s eyelashes on his face for a few moments, then pushes their lips together into a quick, chaste kiss.
His bottom lip starts quivering after they pull apart.
“Oikawa! Are you ok? Are you alright? Talk to me, talk to me.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence.
“I’m fine,” he croaks out, hoping the words sound somewhat intelligible. “I’m just… emotional.” He wipes a few tears away. “I’m happy, Iwa-chan,” his lips dance in a wobbly smile he can’t suppress, “Iwa-chan.”
“I of all people would know that well.” Iwaizumi sits up to let Tooru lean on him. “But really,” he asks, cupping Tooru’s face in his hands, staring at him with an intense look, “are you alright?”
“I’m fine, really,” Tooru murmurs into his shoulder. “Really.” He smiles against the rough fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt. “Really.”
“I should be the scared one here, Shittykawa, not you.” Iwaizumi runs his fingers through Tooru’s hair. “I confessed. To you. And you freaked out. And I freaked out because you freaked out.”
“Of course you’re not the scared one, Iwa-chan! You’re always so brave and stoic . Because you’re my,” Tooru throws a peace sign, “Iwa-chan! And you’ll always be my,” he throws another peace sign with his opposite hand, “Iwa-chan!”
---
Tooru sees a group of kids playing soccer in the distance. “ I’m going to shove Germany so far up its own ass that they’ll make sausages out of their own intestines! ”
So maybe it wasn’t the best idea coming to the park to play volleyball with Hajime today. Especially when they might be nailed with a pop quiz about the World Cup and Tooru would have to prove himself the uninformed Argentinian who doesn’t know anything outside volleyball. And then he would gracefully introduce the kids to the wonderful sport that is volleyball and impress them with a fabulous demonstration of the beautiful bond between setter and ace with his perfect set and Hajime’s bold spike and they would all fall to their knees in awe and immediately join their school team and Tooru would just flash them his signature smile, put on sunglasses, and consider his job done.
Scratch that, this is the perfect day to come to the park to play volleyball with Hajime. (It’s always the perfect day to play volleyball with Hajime.)
“Tooru, pay attention!” Hajime’s voice brings him back into focus and he kicks the volleyball up right before it touches the ground. Hajime receives it gracefully (with his arms) as they walk to the court.
He spins around and points to Hajime. Tooru can almost feel a camera speed across the sidewalk from the tip of his finger to zoom in on Hajime’s face.
Out of the corner, he sees Hajime run up to be parallel to him, primed to jump a few meters away.
He crouches down to arc a set high in the air. Even without looking back, he knows he delivered it perfectly into Hajime’s hand. Tooru hears the resounding smack and the muffled bounces as it tumbles in the grass.
Hajime pumps his fists in the air and giggles before running for the ball. Tooru stands there and smiles softly at his boyfriend.
Once Hajime reaches the ball, Tooru starts walking to the court. Hajime runs up to him. “Thanks for coming with me today,” he says quietly. He holds his arms behind his back.
“‘Course, Iwa-chan. Someone had to make sure you weren’t slacking off on me.” Tooru bumps his shoulder lightly and grins at Hajime’s beaming expression.
He saunters to the middle of the court and turns around in a circle, surveying the landscape. “Do you mind if I invite a few friends over? We can play two-on-two that way. Maybe even three-on-three if we get enough people.”
Hajime looks up from dusting off the volleyball. “Sure. Teammates?”
“Yeah, they’re my teammates,” Tooru responds. “And of course we’ll be teammates. What kind of a boyfriend do you think I am?”
Tooru texts. Hajime throws the ball high in the air and slams it down, aiming his serve directly at the corner of the court.
Hajime retrieves the ball and aims another serve at the opposite corner. Tooru sees it, drops everything, and dives for it. The ball flies up to hover over the sun briefly before racing back to Earth, dropping down less than a meter away from him.
“Look at that,” Tooru whispers, probably to himself.
He stands up and brushes dust out of the scratches the asphalt drew on him. “Now Hajime dear,” he brandishes a devilish grin, “you better not be slacking off on me~”
They do simple passes for a while, standing close enough to the net that Hajime’s face partially shields his from the autumn breeze.
Who knows how much time passed while they were caught in this quiet bubble.
Vicente walks up to them, waving their phone in their hand. “I got your text Tooru. This ‘Hajime’ of yours better be worth giving up our movie weekend for.”
“And he is!” Tooru replies in Spanish with a dreamy look on his face. “He was my ace. In high school. That alone should already say more than enough.”
Across the court, Hajime ducks under the net to get to them. Tooru switches to English. “Vicente, this is my Hajime. Wing spiker. Hajime, this is Vicente. Middle blocker.”
“Gabriel’s coming too. He just texted that he’s on the far side of the park right now, behind the baseball field,” Vicente says. “He wants to meet your mysterious Hajime too, you know.”
“IWA-CHAN YOU’RE FAMOUS,” Tooru grabs Hajime’s hands and spins him around.
When Gabriel walked on scene, Vicente was already recording Tooru’s (questionable) attempt at dancing with Hajime on their phone. “For modernity,” they would later claim.
Tooru twirls Hajime around one last time before steering both of them over to Gabriel. “Gabriel, Hajime. Hajime, Gabriel.”
They exchange their nice to meet you ’s in English while Tooru pulls them back towards the court.
He points at each of them. “Two-on-two. Hajime’s with me. Losers buy dinner.”
Gabriel’s eyes light up. He high fives Tooru confidently. “Deal.”
Vincente begins the game with a float serve and then everything starts at the same time.
The rest of the game would come back in flashes hours later while they were eating dinner. But all Tooru could focus on during the adrenaline high was Hajime’s face, red from flying through the cold air, his smile almost radiating warmth.
Tooru stares at the selfie he took a moment ago with Gabriel and Vicente and Hajime in it. Then he looks up at the actual scene. Gabriel is packing up food to take back to his daughter (who has an “unhealthy obsession with red velvet cake but who am I to deny her anything”). Vicente is spinning their fork around while flirting with the waitress (nevermind that they’re not even the one actually paying). And Hajime, his head leaning on Tooru’s shoulder with a lazy smile across his face.
The photo only captures a fraction of the life and warmth surrounding him. But that fraction was enough for Tooru to print it out and frame it right above his desk a week later, gazing happily into the chaotic scene from a good memory.
“We should probably get going now.” Tooru puts his wallet back in his pocket and flashes them a smile, tired, he’s sure, but completely genuine. “Coach probably won’t be happy if we show up asleep tomorrow.”
He half-carries Hajime into the passenger seat and pulls the seatbelt over him awkwardly. Tooru leans back and stretches towards the trunk before sitting up and glancing over at Hajime.
He rests his head on the steering wheel. “I feel young and so alive,” Tooru whispers to no one in particular, his eyes smiling softly.
---
Tooru wakes up in the middle of the night to use the restroom and finds Hajime standing by the balcony of his apartment. His eyes are trained slightly upwards, as if the stars are his audience and he the graceful performer.
Tooru walks up to him and wraps his arms around Hajime's waist. He leans his head against Tooru’s shoulder.
“I think I owe you an explanation.”
“Hajime, love, you don’t owe me anything.”
---
Tooru’s alarm goes off at 5:30 every morning. Usually he drags himself out of bed with the blankets half-wrapped around him until he reaches blindly for the doorknob.
Tooru quickly found out that his 5:30 AM self wasn’t close to strong enough to pull even a single blanket out from under Hajime, so that routine was abandoned with the slightest bit of annoyance and a loving kiss to Hajime’s cheek.
He laces up his shoes and steps onto the patio, feeling the breeze brush his hand, hearing the wind rustle his sports jacket on the backdrop of a black sky. The stairs are covered in odd patches of yellow streetlight with the dim glow of the moon keeping watch over the silent scene. His feet almost seem to sink into the solid concrete with each step he takes. Tooru reaches the bottom, turns right, and walks until he reaches the paved trail.
He jogs leisurely at first, taking in the sound of cicadas chirping and the burn of the cold air on his face as the sun slowly raises its heavy head over the dark horizon. Thoughts fade away as sunlight creeps between the trees and melts away the glassy gems of dew from the grass. Nearing the end, he can only feel his short breath passing between his lips and disappearing into the open air, only taste his jacket’s collar catching between his teeth, only see the brilliant luster of the rising sun.
Tooru walks up the stairs, now coated in crisp light and sharp shadows. Opening the door, he smells eggs sizzling and hears Hajime’s soft singing mix with the low buzz of the exhaust fan and for a split second, everything feels completely natural as if they’ve done this for years.
---
They’re seventeen years old, laying in Iwaizumi’s bed. Tooru can barely make out the shape of his face in the leftovers of the bright moonlight shut out by heavy blinds.
Rolling over, he presses his cheek against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He feels Iwaizumi’s burning skin graze the edge of his lips. His back tenses as Tooru’s breath wisps over his collarbone.
“Iwa-chan, I—” His voice breaks. Great start. “I love you,” he murmurs, his face on fire. “I’ve always loved you. I don’t think I knew it at the time, but I loved you when we were at Kitagawa, I loved you even back when we were little kids.”
He clears his throat. “Iwa-chan,” he continues, “I fell in love with the way you bend down to grab your water bottle. I fell in love with the way you meticulously write your notes out on those flashcards. I fell in love with the way you held your hand out to mine all those years ago and asked if we could be friends.”
Tooru muscles through the tremble in his voice. “Iwa-chan,” the wind outside sings softly, “I love you.”
He wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist. “I love you.”
Tooru leans over and captures his Iwa-chan in a deep kiss. “I love you.”
---
“Tooru,” Hajime asks as they’re eating dinner, “do you think I should move to Argentina after I finish college?”
“You’ve been thinking about it?” Tooru grins slyly. “Iwa-chan lovey, why am I just hearing about this now?”
Hajime grips the edge of the table. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
---
They’re eighteen years old, running to the roof after their graduation ceremony with their hands clasped together.
“We’re done, Iwa-chan!” Tooru shouts over the parapet. “We’re finally freeeee!”
Next to him, Iwaizumi falls on his back and laughs. “Oh my gosh. We’re done. We’re finally done!”
Matsukawa bursts through the door not a moment later with Hanamaki hot on his heels. “It’s over! Twelve grueling years, so many tears, countless wontons, we’re finally doneeeee!”
Clearing his throat, Hanamaki announces over their shouting, “Three years ago, this group of friends met at this humble school called Aoba Johsai in the quiet province of Miyagi. Three years ago, this group of friends joined their school’s volleyball team and valiantly fought off Ushijima whenever he tried to whisk our dear setter away to another school, a far off, terrifying land.” He pulls Iwaizumi into the circle they’ve made. “Two years ago, a certain two of us literally kissed and made up after playing that video game that destroyed their friendship for a full three minutes. Two years ago, Matsukawa and I skipped school to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie so we wouldn’t get spoiled by a certain teammate who's sitting here right now.”
“One year ago, our least favorite setter became captain and official posterboy of Seijoh’s team. One year ago I never thought I’d miss his annoyingly pretty face as much as I do now.”
“He admits that I’m pretty!”
“And now,” Hanamaki concludes, “we must go our separate ways. Godspeed my friends, I wish you all the best of luck.”
There lives a moment of silence before Iwaizumi starts clapping politely. Then Tooru joins in and Matsukawa finishes it all off with a loud cheer while Hanamaki insists they’re “too kind” and should “keep their flowers for their special someone instead.”
“Soooooo, Iwa-chan.” Tooru lays on Iwaizumi’s knee. “Mattsun told me I had a pretty face exactly ten months and 13 days ago when we were deciding on our fundraising posters designs. Makki just professed his true feelings just now.” Gazing directly into Iwaizumi’s eyes, he smiles a diabolical smile. “But you, Iwa-chan, I haven’t heard you say anything~”
“Your ego’s already as dense as your brain, Shittykawa. No need for me to boost it further.”
Later that day when they were walking home from school (for the last time, Tooru thinks, for the last time ever ) Iwaizumi leans over and mumbles in Tooru’s ear. “I do think you’re pretty,” he says, pecking him on the lips before turning onto his street and speeding away.
Tooru absolutely did not let out a high pitched squeal that lasted well after he crawled under the covers and processed all the events in his life that lead up to that moment, regardless of what the nosy kid next door “““claimed”””.
---
“I need to apologize to my mom,” Hajime tells him right when he gets home, studying the wall in front of the sofa like there was a colony of microscopic termites crawling over it.
Tooru rushes over to him. “Ok,” he says in a soft voice.
“I need to apologize to my mom but I’m too scared to.”
“I’m here for you, I’ll help you.” He brushes a strand of hair out of Hajime’s eyes.
“I need to apologize to my mom but I’m too scared to and I don’t know what to say.” He looks down at his clenched fingers. “I said some things… I said some things that I should never have said. And she… she did too.”
“And she better apologize too,” Tooru says, eyes narrowed.
With shaking hands, Hajime powers his phone on and is met by a wall of unread notifications. Tooru sees a block of texts from Mom , Iwaizumi Sakura , and @sakuraiwaizumi342 , but also some from Alex (from chem class) , Sasha , and Devin ^L^ . Almost every text is some variant of “Are you ok?” or “Where are you?” or “Do you need any help?” and it is at that exact moment that Tooru becomes acutely aware of how many people are in Hajime’s life that he does not know or even know of.
Hajime taps on the phone app and hovers over Mom , staring at the screen absentmindedly.
Tooru wraps his arms around his shoulder and pressed his chest to Hajime’s arm. He forces himself to breathe slowly to keep his heartbeat steady.
A minute passes. Then another one. And another one.
Then Hajime shifts under him and presses his ear to the phone. The rumbling ringback tone fills the empty space.
Hajime talks to his mother for the next two hours. For the next two hours, Tooru hears Hajime respond to the inaudible voice on the other end of the phone. For the next two hours, Tooru watches as Hajime chews his lower lip into a bloody pulp. For the next two hours, Tooru holds Hajime tight whenever he melts in on himself.
Then after two hours, he puts the phone down on the table, his hands trembling every bit of the way, and falls asleep immediately on the couch. Tooru lets Hajime’s head down onto the cushion softly before gliding across the floor quickly to get a blanket from his room. He lets Hajime sleep a bit, eating dinner and taking a shower in the meantime, before moving him to the bed.
---
He drives Hajime to the airport the next morning.
“I love you,” Hajime tells him in the parking lot as he picks up his suitcase.
“I love you,” he says as they walk through the terminal together.
“I love you,” he whispers against Tooru’s lips as they share the last kiss before he goes back to California.
Tooru drives home alone. He cries a few times. He contemplates racing back to the airport to fly to California with Hajime too. He imagines making a scene in front of the TSA so Hajime would come back to him, to stay with him.
He doesn’t do anything so drastic in the end. He goes home and takes the throw pillow from his room and puts it back on the couch. He puts his pots and pans back in the right cabinet. He frames the picture of Hajime with his friends at dinner and smiles.
(He absolutely does not start bawling when he sees a pan of homemade milk bread in the fridge with a note on top of it.
Te quiero. Te quiero. Te quiero. )