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Knowing that Oikawa was hot was one thing, but actually looking at him and thinking about it was an entirely different thing, and Hajime was fucking sick of it. He'd already had to deal with a grueling practice where he'd nearly hit a first year in the head with a ball by accident, and on top of that, Oikawa had just been there. Whenever Hajime had turned around, he'd been standing in those dumb half-poses he automatically assumed when he wasn't doing anything else, always making sure that the crappy gym lights were hitting his best angles, stupidly short shorts rolled up a little because Oikawa claimed they were uncomfortable otherwise.

Hajime could not deal with this shit and deal with practice. It was like asking him to take the math and history exams at the same time, with a loud movie playing in the background. A movie that wore dumb alien shirts and kept hugging him around the shoulders and slapping him on the back and grinning at him while calling his nickname in a cutesy voice.

Fucking Oikawa.

When practice finally ended, Hajime grabbed a towel from the clean stack and began wiping some of the sweat off his forehead and out of his hair, taking a moment to decompress. His usual irritation with Oikawa was twofold on days like this, when the idiot could not seem to keep his fucking hands to himself. He'd even had the gall to jokingly slap Hajime's ass and skip away towards the safety of the coach's bench, blowing a kiss in Hajime's direction as Kindaichi and Kunimi had struggled to hold Hajime back. He was glad they'd been there, otherwise he'd have lifted Oikawa bodily and jammed him into the ball bin before locking it up for the night.

His legs were shaking; he'd probably ice them when he got home, then sit with a heating pad for a bit. He sank gratefully onto one of the locker room benches, already dreading the walk home. He could just sleep there in the gym, right? He was usually the first person there anyways, besides Oikawa. No one would even notice if he just didn't leave.

But no. Dinner and a soft bed were waiting at home, and his growling stomach overruled his legs' objections. Not to mention the hiding his mother would give him if he didn't come home without a reason. He could always lie to her, tell her he was staying over at Oikawa's, but then she'd call Oikawa's mom just to catch up and chat, and they'd be on the phone for a good half an hour. They lived half a block away, and saw each other all the time, but they could always find something else to talk about, which meant the sleepover lie was a bust.

It wasn't worth it. He might as well just go home.

He sighed and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, glancing to his left.

Oikawa stood in front of one of the wall mirrors, leaning in and patting his still-damp hair into place.

He looked surprisingly different after a shower, less severe. His sharp chin was softened by his hair as it flopped almost to his jawline. The spine of his shirt was splattered with dark wet spots, starting at the nape of his neck and dripping down, past his collar, over the crisp white fabric. Hajime watched as Oikawa reached down and grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on and straightening the lapels with practiced ease.

Then Oikawa pulled a chapstick out of a pocket in his slacks. He applied it by smoothing it over his lips once, twice, three times, before pressing them together to even it out.

Hajime swallowed and closed his locker a little harder than necessary, wincing at the clang.

Startled by the noise, Oikawa looked back and grinned. "Iwa-chan~~!" He straightened and sauntered over, leaning on Hajime's shoulder as he packed the last of his things. He ignored Hajime's grumbles and attempts to swat him off, launching into a story about a girl who had confessed to him earlier that day.

Hajime rolled his eyes and just let it all wash over him. He listened with half an ear, if only because Oikawa would pout and quiz him on it later, but he tuned the rest of it out, more to protect his own sanity than anything else. You didn't get to be Oikawa's best friend for sixteen years of your seventeen-year life without getting used to being talked-at.

Huh. Best friend. Sometimes that still cracked Hajime up. Oikawa had a thousand friends, guys and girls alike, and for some fucking reason, he still came crying back to Hajime whenever something put a dent in his surprisingly fragile ego.

He was like some scary pet who came home to nest and beg chocolate bars off Hajime at three in the morning.

The sad part was, if Oikawa called him for something at 3am, he usually went and got it. Sure, he complained and cursed Oikawa all the way there and back, and then usually threw the food at him (hard) once he'd reached his house, but he still went. There were just some things you did for people who'd known you almost as long as you'd known yourself. And as often as Hajime told himself that this was the last time, for sure, just this one time because Oikawa really needed a late-night sugary pick-me-up, he couldn't seem to stop doing it.

And it wasn't just little stuff. Hajime knew that whenever things went to hell, Oikawa would show up on his doorstep like clockwork, face as shiny and stiff as plastic, and then Hajime would yank him inside and yell at him until he broke down and started talking. It seemed kind of unhealthy in retrospect, and deep down, Hajime knew that he should really let Oikawa learn to deal with his own shit, but the ugly, possessive part of him whispered that if Oikawa didn't need him anymore, there'd be no reason for Oikawa to stick around.

That was it, really. Hajime spent a solid third of his time complaining about Oikawa, but he couldn't seem to leave him alone.

And alone was what Oikawa would be, without Hajime.

As hard as Oikawa tried to hide it, there was always something behind his eyes that relaxed when they were alone, when he could drop the sparkly facade and relentless smile. He'd lie on Hajime's floor, clutching a pillow to his chest, wearing Hajime's old pajamas, and complain about Kageyama for a solid forty-five minutes, or talk Hajime into going to a sci-fi convention half an hour away by train. And Hajime would sit there and listen and periodically tell Oikawa when he was being obnoxious. Oh, he'd study, or read magazines, and occasionally he'd throw out an acidic comment about the sheer number of vintage X-Files t-shirts Oikawa already owned, but he'd still listen, and he kept it all in the back of his head, in the big section of his memories and feelings that was labeled “Oikawa fucking Tooru.”

And there were definitely feelings. He had them. He knew he had them, but there was nothing in particular he could do about them, because it was Oikawa fucking Tooru that they were talking about, and it would be ridiculous to ever discuss him in a romantic sense.

Oikawa didn't do romance.

Sure, he was almost disturbingly good-looking, and he could put on a great show for the fangirls, but in sixteen years Hajime had never seen anything other than a vague fondness in his eyes when he talked about them. He accepted their adoration and affection with ease, thanked them all equally, and gave them the expectation-free attention they'd been craving, but he'd never followed up in any serious sense. He'd never singled out any of the girls from the group, content to let them have their idealized high school crush, and the girls seemed to be glad for it.

Sometimes Hajime wondered privately if Oikawa was asexual, or at least aromantic, because no one seemed to fit into the “romantic interest” category that Hajime knew was probably somewhere inside Oikawa's meticulously organized head. No one could hold his interest long enough to be more than just a scribbled note in the margins of Oikawa's volleyball career.

Hajime had long since accepted it. Sometimes, he was actually grateful, as selfish as that was. Maybe if Oikawa stayed disinterested in other relationships, he'd stick around Hajime that much longer.

A hard finger flick to his arm jerked him out of his thoughts, and he turned to glare at Oikawa.

“-re you even listening, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa whined, turning pleading eyes on Hajime. “That's the third time today. What's got you so spaced out?”

Hajime grunted, hooking his bag's strap over his head so that it lay diagonally across his chest. “Just leave it alone.”

But Oikawa was incapable of just leaving it alone. He grabbed onto Hajime's arm as he turned to leave, face contorted into a full pout. “Come on, Iwa-chan! Tell me. Is it about a girl? Did Iwa-chan get a confession?”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “There's no way I'd ever tell you about something like that, Shittykawa.”

“You're just jealous that I get confessions all the time,” Oikawa said proudly, flicking his bangs out of his face.

Hajime felt his heart lurch a little, but stayed silent; Oikawa had hit uncomfortably close to the mark, for all the wrong reasons.

“Anyways, like I was saying before, after Mariko-chan confessed to me, Hidagawa-kun came up to me and said I should just date her, if it would make her happy.” He sighed. “So I asked him if he liked Mariko-chan, and he turned really red and called me something mean.”

Hajime gave him his best deadpan 'god fucking dammit, Oikawa' look. “What else did you say?”

Oikawa turned to him with wide, bratty eyes. “Why do you think I said anything?” he said, a mulish set to his mouth.

“Because I know Hidagawa – he's on the baseball team. And I've never heard him say something mean without being provoked. What did you say?”

Looking both ways first, they crossed the street towards the convenience store, stepping over a pothole and around a fluffy dog whose leash was tied to a stop sign.

Oikawa stretched, one arm tucked behind his back as far as it would go, revealing a strip of toned stomach that Hajime refused to look at. “I might have said something about how it was rude for him to interfere with my and Mariko-chan's business when he couldn't even get up the courage to tell her he liked her.”

Hajime reached back without looking and cuffed Oikawa's head.

“But Iwa-chaaan,” the taller boy whined, rubbing the spot. “He was being gross.”

Hajime scoffed. “You think all guys are gross.”

“I don't think you're gross, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime felt his cheeks heating up, but stared resolutely forward as they rounded a building. “Trashykawa.”

Oikawa made a disgruntled noise and crossed his arms. “See what I get for trying to be nice?”

Hajime snorted. “You're not nice, Shittykawa. Don't try.”

Oikawa pulled a hurt face as they walked into the store, the bell chiming as the automatic doors slid back. “I could be nice if I wanted.”

Hajime looked at him skeptically. “You couldn't be nice if someone paid you.” He picked out a sports drink and a packet of snacks, hoping he'd have time to finish them before he got home. His mom would kill him if she thought he'd ruined his appetite with junk food.

“I'm hurt, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, brandishing his bottle of iced coffee in one hand as they stepped up to the register. “Mortally wounded, you might say.” He flipped his hair over his eyes and leaned back against the counter as Hajime dug out his wallet. “Do you hear this, good sir?" he said to the cashier, feigning heartbreak. "My precious Iwa-chan has forsaken me to the clutches of evil.” He pretended to claw at his chest, leaving the cashier with an amused smile.

Hajime took his change and tried to resist the urge to sock Oikawa right in the gut. Something struck him, and he glanced down at the money he had left over from New Years. “Oi, Oikawa," he said, putting his wallet away. "Since you're so confident, I'll bet you five thousand yen that you can't manage to be nice to me for a week,” he said, waving the bill in front of Oikawa's face.

Oikawa's eyes snapped to his, suddenly all business. “Seven thousand.”



Hajime snickered. “This is gonna be the easiest money I've ever made.” It was almost cruel; he knew Oikawa's competitive streak was too wide to refuse a challenge like that. He also knew that no matter how hard Oikawa tried, he was always going to be kind of an asshole, and no amount of bribery could ever really change that kind of personality. Besides, even on the very slim chance that Hajime lost, he got a week of Oikawa trying to be nice to him, and that kind of hilarity would definitely be worth six thousand yen.

It was really too bad that Oikawa Tooru didn't know when to quit.

Propping his hands on his hips, Oikawa threw back his head and laughed, forcing Hajime to look away from the line of his throat. “You'll see. I'll make you admit that I'm nice.”

Hajime couldn't help but smile in return, shaking his head. “You're deluding yourself.”


Day one was easy. Oikawa was a little calmer than usual, and made fewer jokes at Hajime's expense, which was kind of welcome. The decrease in bickering visibly helped their gameplay, and their coach clapped them both on the back when their drills were done.

Oikawa waited for him after practice, holding two cans of cold soda. One was strawberry, Hajime's favorite, and the other was melon. He fully expected Oikawa to toss him the melon just to mess with him, but Oikawa carefully handed him the strawberry.

“I didn't even shake it up,” he said as Hajime snapped the top open. “See? I can be nice.” He smirked, and Hajime looked away before he could flush as red as the can he was holding.

“We'll see,” Hajime grumbled, sipping his drink as Oikawa laughed and nudged him with a sharp elbow.


Day two was when things started to get weird.

To his mild surprise - it wasn't like he never got confessions, but it was still unexpected - after class, Hajime got called out into the hall by a girl from his homeroom. He turned her down regretfully, and accepted the letter and homemade chocolates she'd brought. She teared up a little, but she was glad that he was willing to listen to her, and he was flattered that such a nice girl had a crush on him.

Truth be told, he'd been sorely tempted to say yes, but he couldn't do that her, couldn't date her when he would always be thinking about someone else. It wasn't like he could just say “Sorry, I've spent sixteen years being hung up on someone who thinks it's fun to tear people down and pick apart their insecurities, but we can still date if you want.”

At practice afterwards, he caught the weird look that Oikawa was giving him, the half-apprehension, half-curiosity that he generally gave to a new strategy he was trying to puzzle out. Hajime finished helping a first year put up the net, then jogged over, grabbing his water bottle. “What's wrong?” he asked bluntly. It didn't pay to be subtle with Oikawa; he was already as slippery as a greased eel when it came to avoiding uncomfortable topics.

Oikawa's slate-grey gaze was inscrutable. “You got confessed to.”


“You didn't tell me.”

Hajime shrugged. “It wasn't a big deal.” He chugged his water for a minute, not taking his eyes off Oikawa. “Are you mad about something?”

Oikawa didn't answer him, sitting down on the bench and sliding his knee brace down a little. “What kind of girl was it?” His deft fingers massaged the muscle just above his kneecap, drawing Hajime's eyes dangerously close to where Oikawa's shorts met skin. It usually wasn't such a problem, but it had been kind of an odd day, and he'd caught himself thinking about what it would have been like if Oikawa had been the one confessing to him.

Would he have blushed? Would he have written a letter and covered it in glitter, with a heart-shaped sticker to seal it? Would he have scuffed his shoes awkwardly and looked down while he waited for Hajime's answer?

He had to stop that train of thought when his brain supplied an image of Oikawa in the girls' uniform.

He cleared his throat. “Miyako-san,” he answered at last, a little confused. “from class 3-B. She's short, kinda pretty. She wears reading glasses sometimes, and she's got a beauty mark under her left eye.”

She had been very cute and well-spoken, and she'd turned a truly impossible shade of pink when she'd confessed. Maybe if Hajime ever climbed out of the hellish pit known as having feelings for Oikawa, he could see if she was still interested. He sighed. He knew he was lying to himself. Whatever he had with Oikawa wouldn't just go away overnight. It had been sixteen years in the making, and for whatever reason, it was still going on, even if it was doomed to failure.

“She was really nice," he added. "I almost wish I'd said yes.”

Oikawa's mouth twitched with something – irritation?

Hajime raised an eyebrow. “Feeling neglected, Trashykawa?” He nudged Oikawa with his elbow.

Oikawa seemed to snap out of it, and laughed it off, but Hajime couldn't shake the feeling that Oikawa had held back some comment, and wondered what the hell that meant.


When he got home, he immediately tossed his bag on his bed and turned on his computer, determined to finish at least some of his homework. He hated having to do it last minute, but that was usually when Oikawa did it, and more often than not, they studied together. Well, Hajime studied. Oikawa sat on his bed and watched dramas about ghosts and hot forensic scientists.

Today's work wasn't too bad, just an essay on some western politics that they'd already covered. He took a half hour to power-write the majority of the text, then spent another half hour revising and polishing it.

After he'd showered, he took a few minutes to dry his hair and lay out his clean uniform next to his bed. Then he moved his bag to the floor and flopped down in the semi-darkness, lacing his fingers behind his head. He could hear the television on downstairs, the noise filtering faintly through his walls.

He flipped open his phone to check his texts and was unsurprised to find thirteen unread messages in the two hours since he'd left school.

> 12 New Messages from Shittykawa

He hit open, and was immediately assaulted by brightly colored text littered with sparkles and flashing hearts. He groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes, then cautiously reopened them enough to read.

> I saw a bird that looked like you earlier ★~(◡△◕✿)
> It was sitting on a fence, and it was just as grumpy as you.
> It even had your eyebrows.
> Like this ಠ益ಠ
> I wanted to take a picture but my mom told me it would scare the bird. The only birds I scare are Crows. ヽ(〃^▽^〃)ノ
> I picked up the new issue of CPV, you should take a look. There's a great section on 
> *a section on directing the ball around blockers with your fingertips.
> Iwa-chan, why won't you answer meeeeee v(ಥ ̯ ಥ)v
> щ(ಥДಥщ)
> Your mom's making hotpot, right? Make sure you eat your veggies so you can be as tall as I am someday ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
> And go wash your face before you go to sleep ( ̄ー ̄)
> Gotta keep our ace nice and acne free, even if he is a jerk (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧

Hajime groaned and clapped his hands to his face. God. He couldn't handle this right now.

He looked back at his phone and checked the other message.

It was from Kindaichi. It simply read, "Thank you for your help during practice, senpai!"

He replied with a "Don't worry about it," and prayed that Kindaichi didn't actually have a crush on him the way Oikawa often jokingly speculated.

He scrolled back through Oikawa's messages for a minute, marveling at the sheer level of annoyingness that Oikawa had managed to cram into twelve lines of text. What made it worse was that those stupid messages with their unparalleled garishness still made his heart jump, still made him smile fondly in the darkness of his room.

Oikawa was always doing stuff that felt like a kick to Hajime's chest, and the worst part of all was that Oikawa didn't even know it.

Like when he helped lost first years and gave crying people handkerchiefs, girls and guys alike. Sure, he teased them and gave them nicknames, but he still helped them. It shouldn't have been so weirdly important, but to Hajime, it was integral to everything that Oikawa was. Underneath all the bullshit, underneath the sparkly smiles and silly faces and vanity, Oikawa was still Oikawa, still the guy who held Hajime's hand when they were lost because he believed wholeheartedly that Hajime would get them home.

And then there was the way he looked at Hajime sometimes, when they were in matches or just practicing or when they were eating lunch, and Hajime would just feel the conversation line up and fit together, and they were just so in sync that Hajime didn't want the moment to end. It was like they both knew what the other person was going to say, but they still wanted to hear them say it, wanted the words and energy to keep going, wanted the sun to stay up in the sky just that much longer while they walked home, elbows bumping.

Hajime sighed, his hand drifting down to his stomach.

It wasn't even like Oikawa was unattractive, because he wasn't. He was definitely vain, but his vanity wasn't unfounded. And it wasn't like Hajime didn't care about the carefully sculpted hair or moisturized face, but they just weren't the things he tended to focus on.

He found his eyes drawn to the taut muscles of Oikawa's shoulders during a toss, or his legs when he took off his brace and iced his knee. When he was putting away equipment and pulled his shirt up to wipe sweat off his face, there'd be a few centimeters of hard stomach exposed, and it always took Hajime an extra second or two to regain his train of thought.

And then there was the thing he did during matches, when he went all scary and focused, when it felt like he was watching the entire team at once. Whenever Oikawa did a jump serve in a game, he leaned down and ran, ball tossed forward in a way that looked almost careless and was anything but, his eyes gleaming a deep silver-grey that said I am going to win and you are going to watch me do it.

The locker rooms weren't too bad, but the showers were torturous. Hajime would have been happy to spend those ten minutes every day staring at the wall and scrubbing the sweat out of his pores, but Oikawa treated every single shower like a goddamn Broadway audition, and sang cutesy pop songs at the top of his lungs until Hajime was forced to reach over into his stall and pinch him until he stopped.

And when he leaned over, fingers itching to run through Oikawa's dripping hair, he inevitably got a glimpse of Oikawa's chest and his sharp hipbones, and sometimes even the coarse hair that crept up from between his legs-

Hajime realized he was breathing hard and slipped a hand under the elastic waistband of his pajama pants. He was hard already, just from thinking about Oikawa's skin and his laughing face, how he would do all the hand motions and dance routines that came with the songs, hands slippery with soap and the thick conditioner he used on his hair once a day. Hajime thought about what it would be like to finally step up next to Oikawa, to shove him up against the tile and fuck him right there, in the locker rooms, with the running water just barely masking the sounds Oikawa would make when Hajime reached around and put his fingers in Oikawa's open mouth-

He came with a groan, free hand clutching at the sheets as he worked himself through it. When he could think with any kind of coherency, he leaned over and grabbed a tissue, wiping off as much as he could in the dark.

His phone buzzed again, and he grabbed it with his marginally cleaner hand, flipping it open.

> 1 New Message from Shittykawa

He opened it.

> Sweet dreams, Iwa-chan~~~~~~ (o*・ω・)ノ☆ミ  See you tomorrow!

He put it on his nightstand and turned over, wishing he could stop the way his heart was pounding against his rib cage.


Day three started off uneventfully, except that Hajime couldn't so much as turn the fuck around without Oikawa staring at him.

It was like Oikawa knew what he'd thought about last night. It was impossible, but the thought still sent a cold shiver down Hajime's spine.

Maybe... was this Oikawa trying to be nice? It was fucking weird.

He was staring. Not bug-eyed or anything, but just... looking. Like he hadn't even noticed he was doing it. Hajime checked in the mirror twice, convinced there was something stuck on his face.

It got so bad during afternoon practice that a second year accidentally clipped Oikawa's cheek with his elbow because Oikawa was spaced out, head turned towards Hajime. Oikawa accepted the boy's frantic apology with grace and a reassuring "Don't worry about it, it was my fault too. I'll have to be more careful next time."

Hajime crossed the gym and grabbed Oikawa's face by the chin, tilting it up so he could get a better look. He ignored Oikawa's whining protests and pushed his dumb hair back behind one ear, which quieted Oikawa some.

Hajime sighed. There was a rapidly-purpling patch on his cheekbone that would bruise without ice, and Hajime knew how snippy Oikawa was about keeping his face pretty.

Without waiting for Oikawa to object, Hajime grabbed him by the back of his jersey and dragged him towards the nurse's office, calling out an apology to their coach as they left. Normally he wouldn't have missed practice for something so small, but the hour and a half of Oikawa's constant scrutiny had set him on edge. He'd been playing like shit all day, and he knew it. Maybe a few minutes away from the court would help get him back into the zone. By the time they reached the nurse's office, the bruise was a beautiful purplish blue that stood out a full half-centimeter from the rest of Oikawa's face. After three years of scraped elbows and Oikawa's knee, the nurse knew them well enough to wave them in, turning back to her paperwork.

“Put this on it,” Hajime ordered gruffly, handing Oikawa an icepack from the freezer.

Oikawa didn't argue, folding it over and settling it on the bruise with a wince.

Hajime stared. The whole instant-compliance thing was seriously creeping him out. Oikawa from a week ago would have made a crack about how if he'd wanted something cold, he could have just put his face on Hajime's shoulder. And he would have complained the whole time the ice pack was on. And he would have made Hajime buy him ice cream on the way home.

For now, Oikawa sat cross-legged on one of the cots, complaining under his breath about how his beautiful complexion would be forever marred by this mark. “How can I face Tobio-chan like this?” he lamented, putting down his hand-held mirror and looking up at Hajime beseechingly.

Hajime leaned back against his chair, tired of everything, but especially the way he could feel Oikawa holding back. “The same way as always? You know a bruise doesn't matter."

"It'll matter to me, Iwa-chan. I don't want to feel ugly around someone as gross as Tobio-chan."

Hajime flipped disinterestedly through one of the old magazines from the corner table. "You always look ugly when you're around Kageyama.”

Oikawa's mouth opened and shut. “Huh?” his voice cracked, and he blinked a little, like he couldn't believe his ears.

Hajime glanced up. “You know. The thing you have with him. The way you want to break him apart and screw him up inside, just for being who he is. It's ugly.”

The moment it slipped out, he bit his tongue, already regretting the words. Why the fuck had he said that? It had been kind of out of line, even for him.

Today's bullshit had just made Hajime so tense, his shoulders and neck screaming at him for an acetaminophen and a hot shower. He wanted to do something – anything, really – to jolt Oikawa out of whatever kind of fucked up, hemmed-in personality he thought constituted 'nice.' He hadn't known how much 'nice' could rankle; it was supposed to be better, to be easier, but for whatever shitty reason, it wasn't. Maybe he'd just spent so long with 'mean' that he didn't know how to handle 'nice.'

Then something in Oikawa's face crumpled, his big grey eyes overly shiny, and Hajime immediately felt like shit all over again. He'd just hit a guy who was already down, and Oikawa had never been particularly good at getting back up on his own.

Hajime opened his mouth to apologize, but he was interrupted by the nurse, who checked Oikawa's injury with an experienced efficiency. The minute she tried to touch his face, cooing over him like a doting aunt, he turned the charm back on, smiling and waving away her concern.

“It's just a bruise,” he said with false cheer. “It doesn't even hurt anymore.”

He wouldn't look at Hajime on the way back, and Hajime didn't really blame him.

Just before they stepped back into the gym, Hajime stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Hey."

Oikawa was perfectly still, and Hajime swallowed before continuing, fingers tense against Oikawa's skin.

"I'm sorry for what I said back there.” He kept his voice quiet; he didn't want Oikawa to just brush this off. He meant it. He'd come up with this dumb idea for a bet, and it wasn't Oikawa's fault that it was apparently bothering him to the point of being a jerk.

Oikawa tensed, then apparently forced himself to relax. “You know, Iwa-chan, sometimes you can be really mean.” He pulled away and opened the door, leaving Hajime in the dim corridor.

Hajime stared miserably at the ground for a second, then scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing the week would just hurry up and end so he could give Oikawa his fucking money and everything could go back to normal.


Day four was even worse, somehow.

He couldn't believe this had happened twice in one week. Twice. Normally he got a confession maybe once every month or two, if that, and he was perfectly happy with that arrangement. He already had to deal with the girls hanging around Oikawa, and that was plenty for him.

But if Hajime had thought it had been bad when a girl confessed to him, it was a hundred times worse when a boy did it. During lunch, he found a mystery note in his desk, calling him up to the roof. He'd been wary at first, convinced he was going to be challenged to some kind of fight.

But no, it wasn't a fight. A fight would have been easier to deal with.

The second year boy – Hayashi Yuto, Hajime recalled vaguely – was half an inch taller than him and good-looking and on the basketball team, and called him senpai the whole time. Hajime felt his face bursting into flames once he understood what was going on.

“I've always admired you, Iwaizumi-senpai,” Hayashi went on, voice cracking on Hajime's name. “Would you go out with me?” He bowed deeply, holding out the letter he'd written.

A little nervous, Hajime tentatively reached out and took the letter, glad that Hayashi had decided not to use a heart sticker to seal it like Miyako-san had. He read it, flushing even hotter than before – he could feel the redness creeping over his ears and down to his chest – and cleared his throat.

“Hayashi-san,” he said, trying to keep his voice soothing. “I'm very sorry, but all I can do is accept your feelings. I can't return them. I'm very flattered that you like me, but I'm-” already in love with someone else “-in my last year, and I have to start training for the inter-high volleyball tournament in a few months. It wouldn't be fair to you when I won't have the time to devote to a relationship.” He felt it had gone surprisingly well – he'd been firm, but kind, much more than many other guys would have been.

Then Hayashi burst into tears, and it all went downhill.

“Sorry,” the younger boy choked out, grabbing the letter out of Hajime's hands and darting back to the roof-access door before Hajime could do anything about it.

Hajime reached the door in time to hear Hayashi sobbing and taking the stairs two at a time, already a flight below him. People sitting on the steps were looking at Hajime like he'd murdered someone, already whispering about what he'd done to the poor second year point guard.

He stepped back onto the roof after a minute, out of range of their glares, and leaned his head against the cool metal of the roof door with a groan. This was not how he'd hoped the day would go.

He waited up there until the bell rang, then trudged back to class, ignoring the malevolent looks sent his way. He was a little concerned by them; he wasn't usually the focus of so much attention without Oikawa at his side, and it felt strange to have everyone staring at his face with something akin to murder in their eyes.

He felt his stomach drop through the floor around the time he heard that Hayashi had gone home early with a note from the nurse.

Fuck. Okay. So. Everyone at school kinda wanted to kill him, but it was going to be okay. Right? Right.

He made it through the last period by staring pointedly at the board or at his books, praying that people didn't think he'd punched the guy or something. His outward indifference didn't stop people from whispering their theories loudly behind the teacher's back for the final hour and a half of the day.

"-poor guy. I can't believe Iwaizumi-san would do something so cruel. He was just telling the truth-"

"-always did look a little rough. You know he and Oikawa-kun hang out all the time? Maybe Iwaizumi's bullying him into it, and that bruise-"

"-the scary types are always so mean to guys who aren't as tough. I wonder what he did to Hayashi-san that-"

"-can't believe he's such an asshole! What kind of fucking bigot hits a guy just for-"

By the time practice rolled around, Hajime was ready to fucking strangle the next person who even looked like they were going to give him shit. The basketball team's captain had already clipped his shoulder hard in the hallway, and if Hajime hadn't already been late, he would have considered pulling the guy aside to rearrange his face a little. But that wouldn't have done anyone any good, especially if everyone already thought he'd beaten that poor kid up.

He dressed in silence, the rest of the team already in the gym, and by the time he got onto the court, practice was in full swing. He let himself get lost in the repetitive motions, stretching and taking coach's light reprimand for lateness with a nod of assent. His team members didn't say anything to him about it, but he caught one or two glances that seemed more puzzled than anything.

He shrugged it off and played, just wanting this day to be over so he could go home and read a book and pray that by tomorrow everyone stopped looking like they wanted to rip his lungs out through his mouth.

But there was still Oikawa to deal with. Oikawa, whose tosses were just a little off today, whose face was just a little too tense to be natural. Hajime tried to catch his eye, but somehow Oikawa always seemed to be looking in other directions when he tried.

He gave up after twenty unsuccessful minutes and instead devised his plan to catch Oikawa after practice. It took some sneaking, including lurking silently behind a door for ten minutes while Oikawa fixed his hair and patted on his moisturizer, but it worked. As soon as Oikawa stepped out of the gym and locked the doors behind him, Hajime leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, face grim. “Oikawa,” he began, and watched Oikawa visibly flinch backwards.

“Iwa-chan,” he said, flashing a fake smile. “I thought you'd left.” He looked like he was sweating, which was weird, since Oikawa was so meticulous about his appearance.

“We've walked home together every day for six years,” Hajime retorted. “And I wanted to talk to you.”

Oikawa hummed, turning away from the door. “So talk.”

There was something in his voice that made Hajime straighten up; this was a cool and collected Oikawa, not the sugar-sweet plastic stuff he pulled for everyone else. Apparently something was bothering Oikawa enough that he was willing to forgo the song and dance it usually took for Hajime to drag even the slightest bit of seriousness out of him. That was worrying.

Hajime cleared his throat. “I'm sorry about yesterday. It was uncalled for. I know you've got problems with Kageyama, and it wasn't fair to bring it up like that.”

Oikawa didn't respond for a minute, their steps the only sound in the courtyard as they crossed to the back gate.

“It's okay,” he said finally, “I just don't like it when you call me ugly.”

Running a hand through his hair, Hajime took a deep breath and tilted his head back to look at the sky. “You're not ugly,” he muttered, jamming his hands in his pockets, trying to convey how very, very not ugly he thought Oikawa was. “But I do think you need to do something about your thing with Kageyama. It's not good to go through life hating someone like that. He's just a kid.” And he'll never be half the captain you are, he added silently.

Oikawa released a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “More like the brattiest kid to ever live.”

Hajime knew that that was the best he was ever going to get out of Oikawa on the subject of Kageyama. It didn't matter how much time passed, or what teams they were on; as long as they were on the same planet, Hajime had no doubt that Oikawa would do anything in his power to crush Kageyama.

And in a weird way, that was kind of okay. It was part of what made him Oikawa.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the afternoon sun laying gold stripes across the buildings they passed.

After what felt like a lifetime, Oikawa coughed into his fist and peeked over at Hajime through his long pale lashes. “So... I heard you got another confession?” He sounded hesitant, almost as if he were scared to hear what Hajime had to say. "From a guy?"

Hajime glanced at him, but Oikawa's face was impassive. “Yeah,” he said, twisting a finger around a loose thread inside one of his pockets. “One of the guys on the basketball team. He called me up to the roof during lunch.”

Oikawa stared down at the sidewalk like there was something written on it that only he could see. “And?”

Hajime's face went pink and then red, and he scowled, patience at its limit. He could deal with other people thinking whatever they wanted, but things had really reached rock-fucking-bottom when Oikawa Tooru thought he was some kind of violent anti-gay bigot.

He tried to keep his voice even, but it was difficult when all he really wanted to do was scream. “Listen, I don't give a shit what you heard, I didn't beat him up or anything. I tried to let him down nicely, and then he started crying and ran away, and there was nothing I could do!” He realized how loud he'd been and forcibly relaxed the tension in his fists, looking away from Oikawa. “Why does everyone think I did something to him? Fuck this. They think I was some asshole homophobe or something,” he grumbled, trying to shake the tension out of his shoulders. “Ugh. Sorry, I'm just pissed. I've been dealing with everyone staring at me all day.” He finally glanced back at Oikawa and registered the surprise on his face. “What?”

Oikawa's face split into a real grin, one of his stupidly wide ones that stretched from ear to ear. “Nothing, Iwa-chan,” he sang, hooking his arm through Hajime's. “You're a real stand-up guy, you know that?”

Hajime scowled and gave him a halfhearted shove, but something in his chest loosened, a knot of worry he hadn't even noticed was there. It was nice to have someone believe him for once today. Maybe, underneath it all, Oikawa wasn't actually as terrible as he seemed.

Stepping up to press the crosswalk button, Hajime took his hands out of his pockets and stretched. “I felt pretty bad for him at first, but now I'm just irritated,” he admitted. “I swear, you break a guy's heart by accident, and suddenly everyone thinks you're scum.” He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I mean, it did take a lot of courage to confess to me like that. He had a letter and everything.”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow. “Don't tell me my precious Iwa-chan was tempted by a love letter?” His voice was pitched as a comforting tease, and it felt more natural than anything had all day.

Hajime felt his cheeks warming up. “He was kinda hot. But it's not fair to date someone right now. You know, with volleyball and everything.”

Oikawa stopped dead, his hand on Hajime's arm pulling him to a stop as well. “Iwa-chan,” he said haltingly, face confused, “You're into guys?”

Hajime shrugged, looking at Oikawa incredulously. “Guys and girls. It's never really made a difference to me.” They'd been friends for so long that he'd assumed Oikawa knew.

Judging from how wide his eyes were, he most definitely had not known.

The expression on Oikawa's face flickered from thoughtful to his famous blinding smile. “Hmm. So our precious ace 'swings both ways,' huh?” He said the words in English, but Hajime had sat through Ghostbusters with Oikawa often enough to know what he meant. He should have known that Oikawa couldn't resist at least one shitty joke at his expense.

Hajime elbowed him in the ribs and muttered “Trashykawa,” fighting off a weirdly intense feeling of giddiness and relief.


After dinner, he told his mom he was going to study and went upstairs, locking his door behind him.

He had no intentions of studying. He'd spent all day being harassed and made into a social pariah, and then he'd been shitty during practice and coach had noticed, and then, despite that, somehow the thing with Oikawa had turned out well? And the whole way home, Oikawa had been hanging off him, arm slung around Hajime, cheek resting on his shoulder while they paused at a stoplight. He'd seemed particularly interested in Hajime's arms for some reason, wrapping his hands around Hajime's biceps and teasing him about wanting to be a macho man, like they'd seen on tv when they were little. It had been driving Hajime insane, and he had officially reached the end of his patience.

He didn't bother stripping, just thrust his hand into his pants and started stroking, leaning his forehead into his forearm and panting as he got himself off. It was hot and sudden and almost too much stimulation, between the roughness of his jeans and the callouses on his fingers, and he felt his knees buckle into the wall as he finished, gasping, Oikawa's name in the back of his throat.


Day five wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was a Saturday, so he only had practice to deal with. Hopefully the rumors would die down sometime over the weekend, and he could continue to live out his remaining days at Seijou in relative peace.

He and Oikawa walked to school as usual, their mufflers drawn up close against the morning's chill, Oikawa talking blithely about a new movie he'd decided to drag Hajime into seeing. Hajime caught Oikawa looking at him once or twice, but Oikawa just gave him a dazzling smile, and Hajime couldn't help but grin back.

Then the rest of the team started arriving, and Hajime watched Oikawa begin to use his dark and terrible powers.

“I just can't believe it,” Oikawa said loudly, flapping his hand. “The awful things they said about Iwa-chan, when he was the perfect gentleman! I mean, come on. It's Iwa-chan. He wouldn't even hurt tadpoles when we went fishing for them as kids. He put them in jars and released them later. There's no way he'd ever do something so mean.” His eyes flashed to Hajime's as he spoke, and Hajime was reminded uncomfortably of the way Oikawa had looked when Hajime had called him ugly. He shifted from foot to foot, watching as Oikawa proceeded to explain the truth of the situation to the entire team as they showed up. By the time they'd finished getting dressed, everyone knew that Hajime had just tried to be nice.

“Yeah, there's no way Iwaizumi-senpai would do something like that,” one of the first years muttered, apparently not realizing that Hajime was in earshot. “The only person he's even remotely mean to is Oikawa-senpai, and they've known each other forever. And they always make up afterwards.”

The others murmured their agreement, then broke up into groups to do their stretching, leaving Hajime to deal with the hot flush that had taken up residence in his face.

A minute later, Oikawa stepped up beside him and nudged him with one bony elbow. “Better?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Hajime looked at him sourly, crossing his arms. “I didn't need you to do that.”

Oikawa sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Iwa-chan. If it was up to you, by the time Monday rolled around, the whole school would think you'd broken the guy's ribs or something. Besides, I've got six thousand yen riding on proving how nice I can be.” He winked and struck one of his nice-guy poses.

Hajime started a little; he'd half-forgotten that they had a bet going. Was that why Oikawa kept looking at him? Was he gauging his reaction? Well, whatever. He rubbed a hand over his neck self-consciously, then got back to practice. The rest could wait for later.


Day six started late, just the way Hajime liked it. He slept in, only waking when Oikawa prodded his cheek with one sharp finger.

“Iwa-chan,” he said petulantly, poking him again. “Come on, Iwa-chan, get up.” He was eating some kind of sucker, the blue already staining his lips.

Hajime would have asked how he'd gotten in, but he knew that his mother was completely under Oikawa's evil spell, and had probably given Oikawa a house key at some point. Ignoring the impulse to drag Oikawa down into bed with him and snuggle in the mid-morning comfort, Hajime settled for groaning and turning over, his bare arm chilly from being on top of the covers.

“Your mom's going out today,” Oikawa said, pulling Hajime's desk chair over and sitting on it backwards. “She told me to tell you there's lunch in the fridge.” He licked the sucker once and put it back into his mouth.

Hajime nodded, enjoying the last bits of warmth under his covers. “She's going to a baby shower,” he mumbled. 

Oikawa huffed. “I can't hear you, Iwa-chan.” He leaned over Hajime's face, alarmingly close. “What was that?” His breath wafted over Hajime, all too-sweet candy and toothpaste. His eyes were bright and warm, and he was close enough that Hajime could count the faint freckles that dotted his nose.

Hajime was suddenly very awake, in more ways than one, and he was doubly glad that his thick blankets hid the semi he was currently sporting. “A baby shower,” he repeated, clearing his throat. “My cousin's having her baby soon.” He thought hard about all the annoying christenings and parties he was going to have to go to, and felt his boner die as quickly as it had risen. He pushed the blankets back a little, enjoying the cool air against his skin.

Oikawa smirked down at him, tilting back in the chair. “Then it's time for you to get up, lazy bones. It's a Sunday. We've got stuff to do.” He tossed the sucker into the trash, making a satisfied face when it thunked perfectly into the bin.

“Volleyball?” Hajime hazarded, sitting up. Sometimes Oikawa liked to just sit in Hajime's backyard and volley back and forth so he could let his knee rest.

“Nope.” Oikawa hummed and stood, walking over to one of Hajime's bookshelves. “Movie marathon.”

Hajime groaned. “We're not watching your collector's edition of 'Fire in the Sky' again. That movie scares the shit out of me.”

Oikawa grinned. “Me too. Don't worry though; I picked some movies better suited to Iwa-chan's delicate sensibilities.” He reached back to Hajime's desk and fanned out the DVDs he'd left there.

They were all horror movies.

Hajime flipped him off and crawled out of bed, scratching his stomach absently. It was chilly in the house, but it was helping him wake up the rest of the way. He grabbed an old band t-shirt out of his top drawer and after a few fumbled attempts, managed to drag it down over his head and chest. He blinked sleepily at Oikawa, who was staring at him blankly.

Hajime frowned. "Something wrong?"

Oikawa shook his head, eyes snapping back up. "Just wondering how you can wear a shirt with such a shitty band on it," he replied cheerily.

Rolling his eyes, Hajime slouched towards the bathroom, Oikawa's laughter following him.


Oikawa stayed true to his word and forced Hajime to sit down and watch one of the movies with him. By the time it ended, Hajime was finally awake enough to stand his ground and replace the second horror film with a cheesy monster movie that they'd both seen a hundred times before.

“You're not really selling the whole 'nice' thing,” he reminded Oikawa as he made them both some lunch. “It's your last day, and you decided to go with forcing me to watch horror movies?”

“I'm expanding your horizons,” Oikawa replied staunchly, picking up his plate and taking it to the low table in front of the tv. “Seijou needs an ace that's not afraid of anything.”

“They're gonna be pretty disappointed, then,” Hajime muttered, pouring Oikawa a glass of milk. “No, but seriously. You were working so hard at the beginning of the week. What's gotten into you?”

Oikawa laughed. “Don't worry, I've been saving up my niceness just for you, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime glanced up at him, and Oikawa held his gaze. Oikawa's grey eyes were bright, but they weren't laughing, not like usual. They were a mix of the excitement of stepping onto the court and something that made Hajime think of summer days and popsicles. Oikawa's knee pressed against his, warm and familiar and- for a long few seconds, it was almost like-

Hajime looked away and got himself some water, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. There was no way he was going to fall victim to the same sparkly flirty bullshit that had ensnared a sizable number of girls in their school. It was just Oikawa being Oikawa.

They ate and quoted the movie back and forth, both laughing when the helicopter smashed into the giant octopus monster and splattered.

“I'll get the plates,” Oikawa said once they'd finished eating, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You cooked, I'll wash up.”

It felt weirdly domestic, but Hajime didn't say anything, gathering the glasses and offering them to Oikawa to wash.

“I wonder what's gonna happen tomorrow,” Hajime said absently, fingers tracing a pattern on the counter top in time to the rushing water. “I mean, you're off the hook with the whole being-nice thing, and the team knows I didn't do anything, but everyone else probably thinks I'm evil incarnate.”

Oikawa dried off his hands, humming, the dishes safely in the rack. “I highly doubt it. I may have messaged a few of my fanclub members about it last night, explaining everything.”

If Hajime had thought the whole ordeal couldn't get any more mortifying, he'd been wrong. “You what? ” One of these days, Oikawa was going to give him a heart attack.

Oikawa shrugged. "It would have interfered with practice if everyone thought you were a complete asshole."

Hajime glowered at him. "That's your excuse? You couldn't just say you didn't want to be best friends with a social pariah?"

"You're not that bad looking," Oikawa joked, poking Hajime in the chest. Hajime's skin stung where they'd touched.

"Shittykawa," he ground out, taking a step closer.

"Hey!" Oikawa protested. "You're the one who can't take a compliment. I'm actually being nice here."

Oikawa had five centimeters of height on Hajime, but that didn't seem to matter when Hajime glared at him, using his broader shoulders to box him against the counter. "I'm pretty sure we've established that you can't even be nice when you're being paid to," he said, voice low.

"Everyone knows I'm the nice one," Oikawa protested, bringing his hands up to Hajime's chest, pushing him back half a step.

Hajime met his eyes squarely. "That's because they don't know you."

"You're so mean, Iwa-chan," Oikawa muttered, eyelashes fluttering. This close, Hajime could count them, could see the way Oikawa's pupils flexed in the light. It was a little disorienting, especially when Hajime could hear his heart thumping in his ears and could feel the heat of Oikawa's body.

Hands settled on Hajime's chest again, and he recoiled a little, looking down. “What are you doing?” he asked warily, feeling Oikawa's breath tickle his face.

“I'm being nice.”

Hajime opened his mouth to retort, but Oikawa's wide hands slid up to his shoulders, pressing him back three steps until he was against the wall, and Hajime only had a split second of bewilderment before Oikawa's mouth touched his.

Everything was warmer than Hajime had expected. He'd kissed people before, guys and girls, and they'd been soft and hard in turns, but this was different, this was Oikawa Tooru, and they were in Hajime's kitchen, and they were kissing.

Hajime stiffened, trying to move away, but Oikawa chased him, doing something with his teeth against Hajime's lips that made Hajime's bare toes curl against the hardwood floor. He shuddered, trying to memorize the feeling in case he never got to feel it again.

When Hajime finally relaxed, Oikawa made a low noise that had Hajime snarling in reply, his fingers twisting hard in Oikawa's jacket as he deepened the kiss.

Oikawa did not get to do this, did not get to just start some shit and then smile that dumb plastic smile and skip away like nothing had happened. Hajime was tired of this whole week, was tired of feeling like he was only worth some secret teasing and mocking smiles, like Oikawa couldn't be himself in front of him anymore.

What the fuck.

Oikawa knew now, Hajime had flat out told him less than a day ago. Oikawa knew that Hajime was into guys.

What the fuck was going on. What. The fuck.

Was this some kind of teasing thing? Even Oikawa couldn't be that cruel, right? He had to know this was messed up to do to someone, even your best friend.

Maybe it was just Oikawa trying to... relate?

When your best friend told you they were into guys, you probably automatically wondered if they were into you, even just a little bit. That was normal. And in Hajime's case, it was an unfortunately accurate assumption.

Yeah. Oikawa didn't- he didn't do romance stuff, right? Was he just... going along with this because he thought Hajime wanted it?

Hajime yanked away.

Oikawa looked back, pupils blown wide in slate-colored eyes. "Iwa-chan?"

It was like someone had slapped Hajime. This was Oikawa. Oikawa "wouldn't go to the bathroom without Hajime until they were nine." Oikawa "had twin girls jointly confess to him one time and politely turned them down and set them up with better guys." Oikawa "got an award for volleyball and accidentally dropped it onto the train tracks on the way home, forcing Hajime to lean down and grab it before the train pulled in."

Oikawa didn't do feelings.

Hajime stepped toward the sink, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, FUCK." He ran a hand through his hair. "What the FUCK, Oikawa?"

He heard footsteps behind him. "Iwa-cha-"

"No! Just shut the fuck up, Oikawa," Hajime said, trying not to yell and failing. "What the fuck was that? Why did you do that? What the fuck are you trying to pull?" He turned around and glared fiercely at Oikawa. 

Oikawa's nostrils flared. "What do you mean?" His voice was dangerously low.

"I mean, what the fuck is your deal? You're weird all week, and you were even weirder after I got those confessions, and then suddenly everything was fine? And then you do this-"

"I was jealous," Oikawa cut in abruptly.

Hajime stared at him, lost. "Jealous? ...What? Oikawa, you get like ten confessions a day. We had to change the way we took to school because your fangirls kept making us late-"

"I wasn't jealous of you."


Oikawa rounded on him furiously, grabbing him by the face and kissing him again, their teeth clacking together painfully for a moment before Oikawa released him, wiping some blood off his lip with the back of his hand.

Hajime stumbled back, dazed. "What?" He knew he sounded dumb, but he honestly had no words left.

"Stop saying that!" Oikawa's screech hit notes that made Hajime wince. "I like you, okay? You're a jerk, and you can't fucking take a hint, and you're a wimp when it comes to horror movies, and you've seen me throw up miso and peanut butter mixed together, but you kissed me back, and I like you." He panted a little, eyes hard. "So don't you dare say 'what' again or I swear to god I will hit you over the head with a saucepan." He leaned back towards the stove and let his hand hover over one threateningly.

Hajime opened his mouth and closed it again. "But you don't like guys. You don't like anyone."

Oikawa threw him a waspish look. "In all the time I've been turning down confessions, did you never think that maybe I just wasn't interested in girls?"

Hajime blinked. "Oh."

Giving a strangled laugh, Oikawa sank down to the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him so his knee wasn't cramped. "Yeah. 'Oh.'"

"You really-" Hajime swallowed. "But you get confessions from guys, too. Sometimes, I mean."

Oikawa gave him a look like he was the dumbest person on the planet. "Yeah, but I had someone else that I liked." His voice caught a little on 'liked.'

Hajime looked down at his hands where they rested on his knees.

Well. Okay. Maybe some assumptions had been made about Oikawa's sexuality and romantic inclinations that probably could have been cleared up with a simple question or two. Maybe it wasn't that Oikawa didn't have a 'romantic interest' category. It was just that the category was very narrow. Kind of like Hajime's, actually.

Oikawa looked at him warily as he stood up, but took his offered hand and dusted off his pants. "Well, now you know," Oikawa said in a low voice, rubbing his eye with his wrist.

Hajime looked at him, really looked, and took in the faint circles under his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping well, and the smudge of ink on the side of one hand, and the ridiculous X-Files shirt he was wearing with a huge picture of the two main actors superimposed over the English words "I WANT TO BELIEVE."

He did want to believe. He wanted this, wanted Oikawa to look at him like he was special, like he was different from everyone else in whatever universe Oikawa occupied. He didn't want this to go away.

He wanted to kiss Oikawa again. Oikawa was a selfish jerk who was way too hard on himself, and he talked too much and flirted with everyone, and he was probably going to end up strangling Kageyama in a dark alley one night, but Oikawa liked him, and Hajime wanted to kiss him again.

Hajime tugged on the front of Oikawa's shirt, ignoring the startled "Iwa-ch-" that escaped Oikawa's mouth just before Hajime covered it again.

It was so nice to finally be kissing him. He'd spent years thinking about it, wondering what Oikawa would taste like, how he would sound, how good it would feel for Oikawa's hips to press up against his like they were right now.

Oikawa's teeth scraped against him accidentally as Hajime twisted his head to get a better angle, but it was a good feeling, the slight twinge in his lip making the kiss all the sweeter. When Hajime's tongue licked into his mouth, hot and slow, Oikawa made a surprised noise. They stepped towards the wall again, moving back enough that they could get a better position, faces tilted and mouths fitting sloppily together in a mess of sensation that Hajime couldn't fully process beyond yes, good, more, and Oikawa.

After a moment, Oikawa's tongue brushed his almost tentatively, at complete odds with the rest of the situation. Oikawa had kissed him first. Oikawa had been the one to confess. It had been Oikawa initiating this, because Oikawa did everything at a hundred and twenty percent, and apparently that included kissing.

Well, kissing and then some. Second base was looking increasingly nice. Hajime shivered at the touch of Oikawa's fingers across his chest as Oikawa pressed him more deeply into the wall. He'd never thought about how it would feel to be caught between a cold flat surface and the lean lines of Oikawa's body, but that dizzy feeling that surrounded him was rapidly turning into one of his favorite things in the world.

That feeling tickled something in the back of Hajime's head, bringing with it the knowledge that he wanted to be the one to shove Oikawa up against something hard and kiss the living daylights out of him. Oikawa might have had him beaten in terms of height, but Hajime was stronger, his core more solid. And, as every athlete knew, core was the key.

One of his hands found its way to Oikawa's face, calloused fingers seeking the flat plane of his jaw. It was strange to feel the muscles in Oikawa's cheek working so hard while Hajime's tongue was simultaneously inside Oikawa's mouth, but he couldn't seem to find any reason why they should stop, not when Oikawa was making such encouraging noises. Hajime opened his eyes to slits, wanting to see this and commit it to memory. Oikawa's stupidly beautiful face was screwed up in concentration, cheeks red and lashes fluttering. Hajime very carefully used his teeth and tugged on Oikawa's lower lip, biting a little until he heard a gasp.

That was all he'd needed, really. He stepped forward and used his weight to turn around and push Oikawa into the wall next to the fridge, enjoying the jolt as his hips pressed against Oikawa's. Oikawa jerked, and Hajime hissed at the friction, moving his hips away. Oikawa strained towards him, a half-keening noise caught in his throat, but Hajime's firm grip on his hip and shoulder stopped him.

"Hajime?" Oikawa said, voice low and throaty, lips swollen with a smear of spit across his chin, and fuck if that didn't almost undo Hajime right there. There was a reason Hajime had asked him not to call him by name when they were in middle school.

"This is you being nice, right?" he muttered into Oikawa's ear, hearing him whimper.

Oikawa nodded shakily, and holy fucking shit, Hajime could feel how hard he was against his thigh.

"Well, this," Hajime continued - like nothing was wrong, like Hajime wasn't ready to drop to his knees and suck Oikawa's cock until they were both crying for it - drawing Oikawa's hands up to the wall on either side of his head, "is me being mean."

He leaned forward and up a little and licked a stripe up the side of Oikawa's neck, watching the tendons flex hard. Oikawa was saying something, but it was a jumble of Iwa and Hajime and yes that he couldn't make out.

Hajime ignored it and bit down on the soft wet flesh where Oikawa's neck met his shoulder.

Oikawa's hips jerked forward, hard, but Hajime held his wrists and leaned away, eyes momentarily meeting Oikawa's hectic gaze.

"Iwa-chan," he whined, pushing against Hajime's ironlike grip. He didn't say anything else, throat working, face flushed, but Hajime could see it in his eyes.

Hajime leaned in close until his lips were almost bumping Oikawa's. "What?" he asked, feeling Oikawa shiver against him. "What, do you want me to fuck you?"

He felt Oikawa's wrists tremble against his fingers, and saw with no little satisfaction that Oikawa was sweating, cheeks cherry-red, teeth pressing a hard dimple into his lower lip. His eyes were glazed over, and Hajime would have bet that his pants were feeling more than just a little uncomfortable.

"You want me to get you all messed up and fuck you, right?" He dropped a kiss on the underside of Oikawa's jaw, surprised to feel faint stubble there. Who knew a jerk like this could even grow a beard? "We can, if you want," he murmured. "My mom won't be back until tonight." He ran his hands over Oikawa's shoulders and hips, memorizing the skin that he'd stared at for as long as he could remember.

Oikawa shuddered, leaning his head back. "Mm," he breathed, carding his fingers through Hajime's hair and against his scalp. "I do."

"Do what?"

"I want you to-" Oikawa swallowed, shuddering, as Hajime gripped his hips and pulled him close.

"You want me to what," he exhaled hard against the corner of Oikawa's mouth. "Just say it, and I'll do it. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

Oikawa let out a sound close to a whimper, and Hajime parted his legs with a knee, groaning at the way their hips fit together.

A burst of static-filled laughter startled them both, and they leapt apart. But it was only the movie, forgotten, playing in the living room.

Oikawa broke the silence first. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"Yes," Hajime said immediately, liking the way Oikawa flushed. He pulled him in close and kissed him again, just because he could.

"Come on, Iwa-chan," Oikawa said into his ear. "You can do better than that."

Bristling at the implication, Hajime caught his mouth roughly, lifting him by the hips and ignoring his squeak as he carried him through the living room and up the stairs. He refused to stop kissing Oikawa, even when Oikawa snuck fingers under his shirt and smoothed them over his ribs.

When they reached his room, he stepped through and shut the door with one fumbling hand, shoving Oikawa up against the wall so he could continue his mouth's trail down Oikawa's neck and shoulder. Oikawa was shivering under him, legs a hot vice around his waist. Hajime ran an admiring hand over Oikawa's leg, glad to finally be able to touch him like this, to stroke gentle fingers over his bad knee and up, up, up to his lean thighs that were covered by very tight skinny jeans.

He couldn't hold in his moan when Oikawa's calloused fingers hit one of his nipples. Oikawa stiffened against him in response, face going beautifully slack.

Hajime smirked, twining his fingers in the nape of Oikawa's hair and tugging a little. "You liked that, huh?" He pressed a kiss against Oikawa's cheekbone, just over the bruise. "You like it when I make noise? You think about that a lot?" He canted his hips a little more firmly against Oikawa's, pinning him into the wall.

Oikawa glared and yanked Hajime's shirt up. "What about you, Iwa-chan?" he shot back, panting. He used his thumb this time, tweaking Hajime's nipple and eliciting a full-bodied jerk that left both of them groaning.

"Bed," Hajime got out finally.

"Yeah," Oikawa replied faintly.

Hajime lifted Oikawa again - his fingers digging into those thighs, drawing tight, high-pitched sounds from Oikawa that Hajime was definitely going to remember - and walked him over to the bed, tipping him back. Then he leaned back and stripped his shirt off, tired of so many clothes being in between him and Oikawa. He tossed it aside, running a hand through his hair and trying to get his breath back.

When he caught Oikawa's eye, he was staring.

"What's wrong?"

"It's not- it's not wrong. It's kind of. Very right." His voice was strangled, like every word had to be forced out. He was staring intently at Hajime's abs.

Hajime blushed, and felt the red creeping down his chest, the way he did whenever he was really embarrassed.

Oikawa seemed like he was about to say something, but he shut his mouth with a click. Then he surged forward and knocked Hajime back, very nearly shoving him off the bed by accident. Hajime was about to cuff him on the head and yell at him, but Oikawa's mouth - no, his tongue - was on Hajime's skin, and he groaned into the feeling.

"You're so pretty, Iwa-chan," Oikawa murmured, lacing his fingers into Hajime's and pressing them into the sheets. "I want to do this all the time. It should be illegal to look so cute in running shorts."

Hajime choked out a laugh. "I could say the same to you."

Oikawa drew back, cocking his head. "You think I'm cute, Iwa-chan?"

Hajime held his gaze and reached a hand down to where he could feel Oikawa's erection digging into his hip. Oikawa bit his lip and groaned when Hajime palmed him through his jeans. "I think you're beautiful."

Oikawa turned a deeper shade of pink than Hajime had even thought possible, and kissed him again.

Then there was a muffled thump from downstairs as the front door opened, and Hajime froze in terror.

"Hajime," called his mother. "I brought dinner! Is Tooru-kun still here?"

"Shit," he hissed, pulling himself off of Oikawa. "Shit, shit! Why is she home so early?"

He glanced down at Oikawa, who was still lying in Hajime's sheets, flushed and dazed. Hajime looked at him for a long minute, taking it all in: the way Oikawa's hair was messed up, how red and kiss-swollen his lips were, the wetness from Hajime's kisses, the dark hickie on the side of his neck, the way his pants were drawn tightly over his dick-

Without taking his eyes away from Oikawa, he called back, "I'll be down in a few, mom. Just finishing up some homework. Tooru's still here."

Oikawa's breath hitched when he said his name, and he opened his mouth, only for Hajime to kiss him again. "Don't worry," he muttered. "I'll be quick." He unbuttoned the front of Oikawa's pants and slid them down to his knees, then managed to hook his fingers under Oikawa's boxers and drag them down.

Oikawa groaned into the back of his hand when Hajime gripped his dick, stroking softly at first but growing harsher as Oikawa responded. Hajime leaned down, letting his breath waft over the sensitive skin.

"Hajime," Oikawa murmured, eyes clenched shut.

"Remember when we got into high school and I told you not to call me that?" Hajime asked with a grin, feeling Oikawa squirming under him.

Oikawa nodded, opening his eyes and looking down.

"It was because every time you said my name, I was thinking about doing this," he said, running his tongue over the head, licking broad stripes of precum and using his hands at Oikawa's hips to stop him from arching upwards.

His mind went back to the stuff he'd looked up online over the years, about how to do it well and make the other person feel good. Mostly, he was nervous about his teeth being anywhere near Oikawa's dick, but from what he'd read, that problem could be avoided by a relaxed jaw and some careful use of tongue. He'd wanted to do this for so long, had wondered about it for as long as he could remember, and now that the time had come, he was too nervous to actually do it.

Before he could start overthinking any more, he took a deep breath and and slipped Oikawa's dick into his mouth.

Oikawa gasped and let out a startled sound, knees knocking weakly against Hajime's bare shoulders, and Hajime hooked them over his back with a grunt. Oikawa was shaking, stopping himself from thrusting, and that sight was enough to remind Hajime how badly he wanted this to go right. He just had to remember to breathe through his nose while he did this. He didn't feel like throwing up or passing out on Oikawa's dick the first time it was in his mouth.

The first time. Because there would be more. He didn't have to fantasize about this anymore, because he was going to fuck Oikawa Tooru, and would keep doing it as long as Oikawa wanted him to.

He hummed a little and brought a hand up to stroke at the base of Oikawa's cock, where he still couldn't quite reach. Next time he should stretch his jaw first or something. It would take a few tries to work up to getting the whole thing in.

"Hajime," Oikawa said thickly, a hand coming down to grip the short hair at the back of Hajime's head. "Hajime, if you don't- I'm gonna-"

The fingers in his hair added a sharp feeling that mingled so well with the heat in his mouth and the hardness in his pants, and he moaned. It was okay, he wanted to tell Oikawa, it was okay for him to finish just like this because Hajime had literally thought about this every day for the past three years and he would kind of die if he didn't get to make Oikawa come like this.

"Just do it," he tried to say around Oikawa's dick, and apparently that was a good feeling, because Oikawa let out a noise and looked down, fingers tightening against Hajime's hair. Hajime held his gaze and hummed the word "Please," and that was it. Oikawa bit his lip so hard it turned white, hands clenched and shaking in the sheets. Hajime stroked him through it, watching his face go slack, and swallowed as much as he could, feeling some drip down over his lips and chin.

After a minute, Oikawa tugged on his hair, pulling him up for a breathless kiss that left them both even messier.

Hajime groaned when his untouched dick pressed against Oikawa's thigh and pulled back.

"Can I-" Hajime asked haltingly, and stopped, embarrassed.

But Oikawa dragged him down for another kiss, wrapping his legs around Hajime's waist. "Yeah, you can," Oikawa whispered. "I want you to." The look he gave Hajime made it very clear that if Hajime didn't do it, Oikawa would.

Hajime leaned back and pulled off his belt, yanking his pants open. He grabbed his dick, stroking roughly at the sight of Oikawa messed up and laid out in front of him, dick soft against the pale hair that trailed down his stomach.

"God, you're pretty," he gritted out, cupping Oikawa's cheek with his free hand.

"Hajime," Oikawa said softly, leaning into the touch, and Hajime closed his eyes, coming with a groan that he stifled by biting his cheek. He twitched, trying to keep most of it in his palm, but some splattered onto Oikawa's shirt. He felt himself blinking the stars out of his eyes, head ringing.

When he could breathe again, he looked up at the ceiling and wondered if this was all some fever dream. But no. He couldn't have imagined the tiny whorl in the hair just over Oikawa's dick. His imagination wasn't that good.

Oikawa pulled him down afterwards, letting them lie there, panting, in the vague heat of Hajime's room - which now smelled like sex, he realized. He'd have to open the windows and air it out before his mom came up to get his laundry.

"You got my shirt dirty, Hajime," Oikawa said, voice muffled in Hajime's hair. "You'll have to get me a new one."

Hajime drew himself up onto his elbows and looked down at Oikawa's smug face. "There is no way in hell I'm getting you another fucking X-Files shirt, Oikawa. Last time I counted, you had seventeen, and you don't even wear five of them."

"That's because they're vintage," Oikawa whined, bringing a hand up to stroke his fingers through Hajime's hair. "And you should call me Tooru," he muttered. "It's only fair."


Oikawa looked at him like it should have been obvious. "You just had my dick in your mouth. I'm pretty sure we're on a first name basis. Besides," he continued with a cheeky grin, "I wanna think about you saying mine later."

Hajime flushed hotly, but didn't refute it. "Come on," he said, rolling himself out of bed and feeling absolutely disgusting. "Let's take a shower. My mom's got dinner, and I've got to put my sheets in the laundry."

Oikawa pouted and turned his face into Hajime's pillowcase. "Mmmrghh- oh, no, wait." He pulled away immediately, making a grossed-out face. "This is dirty too. Yeah, okay, let's clean up."

He stood up and stepped out of his pants, dragging his shirt off and tossing it into the laundry. "Can I borrow some clothes when we're out?"

"Sure," Hajime replied, trying not to look at the way Oikawa's sticky boxers hung off his hips.

"'Sure' what?" Oikawa tapped his bare foot.

Hajime rolled his eyes. "Sure, Tooru." He threw a towel at Oikawa's head and turned on the water so he didn't have to hear Oikawa complaining about how mean he was.

"Keep your dumb six thousand yen," Oikawa said with a huff, stepping in behind him. "You're just a jerk who doesn't know how to be nice-"

Hajime stopped him with a kiss. "Just hand me the shampoo, Shittykawa. I want to go eat."

Oikawa snickered, but gave him the bottle. "Seemed like you had plenty to eat earlier, Hajime~~"

Hajime smacked the back of his head and ignored him, washing away the slickness on his stomach and and hips. And when Oikawa started to sing, Hajime didn't bother trying to make him stop. He wasn't such a bad singer, anyways.