hajime – Page 5

Iwaoichristmasweek’15. Day 2: Mistletoe.

“Do you still remember our first kiss?” Tooru asks and his fingers brush gently over Hajime’s ankle. “I do. I’d never forget.”

Hajime wouldn’t forget either, but he takes his time to reply. The ladder he’s standing on is far less stable than Tooru had assured him, and it keeps swaying dangerously while Hajime attempts to push the green bundle of leaves onto its designated hook over the door.

“Careful,” Tooru says. Hajime can’t see his face (that damn mistletoe just won’t – got it!), but he hears the grin in his boyfriend’s voice. “Stop fuckin’ around and hold the damn ladder.” – “Aww, you know I’d never let you fall, Haji.”

Hajime checks whether the decoration is safely stuck, and then he climbs down the ladder. “You’re such a sap,” he mumbles, letting Tooru pull him by the sleeve of his breathtakingly ugly christmas sweater. “And yeah, of course I remember.”

“Good,” Tooru sing-songs. He kicks the ladder aside, not even flinching when it falls over, and one jolt of his hand later, Hajime is flung into his boyfriend’s arms with an elegant swirl. “Tell me, then. How’d it go again?”

Hajime can’t help but smile. Tooru wants to celebrate the first Christmas in their own cozy flat by reminiscing? It’s cute. He doesn’t say it out loud, of course. Instead, Hajime reaches to slide his fingers into Tooru’s soft hair, pulls him down to rest their foreheads together, and whispers: “Last day of our final training camp. We were out at night, it was forbidden, but you didn’t care. You dragged me to sit on the roof of the hostel and we watched the stars. You said something about aliens, of course you did, and…”

Warm lips press gently against his own. Hajime closes his eyes, smile curving against Tooru’s mouth. They kiss underneath the mistletoe, fingers in each other’s hair and breath melting together, until the door bell rings. “The others are,” Hajime mumbles, and Tooru whispers: “Yeah.” He pulls back, grinning, cheeks as red as the baubles of their small Christmas tree.

“And because you kept staring at my lips, I couldn’t resist. I’d wanted to kiss you for so long. It was kind of strange – no matter what I said, you never looked at the stars I pointed out. You just looked at me.”

‘That’ll never change,’ Hajime thinks, and quickly turns around. “Let them in already. I want to celebrate.” He still hears Tooru’s laughter even as he hurries into the kitchen, and touches his lips with a smile.

Iwaoichristmasweek’15. Day 1: Snowmen.

Tooru is on his third energy drink when a quiet howl resounds outside his bedroom window. It’s been snowing all night, a shimmer of white resting on top of the roofs and chimneys of his hometown. The clock on his nightstand whispers 03:00am in neon digits. Tooru isn’t in a hurry when he rises from the bed, emptying his energy drink in one last gulp, and lazily walking over to the window. He keeps the blanket wrapped around himself; it has gotten ice-cold, even though it’s barely two weeks before Christmas.

When Tooru pulls the handle and opens his bedroom window, another howl echoes through the garden below.

“You’re gonna wake the neighbours! Shhhh!” Tooru lifts a finger to his lips, leaning slightly over the sill to frown at the dark figure that sits in the snow.

Hajime’s storm-grey fur is dappled with snowflakes. He looks a bit like an inverse appaloosa, Tooru thinks and grins. But when the large wolf cowers down to aim for a jump, Tooru hastily waves both hands.

“No, no! You’re not getting back in yet! I can’t risk you thrashing the entire room when you turn back human. My parents are gonna go insane, and they won’t believe that it was me sleepwalking and destroying all my furniture again.”

The wolf’s ears drop slightly. Tooru sighs. “I think it’s just another hour or so. Sorry. Hang on.” Then, the animal tilts his head, and jumps up. Tooru quirks a brow. “What are you doing? Don’t make any noise – Hajime? Huh?”

And minutes later, Tooru has to cup a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t laugh.

In the garden, his silly werewolf of a boyfriend has pushed up a pile of snow with his nose. The snow-sprinkled tail hangs low and tense in concentration as Hajime buries almost his entire face in the snow and presses it together into something that looks like – oh. Tooru smiles. He’s such a sap.

“Idiot,” he whispers, and blows a kiss into the garden. “Hurry up. I want to kiss you again.” The wolf shows his teeth and huffs. Tooru can already see his fur going thinner, the facial features changing. It won’t be long. He can’t wait.

In the morning, when Hajime is back in Tooru’s bed and warming up his cold now-human feet, the snow-sculpted heart in the garden is still there.

“I’m an athlete, for fuck’s sake. My body’s not supposed to look like that.”

“That,” Tooru says, without looking up from his book, “is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He licks the pad of his finger, turns a page in his book and only then glares up at Hajime. “Who planted this stupidity into your head?”

“It’s true, though.” Hajime shrugs, pretending not to care. But fuck, he does. He’s been playing volleyball for as long as Tooru does, he started weight lifting in college and it’s going really well. It’s not that he’s weak – his spikes have been getting more violent and harder to receive, he’s built muscles, has gained agility and power and has overall physical abilities.

But his lower stomach is still fucking chubby.

Chubby! Why that?! I’m working so hard, Hajime thinks and pushes all air out of his lungs, trying to flatten his body as he looks into the mirror. How can an athlete like him still have baby fat or whatever this is? Maybe he’s bad at –

It takes Hajime a few moments to notice that Tooru hasn’t said anything else. When he turns around, another complaint sitting on the tip of his tongue, Tooru is staring at him. Hajime’s mouth snaps shut. He freezes. Tooru, he –

“You don’t even see one glimpse of how beautiful you are.” Tooru has moved to lie on his stomach, chin propped up on a hand, and he’s looking at Hajime as if he was some kind of miracle. Hajime knows that shimmer in Tooru’s eyes, the softness in his expression, how he tilts his head just slightly and how his perfect lips curve into a smile.

It’s the same look that Tooru wears every night before they sleep. The look he has when he tells Hajime “I love you”, and Hajime mumbles back “m-me too” because he’s still embarrassed about saying it.

Tooru heaves himself off the bed and steps forward. Hajime doesn’t move when warm fingers touch his shoulders, tracing down his broad chest and along the skin of his stomach, hitching from a sharp inhale of breath.
“It’s natural to have that. Doesn’t make you a worse athlete.” Tooru leans forward, making their foreheads touch. He keeps smiling as Hajime feels a red-hot blush rise in his cheeks.

“And you’ll always be gorgeous. I just wish you could see it. That you’re just – “

The only way to shut Tooru up when he gets so embarrassing is a kiss, and Hajime is willingly making that sacrifice before he’s going to combust. What an idiot boyfriend he has. Stupid, wonderful idiot.

All animals are irresistibly drawn towards Iwaizumi. He doesn’t know why, and he’s awkward and overly gentle when petting them. For a long time, Oikawa is jealous of all those little creatures that Iwaizumi touches as if they’re something precious.

But it gets better when Iwaizumi starts kissing him as if Oikawa is his entire universe, stars and moons and the light rising over the earth in the morning.

“Are you hurt?” is the first thing that Tooru says to him when he finds Hajime sitting in the palace garden, hidden underneath a bush with his bloody knee and twisted ankle, the crimson-purple flowers he’s tried to steal for his mother’s birthday carefully wrapped in a linen cloth next to him. But Hajime just shakes his head, and doesn’t flinch away when the other child touches his knee. “I’ll help you,” the boy says, and Hajime later learns that his name is Tooru and that he’s the crown prince or something boring.

Tooru asks him to come back. And so Hajime does, the next day, and the one after that.

“I never want you to leave,” is what Tooru says when he arrives at their secret meeting spot behind the water fountain with hands that are raw from training with a sword and eyes that are tired from hours of studying. Hajime promises that he won’t. Tooru hugs him for the first time and cries a bit. Soon, they lie on their backs and watch the sun set. Hajime goes to talk to that old man in town the next day, the one about whom his mother says that he used to be a guardian of a mighty ruler, that he knows the art of killing and fighting.

It turns out that she is right. And Hajime begins to learn.

“Kiss me,” is what Tooru whispers when they are seventeen and it’s a night that gleams from millions of stars, and Hajime has earned his place in the palace guard yesterday by taking down four of the King’s best men, one after another.

Hajime closes his eyes and breathes, slow. Tooru’s lips are soft that night, and every night after that.

“No!” and years later, Tooru’s voice echoes through the throne hall when Hajime stands before him, his sword drawn, the dagger of a man buried between his ribs and blood dripping onto Tooru’s lap. That is when Hajime turns around as the guards take that traitorous nobleman down. He smiles, his blood falling.

“Are you hurt, my love?” He says, quiet, and only Tooru hears it through the roaring crowd. Hajime closes his eyes. He hopes that he will wake up again.

“Hajime, look! It’s snowing!” Tooru flattens himself against the window of the locker room. “I can’t believe we’re going to have white winter holidays!” He smiles and tries to gets his face closer to the glass, squeezing his nose completely against the cold glass.

Behind him, Hajime gives a low grumble. “Yeah, yeah.” There’s a rustling of clothes and footsteps as Hajime walks up next to Tooru, finally finished with changing clothes. He’s always so slow after training, Tooru thinks, always the last one. But that’s alright. That way, Tooru can watch the soft shift of his muscles when he pulls off his shirt. That way, he can stare from the corner of his eyes, at the man whom he’s loved for – well.

He can’t remember not loving Hajime. It’s so bad. The feeling is warm, his heart burns and sends sparks and god, Hajime is all he’s ever dreamt of.

“Oooh, look!” Tooru peels himself off the glass and whirls around, pulling Hajime by the wrist – “careful, you idiot!” – and out of the locker room. “That’s so pretty!”

They’re standing outside, and Tooru smiles. A snowflake touches his nose when he lifts his head. It’s not much, but the white shimmer is gently covering the whole earth in frost and cold. “It’s going to look beautiful tomorrow,” Tooru says.

“Yeah,” Hajime says next to him, and his hand slides into Tooru’s. “You look beautiful.”

“I – w-what?” Did he just –

Hajime… blushes. It’s something Tooru has never seen before, and he stares at his best friend, lips slightly parted, and his fingers grip Hajime’s more tightly when his friend tries to pull away. But Hajime doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t take it back. This – this wonderful, stupid idiot stares at Tooru as if he’s the winter wonder here, and then he leans in and breathes a soft kiss against Tooru’s trembling lips.

“It’s really pretty,” Hajime says, very quiet. When he starts walking and pulls Tooru behind himself, the redness has crawled all the way into his neck and up to his cheekbones. “C’mon. It’s cold.”

Tooru can’t speak. He just follows, wordless, and rubs an arm over his face to keep those stupid warm tears from flowing. But Hajime’s hand is in his own, where Tooru has wanted it to be for years, an eternity, and that’s all that matters.

“Those are glasses.”

Tooru lifts an eyebrow and rests one hand on his tilted hip. “So attentive, Hajime. Yes, they are.”

“Glasses,” Hajime echoes. “Which means you see better now.” He’s starting to sound a little bit like a parrot, Tooru thinks and can’t keep himself from snickering. But instead of scolding him for it, Hajime just stares at him as if he’d just stripped naked and tried to dance on the table (hey, that was just once, okay. College is a crazy place.)

But suddenly, just when Tooru is about to wave a hand in front of his boyfriend’s face, Hajime jolts. “Okay. So. Yeah.” And strangely, he turns away from Tooru and lowers his head. “That’s fine.”

“Sure as hell doesn’t look like it,” Tooru says and raises his other brow as well. What is up with Hajime? Maybe he thinks Tooru’s ugly now? Oh God. The sting inside his chest is ice-cold. “Don’t you like me with glasses…?”

“No!” Hajime whirls around, cheeks burning, and it looks like he’s shielding his face from the sun because he holds his hand up really awkwardly. “I just. You always look good. I just. I mean, you see better now, right. Uhm.”

This is getting weirder by the second. Tooru grabs his boyfriend’s hand and peels it off his face. “Come on, I can see something’s bothering you. Are they that ugly – put your hand down, what are you even – wait.”

And somehow, it hits him. Tooru lets go of Hajime and his eyes widen. No. That can’t be – or can it? Hajime’s face has taken on the colour of a sunset, and he rubs his neck, staring to the floor. Tooru swallows, hard, and gently takes his hands. “Are you – why won’t you look at me?”

“Because maybe you won’t find me attractive anymore.”

Tooru blinks. That is – “…the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” He sighs, and lightly presses his forehead against Hajime’s. “Look. Hey, look at me.” And when Hajime does it, Tooru smiles, soft and mischievous. “I know how you look when you come, and I know that face up close. I know you drool when you sleep. Glasses won’t change how much I love you.”

“You honestly turn every love confession into an insult.” Hajime gently punches him into his ribcage but still grins, and then he snatches the glasses right off Tooru’s face to kiss him, lifting his head up high to reach him.

All Tooru has to whisper is “let me take care of you”, and Hajime melts into a shudder underneath the weight of his body.

It’s been too long since Tooru has kissed him like that, too long since his tongue has traced the soft rim of Hajime’s mouth, coaxing a whimper, a sigh, the jolt of strong hips against his own. “I’ll be so good to you, I promise. Jus’ let me – yeah, c’mon. All yours tonight.” Tooru’s promises are sweet, his words catching between the ivory cage of Hajime’s ribs when he kisses his chest and drags a tease of nails over the hitching shiver of Hajime’s stomach.

It’s been too long, Tooru thinks and feels Hajime’s hands slide into his hair, a breathless gasp of “God, I need – “, strong fingers curling into his dark-sweated hair, pulling. It’s so good, he’s going insane, and Hajime will fall apart for Tooru’s touches and it will be his name, the syllables of his soul that crack from Hajime’s lips in heavy moans when –

He can’t wait anymore. His fingers find the waistband of Hajime’s underwear and drag it down. “Tooru.” The noise Hajime makes, oh, that vulnerable sound, he wants to remember that forever. He wants to mark his chest with it and carry this man’s marks around on his lips so that everyone sees how fucking perfectly Hajime makes his blood rush.

“It healed nicely.” Tooru smiles, and brings his lips down on Hajime’s burning skin. “Didn’t think you could become more attractive, but this is – “

And then, Hajime throws his head back and whimpers something that sounds like “please, Tooru, please.”

Oh, he’s so weak for this man, Tooru thinks as his mouth closes around the silver glint at the head of Hajime’s thick cock, and his tongue flicks against the cool metal. His eyes fall shut when Hajime’s fingers tighten in his hair, and his lips tighten, a flutter of dark lashes, before his nails dig into Hajime’s shuddering thighs and Tooru lets him fall.

When Tooru is five years old, he learns that all atoms in the universe once pulsed through the hydrogen-blood of a star, and that every molecule in the world has been weaved together by a kiss from the black sky’s dust.

When Tooru is twenty-five years old, and he counts the caleidoscope of light dancing through Hajime’s eyes as his lips speak “yes, I will” through a smile of salt, that is when Tooru can finally believe the old tale of how the world was born.

Sometimes, Hajime is scared of how perceptive Tooru is.

Well, not scared. More like impressed with a hint of surprised and honestly fascinated, but he’s not saying that out loud. Tooru would never stop teasing him about it. Really, it’s incredible, that Tooru just has to take one look at Hajime’s hands as he serves dinner for them (it’s pasta with some sauce, tomato-garlic-ish and delicious).

“You didn’t take care of them. Again.” Tooru takes his plate from Hajime and then curls his finger around the warm palm of Hajime’s hand. He frowns, tracing the rough skin, and Hajime shivers slightly. It feels good, but he still says: “Sorry.” – “I’ll help you out once more. But this is the last time. You have to do this by yourself, can’t have them bleed one day.”

It won’t be the last time, and they both know it. Hajime smiles while they eat.

His hands resting on Tooru’s leg has become a ritual. Hajime has never been one to take care of his hands; they’ve always been dry and cracked from volleyball, even now in university. He didn’t think Tooru would notice. But one evening, when Tooru’s lips had tasted honey-sweet and dark underneath his mouth, Tooru had laced their fingers up and whispered: “Let me take care of you. Just this once, let me – relax for me, please. Okay, Hajime?”

And Hajime had said ‘yes’. Had promised to take better care of himself. Oh, Tooru had made him fall and relax, go pliant and warm and offer up his body in so many ways. Loving Tooru is easy, and being loved? Just as breathing.

“You get so calm when I do this.” Tooru’s warm voice takes him back to reality. It’s after dinner and of course they’re on the couch, Hajime resting his hands on Tooru’s leg while strong, gentle fingers rub the warmed-up lotion into his strained palms. “Do you like it?” Tooru asks. His voice smiles with amusement.

“Yes,” Hajime mumbles, and kisses him on the lips. “I do. And you, too.”