The last time Hajime had talked to Kageyama had been at his own high school graduation ceremony, and Kageyama had asked him a question, as simple and natural as breathing. “You love Oikawa-san, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Hajime had replied. Lying was useless, unneeded. Kageyama’s blue eyes had traced along his face. He hadn’t smiled. “I see. I don’t understand, but I guess I don’t have to.” To that, Hajime had said no, and they’d said goodbye.
It’s five years later and Hajime wants nothing more than to go home from university in this horrible blizzard, but a hand catches his shoulder. When he turns around, there’s Kageyama – but then again, it’s not. The loneliness is gone from his dark eyes, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. And maybe that’s because of the young man clinging to his arm, sunshine-bright hair, eyes wide and warm like sweet honey milk.
“Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama says, and Hajime hugs him simply because it feels right. They chat for a moment, the boyfriend – Hinata, right – making sure to distract Kageyama with touches all the while. And then, Kageyama says:
“You still love him, don’t you?”
Hajime says yes. “We live together, but it’s not like – “
Kageyama shakes his head, and even Hinata looks sad. “I thought you’d find out on your own one day. Iwaizumi-san, he – he’s always loved you.” The snow tastes bittersweet on Hajime’s cold lips. He swallows, shakes his head.
“He does,” Hinata says softly. “Sometimes, he phones Tobio. Believe me when I say that he loves you. Y’know, Tobio’s almost as big of an idiot as him, they both thought they’re never good enough – ow!” Kageyama growls at him, smiles then.
But Hajime doesn’t hear them anymore. He runs, snowflakes catching in his hair, blue-white cold bleeding over his mouth as he pants heavily. Tooru’s at home when he arrives, his bag being thrown in the corner. He’s on the couch and looks up, smiling, then opening his mouth. “Haji – “ is all that he can say.
“Eight years.” Hajime’s face is buried into Tooru’s shoulder, arm around his waist, his cold body strong against Tooru’s chest. “That’s for how long I’ve – God, why didn’t you say something, I thought – I wanted to, but Kageyama told me… ‘s it true? Talk to me. Tooru, talk to me, and don’t lie, don’t lie anymore.”
Tooru doesn’t speak for a long time. Then, his fingers softly cup Hajime’s jaw, trembling, thumb brushing his lips. His eyes are a beautiful darkness, star-lit by a glint of swallowed sadness and something long, long hidden.
“Twelve years.” The warmth of his mouth presses to Hajime’s lips. And Hajime chokes on the sob that roars in his lungs when Tooru whispers: “I was scared. You’re everything, and I was noth- “
Hajime shuts him up with a kiss, a desperate, wild thing lingering between their mouths, and Tooru curls against him like he’s that moon that’s only ever waited for its stars to finally frame the pale grace of its body, and light it up in white.






