Tag: oikawa

“Stop calling me a hero,” Iwaizumi says as he sets the cup of hot milk with honey down next to Tooru’s bed. Tooru looks up at him from the pile of blankets that hides him up to his nose, and frowns. “But you are,” he says. As soon as Iwaizumi is by his side, he reaches for the milk and hugs the cup with his thin fingers. “You’re my hero. You – the things you do for me – “ 

Iwaizumi touches their foreheads together. “Heroes save lives. I’m just your boyfriend. Want me to sleep here or in the living room?” 

Tooru smiles. “Here.” He starts crying just a minute later, and Iwaizumi doesn’t complain about the milk that drips out of the cup when his fingers shake. He simply takes it and puts it away, before opening his arms – leaving Tooru the choice. 

Tonight, he wants to be touched. Tonight, the trauma and memories are weaker than his burning wish to melt into Iwaizumi’s arms, forget about the flashbacks and bitter tears, and feel loved. 

Some heroes stay unknown, Tooru thinks when Iwaizumi’s lips kiss his forehead with a reverence as if he’s worthy, sacred, unbroken. Some legends are never told, and some names are never adorned with gold and silver. 

Iwaizumi is silent when he fights Tooru’s battles by his side, and his love is wordless and warm-cupreous as it conquers and heals. 

amalasdraws:

For the wonderfull moami whose beautiful stories make my heart beat faster.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I met Amala not too long ago, and finding out that we are both from Germany and thus can scream about Iwaoi in our mother tongue was wonderful. 

What is even more wonderful is how she is a kind person to the core, and gives me such a great birthday gift. A COMIC! A WHOLE COMIC! I am screaming, dear Amala, and I love this so much. The tenderness in Tooru’s look in the last picture is destroying my soul. And Hajime – he cares so much but has problems showing it, oh my gosh. 

I feel honoured that I inspire you and make your heart beat faster. Du bist ein toller, wunderbarer Mensch. Danke für alles – das Geschenk und deine Freundschaft. ♥

Tooru is an expert at flirting. Really, he is. He’s been charming women and girls since elementary school, and he’s good at it. Being cute helps, though, and Tooru is adorable, okay? Extremely, absolutely adorable. 

But Tooru is also a giant idiot, because he’s fallen in love with the only person who is immune against all of his weapons. It’s a boy. It’s his best friend. And suddenly, Tooru is lying on his bed, clutching his phone tightly and typing a message that he knows he’s gonna regret. But you know – desperate times… Okay. He’s just gonna ask him to come over. They rarely meet outside volleyball anymore – and hey, why not throw in a little teasing? Iwa won’t get it, anyways.

[to: Iwa-chan ♥]
wanna come over for volleyball and chill? ❤ 

He’s done it. He really just sent this message. Tooru closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to hold in the helpless squeal that builds in his throat. Then, his phone vibrates. 

[from: Iwa-chan ♥]
We already had practice today. And I know what x and chill means, idiot.

Tooru forgets how to breathe. He’s fucked up. Oh – oh God – another message?

[from: Iwa-chan ♥]
On the other hand, I’m down for kiss and chill. If that gets you to finally make a move on me and stop staring like a lovesick puppy. 

The noise that comes out of Tooru’s mouth is terrible close to those little squeaks that girls make when they spot him on the court. And when Tooru’s mother opens the front door to Iwa, barely ten minutes later, Tooru greets him with a gleaming smile and an imprint of the pillow on his cheek – where he’s pressed his face into the soft fabric and screamed his happiness into it, before he’d sent a message back. 

[to: Iwa-chan ♥]
forget chill. I only want the first part, every day from now on. and come over now!

“I know you want to hear that I love you,” Hajime tells him one day. Tooru is surprised – one minute they’re cuddling, and then Hajime reaches for his bag and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson. Tooru wants to ask what’s wrong, but Hajime just pushes the paper into his hands. “Just read it. I can’t say it out loud, so – please. This is for you. It’s yours.” 

And because Tooru is eternally curious and eager for Hajime’s words, he reads.

One day, my love, I’ll tell you 
How the white gold of your eyes
Conjured dawn’s kiss in my dead heart
Took my darkness with a smile 

And if silver dew of sadness
Crowns the blind spot in your chest
I will fight all of your battles 
I will lay your fears to rest

It’s quiet when Tooru sets the paper down. Hajime watches him, eyes flickering between the poetry and Tooru’s eyes. “Sorry if it’s bad.” 
But he goes silent when Tooru falls into his arms, silent tears on his cheeks, and curls against his chest like something tiny and vulnerable. “Don’t apologize,” Tooru whispers, kissing Hajime’s knuckles. “You gave me more than I love you, and that’s all I need. You gave me – you.” And Hajime just smiles, and holds him.

Tooru is seven and holds his mother’s hand tightly. He remembers that it’s an innocent summer day as they walk home from school when the old woman from the house next to theirs hisses “yakuza” as Tooru passes by. He doesn’t know the word. A week later, a new, young woman has moved into the house, and she smiles and gives Tooru candy when his mother takes him home from school. He doesn’t see the old woman again. His father says it was an accident. 

Tooru is seventeen and he smiles a lot. He loves volleyball, his grades are good, and his Sunday are spent in front of Hajime’s tv with video games and playful wrestling matches on his soft bed. One day, Tooru wants to kiss him. One day, he’ll be brave. But he always just goes home without anything more than a hug. Tooru doesn’t invite him over. He doesn’t talk about Hajime, but he dreams. 

He’s worried when he comes home from school today – Hajime’s been sick, has missed practice. And as he enters, he can already hear the faint buzz of voices, the deep authorative growl of his father’s speech. Tooru takes a deep breath. He closes the front door, quiet, slips out of his jacket and shoes. One of his father’s men bows and takes him to the living room. “Your father is waiting, Oikawa-san.”

“There you are,” his father says when Tooru comes in. “Good. I need you to help me decide. Iwaizumi-san refuses to show his gratitude for the favours we’ve been doing his company, so his children are on vacation with us now.” 

Tooru cannot breathe. His throat roars. He swallows. The world halts, hisses. 

He doesn’t know the girl that’s tied to a chair, but he would know the boy’s dark brown eyes in blindness and death. Hajime stares, rigid, and the fear shimmering in the blood dripping from his gagged mouth has Tooru jolt. He’s tied, too, on the ground, a bruise on his cheek. No. God, no. Not him. 

Tooru’s father nods to one of his men. The guy takes out a knife. “I think a present will convince Iwaizumi-san to express his gratitude most generously. But which present… I’d say a finger or two. From the girl or boy, Tooru?” 

“The girl.” He doesn’t hesitate. Hajime’s eyes widen, and he screams against the gag. Tooru flinches when one of the men knocks the end of his gun into his head, and Hajime goes silent. 

Tooru’s father pats his shoulder when he passes by, stalking towards the girl who has started to sob into the cloth between her lips. “Take care of the son, will you? And – good choice. I’m certain that Iwaizumi-san will cooperate now.” 

“Yes, father.” Tooru steps forward, kneels by Hajime’s side. It’s only when the girl starts to scream that Tooru leans in to brush his shaking fingers over Hajime’s forehead. He stays like this until the girl doesn’t cry anymore and his father tucks a small, bloody thing into a plastic bag. 

Then, he whispers: “Forgive me.”

“You never tell me ‘I love you’. I wonder why,” Tooru says.

“Hold still,” Iwaizumi mumbles, slipping warm fingers over Tooru’s knee, feeling for tension in the muscles. “Does it hurt? Are you sure you can play? I hope you had breakfast, idiot. Did you sleep okay? I don’t want you on the court if you’re feeling bad – wait. What’d you say?”

“Nothing.” Tooru smiles. “Nothing, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re so protective, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says as Hajime’s hands wrap his knee in sports bandages. “It’s amazing how careful you are with me.” 

Hajime tugs the bandages until they sit right and drops his head against Tooru shoulder. “You’d do the same if you had something that’s irreplacable.” 

The silence is white and golden. Tooru closes his eyes and breathes into Hajime’s hair. “I do,” he says. His fingers are pale agains the bronze of Hajime’s skin when he laces them up. 

They breathe together until their heart beats align. 

‘I couldn’t love him any more than this,’ Hajime thinks and watches Tooru’s smile bring an iridescent glow to his face, head falling back as he laughs into the sunset over the ocean, where Iwa could touch his hand but doesn’t because they’re only on vacation and not lovers. I couldn’t love him any more than this.

But he does, when Tooru’s lips kiss another girl. 

But he does, when his fingers hold Tooru’s hair back while he throws up the alcohol, a red imprint of lipstick on his neck, bruises from teeth, hickeys. 

But he does, when one guy takes it too far and tries to do things to Tooru that have Hajime’s eyes go red, red, red, blood on the man’s mouth and him and Tooru at a police station, a pale hand of his best friend clutching his shirt. 

But he does, in secret and with swallowed sobs, when he’s awake at night and Tooru sleeps, curled up in his bed, because he sleeps better like this and Hajime lets him. 

But he does, when a girl asks Hajime out and Tooru goes quiet, darkness in his voice when he tries to smile and Hajime finally, finally sees the lies that they’ve been telling each other to hide black jealousy and golden, burning affection. 

Hajime loves him more than this, every day, when Tooru’s bruises are long gone and he still sleeps in Hajime’s bed, but with a hand on his softly beating heart and a smiling mouth against his neck. 

“Iwaizumi-san?” Kindaichi taps his shoulder just as Hajime’s leaving the locker room. “Hm?” Hajime turns around to look at his kouhai. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Kindaichi looks a bit embarrassed, his voice going quiet. “You see, uhm, everyone knows that you and Oikawa-san are going out. But why is he still flirting with all those girls? Aren’t you bothered by that?” 

Hajime takes a moment to consider. He looks over to Oikawa, who’s smiling at a group of girls and accepting small gifts. Kindaichi tilts his head in confusion when Hajime starts to laugh. 

“Did you know that I’m half-German, Kindaichi? My mother’s from Northern Germany and moved to Japan later in her life. She taught me the language quite well.” – “Uh. No?” Kindaichi blinks. 

“Well,” Hajime says, a grin on his lips. “We have a certain saying: Appetit holt man sich draußen, aber gegessen wird zuhause. It roughly translates to something very interesting.” And just as Oikawa comes dancing back to them, his fangirls gone, Hajime pulls him close to press a rough, passionate kiss onto his lips. 

Kindaichi stands there, awkwardly blushing and weirdly nervous, just as Hajime pulls back from a very wide-eyed Tooru and says, smiling: “The translation is You get an appetite outside, but you always eat at home.” 

Kindaichi has never desired a spontaneous loss of short-time memory as much as he does now.