The injury had come to him at the worst possible time, and so Hajime had to watch Tooru and their team win Olympia in front of his tv instead of by his side.

None of them had cried when they’d kissed each other goodbye on the airport. His teammates had all hugged Hajime before, wishing him well, pity in their eyes about the injury that had messed up his foot. But oh, Tooru had pulled him so close that Hajime lost all the air in his lungs.

“I’ll count all the kisses you’re gonna owe me.” Tooru’s breath had been soft against his ear, voice heavy and silver with hidden tears. “One in the morning, one at night. One each time I cry, ten when I win, ten when we meet again.”

“You’ll get all of them when you win,” Hajime had said.
When. Not ‘if’. Some things are as certain as the sun rising in the morning.

The airplane’s half an hour late. Hajime stares at the hallway where people pour out into the airport, and there they are. There he is.

Tooru storms forward, eyes wide, the golden medal swinging around his neck over his open team jacket. He falls into Hajime’s arms, lips soft, salt-wet, begging and praying and whispering hello, it’s me, oh I missed you –

But Hajime gently pushes him away, reaches into his pocket. “You counted?” He asks. Tooru nods, opens his mouth.

“Don’t tell me the number”.

“What?” Something bright vanishes in Tooru’s eyes. He frowns, shifts. “Haji – “

A last deep breath. Hajime’s whole body trembles when he pulls the black velvet box out of his pocket and opens it. “You don’t have to count. I give you all my kisses for the rest of my life. If – if you will.”

And then, Tooru is crying. He sobs out loud, stumbles to his knees together with Hajime and whimpers like a child when the silver ring fits onto his finger, and Hajime’s lips touch his own in a soft reverence that says: welcome home.

part I and part II

“It’s been twenty hours, Tooru.”

Hajime’s body is ice-cold in his arms, jaw slack, throat bled dry and smeared with red. Tooru’s fingers shake when he carefully brushes dark hair out of Hajime’s closed eyes. “He’s going to be okay,” he says. “I said I’ll carry him. He – he’s not a monster, please, don’t – Suga, no!”

Sugawara’s gun presses against Hajime’s temple, and Tooru howls. “No!” His wild scream drowns out Daichi’s shouts. He rams his fist against the gun, slides his hands around Hajime’s temples, presses their foreheads together as a horrible wail rises in his chest. “Don’t, don’t do that, he’s going to be okay, we’ll find a cure. Daichi, please. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Daichi says. “But we can’t let him turn. He’s infected.” He doesn’t hold Suga back.
Tooru’s vision melts into tears. “We can save him. Th-there’s hope. He’s not dead,” he whispers, soft.

“Not yet.” Suga is crying, silent, his voice calm. “Let him go. Get off of him, now, or I swear I’ll drag you away myself and tie you down.”

Tooru’s scream dies in his throat when the body underneath him moves. Oh.

“..fuck,” Daichi says, somewhere far away. A strong hand hauls the weapon out of Suga’s hand, and an iron-firm arm wraps around Tooru’s waist.

“H… Hajime?” Tooru stares down at the man who’s forehead is pressed against his own. There’s a jolt through the ribcage underneath him.

And Hajime opens his eyes.

“Why don’t you love me?” Tooru asks.

"I do,“ Hajime says. "But nobody’s ever enough to make you stay."

You are, Tooru thinks. You would be enough.

He doesn’t say it. His throat is tight. His skin burns from all those people he’s touched, who didn’t mean anything, and he cannot speak.

Hajime waits, and waits, and waits.

When Tooru finally finds the right words in his heart, Hajime is gone.

“So, would you care to explain where that bleeding nose came from?”

“If you’re asking like that, no, actually.”

“Hajime, this looks broken. What happened to you?! … let me look at your wrist. Oh my god, what is that? I didn’t know skin could turn that colour.”

“No. It’s nothing, really. Tooru – no – relax, I’m fine!”

“You’re not. God, what – why? You never pick fights, not since middle school.”

“I had to punch him. That guy in class, that asshole, he called you a slut.”

“…so?”

“You – I had to defend you! You’re not a slut, you never were! It’s not forbidden to enjoy sex, alright, and you’re my boyfriend now and I’m gonna fuckin’ stand up for you, Tooru, will you get that into your stubborn head one day?!”

“That’s got to be the sweetest thing you ever said to me, but I’m still taking you to the hospital. …and I love you, too.”

“Ugh, shut up. Just value yourself a bit more. You’re – you’re more than – you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Hajime.”

“…it’s alright. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine when you are. Now let’s go.”

The first Infected that Hajime kills is to save his own life.

The last he kills is to save Tooru’s – and when the knife slides into his own throat and blood dances through his vision, he can still see tears gleam in Tooru’s eyes, alive and warm, and they are the last he sees.

“You just fuck Oikawa because he’s pretty, right?”

Hajime drops the ball that he’s wanted to serve. The newest member of his university team has stepped next to him, watching him practice alone after official training’s over. Hajime’s never liked the guy. Now, he takes a deep breath, and swallows the wild animal rising in his throat deep down his chest.

The guy leans in closer. His grin has Hajime’s blood roar inside his veins. “I mean, he’s practically a girl, I guess. Pretty face, long legs. I get it. I get why you’re doing it, it’s convenient. But honestly, no matter how nice his lips would look around a dick, I don’t understand – “

“Yeah,” Hajime says, and turns. He stares down at the guy, letting his fingers curl into fists, his eyes going dark. “You don’t understand.”

And Hajime thinks of Tooru’s smile when he goes home to his family, when he hugs his mother and father and lifts his baby sister into the air, stroking her fuzzy hair. He thinks of the laughter echoing through the gym, Tooru’s hands gently guiding his little nephew’s fingers to touch the ball just right, Tooru’s mouth shy and warm against Hajime’s, Tooru curling in the bed they share and falling asleep with quiet peace on his pale skin and stars glinting in the freckles along his neck that Hajime has the unbelievable privilege to kiss.

His fist crashes down so hard that the guy falls right over. There is a horrible crack, echoing through the gym, and blood smeared over Hajime’s fingers. He steps closer, standing above the guy who whimpers like a child and holds his broken nose.

Hajime’s voice is a dark, wild snarl. He doesn’t hit the guy again, but he grabs his collar and lifts him to his feet – and his teeth are bared, white, ferocious.

“You don’t know anything about him, asshole. And I swear, if you talk about my fiancé like that ever again, I’ll break more than just your nose.”

It’s barely the hint of a touch, when Hajime drags his nail along the soft skin of Tooru’s thigh, along a swirled galaxy of spit-slick bruises, but Tooru whines like it’s all he has, all he needs to crumble and break for this man who owns him down to his naked soul. “Hajime,” his throat works around the name, lips red-fucked from Hajime’s cock earlier, the taste still heavy there, warm, lingering. “Please, oh please, I need – “

“I know.” The kiss on his hipbone is feather-light. But oh, Tooru jolts from it, tries to speak, and fails miserably. Because Hajime’s fingers curl deep inside him, sliding and fucking dragging over the soft rim of his hole that Hajime’s fucked open so well, where he’s made him come and spread him pliant and dripping wet.

And when Hajime’s dark voice growls “you’re the sweetest thing, darlin’, falling apart for me like that” into his bared neck, Tooru sobs. He shatters, white behind his eyes bursting, his skin and broken whimpers and everything, anything, it all belongs to Hajime. The fingers have stilled for a moment, and Tooru’s throat is raw when his back arches, bends into any form that Hajime wants him in, anything to get him deeper, oh please.

But Hajime’s grin is warm and his chuckle rumbles through Tooru’s skin when he kisses Tooru’s thigh once more, and says: “Not yet, love. I’m not done with you yet.”

‘Oikawa’s Diary.’ || one.

It’s so stupid, but sometimes I wish we were still children.

He loved catching bugs with that little net, beetles and butterflies and even a worm, one time. I don’t think I’ve spent a single summer without him. God, I was such a crybaby, and he knew. Of course he knew. He put a beetle on my arm, and would make fun of how I froze right where I was sitting. But when I started crying, he’d stop laughing and take it away.
He never really hurt me, back then. He never has until now.

I hope he won’t ever forget those summers. Well – at least I’ll remember, even if he doesn’t.

I couldn’t ever forget how Hajime became my friend.

“My father called,” Hajime says when Tooru comes into their dorm room.

It’s all he needs to say. Tooru drops his bag, slams the door shut and strides over, falling down on the bed where Hajime’s sprawled out. “Tell me.” He kisses the corner of Hajime’s mouth, curls himself into the curve of Hajime’s chest where it hurts the most. He smells like lavender and sweat. Hajime turns his head to bury his nose into the warmth of Tooru’s neck.

“We didn’t talk long.” He speaks slowly, carefully. Every word weighs on his tongue, iron-heavy and thick. “Of course he asked how mom is. If she’s got a boyfriend. Told him to fucking call her himself, but I know he won’t.”

“And then?” Tooru’s chin is pressing into his scalp, hands warm and still on his shoulder blades. Hajime feels small. It had taken months for Tooru to convince him that opening up didn’t mean that someone was going to ram their claws up his soul and twist until he bled. Tooru is patient when he wants something. He never lets Hajime doubt that he wants him, always has, maybe always will.

Hajime closes his eyes, breathes into the dark. “He asked if I still had a boyfriend.”

The warm hands on his back twitch. “Haji,” Tooru says, gentle.

“I said yes. He hung up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hajime whispers into Tooru’s skin, and his fingers go tight and angry in Tooru’s shirt. “Just – don’t be sorry for… for – “

“For loving you?” Tooru says, and then: “Never. Not for that.”

“Good.” His blood still aches and coils, but Tooru then kisses the edge of his mouth again, and Hajime lets him. Tooru gives him the silence he needs. He’s simply there, all evening, until it’s dark outside and Hajime kisses him back.

Tooru has been biting his lips ever since Hajime first met him. He does it when he’s nervous (surprise quiz in class), excited (important volleyball game) or crying, silent tears on his cheeks, words stuck in his throat – when he thought Hajime would reject his brave, wonderful confession after training, after years.

And during that last time, Hajime had wiped his tears and pressed their foreheads together, whispering: “If you keep biting your lip like that, I’ll kiss you every time you do it. You’re ruining your skin. Alway make me care for you.”

Tooru had stared at him, soft mouth red and eyes tear-dark. Then, he’d smiled, choking on one last sob. “I’m sorry. But – but I think a kiss could make it better.”

Of course, Tooru still bites his lips nowadays – but he does so with a smirk at Hajime, and a soft noise in the back of his throat when Hajime kisses him gently.