clingy and dramatic husband!hajime when he’s sleepy or drunk. you’d never believe it. even he doesn’t believe it. insists he’s not— boy you literally are!!!! it’s not loud or necessarily theatric, it’s just his actions are so … well, we can let them speak for themselves.
— you’re trying to head out to work, but he’s got a day off and he’s grabbing you by the waistband of your pants from the edge of the bed. “come back to bed,” he complains, voice muffled into the pillow. “you don’t need to go to work.” “hajime, i actually do need to,” you reply, trying to pry his fingers off.
he lets out a grumble, still holding on tight. then he turns his face so you can see one sharp hazel eye staring at you. you know that look. it’s all too familiar on these types of days. you will admit, however, that the look works. “ugh,” you mutter, bending down to press a wet kiss to his cheek, lips curving into a reluctant smile. “good bye. i love you.” “i love you, too,” he calls with sleepy affection, letting his arm drop.
— he’s laying on your body on the couch, face nestled into your chest on a scorching day. “haji,” you whisper. “get off. it’s hot.” “no,” he mumbles, moving to bury his face in your neck. you sigh. “i’m serious, hajime, i’m sweating really bad.” his arms snake around your waist. “no,” he says, louder. “ha. ji. me.” you place emphasis on each syllable in his name. “let me go.” “‘m not hajime,” he replies.
you furrow your brows. “yes, you are. c’mon, it’s boiling in here.” you try to push him off, to no avail. you take a deep breath. “babe,” you start. “mm.” hajime shifts slightly. “please get off me,” you request, patting his back. hajime grumbles, not answering. a bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. “what do you want from me?” you wail, fanning yourself.
“i want you to call me baby,” he says, mouth in your armpit.
— after a seijoh team video call where they catch up and drink together, hajime is totally and completely hammered. usually he’ll stop drinking around the time he gets warm and cuts it off there, but it was a really long call and everyone ended up drunk. including him.
“seriously,” you say under your breath, watching him across the kitchen table as he sips on the soup you made for him. hajime glances up at you, cheeks rosy, then frowns. “your face,” he starts, setting down his bowl. “are you mad at me?”
“i’m not mad at you,” you reply. “hmm,” hajime grumbles doubtfully, putting his face on the table. he stays like that for a moment, then tilts his face up so he can look at you. “you’re so far away. come closer.” “i’m across the table,” you remind him. “too far,” he insists, reaching out (his elbow isn’t even on the table). “can’t reach you.” “haji, you’re not even trying.”
— outside of the doors of the home you two share, he’s back to what everyone else usually sees. calm, reserved, almost stoic at times, but still loving and caring. definitely not what you witness on lazy mornings, or sweltering afternoons, or quiet nights.
it’s like spraining your wrist hula-hooping. “why are you telling me this?” because no one. will ever believe you
