You’ve felt the pair of eyes on you for a while now. A girl, not much younger than you, keeps glancing your way as she peruses the rows of books. You can see the shyness in her expression when she does her best to subtly move closer to you, putting on her best act at reading the titles as her fingertips run over the book spines.
“Um,” she stutters, not daring to make eye contact with you when you turn your attention to her. “Your bodyguard is really cute.”
Your body instinctively freezes, not wanting to be rude by laughing at the strange assumption, though you can’t help your eyes going a little bit wide. The girl finally lifts her blushing face to dart her eyes over your shoulder and then quickly whip her attention back to the books. Your eyes follow where she had looked, and you realize that she’s talking about Iwaizumi standing a few meters away, looking at you with crossed arms, probably annoyed that you’ve made him give you the tour of downtown LA. It’s been an hour since you entered The Last Bookstore and have shown no signs of wanting to leave anytime soon.
You choke back a giggle. Even though you’re both in your twenties, it’s hard to see him as anything other than the boy you’ve known since he was a dirt-faced little gremlin catching frogs and bugs around your neighborhood. What on earth would make anyone think that he’s your-
You look your old friend up and down as the question forms in your mind. Maybe it’s his all black outfit - though casual, it makes him look somewhat uniform. The plain black crew neck stretches tightly across his chest and shoulders in a way you’ve never noticed before, and the seams of his sleeves are barely holding it together against the flex of his biceps. His sharp green eyes bore into you under the quirk of his brows, somewhat curious as to what kind of conversation you could be having with the girl.
Perhaps it isn’t so strange of an assumption.
You quickly turn back to the girl, beaming at her with an excited a whisper, “Oh my god, you’re right! Should I tell him?”
She squeaks, furiously shaking her head before running away in embarrassment. You giggle at the reaction, finding it cute and funny that someone would see Hajime so intimidatingly attractive. Even if you are just realizing how much he’s grown up since leaving Japan, he’s still the same person you’ve known nearly your whole life.
“What did you say to scare that kid?” He asks, suddenly appearing directly by your side. You’re all too aware of his thick, strong arm brushing against yours.
“She thinks you’re my big, scary bodyguard,” you hassle him with a playful nudge.
“Wha- Bodyguard?” He laughs.
“It’s because you’ve gotten so beefy since you moved over here,” you tease, wrapping your hands around his defined arms and giving a squeeze. His skin is warm against your palms, and you can’t help yourself from continuing to squish his muscles with your fingers. He’s always been atheltic, though you had never really took much notice of his physique when you were growing up. The Irvine dining hall must be feeding him well.
“I-Idiot,” he hisses, body stiffening as his cheeks glow in agitation.
“If being a sports trainer doesn’t work out, you’d probably be a pretty good bodyguard. I always feel safe with you around,” you continue to prod with a cheeky, impish grin and lean on him a little bit more.
You hear him grunt, though it seems he might have been trying to mutter something behind his tight-lipped scowl.
“What was that, Haji?” You ask innocently, despite knowing that you’re pressing his buttons. Though perhaps it might be a little too flippant, for next thing you know, the shelves are digging into your back, and your dear old friend Hajime is close enough that you can feel the inside of his knee touching your thigh.
“I said, it’s because you’re dressed like that. Kid probably thought I was your bodyguard because you look…”
Your heart stops, suddenly aware of the outfit you put together to try and blend in with the LA-ites. His face moves closer, and his hand raises up to your head. The girl was right: he really is handsome, especially seeing him at this proximity and taking in the smell of his aftershave. You wait for the feeling of his fingertips against your cheek, but it never comes. Instead, he pulls a book from beside your ear as he maintains eye contact, not saying anything yet something strong is coming through his gaze.
He glances down at the cover of the book in his hand before tapping the top of it against your collarbone. Your mind is blank, but you grab the book without thinking about it. He lets his stare linger for another moment before wordlessly stepping back and then shuffles off around the next row. You finally take a breath when his figure leaves your sight, clutching the book as you try to form any kind of thoughts as to what this tight feeling is in your chest. You try to reason that it’s probably nothing, and decide to wave it off as something that couldn’t be read into. And you would’ve been convinced of that if you never looked down at the title of the thriller in your hands: “No Safe Place.”
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