boys, boys, boys — chapter 5
“All of our boyfriends wanted to make out with you at some point.”
“Yeah, and some of them succeeded.”
(10 years ago, Hajime was 65% sure that Oikawa was in love with him)
rating: T
pairing: iwaizumi x oikawa (main!!) + iwaizumi x sugawara, iwaizumi x semi, iwaizumi x akashi, iwaizumi x kenma, iwaizumi x tendou, iwaizumi x atsumu
themes: fluff and angst, canon complaint, time-skips, slice of life, coming of age, college au, pining, post-timeskip, canon divergence
status: work in progress, 5/6
Nothing in life is easy; Hajime knows that.
Oikawa — ‘bless him’ — is gripping his hand tightly, supportive fingers curling around Hajime’s in an endearingly misguided attempt to soothe a wound that caramel eyes haven’t figured out no longer bleeds.
And Hajime’s not above a physical demonstration. He was finally getting to that part, dammit. Ready to open the door to his singular hotel room, sit the owner of those caramel eyes down on Hajime’s cardboard bed, and reveal just how much his healed and yearning heart has always, always, belonged to chocolate curls, milk-bread mouth, and pale palms that have, and will, touch everything to gold.
The red wrench thrown in Hajime’s plan smirks, carmine eyes mischievously twinkling at Oikawa’s anchoring grip.
Now, maybe, just maybe, having extremely close relations with a couple of people within Japan’s volleyball network wasn’t the best course of action that past-Hajime could have taken as the present physical trainer of Japan’s Men’s Volleyball team.
But for the sake of every single God out there, all of Hajime’s exes don’t even play anymore! So what on actual Earth are they all doing here, bombarding Hajime’s most crucial moments, haunting him about like the Ghosts of Ex-Mas Pasts!
Well, except him. Could Ushijima really even be considered an ex? Hajime thinks, ‘catalyst,’ is a far more generous word to fit the enormity of Ushijima Wakatoshi.
“Congratulations again, my darling,” Hajime’s mother pushes his graduation present into his palms as she pulls away from their embrace — plane tickets to Europe with an itinerary and Eurail pass. His name is not the only one printed on each of the tickets.
Oikawa’s mother squirmed in her place on the sofa of Hajime’s childhood home, “Tooru’s going to meet you in Italy!” She squeals, clapping her hands the same way Oikawa does when his excitement is too large for his body to hold.
When Oikawa’s plane lands in Florence, the table Hajime’s sitting at vibrates obnoxiously with several incoming texts.
[From: Not So ShittyKawa]
I’m here!!
⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
Do you like your graduation gift?
Your mom & I had so much fun with the itinerary
⊹ ₊ ⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡˚₊‧⁺ ₊ ⊹
There are a lot of similarities between Spanish & Italian
So don’t worry Iwa-chan, I will be your humble guide
Just look to me~~
✧٩(•́⌄•́๑)و ✧
But I still don’t know Italian so don’t rely too much lolol
Wya
<(．＿．)>
Hajime doesn’t think about how the squeeze of Oikawa’s body against his own is the first real sense of accomplishment he’s felt in the past year, his graduation ceremony included.
Due to Oikawa’s training schedule, he’s only allowed three weeks off. The first half is spent in Italy, the second in Spain.
It’s a whole new type of fun — adventures across the unknown with his best friend. They try all sorts of different European cuisines, some they like, and some Oikawa will snort out a hideous laugh at Hajime’s pinched mouth before suggesting, “We don’t have to only eat European food, Iwa-chan. Oh, wait here! I think I heard that family speaking Japanese earlier.” — and Hajime will silently thank Oikawa for being such a nosy bastard.
The days are outstandingly hot. Hajime will lift his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow, and Oikawa will almost slip up the stairs of the Tower of Pisa and claim, “These steps are literally drooping marble, Iwa-chan! I’m wearing slides!” under Hajime’s mean cackles. The summer nights become Hajime’s favorite, though, as the exhaustion of their tourist festivities will catch up to them, and Oikawa will guide them towards a small outdoor cafe where time slows down enough to take in another year that has passed between them.
Every night is a teenage sleepover — one bed, one laptop, one movie. Lean limbs and broad shoulders that gravitate to weave under and over until morning light illuminates a sunkissed arm wrapped around Hajime’s waist, strong fingers lax beneath his shirt and brushing over his stomach. Hajime will grumble at the blare of his alarm, stretch over the nightstand to turn it off, and shiver at the draft across his back. He’ll turn around in Oikawa’s hold in time to catch, “five more minutes, Iwa-chan,” muffling off into Hajime’s shoulder. They’ll effortlessly finetune their positions so that it is Hajime holding Oikawa around the shoulders to allow his best friend to wipe the drool off the corner of his plush mouth into the cotton shirt that stretches over Hajime’s chest.
In the twilight of dreams and wake, Hajime will thank his mother for the best gift he’s ever received.
It is after the abstract architecture and topless beaches of Barcelona that Oikawa flies back to Argentina. Hajime snaps a picture of their teary smiles pressed together side-by-side, separated by the fat squish of their cheeks. Puffy-eyed and red-nosed, they hug each other goodbye at the security line before Oikawa demands, “You better visit me in Argentina soon!”
Hajime’s promise is lost in his sniffle, and a congested laugh escapes his chest as Oikawa doesn’t stop dramatically waving back to him until the security guard stamps Oikawa’s passport and ushers him through the point of no return.
And when Hajime sits in the newfound silence of their — his, now — hotel room, a few tears roll down his cheek as he studies the picture he’d taken an hour ago. He posts it onto his close-friends story and takes a nap — only to wake up later to half a dozen notifications of people who swiped up on his story.
[matsu.hatsu]: wow this is making me cry 🥹 send pics!! of happier moments pls 😌 n don’t be too sad ull see eachother again soon
[taka.HERO]: damn no invite?💔💔 jkjk ik this was a ~soulmates thing. wanna bet oikawa’s still crying LMAOO but srsly when r u comin back imu issei wont stop cooking 🤢🤮
[sugaa.notspice]: awww u guys look so cute <3 :’’)) sending this to daichi bc real men DO cry!! how u holdin up tho?? i got a biiiig hug waiting for u when u get back!! (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃
[hey_BROKUTO_hey]: IWA IWA!!!!!!! 🖤🥹🖤 I JST KNOW U GUYS HAD FUN && I HOPE U R ONLY CRYING HAPPY TEARS❣️
[ushijima.wakatoshi]: I didn’t know you were in Europe. I would have made time to see you, though I’m not sure if Oikawa would have been happy to see me.
[ushijima.wakatoshi]: My friend lives in Paris. It is about a 7 hour train ride, depending on which city you’re in. If you have time, please visit him, he has been missing Japan. He works in a chocolate shop. I will share his contact with you now.
[ushijima.wakatoshi]: I am not good at comforting people, but he is very good at making people smile. Maybe you guys can make each other smile.
He responds to Ushijima last, mostly because he doesn’t quite know what to say. On one hand, Hajime feels a bit weird visiting someone he doesn’t really know. On the other, Ushijima is the reason Hajime got to intern in Japan last summer — ‘who would’ve guessed that Utsui Takashi was Ushijima’s fucking father?’ — and Hajime hasn’t really figured out how to repay that favor.
He counts the leftover spending money his parents had gifted him and thinks, ‘Fuck it.’ He has enough for one more trip before he heads back home.
Paris is different from what Hajime expected. It’s a lot less clean and a lot more crowded.
After the third person that bumps into him on his way to the chocolate shop Ushijima had sent the location of, Hajime wonders if this decision was a mistake. He’s already in a shitty mood, and he’s not sure how much social bandwidth he has left to finish his journey without getting into a fistfight.
He breathes out a sigh of relief when the sign of the chocolate shop comes into view, fancy swirls of gold and blue lettering. The door is heavy, and it takes his last bit of energy to push through, but it’s worth the gush of fresh, sweet air that floods his nostrils and waters his mouth.
Hajime was never really the type to think much about chocolate. However, at the vast display of truffles, fudges, and bars, he wonders if he’s ever actually known all that much about chocolate.
Hajime’s head snaps up to meet carmine eyes.
Tendou Satori is an interesting man. He’s gangly and hyper and, honestly, kind of terrible.
He takes Hajime around Paris and teaches him how to use the metro along with a few generic phrases in French to get around. Except, when Hajime clunkily utters the last phrase to the elderly waitress of the cafe they eat lunch at, she blushes heavily and comes back with her phone number written on the back of their check, gropes his chest, and nods to the bathroom before holding her hand up and saying, “Cinq minutes?” They run out of the cafe after that, Tendou wheezing with mirth while Hajime whacks him upside the head and demands just what that phrase had actually meant.
Tendou talks shit about locals who push into their shoulders and sneer at them with unearned disdain. He slithers behind them to do crude things like make bunny ears and mime gagging and poke his tongue to his cheek with his hand pumping in a blowjob gesture. It gives an ache in Hajime’s jaw from the constant bubbles of laughter escaping his mouth.
Tendou makes Hajime try an ungodly amount of food. They walk it off with a midnight stroll down the Seine river.
“Why chocolate?” Hajime has to ask.
“Because,” Tendou draws out the word, extends the moment and waves his spindly fingers in the space between them, “...It’s my favorite!”
Hajime studies the crooked bumps of those wiggling fingers, “I’m kinda surprised, to be honest. You were probably the most annoying blocker I’ve ever had the displeasure of playing against.”
Hajime now has a bachelor’s of science in Physiology and Exercise Sciences, so he can conclude those fingers have definitely been broken and sprained countless times. Tendou Satori was not a setter — he did not care for the state of his hands further than their power to smash down seemingly beautiful plays set up by those who meticulously cared for their own. Tendou’s hands tell the tales of dislocated phalanges sacrificed for championships, broken knuckles that weren’t all set correctly for the price of five more minutes till victory. Wrapped tightly, not just for show or strategy, but also to minimize further damage.
Hajime doesn’t even realize he’s taken one of those hands into his own, “Gods, can you even feel from this one?” He studies the particularly bent pinky from Tendou’s right hand, thumbing over an angle that one’s finger should never take.
Tendou just laughs, “Sometimes. If I’m working with my hands for a long period of time, it’ll go numb with this tingly type of feeling.”
“Pins and needles,” Hajime supplies, tearing his eyes from the badly healed injury.
“Mm, exactly!” Moonlight illuminates the shadows of Tendou’s serenity. Every time Tendou smiles, Hajime notices that his eyes nearly close, as if the apples of his cheeks hold a core of glee that must be met with the carmine sunset of lazy eyelids. “And if I strain my hand open like this,” he stretches his hand open to maximize the distance between all his fingers but doesn’t venture too far as to keep his pinky in Hajime’s loose hold, “the side where that finger is will start to hurt, from the base down to my wrist.”
Hajime hums and traces the line hurt with his thumb. Tendou’s hand starts to shake with the nerves becoming agitated, “How did it happen?”
“How do you think?” Tendou relaxes his hand and curls it to wiggle his index finger at the moon, “Miracle Boy Wakatoshi!” He does that stupid little dance he’d always do whenever he’d shatter one of Hajime’s spikes.
Speaking of spikes, Hajime cringes when he processes what Tendou said. No wonder his finger was fucked up; Hajime was surprised it wasn’t torn clean off, “Sounds awful.”
Tendou laughs, “Price to pay for being the only one that could block his spikes!”
And Hajime can’t really argue with that. He’d been on the receiving end of Oikawa’s vicious serve enough times to understand that injuries are inevitable with being part of a strong team.
“You guys seem like really good friends, though.”
“Ah,” The soft lift of Tendou’s upper lip speaks of fondness, “He was my first friend.”
Hajime snorts, “Pretty sure you were his, too.”
“He’s a little odd,” Tendou kicks a rock and shrugs, “So am I.”
“Tell me more,” Hajime doesn’t know why he asks. Maybe it’s the moment, dark blues and warm yellows. Maybe it’s to grasp any straw he can to fill the silence between him and this familiar-yet-completely-unfamiliar face. Maybe it’s because looking at Tendou right now feels like looking into a mirror, the reflected image of a man who misses a friend so vital to his existence who hasn’t yet figured out how to replenish himself.
Tendou describes Ushijima Wakatoshi as a listener — “a simple guy who doesn’t speak a ton but always reads manga with me. He’ll let me talk his ears off and never once complain.” As stubborn — “he’s simple, remember? So, yeah, not a fan of the unpredictable. A real routine guy, always talking in plant-metaphors, bless him.” As earnest — “whatever’s going on in that Miracle Mind, you’re gonna know. And people say I put my foot in my mouth.” As his father’s son — “he misses him a lot. I try to understand it, but… ah, well, let’s just say I’m not very close with my parents. But Wakatoshi? Man, he takes everything his dad says to heart — thank Gods, Utsui-san’s a loving father. He calls him every weekend, always making sure Wakatoshi’s happy.”
“I think people are too surprised when they figure out Wakatoshi isn’t an intentional dream-killer.”
Hajime can relate — to the people who once thought badly of Ushijima, “Ah, yeah, it’s hard to view opponents as… anything else, really. Especially when they keep talking trash about your best friend’s school choice.”
“Pfft,” Tendou has the giggle of an unapologetic child often sent to detention, “He learnt his lesson on that one. Hinata Shouyou is officially, ‘the plant that bested concrete.’” He deepens his voice and flattens his face at that last sentence.
“That was a good impression.”
“Sometimes I wonder if he’s been like that his whole life.” Tendou sighs, “I wish I had met him when we were kids.”
Something evil in Hajime rubs its hands together, “Wanna see his baby photos?”
Hajime straight-up cackles as he pulls out his phone, “Okay, I interned under his dad last summer, right? That man has way too much fun with himself, by the way — still surprised he spawned Ushijima — but anyways. He spent every week showing me a different picture of Ushi-junior.”
Tendou’s reaction is a mixture of coos and splutters, air-stroking the fat of Ushijima’s cheeks and slapping his hand against his mouth at the sight of mud between Ushijima’s teeth.
Hajime decides he likes making Tendou smile; likes seeing the pretty curl of Tendou’s upper lip revealing the top set of his large teeth adorned by wickedly sharp fangs that hover over a pink tongue.
“Okay, it’s official!” Tendou wipes a stray tear from his eye and claps his hands together — just like Oikawa’s mother, just like Oikawa — “You are staying with me for however long you’re in Paris! Let’s go get your suitcase from the shop; I live pretty close by.”
Something familiar and warm starts to fill Hajime’s stomach, like hot tea made just the way he likes it, held to his lips by misshapen hands and poured down his throat under the slow direction of sunset eyes.
Tendou Satori is exactly the kind of person Hajime is weak for — impish and cunning and endearingly annoying. Maybe, Hajime thinks, his type has less to do with setters and more to do with phantom limbs.
During his second week in the city, Tendou takes Hajime up the Eiffel Tower, and even though it’s crowded with awed tourists scrambling to capture the starry night in all its romantic glory, Hajime feels as if they are the only two people who exist in all of Paris when Tendou cups Hajime’s face in both hands and kisses him softly.
That summer, Hajime stayed in Paris for a little over a month. On his last day, he received a ruby chocolate bar with the words, “Be my boyfriend? Eat for ‘YES’,” in carmine icing. Sugar and cocoa butter had never tasted so good.
For the next two years, Hajime will tell everyone that Tendou Satori was his first love, and he will ignore the way his heart screams to correct him.
Satori is always feeding him; Hajime becomes a bit plump with his love. The weeks that stretch into months they don’t see each other; when Hajime loses weight, it feels like Satori’s love is spilling out of him through hidden holes he can’t find to patch. It is the first time Hajime actively admits he’s in love — really, truly, shamelessly in love. Not a precious and delicate thing hidden between stacks of ribs under a heavy heart, but the kind he can share with the world, shout out loud from his proud chest, and, most importantly, feel returned back.
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