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In retrospect, it’s almost frightening how quickly the conversation unfolds, how naturally the pieces slot into place.
Tobio isn’t sure what he expected. They’ve never talked about it before, never mentioned the possibility of living in the same space. Certainly not when they first started going to the same university, not when they started seeing more of each other outside of practice, still not when they started sneaking in kisses—not even when they finally realized they were, in fact, dating.
It hasn’t come up once—not until tonight, when Oikawa turns over in bed and says, simply, “We should move in together.”
He says it like it’s an inevitability, like it was the next step in developing a new play, but Tobio feels his heart leap into his throat.
His hand, wrapped around Oikawa’s hip, continues tapping out an indiscriminate rhythm as he asks: “Yours?”
Oikawa shakes his head. “My landlord is—” he doesn’t need to finish the sentence, waving his hand vaguely between them. Tobio nods. “And you know how I feel about your place.”
“My apartment is fine,” Tobio says, trying not to lift his chin in protest too much.
Oikawa meets his eyes steadily, brow arched and his lips tilting upwards in the beginning of a smile. “It’s tiny, Tobio-chan,” he says, bumping their foreheads. His nose brushes against Tobio’s as he speaks, the two of them so close it would take very little effort for Tobio to close the distance between them.
Tobio pouts as he tangles their legs at the ankles. Oikawa laughs—he’s teasing, that much is certain. Still, Tobio responds: “You’re so dramatic, Tooru.”
Oikawa lifts a finger between them. “But you know I’m not wrong.”
Tobio grumbles and nudges his head under Oikawa’s chin. His heart is still beating far too quickly, still trying to catch up to the idea he’s essentially agreed to in everything but words. Oikawa can probably feel it, their bare chests pressed together, but Tobio finds he doesn’t mind too much.
It occurs to him that they’ve always been able to say more with their actions, their bodies, expressing things there they can’t ever seem to get out through speech.
“Besides,” Oikawa says, tracing patterns on Tobio’s back with a feather-light touch, “it’ll be good to start somewhere fresh.”
Tobio hums in agreement.
Oikawa’s right, of course. Tobio will miss his apartment, because he knew how to deal with the squeaky pipe and the sometimes faulty stove in a way that made it feel like his, but, well. There’s something about this place—the one they found together. It’s just big enough for the two of them, enough elbow room to maneuver, but not so much they’re left with empty space. The bedroom (their bedroom, Tobio thinks to himself with an accompanying thrill down his spine) just manages to fit the squishy mattress Oikawa is overly attached to, just manages to fit the tangle that they are, all the limbs and feelings and movement that goes along with that.
It’s well-worn, but in a way, it only makes the edges softer, the rooms warmer.
He sets the last of his boxes next to Oikawa’s in the living room. They opened the windows to let the place air out, and broken sunbeams filter through the trees just outside, throwing shadows that shift with the breeze.
They’ve spent the day kicking up dust, but somehow even that tastes sweet on Tobio’s tongue as he casts his eyes around their new apartment.
Oikawa comes soaring through the open door the next moment, arms laden with takeout and humming the pop song he’s had on repeat for the past week, and Tobio feels his heart start to run away from him, as it tends to do when Oikawa is around.
Tobio hides his smile by asking, “Did you get chicken or pork?” and ignoring Oikawa’s affronted squawk that Tobio would open with such a question “—instead of a ‘thank you, Tooru.’”
Later, after bickering all through dinner about the placement of furniture and then failing to arrange a thing, Oikawa nestles his head in the crook of Tobio’s neck and hums. “You never actually said ‘yes.’”
Tobio’s eyes are already drifting shut. Despite their new surroundings, he feels nothing but a sense of peace. “Hm?”
Oikawa shifts, the movement making his hair tickle Tobio’s nose. “When I suggested we move in together. You never said ‘Yes, Tooru, I want to move in with you.’”
Tobio doesn’t answer at first, trying to parse out what Oikawa is looking for.
Eventually, he says, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He feels Oikawa smile against his collarbone. “Yes, I’d say you are.”