Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August 2022
UTC-07:00

Hajime plants his feet on the ground, palms upturned to face the sky above. Across him, Oikawa takes a step forward and tosses the volleyball into the air.

He barely has the time to appreciate Oikawa’s form before the setter launches off the ground, hand connecting perfectly with the ball with a satisfying smack. The only thought that forms in Hajime’s head in the split second that he watches the ball careen towards him is I’m going to be killed by my boyfriend’s stupid super triple spin serve and die thinking that it was hot before muscle memory takes over.

He leans to one side, arms outstretched and wrists pressed together. With a sharp sting, the ball glances off his forearms and soars into the blue sky above. He follows it with his gaze, the glare of the sun forcing him to squint as he watches it fall back to the ground in a parabolic arc.

Oikawa doesn’t even receive it.

“Shittykawa,” Hajime growls. “Are you trying to murder me on my college campus?”

The setter grins at him cheekily. “Okay, first of all, you received it perfectly, which means I was right to not expect any less of Iwa-chan. Second of all, you’re not a student here anymore, so there’s a lot less liability, right—”

Hajime throws a ball at him (because of course they brought an extra one), and Oikawa expertly dodges it with a yelp.

“Iwa-chan! Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?” he yells dramatically. This catches the attention of several people in the lawn, heads swiveling to regard them curiously.

“Holy fuck, dude, those guys can get it.”

“Do you think they’re taken?”

“By each other, I bet.”

“Man. I was gonna go ask the one in a polo for his number, too…”

“The guy with brown hair looks really familiar. Is he a model?”

“Model?! Are you fucking kidding me? Girl, don’t you know who that is?!”

Before Hajime can stop him, Oikawa gives them an enthusiastic wave. His eyes widen when they begin to approach them, pushing and shoving each other on the way.

“Uhh…Iwa-chan? What are they doing?”

“Did you just expect them to giggle and walk away?!” he hisses. “You asked for this!”

“Surely a couple pictures won’t hurt!”

Hajime groans. “One photo and they’re going to summon the whole goddamn campus to track you across the States, you idiot.”

“Oops.” Oikawa gulps. He turns to them, flashes a peace sign, and yells: “Sorry, maybe next time!”

Then he scoops up the stray volleyballs and runs.

“What the hell—Trashykawa!”

Hajime can only imagine how stupid they must look—two full-grown men, one laughing hysterically with a volleyball under each arm and the other shouting bloody murder—sprinting across the pristine UC Irvine campus. He prays that none of his former professors decided to take a nice afternoon stroll through Aldrich Park today. Unfortunately, it really was a pleasant day.

Once they reach the Ring Road, Hajime grabs Oikawa’s arm and pulls him towards one of the buildings surrounding the circular path. Instead of going in, he leads him to the side at the last minute.

They collapse against the brick wall, panting. Oikawa’s still grinning—it’s so infectious that Hajime doesn’t realize he’s smiling, too, until his cheeks begin to ache.

“Well, that was fun.”

“I can’t believe you.” Hajime shakes his head. “You do know that this is going to be all over the Internet later, right?”

Oikawa shrugs. “They won’t find us here later, anyways.”

“We should go, then,” Hajime says. He pushes off the wall and bends down to pick off the blades of grass that had gotten caught in his rolled-up pants.

When he stands, Oikawa’s right in front of him, one hand on the wall as he fixates Hajime with glinting eyes.

Hajime, impervious, simply glares back at him. “Did you just try to kabedon me?”

“What did you think would happen when you brought me here?!” Oikawa demands. His voice dips as he leans in, whispering, “Besides, Iwa-chan is just the perfect height—”

“Shut up,” Hajime growls, determinedly trying not to look at Oikawa’s chest right below his immediate line of vision. He swallows, throat dry, and Oikawa’s mouth falls open ever so slightly as his eyes track the bobbing movement.

God, that sprint had left him parched.

The next moment, Oikawa has him caged in completely, and they’re making out like a goddamn pair of touch-starved college students against the wall of the Langson Library.

There’s a rush of cool air as the top buttons of his polo are popped open, Oikawa’s hand sneaking in to graze the skin underneath. Hajime’s mind may feel like putty right now, but some distant part of him recalls that as much as he’d seen enough PDA on this campus for one lifetime, he didn’t exactly want to become a star example.

He’s about to tell Oikawa as much when a beeping sound suddenly goes off, and they both freeze.

Oikawa blinks as he slowly detaches himself from Hajime’s neck, hair disheveled and face glowing. “What was that?”

“Don’t mind it,” he says gruffly, cheeks coloring. But Oikawa, perceptive as he is, follows Hajime’s gaze until he, too, spots the glowing screen of his smartwatch.

It reads: High heart rate detected.

“Oh my god.”

“Not a word, Shittykawa,” Hajime warns, even when he’s already resigning himself to a lifetime of incessant ridicule.

Oikawa giggles, still staring at the watch. He blinks, his expression suddenly muddling. “Uh, Iwa-chan…what time is our flight again?”

Still dazed, Hajime tears his eyes away from the sheen on Oikawa’s lips. “Four-thirty.”

Oikawa leans back further, face growing pale. “Four-thirty?”

“Yeah…” Hajime trails off, realization slowly dawning on him as he, too, glances at the watch on his wrist. “Oh, fuck.”

“Kuroo’s gonna kill us.”

fira @cvntyzuko

can someone tell me wtf olympic gold medalist oikawa tooru is doing in uc irvine, california

oikawa’s hairgel @oikarage

HE LOOKS SO GOOD I CANT

cj @oikawa_png

OIKAWA NATION WAKE UP NEW PHOTOS JUST DROPPED

kai @manjinoya

wait isnt he with the athletic trainer of the japanese national team?!? the one who trended like crazy last year??!

alex @jjjoonbug

OMG DO U MEAN IWAIZUMI HAJIME?? I THINK UR RIGHT??

i love cream puffs @ilovecreampuffs69

bro thinks they’re sleek lmfaoooo

Matsukawa & Co. Funeral Home @Matsukawa_Funerals

dude iwa’s gonna hate this 💀 oiks boutta get his ass BEAT

i love cream puffs @ilovecreampuffs69

BABE WRONG ACCOUNT

ice @totokawas

@Matsukawa_Funerals dude wtf are u saying. get out 💀

Shou @shoukunz13

@Matsukawa_Funerals what does a funeral home have to do w any of this helpp 😭

lilac @fuckmiyaatsumu

@oikawanation_worldwide Please help us mass report @Matsukawa_Funerals 🙏🙏

Matsukawa & Co. Funeral Home @Matsukawa_Funerals

Ah shit

emma @haikyuthinker

uh anyways hi guys.. so i looked into it and turns out he Studied at uci wtf how did i have no idea… interned at a really prestigious place too Oh my

iwabiceps iwatriceps @iwaarms34

Once again proving that he is hot AND smart as fuck 😩

gaia @belovedkiyo

does anyone know if he takes personal clients. asking for myself

cherri @cherrie_teaa

no but i heard from my friend at Birtwistle that he’s a trainer for their team there? said he was just there a few days ago, what is my guy doing in cali lmao 😭

kiwi @hajimeswife_

brb transferring to birtwistle university rn

toto my beloved <3 @argenius

Yo anyone else think this might have something to do with the upcoming all-star match in japan????

Japan VB Association ⋅ Kuroo Testurou @jvb_kuroo

@argenius Spot on, toto my beloved <3! Witness the monsters of the Pro Volleyball world fight head-to-head this weekend at the #AllStarSpecialMatch2022. We’ve opened a limited number of bonus on-site tickets for sale. For more information, click below!!

#Volleyball

April 2022
UTC-03:00

“So…an All-Star Special Match, huh?”

“With only the best of the best,” Kuroo confirms, an air of swagger in his businesslike tone. “C’mon, Iwaizumi, nobody knows him like you do. How do I get a world-class star like him on board?”

Hajime snorts. From the balcony, he casts a glance through the glass sliding doors at his boyfriend scrolling away mindlessly on the couch, a green tea facial mask plastered to his skin. A flicker of fondness passes over him as their eyes meet.

“Hurry up!” he mouths.

Hajime holds up a hand. “Five minutes,” he mouths back.

Oikawa sticks a tongue out at him in response.

Yep. World-class star, alright.

He turns back around to lean on the balcony railing. The early autumn weather is pleasantly cool, the various trees lining the avenue—still damp with morning dew—providing more than enough shade from the sun. On the street below him, a couple of kids crouch around a stray cat with a bowl of milk. Further down, the road seems to shimmer in the sunlight, framed by colorful houses with open windows, the occasional song drifting out into the morning air. He knows that if he rounds the next corner, he’ll run into the lovely shop owner who likes to give both him and Oikawa free pastelitos criollos whenever they drop by.

It fills Hajime with happiness, to see that the person he loves is surrounded by so much of it.

“Just flatter him. Tell him he’s the star of the world, or something.”

This time, it’s Kuroo’s turn to snort. “Is that what you call him?”

“What—no! You’re literally the one who called him a world-class star!”

“What, then? The center of your universe? The king of your heart? The reason you breathe?”

“The bane of my existence,” Hajime deadpans.

“Wow. I’m so moved. I bet you’re a real romantic, Iwaizumi.”

It really isn’t something he should be thinking about while having a semi-professional conversation over the phone, but Hajime’s mind is pulled to the night before in Oikawa’s bathtub, the scent of lavender wrapped around them as dizzying as the warm press of their limbs in the water.

“Tonight,” Oikawa had whispered against his nape, “I’m gonna make you forget you ever lived anywhere else.”

“Mmm. Save that for when we move in together.”

It wasn’t until Oikawa had fallen silent that Hajime realized what exactly he’d said and what it meant. His mind had been scrambling for something else to say when he felt Oikawa smile against his back, a butterfly-light kiss dropped on the skin of his shoulder.

“When we move in together, huh?” Oikawa mused. “Sounds like a plan.”

Thankfully, in the time it takes for Hajime to shake himself out of his reverie, something seems to click in Kuroo’s brain.

“Iwaizumi, you should join us.”

Hajime scowls. “Was already planning to.”

“No, like actually join us. Officially. As a trainer.”

“As a babysitter,” Hajime deadpans.

“We’ll pay for your flights to Japan. Yours and Oikawa’s. We can arrange one from Argentina to LAX too, if you’d like, so you two can fly together.”

“Huh. Is this how you get people to jump on your scams?”

“I am not a scammer! I literally flew to Ar—Poland to recruit Ushijima. And Italy for Kageyama. And Brazil, too, with Kenma.”

“What the hell? The JVB must be loaded.”

“They’ve set aside a special budget just for me, because my schemes are just that good.”

“Your schemes, huh.”

“That’s right.”

Hajime chances another glance at Oikawa, who’s now traipsing around the living room in one of Hajime’s old university jackets. The purse of his lips indicates that he’s humming to himself as usual as he does his warm-up stretches. Hajime bites back a huff of amusement at the sight.

“Say Kuroo, if I do agree to the terms of your scheme…”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you think you could help me out with mine?”

Hajime doesn’t have to see Kuroo’s face to know that he’s grinning. “What do you have in mind?”

Five minutes later, Hajime steps back into the apartment. Oikawa’s already waiting by the entryway, running shoes all laced up and an expectant look on his face.

After Hajime slips his own pair on, he looks up at Oikawa and says, “Hey, about that road trip from California to New York…”

Oikawa looks at him curiously. “Yeah?”

“What do you say about doing it the other way around?”

August 2022
UTC 09:00

“You came all the way from New York?!”

Though the hitter is a good few centimeters taller than Hajime, his open, wide-eyed expression combined with his bowl cut make him look like he’s barely aged since the last time they played each other. That was, Hajime realizes with a start, a full decade ago, all the way back during his last Inter High.

“Boston, technically? That’s where the university I work at is located,” Hajime answers, and Goshiki’s eyes widen even more. “But we did spend a day in New York. And then drove cross-country all the way to California.”

“Woah. You live in Boston? I literally live next to Sendai Station.”

Technically, Hajime also lives in Sendai, Tokyo, and San Juan, but he decides for now that there’s no need for specifics.

“Sounds like a pretty convenient place to live.” Hajime shrugs.

“It is! And that’s why everyone else—”

“HA?”

“EH?”

Goshiki swallows. “As I was saying, everyone else on the old Shiratorizawa team just loves crashing at my place—”

“Hey, could you not treat me like a freak?”

Hajime pinches the bridge of his nose. “Goshiki, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Go ahead, Iwaizumi-san,” Goshiki looks a bit disappointed, but it clears the moment his eyes land on Hinata, who wears an expression of equal enthusiasm.

After greeting Hinata with a pat on the back, Hajime moves over to the center of the room, where the two most irritating setters he’s ever had the misfortune to work with stand eye-to-eye, the rising tension between them begging to be defused. He can practically feel some blood vessel in his forehead twitch as he approaches them.

“It’ll be fine,” he announces—partly to himself and partly to everyone else in the room—as he throws his arms around the setter duo. His fingers dig into their shirtsleeves, eliciting a wince from them both. “We’re all adults here, riiight?”

He gives Oikawa’s bicep an extra squeeze, satisfied to see a blush rise on his neck as he looks away, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. Atsumu doesn’t seem to be faring any better under the attention.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Hajime’s hands drop to his sides as Nicollas Romero barges in, arms spread wide as he yells:

“It’s volleyball time!!!”

Oikawa’s jaw falls open. Hajime would have teased him if he weren’t so starstruck himself.

“It’s Romero!” he gasps, looking from the tall hitter to Hajime to Hinata, who had just materialized between them.

“I think you should go talk to him, Oikawa-san!” Hinata whispers loudly.

Romero immediately turns around, eyes lit up with interest. “Oikawa Tooru? Argentina’s setter?”

“That’s me!” Oikawa blurts.

“Wonderful!” Romero exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders. Oikawa looks too stunned to even respond as the hitter begins to speak in rapid-fire English.

Hinata chuckles. “At least they got along right away.”

They both cast a glance at Atsumu, who appears to be sulking in the corner next to a bored-looking Suna.

“I hate to say this, but Miya and Tooru might click sooner or later,” Hajime says. “Though I’d rather it happen later for my sanity’s sake.”

Hinata shrugs. “I mean, Atsumu-kun’s the one who contacted the food supplier for later, right? He probably respects Oikawa-san enough since he wasn’t that opposed to helping out with,” he lowers his voice suddenly, “the plan.”

“He doesn’t know it’s for Tooru, though,” Hajime says, similarly keeping his voice down. “Wait. How do you know it’s for Tooru?”

Hinata blinks. “Uh. Kuroo-san texted the group chat? He was telling us to clear our schedule after the game if we wanted to witness the surprise pro—”

Hajime clamps a hand over his mouth. Hinata’s eyes grow wide as they land on a spot just above Hajime’s shoulder.

“Hajime, what are you doing to poor Shouyou?”

“Nothing!” Hinata squeaks at the same time Hajime lets his hand fall away.

Oikawa narrows his eyes at the both of them for a second before turning to the tall athlete beside him. “Romero, this is Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan, Romero!”

“Iwa-chan?” Romero asks, visible confusion flickering across his features.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Hajime corrects, feeling his face warm.

“You look strong,” Romero remarks, which does nothing to help Hajime’s blush. “What position do you play?”

“Ah, I actually don’t—”

“Wing spiker,” Oikawa cuts in. “He’s my ace and former vice captain in high school. Current athletic trainer at Birtwistle University. Also works for the Japanese National Team. And me, sometimes. But that’s on request.”

“Oikawa,” Hajime sighs. “Yeah. No, I don’t do personal training.”

Romero looks delighted nonetheless. “Impressive.”

“He’s the partner I was talking about,” Oikawa adds cheerfully.

“Oh!” Romero breaks into a grin. “Congratulations! How long have you been married?”

Hajime nearly chokes on air. Around them, several heads look up in interest.

Oikawa, at least, has it in him to appear a bit flustered. “We—ah, aren’t married yet.”

Yet.

A smile creeps up on Hajime’s face. He doesn’t know what makes him say it—maybe the confirmation that they are on the same page, or maybe the thrill of knowing that he was about to take them one step closer—but it’s worth seeing Oikawa’s expression as he adds, nonchalantly: “It’s in the works.”

It almost happens in the middle of the match.

“Two sets in a row for us, huh,” Aran says with a nod. “Yer setter’s crazy, Iwaizumi.”

With a spring in his step, Oikawa saunters off the court, the opposing team glaring daggers at his retreating back.

“Your turn, Bleach-chan,” Oikawa sings as he comes face-to-face with the other setter. “Don’t worry if you mess up—even Iwa-chan can’t hold me here for too long.”

Atsumu snorts. “I’ll make sure ya don’t even need ta come back.”

“Love the spirit!” Oikawa replies cheerily. “Better win this third set, then!”

He gives Atsumu a little pat on the back, making the blonde flinch. Then he plops onto the bench next to Hajime.

“Oh, hi there, Trainer-san,” he says, batting his eyelashes at Hajime. “Would you mind helping me out? My thighs are a little sore~”

Hajime rolls his eyes. He obliges anyway, because it is technically his job, even though it feels like he’s giving Oikawa a friendlier version of the same massages he does in private. Except now pretty much everyone can hear his client groan whenever he hits a particularly rough knot, and it takes all of Hajime’s willpower not to smack him upside the head each time.

“I knew I could count on you,” he hums as Hajime hikes up his knee brace. “My strong, dependable Iwa-chan.”

Hajime grunts as he presses his thumbs gently into the muscle of Oikawa’s leg. There’s nothing out of the ordinary—there hasn’t been any in a while, but the confirmation still makes him exhale in relief.

Oikawa smooths a thumb over the crease between his eyebrows. “You don’t have to worry too much anymore, you know.”

Hajime knows. Oikawa wouldn’t have made it this far into his career if he’d remained as reckless as he was in junior high, and Hajime wouldn’t have gotten the job he has now if hadn’t learned all the things he didn’t know then. But still—

“I care about you, stupid,” Hajime replies. “I just want to look after you.” He thinks of washing scraped elbows and applying salve on bug bites. The scent of relief patches and the crinkle of athletic tape. “Even though we aren’t dumb kids anymore. Even when we’re old.”

Oikawa’s gaze softens. “Hajime…”

Hajime leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Oikawa’s knee. Then he pulls up the kneepad and looks up at Oikawa, haloed by the stadium lights.

To hell with the plan, he thinks. He lets his hands fall to his sides. One of them brushes against the lump in his jean pocket, and he feels goosebumps run across his skin.

“I’m always going to want to look after you, Oikawa,” he says, one hand slowly inching towards his pocket. “Hell, I’ll do it for the rest of our lives—”

All of a sudden, Oikawa yanks him forward. Hajime collapses into his arms, their matching rapid heartbeats lining up where they’re pressed together through the fabric.

“Watch me, then,” he whispers, the movement of his chin tickling Hajime’s neck. Then he pulls away and makes his way back to the court.

A few seconds later, Atsumu plops down on the other side of the bench. “Tell me why it looked like ya were gonna do somethin’ not part of yer plan?”

Hajime stiffens. “Does everyone really know about it?”

“Yer not exactly slick, Iwa-kun.”

The only response Hajime can manage is a groan. Unfortunately, Atsumu takes this as a sign to continue.

“What’re ya gonna do if Team A loses?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, a celebratory party ain’t gonna be that celebratory for him if he loses,” says Atsumu. “Won’t it, I dunno, kill the mood?”

Hajime shrugs. “The team isn’t going to lose. Not with Oikawa.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Yer that confident, huh?”

“I trust him,” Hajime says easily. “And I’m not the only one who does.”

They both watch as Oikawa sends a quick set to Hinata, who spikes it perfectly with lightning speed. Oikawa’s laughter echoes from the court as the orange-haired hitter runs to him for a double high five.

“Dammit, Shouyou,” Atsumu whispers under his breath.

The rest of the game continues at full tilt. Oikawa sets to Sakusa next, who sends the ball barrelling down on the other court with an almost impossible spin. The next point is delivered by Suna, with whom Oikawa seems to have struck up an easy rhythm despite their unfamiliarity with one another.

“He even got the angle for Sunarin’s spike,” Atsumu grumbles. “What a fuckin’ pain.”

“This is your team we’re talking about, Miya.”

“Still a fuckin’ pain.”

Hajime shrugs. “Fair.”

In spite of his griping, Atsumu jumps and nearly knocks him over when Team A finally, inevitably takes the win.

Oikawa barrels to Hajime first, and the crowd roars when he catches the setter as he leaps into his open arms. It feels so perfect that he’s again tempted to pull out the box then and there until the rest of the team crowds around them, and they find themselves in the center of a pile of sweaty athletes.

Hajime really, really needs to get some air.

Later, when they’ve split off into groups of twos and threes, he spots Oikawa at the far end of the court with Ushijima. He approaches them just in time to catch Oikawa sticking his tongue out at the taller man.

“Dude,” he deadpans, “That self-satisfied expression hasn’t changed since kindergarten.”

“Hey!” Oikawa shoots back. “That’s a touchy subject!”

Ushijima begins to walk away.

“Ushiwaka! I’m not done yet!” Oikawa calls.

The tall hitter turns back to look at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Looks like whatever team I’m on is guaranteed to be the best.” Oikawa preens.

In spite of himself, Hajime lets out a laugh. The confusion in Ushijima’s face recedes.

“Iwaizumi believes so as well. It is the reason as to why he was so sure regarding his plans…” He falters, finally catching the shift in Hajime’s expression from delight to utter panic.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“...Of improving the training regiment of the Japanese Team,” Ushijima finishes, voice stilted.

The setter snorts. Something anxious flashes in Ushijima’s eyes. He seems to be contemplating whether or not to explain further, but he’s saved when Oikawa turns to Hajime instead with a smirk.

“Wanna knock me out so bad already, Iwa-san?”

Hajime rolls his eyes in spite of the rising relief in his chest. “Idiot. When did I ever not?”

“It is true,” Ushijima says suddenly. “We have been discussing the matter of how to best your team with my father as well.”

Oikawa scowls. “Listen, Ushiwaka, I don’t care about whatever it is with your dad that made you and Iwa-chan best friends or something, but this is between me and him only.”

Hajime blinks in surprise. “Oikawa—”

“I do not wish to intrude on anything that concerns the relationship between the both of you. We had a pleasant conversation, but Iwaizumi and I are not best friends.” Ushijima answers plainly. “I believe that title is reserved for the two of you, with upgrades.”

Hajime nearly chokes on air. Oikawa’s eyes widen comically before he bursts into laughter.

Ushijima frowns. “I am being serious. There is no need to worry. My best friend is Tendou Satori; I can show you our interview if you’d like.”

“You know, Ushiwaka,” Oikawa says, wiping away tears of laughter, “For someone with the emotional bandwidth of a pebble, you might actually be a little funny.”

Oikawa saunters away—probably to torment another one of his former rivals—leaving Hajime standing awkwardly with a perplexed-looking Ushijima.

“I apologize,” Ushijima says. “I nearly spoiled your surprise.”

Hajime winces. “So you do read the group chat.”

“They contain essential information. The videos they send are also sometimes amusing.”

“Essential information that doesn’t concern them,” Hajime mutters under his breath.

Ushijima seems to interpret that as uneasy mumbling. He tilts his head. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” Hajime answers immediately. “I know we both want this. But it’s still a choice Oikawa has to make.”

“Oikawa makes all of his choices deliberately,” Ushijima says. “It took me a while to understand, back in high school, when I wrongly accused him of choosing the wrong team. But I see now,” he pauses, “that it really was best for him to stay by your side as long as possible.”

The words hit Hajime like a punch to the gut. The truth was that Oikawa could have gone anywhere, and Hajime would have let him. But the two of them made their way to Aoba Johsai together anyway, just like they had gone into Kitagawa Daiichi. Arm-in-arm, with certainty.

“I do not think it is any different now,” adds Ushijima.

Hajime’s hand drifts downwards, feeling the comforting weight of the future in his pocket. He and Oikawa could make it there in the same way, too.

“You’re right,” Hajime says, patting his friend’s arm. “Also, don’t listen to Oikawa. You definitely don’t have the emotional bandwidth of a pebble.”

A smile. “Thank you.”

In retrospect, Hajime should have known this was coming.

From the sidelines, he watches as the members of both teams line up on the stage at the center of the court. Team B is awarded first with silver medals. Most of them are bright-eyed and smiling in spite of their placement, and rightfully so. The match had been so intensely neck-to-neck that it barely even seemed like a loss, but a part of Hajime still feels relieved.

He scans the stadium and finds Oikawa waiting at the tail end of Team A’s line. The setter is chewing his lip, but he manages to throw up a peace sign and a grin upon meeting Hajime’s gaze.

He’s nervous, Hajime realizes, as he raises an eyebrow in silent question. But he barely has a second to wonder what for when Kuroo suddenly materializes by his side, causing Hajime to nearly jump.

“Go on. Join them.”

“Huh?”

Kuroo flashes him a grin. “Didn’t know you were so easily surprised.” And then he winks, which just sets off a bunch more alarms in Hajime’s head.

“What for?”

“Photo with the team. You’re their trainer, remember?”

Hajime gives him a skeptical glare.

“...And also popular eye candy.” Kuroo clasps his hands together. “Please? For the love of volleyball?”

“For the love of…” Resigning himself, Hajime runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Fine.”

He makes it to the side of the stage just in time to watch Oikawa be awarded his gold medal. The setter raises one hand and waves brightly at the crowd, which bursts into their loudest round of applause yet.

Hajime crosses his arms and smiles.

The cheering only gets stronger when someone hands Oikawa a microphone. He gives it a little tap before clearing his throat.

“Yaho, everyone! It’s so great to be back!”

The crowd absolutely roars. It takes over a full minute before Oikawa is able to speak again without being drowned out by the screams. He’s a little wide-eyed, cheeks flushed with both exertion and happiness. Even though he’s used to the praise, Hajime has a feeling that it means a little more to him hearing it in his mother tongue.

“I’m sure many of you also traveled far and wide to be here tonight. Thank you so much for your support!”

Another round of applause. Oikawa’s eyes flick to the rest of the players, who are all watching him with anticipation.

“You can do this, Oikawa-san!” Hinata mouths.

Oikawa angles the mic closer. His eyes are slightly lidded now, lips curled softly. Hajime realizes, a bit belatedly, that it’s an expression meant for him.

It doesn’t make him any less surprised when Oikawa speaks again.

“I’d also like to thank the person who’s supported all of us athletes with unwavering dedication and care as our trainer.”

Slowly, inevitably, Oikawa turns to him, a thousand-watt grin on his face as he declares to the entire stadium: “My teammate and partner, with whom I share this win tonight. Congratulations, Iwa-chan!”

There’s a fresh wave of cheers from the audience as Hajime lets himself be pulled up to the platform, too stunned to even speak. Still beaming, Oikawa steadies him by the arms before reaching out to fix his collar.

With barely trembling hands, he hangs the golden medal around Hajime’s neck.

Somehow, the chaos of their teammates manages to shield them from the audience as Oikawa leans in. Someone else—maybe Bokuto—takes the microphone, but even without it, Oikawa’s words in Hajime’s ear ring clear and true.

“For a long time,” he whispers, “this is all I really wanted.”

Hajime’s eyes grow wide.

“We’d played together for so long,” he continues, eyes shining in earnest, “that whenever I thought of winning, I thought of winning with you by my side.”

“Tooru…”

“I wanted to take on the world together with you, Hajime,” Oikawa says, hand coming up to cradle his jaw.

“We did,” Hajime assures, voice gravelly.

“We did,” Oikawa agrees. “So as much as I know that I deserve every single win I’ve got because I worked my ass off for them, well—”

Hajime cuts him off with a laugh. “Damn straight, Tooru—”

“I still want to share them with you. You’re the one who taught me that it isn’t all about me in the first place. You’re the one who showed me that I never fight alone.”

“I want to share everything with you, Hajime. All my medals and all my losses. My crazy obsessions and my lifelong dreams. I want us to share jerseys and flight itineraries and a little house with our dogs somewhere, someday—it doesn’t matter when because I want to share the rest of my life with you, anyways.”

And with that, the man Hajime had been planning to propose to that day gets down on one knee first.

“So, marry me?”

All air seems to rush out of Hajime’s lungs.

“...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Oikawa gapes up at him. “I-Iwa-chan?”

Hajime groans, head falling to his hands. The joy in his veins is so visceral that it’s dizzying.

Finally, he mumbles, “I can’t believe you beat me to it.”

Oikawa, the menace, grins at him cheekily. “That’s a yes, then?”

“Do you even have a ring?”

“Open the medal.”

“What?”

“Open the medal.”

Hajime looks down at the medal resting on his chest, right next to his heart. Running a finger over its circumference, he finds a small latch on the gold surface and presses it.

With a click, it swings open to reveal a blue cushion, and in the middle, an even brighter gold band.

When he finally looks back at Oikawa, the smile he flashes at him is genuine and gloating all at once, and Hajime—well, Hajime wants to kiss the damn thing off.

“Well?”

“Shut up,” Hajime grumbles. He doesn’t know how he’s able to speak at all. “Are you going to put the damn ring on me or not?”

Oikawa laughs, sweet and unfettered, as he reaches up to take the band and Hajime’s hand at the same time. Hajime’s heart soars.

“No take-backsies, alright?”

“You’re stupid if you think I’m ever going to let you go, dumbass,” Hajime says, and lets Oikawa slide on the ring. He pulls him up a split second later, holding him so tightly that it should be physically impossible for Oikawa to escape.

The world zooms back into focus when he hears the rest of the team begin to cheer. Hajime has no idea how much of the whole thing they’d heard amidst the ruckus, but he can’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t have expected anything less dramatic from Oikawa anyway.

When they finally pull apart, there’s a snarky grin on Oikawa’s face as he asks: “Well? Where’s my ring?”

“No.”

“No?!”

“What makes you think I also have a ring?”

Oikawa lets out a giggle. “You’re not discreet at all, Iwa-chan. You literally almost proposed to me on the bench. But I wasn’t gonna let you beat me to it!”

“You turned proposing into a fucking competition.”

“When was anything ever not a competition?”

“You,” Hajime growls, jabbing his index finger into Oikawa’s chest, “Are getting your ring when you deserve it.”

“Are you serious?!”

“I’m completely serious about you, Tooru,” he answers, and presses his mouth to the pout on Oikawa’s lips. “I didn’t get the JNT to help me organize a whole celebratory afterparty to not propose to you seriously.”

Oikawa’s jaw drops. “You what?!”

Hajime flushes. “I’m not repeating that again,” he grumbles. “The surprise is spoiled enough as it is.”

“No, no, I heard you,” Oikawa says. “But that’s interesting, ‘cause I also enlisted the help of your little team and promotion division for this whole thing…”

Hajime turns to face his betrayers, who all seem to be avoiding his gaze.

“O-Oikawa-san told us to keep it a secret!” Hinata mumbles.

Ushijima’s face remains impassive. “I was informed without my consent.”

“I didn’t even know about this,” Kageyama mutters.

“Lucky for you, Tobio-chan, because your help was not essential.”

Kageyama only manages to look slightly unnerved. “But Kuroo-san asked me for Oikawa-san’s number last year,” he tells Hajime.

“Last year…” Realization dawns on Hajime as he recalls the call he’d had with Kuroo at the beginning of the year. “He didn’t even need me to convince you to join the match, did he?”

“I see Iwa-chan’s gorilla brain is finally catching on.” Oikawa grins. “A shame you barely missed Tetsu-chan in Argentina.”

For a split second, Hajime has half a mind to throttle him on the spot. His hands are inches away from the hem of Oikawa’s jersey before he decides to redirect his anger to someone who was not about to become his lifelong partner.

“I’m gonna kill Kuroo.”

It’s not that Hajime hadn’t seen it coming.

He’d always known he and Oikawa would make it. Even when their relationship was new, at the precipice of change, when his entire world was shifting and rearranging to form the pieces of the future he’d always wanted, one thing had always, always been certain.

It’s more of the fact that Oikawa had done it first—that they’d both spent months planning to propose on the same day—that shook him to the core. But if Hajime were being a little more honest with himself, he and Oikawa had always been in sync, even when they weren’t. They’d chased their dreams on separate paths and had still come together in the end—obstinate even across years and hemispheres, oceans and continents, chances and lifetimes.

Standing at the pier, Hajime laces their fingers together where they’re draped across the railing. Oikawa squeezes his hand as Hajime runs his thumb over his skin.

In the distance, the lights and sounds of the party melt into the background. Knowing his friends, their faces are probably plastered to one of the bay-facing windows in anticipation. He smiles at the thought, but it dissipates almost as quickly as it had come, washed away with the calming lull of the waves around them.

The bay spread before them glitters with the reflection of the evening cityscape. Tokyo, as always, is bejeweled, sparkling with the flair of an ever-changing metropolis brimming with color and promise, history and heartbreak. It’s a city Hajime has seen from the streets, from apartment balconies and high-rise terraces, from train platforms and airplane windows and through the eyes of a man returning home.

He follows the tide all the way to the open sea.

“Tooru,” he says simply, the name flowing from his lips like water.

Steady as a rock, he takes Oikawa’s hand and slips the ring on his finger. Then he reaches up and gently wipes away the tears on Oikawa’s face as he feels his own cheeks dampen.

“Sorry, did I…”

“No,” Oikawa whispers, gazing in awe at the gleaming band. “No, it’s…what is this feeling?”

When he looks at Hajime, his eyes are brighter than anything he’s ever seen.

“All of a sudden, I feel like I’m invincible.”

September 2023
UTC-04:00

“Hajime.” Each syllable is enunciated in a sweet staccato. “We need to—ha—get ready—”

“Hmm?” Hajime hums, right into the spot where he’d just left another mark on the creamy skin of Oikawa’s neck. He lets himself linger there a bit longer before moving downwards, searching for an untouched spot.

There wasn’t exactly that much left.

“I said,” Oikawa whines, wriggling against Hajime’s tight embrace, “we need to get ready.”

Hajime finally relents, and Oikawa pushes up on his elbows to gaze down at him.

He’s honest to god pouting. His bangs are flattened against his sweaty forehead, and the rest of his hair is sticking up in all directions. Hajime suddenly has the urge to kiss him, full on the lips, so he cranes his neck and does.

“Mmf!” Oikawa makes a noise of protest, sending vibrations down Hajime’s throat. He’s about to lean back down when Oikawa finally parts his lips, turning soft and pliant beneath him, and Hajime relishes in it.

When he finally pulls away a minute later, Oikawa lets out a whimper, eyes still closed as he leans down to chase Hajime’s mouth.

Hajime gently pushes him away. “Thought you said we need to get ready?”

“Oh my god,” Oikawa groans. “I can’t believe you. I would never have asked you to marry me if I knew you were like this.”

“Like what?” Hajime asks dryly, unable to help his sharp grin.

“Like—” Oikawa looks up at him, eyes wide and roaming, lips still slick and swollen. Hajime doesn’t miss the way his gaze flickers downwards before returning to his face. “Ugh. Whatever.”

“Smooth.”

At that, Oikawa groans and collapses onto him, burying his face into Hajime’s neck. Hajime laughs quietly as they lie there, boneless, his hand coming up around Oikawa’s neck to card through his hair.

“Hey, Tooru?”

“Hmm?”

“You do have concealer, right?”

Oikawa finally shoots up. “‘Course I do. Why…” His eyes widen as his fingers come up to graze a particularly tender-looking bruise on his collarbone. “Oh my god.”

He sprints to the bathroom and shrieks.

“Hajime, you beast!”

Oikawa ends up wearing a sweatshirt.

“A turtleneck would be too warm,” he’d sighed. “Besides, who wears a turtleneck to volleyball practice?”

Hajime had tried his best to help Oikawa cover up, but they’d had to rush once Oikawa found out that the magazine crew had arrived early to hold the photoshoot before practice.

He didn’t realize how bad of a job he’d actually done until the two of them stood face-to-face with the crew. In the bright overhead lights of the gymnasium, Hajime could finally see every haphazard streak drawn across the surface of Oikawa’s neck.

The cameraman had taken one glance at them before looking away pointedly. Even the interviewer, a girl with an auburn ponytail Hajime recognizes from his time with the JNT, seems to be mildly flustered, although her stance remains professional.

“Sorry, Yamamoto-san, could we have a moment?” Hajime asks.

“Of course, Iwaizumi-san.”

He gives her an apologetic nod before yanking Oikawa away to the stairwell. Fishing through his pocket, he retrieves the tube of concealer, which he’d thankfully decided to bring last minute.

“C’mere,” Hajime grumbles. Oikawa watches him amusedly as he tries to smooth out the messy patches on his skin. He doesn’t even look the slightest bit embarrassed, the idiot.

Hajime groans when the liquid smudges for what feels like the millionth time. “I give up. I’m never doing this again.”

Still wearing the same amused expression, Oikawa takes out his phone, swiftly swiping to selfie mode and angling the camera to get a proper view of his neck.

“Not bad, Hajime,” he says. Then, lowering his voice, he whispers, “Maybe we can still do this again?”

He shoves Oikawa back up the stairwell. “Just go do your goddamn interview, dumbass.”

Thankfully, Oikawa seems to have donned his professional persona by the time they emerge back in the stadium. With an apologetic smile on his face, he inclines his head towards the crew in a diligent bow.

“Akane-chan, isn’t it?” he says pleasantly, addressing the interviewer.

“Yep,” Akane replies with a bow of her own. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Oikawa-senshu. Our team has been looking to speak with you for quite a while now.”

“Oh, I know,” Oikawa beams. “Really appreciate your reaching out a few years ago. I’m glad you considered my request for an independent feature.”

“Well, when someone’s ahead of the entire monster generation, I understand why they wouldn’t settle for anything less,” she says smoothly, her grin almost as sharp as Oikawa’s. Hajime has to admit he’s impressed.

“Why, thank you, Akane-chan,” Oikawa preens. “I know this is a solo interview, but you don’t mind Hajime being here, do you?”

“Not at all,” says Akane, nodding at Hajime in acknowledgment.

The camera crew directs Oikawa to sit on one of the bleachers. It looks almost comically too small for his tall frame.

The interview begins. Hajime watches as Oikawa leans forward, resting his elbow on his leg and his chin on one hand. His expression is thoughtful in a way that would have convinced anyone else that he was saying something deep and philosophical. Hajime knows he’s spewing out anything but.

He has half a mind to intervene when Oikawa starts cussing out half the Japanese National Team, but thankfully Akane takes the hint and steers the conversation in another direction. A few minutes later, the two are conversing animatedly about their favorite J-dramas (“Hajime and I just finished watching First Love!” “Oh my god, I’m not even halfway done with that one and I’ve already cried thrice.”), and Hajime is finally content to sit back and relax.

“And that’s a wrap!” Akane announces a moment later. “Thank you so much, Oikawa-senshu.”

“My pleasure, Akane-chan,” Oikawa beams. “I’ll be waiting for your review of the rest of the series.”

“Of course! And I’ll also be in touch once the magazine’s set for release. Your section really is the most highly anticipated,” she adds.

Oikawa’s smile falters. “You mean I’m not the only feature?”

Akane shoots a glance at Hajime that may or may not be a cry for help. “For the magazine, yes. But that’s not all!” she adds quickly. “We’re also working with Sportiva to publish an issue dedicated to you. Solely.”

“Which is why I’m also gonna be interviewed, dumbass,” Hajime raps his knuckles lightly on Oikawa’s temple.

Oikawa seems to soften at that. “Now that I think about it, that sounds a bit scary. Iwa-chan knows so much about me…”

“What, you think I’m going to tell them about how many times you watched that Power Curry commercial?”

“You were watching with me too!” Oikawa hisses. “Are you really going to try to embarrass me when I leave you alone?”

“Please. You don’t even need to leave me alone for me to do that.”

“Rude, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime barks out a laugh. “Relax, Shittykawa. I can handle this interview fine on my own.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for practice?” Hajime shoots back.

It takes ten seconds of a silent staredown between them before Oikawa finally relents. Dusting off imaginary dirt from his shorts, he stands up, hefting his sports bag on one shoulder.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Akane-chan, please make sure he doesn’t say anything incriminating about me.”

Akane smiles. “I’m sure it’ll only be the truth.”

For a moment, Oikawa fixates Hajime with a stink eye before their captain calls out from below.

“Toto! We’re starting soon!”

“Coming!” Oikawa yells back. Hajime looks down at the court to see a couple of familiar faces waving up at him. He greets them back with a grin. There’ll be time to speak with them over dinner later.

Once Oikawa finally emerges on the court, Hajime sits back and turns to Akane, who had been watching the whole exchange with a look of amusement.

“Oikawa-senshu really is…something.”

“He’s a big idiot,” Hajime says plainly.

Akane laughs at that. “Should that go in the headline?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

She nods thoughtfully as she scribbles on her notepad. “What else would you like to include?”

Hajime’s gaze drifts towards Oikawa on the court below. Even from afar, he knows every inch of the expression on his face as he prepares to set—the furrow of his eyebrows, the set of his jaw, the sharpness of his gaze—all laden with a tenacity that has never changed in all the years Hajime has known him, whether he was by his side on the court or watching from across it. It’s the same tenacity that he knows draws in spectators and teammates alike; the one that pulls out threads of potential and spins them into gold.

Hajime knows this because he’d gotten entangled in that string himself the moment he’d stumbled across a brown-haired boy in his backyard. He’d felt it strengthen with their partnership on the court. He’d watched it unravel across oceans, and he’d followed it all the way back to him.

Some people would call it fate. But fate didn’t lead people down divergent paths. Fate didn’t carry them to separate hemispheres. Fate didn’t force them apart at airport gates and leave them aching and alone in different timezones.

Hajime isn’t sure if he’d believed in fate then. But he’d believed in himself as much as he believed in Oikawa—with the same resolute, unwavering faith that had been the foundation of their partnership—and it had been enough.

“He’s the partner I can always be proud of,” Hajime says. “And here’s why.”

June 20XX
UTC±??:??

“Hajime!” There’s a yelp as the luggage nearly slides out of the overhead compartment in one fluid motion. With an exasperated sigh, Hajime catches it with one arm, shoving it all the way back in before shutting the compartment closed.

“Clumsykawa,” Hajime huffs.

“Strong Iwa-chan,” Tooru coos.

Hajime rolls his eyes. He’s about to step aside to let Tooru pass through when he feels a warm hand on the small of his back.

“Go ahead.”

“But you won the rock-paper-scissors.”

“Did you already forget our rules? Winner gets to choose. I choose the middle one.”

Hajime eyes him skeptically. “That’s a first.”

Tooru merely shrugs, but the soft crinkling of his eyes eradicates any possible fears of Hajime finding some unwanted surprise on his seat. He makes his way to the window, Tooru following close behind him.

Luckily, no one seems to have booked the aisle seat next to them. Overall, their flight seems fairly empty—enough for Tooru to be able to tug down his mask and smile at Hajime before he laces their fingers together over the armrest, the golden band of his wedding ring sliding against his skin.

“What do you wanna do when we get home?” Tooru asks.

“Take a nice, long bath.”

“Am I invited?”

“S’long as you don’t get water up my nose again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tooru promises, looking absolutely delighted. Hajime had discovered that to be one of the many wonders of being with Tooru: even after so long, his eyes still never fail to light up at the prospect of the two of them doing anything together.

Thankfully for Hajime, it never gets any less endearing.

Tooru reaches up to pinch Hajime’s nose. Hajime swats him away. “Put on your seatbelt, you idiot.”

He wriggles around for a good minute searching for the seatbelt, which had fallen into the gap between their seats. Hajime leans over and retrieves it, fastening it over Tooru’s lap.

“What would I do without you,” Tooru sighs.

“You’re acting as if you haven’t flown solo a gazillion times,” Hajime scoffs.

“Well,” Tooru leans towards him, pressing a kiss on Hajime’s forehead. “It’s a gazillion times better when I’m with you.”

Normally, Hajime would tease him for being so cheesy, but Tooru’s voice is so genuine that it makes something well up in Hajime’s chest. He’s almost grateful when the pilot’s voice suddenly comes in over the intercom, because he’s not sure if he can trust himself to speak.

The engine whirs to life. Hajime leans against the plexiglass window, watching the landscape roll away in a blur of greens and grays. He feels it when they lift off, too, the familiar shift in gravity stirring something deep in his gut as the plane soars into the air.

It isn’t long before the skyline becomes all but a speck in the distance, the city only starting to wake as the sun begins its ascent from the mountaintops.

“Y’know, Hajime,” Tooru says, “For someone so grounded, you sure love looking at the sky.”

Hajime turns to Tooru, whose eyes are clear and twinkling, like the stars that somehow feel a little bit more within reach. A lightness spreads in his chest.

“It’s you,” Hajime says. “It’s always been because of you.”

With his left hand, he reaches out to tuck Tooru’s stray bangs behind his ear. The gold on Hajime’s ring finger skims his cheek as he gently cups his jaw and closes the distance between them.

Outside, the expanse of the sky is vast. Heartachingly blue. But it isn’t the shade of blue Hajime dreams about; not anymore. Not when his life is painted in the most beautiful shade he’s ever known.

This is it, Hajime thinks, as Tooru leans to rest his head on his shoulder. His home and his world as he knows it.