Hajime’s thoughts spin around his brain for the next few minutes, knocking painfully against the inside of his head. He wishes a little bit that he could go back in time and un-have that conversation with Hanamaki. It was a lot simpler when he’d thought that he had no chance with Oikawa. It hurt like hell, of course, watching Oikawa with all his cute little disposable girlfriends, wishing to be in their place and knowing Oikawa wouldn’t want him there. But there was a lot less to worry about. Confessing was never an option- why would he, if it was guaranteed to be rejected? He didn’t have to decide whether or not to pour his heart out to an Oikawa who would proceed to stomp on it. He didn’t have to be afraid, or ask himself any hard questions, or take any risks. He didn’t have to do anything except be sad. It was easy.
Maybe, he thinks, that’s why he never bothered to question his own beliefs about whether Oikawa liked him.
Well, he’s sure questioning now.
The more he thinks about Hanamaki’s words, the more he’s sure that the other boy is right, no matter how infuriating his advice is. He might be wrong about how good the chances are that Oikawa likes Hajime, but he’s not wrong that those chances maybe, possibly, might exist. And Hajime’s not going to know the real answer until he asks. But despite that reasoning, there’s a chunk of ice in his stomach and a whispering voice asking him if knowing is worth getting his heart crushed, stomped on, stewed, eaten, shat out-
Luckily, his increasingly defeatist and disgusting train of thought is interrupted by one of the ugliest snorting wheezes he’s ever heard. He’s almost offended that his own vocal cords can produce that sound. The wheeze is followed by words, still distorted by Oikawa’s hideous laughter. Honestly, he sounds like a hyena with a chest cold. “Iwa-chan, what did you do to my hair? You look like a troll doll or something!”
Of course it’s the fucking hair again. Does Oikawa not know how to let things go? God, why does Hajime even like this guy? “Shut up,” he grumbles without looking up, raking his hand through said hair. “I did exactly what you told me to, all right? It’s not my fault your hair dryer’s inhabited by a goddamn demon from another dimension that hates me, or whatever.”
Oikawa’s laughing even louder now, and then suddenly his hand is on Hajime’s head and he’s honest-to-god petting him, running his fingers through Hajime’s hair. Hajime very suddenly has to repress the urge to sigh, or even to purr, just to make a contented little noise that would express how very happy he is that Oikawa’s hand is where it is right now. Oikawa doesn’t mean it like that anyway, it’s not supposed to be affectionate, and god, Hajime can’t even go five seconds without thinking about how romantically screwed he may or may not be. He does sigh this time, but it’s an exasperated one.
“My poor Iwa-chan,” Oikawa responds with a giggle, and Hajime tries very hard not to think about being called my. “You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”
“Will you shut up, dumbass? I go to a college prep school, not a beauty school. And I’m not vain like you, so how the hell should I be expected to know about this shit? And anyway,” Hajime frantically tries to shift the blame, “If you hadn’t been in the shower for seventy-five years no one would have even seen this but you. What were you even doing in there?”
Oikawa’s hand drops from Hajime’s head, and when Hajime looks up he sees a faint sprinkle of pink dusting Oikawa’s cheeks. “Just my famous beauty rituals,” he answers in a tone that probably would have been airy in his own voice but sounds a bit squeaky in Hajime’s. “Not that they made a dent in your ugliness, but you can’t blame me for trying!”
Hajime punches Oikawa in the ribs. “Shut up, you prissy bastard. I’m glad they didn’t work, I don’t ever wanna look like you.” He looks down at himself. “I’ve had more than enough of that already.”
Oikawa pretends to be wounded. “Iwa-chan, so cruel. You should be enjoying your time in my body. It’s like an extreme makeover! Or a vacation!”
“More like a trip to hell,” Hajime mutters as he stands up heavily. “Come on, let’s just go home. The sooner we go home the sooner we can find out how to fix this.”
Oikawa hums, grabs his school bag with one hand, and grabs Hajime’s hand with the other. Hajime feels his heart skip several beats. It’s normal, they did it yesterday for god’s sake, but suddenly Hajime can’t stop thinking about how not-normal it is. Friends don’t do that, or at least not most friends, and not as often as they do. He’s always known that but he’s chalked it up to Oikawa having no sense of boundaries and Hajime being too tolerant (and too smitten, always too smitten) to stop him. But… what if Oikawa’s lack of boundaries comes from the same place that Hajime’s willingness to let him get away with things does? What if…?
Hajime fucking hates Hanamaki for making him think about this shit. Suddenly all he can think about is the radiating warmth of Oikawa’s palm against his as they walk, and the little squeezes that Oikawa unconsciously gives as he swings their hands between them, and maybe he should just confess right here and right now and stop this awful overawareness in its tracks, but if he confesses he might lose all this and he thinks if he does he might actually die, and Oikawa’s been asking him a question for the last ten seconds, hasn’t he? Thanks, Uncle Makki, he thinks sourly.
“What? I wasn’t listening.”
Oikawa pokes his ear lightly. “I said, who saw you with your hair like that? And you didn’t let them take any pictures, did you? I don’t need anyone else to have blackmail on me after everything else that’s happened today.”
Oikawa blows out a long breath through his nose. “Well, he already saw us this morning, so I guess it can’t get worse. You didn’t tell him anything, did you? What did you talk about?”
Hajime feels that goddamn blush approaching again as he remembers exactly what they talked about. He wonders if there’s some kind of makeup product that’s like anti-blush. If it exists, either Oikawa or his sisters probably have it, and he’s not going to be guilty at all about stealing their tube or box or whatever the hell kind of container anti-blush would come in. This is just getting ridiculous. “We just talked about… stuff…” he says vaguely. “Oh, did you know he and Matsukawa are together?”
Oikawa turns to look at him, incredulous. “Did you not know?”
“Well, they didn’t tell anyone, so no.”
Oikawa takes a very deep breath, his stride slowing to a stop. “Iwa-chan, who lives in the house next to me? I thought it was you, but clearly it can’t be, since you live under a rock instead.”
Hajime punches Oikawa in the side with his free hand. “Shut up, Shittykawa. Like I said, they didn’t tell anyone, how was I supposed to know?”
“Didn’t you see the way they looked at each other, or the way they kept touching each other, or how they always came and left together when they didn’t before? It was really obvious, Iwa-chan. Then again, you’ve always been terrible at noticing affection. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
There’s a note of something in Oikawa’s voice, although he’s clearly trying to keep it light- is it wistful? Downcast? Hajime’s heart is thudding, and he wonders if the affection Oikawa’s talking about is the affection he desperately wants to be there. Either way, Oikawa is right- he’s terrible at this. He feels a sudden rush of courage- maybe he should just get it over with right now, find out if he’s right or not- but before he can do more than open his mouth, Oikawa’s speaking again.
“Wait, so you told Makki you didn’t know that he was with Mattsun? Iwa-chaaaaaan,” Oikawa whines, “you’re ruining my reputation again! You owe me more milk bread for making me look like I’m as dense as you are.”
“No way, asshole, I already spent three thousand yen on you for milk bread you don’t even want! I’m not doing that again. Hanamaki already knew you were a dumbass.”
“Fine, then,” Oikawa huffs. “You’re buying me dinner every night until we fix this.”
“What the fuck? That’s way too much.”
“Don’t be a cheapskate, Iwa-chan…”
“I’m not a cheapskate, you’re a bastard who’s trying to sponge off me!”
By the time they get home, they’ve managed to haggle it down to Hajime paying for the next two dinners. Hajime can feel his wallet screaming in pain, but he figures that he’ll just challenge Oikawa to Mario Kart later and probably win some of the lost meals back. All their bets and paying for each other tend to even out in the end. It occurs to him to wonder whether the people at the places they usually eat think they’re dating, considering one of them is constantly paying for the other, and they often hold hands entering and leaving, and holy shit, they’re practically a couple already, aren’t they? Hajime can’t believe he never noticed any of this before. Maybe his friends aren’t just being assholes when they call him dense.
They decide to camp out at Oikawa’s house for the afternoon and evening- he has a desktop computer in his room while Hajime only has a laptop, and since pretty much their only idea so far to solve their problem has been “Google it”, it’ll be better to have a bigger screen to do it on. Luckily, when they enter the house, their twin “Tadaima”s are met with silence- Oikawa’s mother must be out doing something with his sister. Hajime silently thanks the universe. He doesn’t know if he could stand having to be Oikawa in front of Oikawa’s family on top of everything else he’s done today.
They move quietly through the house, even though they know they’re alone. Hajime feels like a little kid sneaking out at night, somehow, even though he knows he has every right to be here; the fear of getting caught by a random remaining Oikawa family member hangs just as strongly over him.
The house is completely silent until they reach the bottom of the stairs, when they hear a loud thud from upstairs. Hajime actually flinches and has to stifle a gasp; Oikawa clutches his arm. They both look at each other like they’re expecting to be teased, but quickly realize that any teasing would be hypocrisy right now. Oikawa clutches Hajime’s arm tighter as they proceed up the stairs, and even now, in the face of possible death or discovery by the thud, Hajime can’t stop thinking about how fucking nice it feels. This is just unfair.
The thud is followed by a series of increasingly loud meows, and Hajime feels himself relax. It’s just Oikawa’s cats- even if they do figure out what’s going on, it’s not like they can tell anyone. The two cats skid to a halt at the top of the stairs, the chubby Ragdoll Luna followed by the much smaller black Pluto. (Hajime’s always suspected that the two are named after Sailor Moon, but he’s never managed to get Oikawa to admit to it. Well, at least he didn’t name them “Alien-chan” or something characteristically idiotic like that.) Hajime smiles as he reaches the top of the stairs, extending his hand for the cats to sniff. They’ve accepted him as another family member- well, Pluto likes him as much as she ever likes anyone, at a level that never quite stretches past “tolerance”. Luna adores him, but Luna adores everything, including random crumpled candy wrappers.
Luna sniffs Hajime’s hand and sneezes. She pads over to Oikawa, sniffs his hand, sneezes again, and flops over onto her back, as she habitually does when confronted with anything more confusing than a plate of food. Pluto sniffs each of their hands, looks up at them with an expression of utter betrayal, and then bites Hajime.
“Ow, what the fuck,” he says eloquently, shaking his hand out. The bite didn’t break the skin, he sees, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.
“Do you think they can tell?” Oikawa asks quietly, trying to avoid drawing Pluto’s attention. “Do we smell different?” In the background, Luna sneezes again.
Hajime shrugs, still preoccupied by the small circles of pain on his hand. “Maybe… Or maybe it’s just normal Friday behavior for them. Your cats are weird.”
“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hisses. “My cats are perfect!”
Hajime looks darkly down at the bite mark. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“No wonder Pluto bit you when you talk about her like that- ow, bad cat, bad cat.” Oikawa shakes his own freshly-bitten hand. Hajime bites back a snort as Pluto stalks off, point made.
Luna’s been sniffing the air; now, she gets up decisively and jumps at Hajime, landing to his shirt and clinging there. She meows loudly as he grabs her, one hand supporting her body and the other gently petting her head and ears. Oikawa huffs. “Why does she always like you better?”
“Because I’m better than you, obviously,” Hajime says, pretending to be serious.
“Hmph. It’s just because you spoil her and give her too many treats.”
Luna hears the word “treats” and an even louder meow splits the air. Her enormous blue eyes look at Hajime, begging him, and he feels his heart melt. Maybe one of Oikawa’s cats is perfect. “Hey, do you have any of those treats-” “MEOW”- “she likes?”
Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Iwa-chan, you’re the reason she’s going to weigh twelve kilos someday.”
“Look at her, she’s hungry.” Hajime turns the cat so that Oikawa can see her pathetic face- surely even he can’t fail to be moved by a cat who’s this clearly starving. Poor Luna, all alone and so, so hungry…
“My mom fed her less than an hour ago. She’s just greedy.”
Hajime covers Luna’s ears. “Don’t say stuff like that about her, asshole!”
Oikawa snorts. “Do you really think she can understand words more complicated than ‘treats’?”
“Just go get her the treats, Assikawa. She deserves them after having to hear this shit.”
“I’m sending her next vet bill to you.”
Several treats later, they’ve finally made it into Oikawa’s room. They sit down in front of the computer, and as it boots up, there’s nothing for Hajime to do but stare at Oikawa’s face. Or, well, his own face. He’s started to give up on defining the difference. It’s so fucking frustrating, he thinks, that even when Oikawa looks exactly like him he’s still attracted to him; Oikawa’s personality, egotism and pettiness and idiocy included, is just so fucking beautiful that Hajime could never not be attracted to him, even if he looked like Deadpool does under his mask. He’s hit by a wave of longing as intense as any he’s ever known, and then, with an electric shock that tingles down his spine, he realizes that now could be the time. Oikawa’s staring intensely at the screen, not talking for once, so he can’t get interrupted like last time. He opens his mouth and takes a deep breath- and then shuts it again as the enormity of what he’s about to do hits him. He bites his lip hard, feeling like his breath is stuck in his lungs. No matter what the answer is, they’re about to change- their relationship won’t ever be exactly the same again. And maybe he’s not ready for the way they are to end yet, so maybe it’s better to just…
No. He feels a phantom hand on his back, pushing him forwards. These are pre-match jitters, he tells himself- no matter what excuses he comes up with, the only real way to get rid of them is to walk out onto the court and play his best. He’s going to win this, and even if he doesn’t, he and Oikawa will still be on the same team. He opens his mouth just as Oikawa opens his own to break the silence, and fuck that, he’s been waiting too long, so he goes ahead anyway-
“So Iwa-chan, what should we search fo-”
“Do you like me?”
Oikawa’s voice dies in his throat as he makes a rather unpleasant choking sound. His eyes widen in an expression Hajime doesn’t think he’s ever seen on his own face before- part fear, part guilt. It only lasts for a few seconds before it’s covered up with a plasticky smile, but that’s all that Hajime needs to remember with a jolt that when Oikawa had asked Hajime if he liked him, Hajime had answered with something close enough to no that anyone who wasn’t reading his mind would think he actually had said no. He’s doing this all wrong, fuck- he can briefly see the future laid out in front of him, or at least the next few minutes of it. Even if Oikawa does like him, he’ll breezily deny any feelings- “Haha, don’t be silly, Iwa-chan, who would ever like you?”-, Hajime will feel his heart breaking, they’ll patch over the awkwardness somehow, and absolutely nothing will change. Hajime realizes with a start that he doesn’t want that after all. They need to change, one way or the other. He has to fix this.
“Because… When I told you I didn’t like you earlier, that was… kind of… not the truth,” he continues before Oikawa gets a chance to respond, purposely avoiding the other boy’s eyes. He’s excruciatingly aware of the fact that he’s never sounded stupider or had a harder time finding words in his entire life. He plows through anyway, because this confession probably can’t get more awkward-sounding from a starting point like that, and it definitely can’t be worse than “my heart belongs to Iwa-chan”, so really, he’s already hit rock bottom today. “I do. Um. Like you. Romantically.” It’s getting hard to speak- he thinks his windpipe has decided to go on strike to prevent him from sounding any more awkward than he already does. He should have written a letter like Sakura-san from earlier, goddammit, he thinks wildly. Maybe without the lipstick kiss, though.
He looks back up at Oikawa very slowly after a few seconds of dead silence, feeling the same vague sense of dread that he gets right before a jump scare in horror movies. What he finds isn’t quite as bad as whatever the worst parts of his brain was expecting- it’s not disgust or horror, at least. It’s almost pensive, actually. Hajime would say that it looks like Oikawa’s gone so far into shock that he’s come out the other side. Hajime has to ball his hands into fists to help him withstand the urge to run. As the silence stretches out longer and longer, Hajime starts thinking wildly- maybe if he joins the yakuza and then gets caught by the police and cooperates fully with them, he’ll be put in the witness protection program and he won’t ever have to think about this life again and how badly he maybe just fucked up. Sure, being in the yakuza might involve murder and cutting parts of his own fingers off, but the longer Oikawa goes without fucking answering him, the more that starts to feel like an appropriate option-
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says suddenly, voice hoarse, “you’re a dumbass.”
“I know,” Hajime answers whole-heartedly. Usually he’d fight, but he’s done nothing but fuck up this entire day, and the term has never seemed more applicable. “...Um, why?”
Oikawa’s voice gets much gruffer than usual in what’s evidently a Hajime impersonation, apparently forgetting that everything he says comes out in Hajime’s voice anyway. “‘You are so full of yourself, thinking everyone likes you’... You made me go through the whole afternoon thinking you’d never like me back. I was broken-hearted, Iwa-chan, and now you’re telling me all that was for nothing?”
All Hajime can think to say for a second is “Oh.” Oikawa’s eyes are shining with unshed tears but the rest of his face is shining with incredulous happiness. It’s so bright that Hajime has to duck his head again, the worst blush yet appearing on his cheeks- he might actually be luminescent as well. “Sorry,” he mutters, the pieces falling into place in his head at long last. “I was scared… I thought you would hate me.”
“Dumbass,” Oikawa says again, sounding possibly more like Hajime than he’s sounded all day. “I never would. I like you too much.”
Hajime can’t feel his heartbeat anymore; he wonders deliriously if maybe he’s ascended onto another plane where heartbeats aren’t needed and he’s sustained by the fluttering force of happiness alone. “Oh,” he says again, his vocabulary temporarily reduced to the bare minimum. “So… does this mean we’re together now?”
“If you want to be,” says Oikawa, suddenly sounding a bit shy.
It’s Hajime’s turn now to say “dumbass. I’ve liked you for almost a year, of course I want to be together.”
“I’ve liked you for two years,” Oikawa says, sounding half-desperate and half-smug about his seniority.
“God, we’re both dumbasses.” Hajime buries his face in his hands. “We could have had this for so long…”
Suddenly there are strong hands on his own, pulling them away from his face and tilting his chin up. “Let’s make up for lost time?” Oikawa suggests, warmth glinting in his eyes as he leans in to kiss Hajime. Hajime surges up to meet him.
Hajime has always thought that descriptions of first kisses were overly-flowery metaphors- of course there aren’t really fireworks, or choirs of angels singing, or whatever the hell too-romantic idiots say. But he’s discovering to his surprise that maybe he didn’t give the idiots enough credit. As Oikawa’s slightly-chapped lips press softly against his, he can see bright sparks of golden light against the inside of his closed eyelids, and even though he knows he’s still kneeling on the ground, he could swear that he’s floating up off the ground along with Oikawa. He can even hear a choir of angelic voices somewhere in the background, not that he’s paying much attention to them- the way Oikawa’s lips move against his, the fact that he’s kissing Oikawa, is much more salient right now than any of the magical fireworks or background music or anything else. He can’t remember ever being this happy.
The sounds and the lights die away as he opens his eyes, although shimmers of gold dust linger in the room- it’s a surprisingly persistent metaphor, he thinks- and he feels himself return to the ground. He grins at Oikawa, a shaky “that was amazing” falling from his lips.
Oikawa’s grinning back like a million-watt lightbulb, looking just as pleased as Hajime is himself. “You need kissing lessons, Iwa-chan,” he says, his voice trembling a little as well. “You made me do all the work. I have a lot to teach you.”
“Don’t criticize me after our first kiss, asshole,” says Hajime, fighting down the urge to stick out his tongue. “The only reason I don’t have experience is that I didn’t wanna kiss someone who wasn’t you.”
“Iwa-chan is so sweet,” says Oikawa, sounding honestly shocked, and it takes Hajime seeing Oikawa’s blush turn his pale cheeks fiery red for the four hundredth time today to realize that he’s looking at Oikawa’s cheeks again, not his own with Oikawa somehow inside them. He looks down at his hands and sees the stubby, bitten-down nails he’s used to, with no sign of Oikawa’s long and delicate hands. Somehow, they’re back to normal. Hajime wonders if maybe this was what all the fireworks were about after all.
“Hey, we’re us again,” he says, causing Oikawa’s eyes to widen. Hajime guesses the other boy had been too wrapped up in the kiss to notice anything either. Oikawa raises his hand up to his eyes, examining it theatrically, before he grins. “Ah, I’m pretty again! And tall! I feel so free...”
“I’m breaking up with you,” Hajime says flatly.
“No you’re not,” Oikawa grins, utterly radiant. “You liiiiiiiiiike me.”
“You’re a shithead,” Hajime responds, not actually denying it.
Oikawa chooses not to deny that either, moving on. “Wait, so why are we ourselves again? Did we just have to kiss?”
“I guess so?” Hajime responds. “Don’t ask me, I still don’t get why the fuck any of this happened.”
“I told you, it was the ali-” Oikawa cuts himself off mid-sentence with a dramatic gasp. “Iwa-chan, it was the aliens, this proves it!”
Hajime gives him a blank stare. “How does this prove anything?”
Oikawa looks away, slightly embarrassed. “Well, last night… I wished for Iwa-chan to confess to me. And now you did, and we’re back, so there’s no other explanation!”
Hajime bristles. “Hey, I confessed myself, I didn’t need some shitty alien’s help. That took a lot of effort, you know!” He doesn’t quite want to admit exactly how hard it was to get those simple words out, or how much time he spent overthinking it, but it still stings for Oikawa to act like it was the aliens who did everything- not that aliens even exist, of course.
“I know, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa, quickly and soothingly. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying that maybe if this hadn’t happened the way it did, you wouldn’t have confessed today. Maybe it would have taken longer, and we’d still just be wishing on stars.”
Hajime’s about to protest that too, but then he thinks about everything that today made him see in a whole new light. He thinks he would have gotten there in the end- the signs were too big for even him to miss out on forever- but… he doesn’t think they’d be right here right now without this. And suddenly, he remembers his own wish, and the picture of Oikawa’s lips on his that had flashed into his mind the second before he’d decided to wish to be taller. Maybe… Maybe Oikawa has a little bit more of a point than usual.
Still, it’s not like he’ll let him know that. He scoffs instead, saying “I still think alien matchmakers might be the craziest theory I’ve ever heard. It’s worse than that bullshit Ancient Aliens show.”
“Ancient Aliens is an intellectual masterpiece.”
“Holy shit, I’m dating an idiot.”
Oikawa grins. “You’re dating me,” he replies, saying it like he still can't believe it.
“That’s what I said,” Hajime replies, grinning too.
“Hey, do you think if we kiss again we’ll switch bodies again?”
Hajime thinks it over for about a tenth of a second before deciding that he doesn’t give a shit. “I’ll risk it.”
Their second kiss has none of the fireworks, or the floating feeling, or the angelic choir of the first- okay, maybe those weren’t actually supposed to be there in the first place and the poets are full of bullshit after all. Both of them agree that it’s just as good without all the extras, though.
They spend the rest of the day together, just like they were planning. Instead of spending it glued to Google, trying to figure out what would make two people minding their own business suddenly swap bodies, though, they spend it in a delirious cloud of euphoria, kissing each other out of the blue at least every five minutes. Oikawa’s missed out on his chance to try agedashi tofu with Hajime’s tastebuds, so instead they go to a ramen shop, where Oikawa insists on trying to feed Hajime ramen and then having Hajime feed him ramen because he thinks it’s something couples should do. Hajime’s sure that no one in the whole shop doubts that they’re together by the time they walk out an hour later, somewhat stained with ramen broth from dripping noodles. (Hajime pays- he keeps his promises.) They then move to Oikawa’s couch, where Hajime discovers that it’s just as much fun to beat your boyfriend at Mario Kart as it is to beat your best friend at Mario Kart, especially when said boyfriend demands kisses as a consolation prize. And Hajime sleeps over at Oikawa’s house, spending his second consecutive night in Oikawa’s bed. It’s much nicer with Oikawa clinging to him, he reflects, as they lie awake that night, neither quite ready to go to sleep and leave this day behind despite how tired they are.
“Hey, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa says through a yawn.
Hajime hums softly in response.
“You know you were right, with what you said earlier. Even though you made me look ridiculous in front of half my fans.”
Hajime’s not facing Oikawa, but he can almost hear Oikawa’s smile. “My heart does belong to Iwa-chan.”
Hajime buries his face in the pillow, unable to cope with having an exasperating, infuriating, wonderful boyfriend who can do things like this to his heart with just a few words. “Shut up,” he mutters into the pillow. “You’re sappy and embarrassing.”
Oikawa kisses the back of his neck, laughing. “You’re the one who said it in the first place. You’re sappy and embarrassing, Iwa-chan. Just accept it.”
“...You’re still worse, though.”
“Ha, you can’t even deny it,” Oikawa says triumphantly. “My dumb sappy boyfriend.”
“Shut up and go to sleep,” Hajime mumbles, feeling an irrepressible smile spread across his face despite his words. He might have to deny it for the sake of deflating Oikawa’s ego, or for the sake of not actually exploding in embarrassment, but maybe he is a little sappy. He can’t stop having fleeting thoughts cross his mind, things like how Oikawa might just be the best thing that ever happened to him, how he’s his other half, how he’s never been luckier than the day that a little boy with fluffy brown hair and a volleyball approached him in the park and asked him to play. As Oikawa’s breathing evens out, his arms wrapped around Hajime’s middle creating a warm ring of comfort and safety, Hajime thinks that he wouldn’t trade all the mortification and awkwardness of today for the world. It brought him the best thing he’s ever had, after all.
And if later that night he stares up at the countless, unknowable stars and silently thanks the aliens…
Well. No one has to know.