Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all started when they were children– the idiots that they were back then. 

It was about comfort. It had always been about comfort. Or at least that’s what they have always told themselves it’s about. 

That’s the thing though, when you’re a couple of unpresented pups scenting and crawling all over each other at six years old, that’s all it really is. 

When you’re a couple of freshly presented teenagers you’re supposed to stop, but it’s easy to chalk it up to familiarity and comfort and instincts. 

When you’re in your twenties and still shoving your face into your best friend’s neck to scent him, brushing wrists over whatever exposed skin you can reach, and stealing his hoodies so that when he gets back to Japan, or when you return to Argentina, he’ll still smell like you?  

Okay, that’s maybe, possibly, a tiny bit weird. 

“Stop. Stealing. My. Shit,” Iwaizumi says, giving a firm tug to the t-shirt that Tooru has shamelessly woven into the nest he’s turned Iwaizumi’s couch into since he flew in the previous evening and demanded Iwaizumi’s less than gracious hospitality. 

He could, theoretically, have stayed with his parents during the brief break between the club and international seasons, but that means staying in his childhood bedroom that has since been turned into his mother’s craft room. Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, the choice for Tooru is easy. Annoying his best friend is so much more fun than trying to weave his way around his mother’s things in a room that no longer feels like his own, in a place that always feels a little like it’s moved on from him in the years since he left. 

“Ripping apart an omegas nest!” Tooru complains, “Rude! Uncouth! This is bullying, Iwa-chan!” 

“Good. You deserve to be bullied,” Iwaizumi says, though he also lets go of his shirt when Tooru tugs on it, so he knows he’s not serious. 

Or, potentially, he has been worn down by a solid two decades, give or take, of exposure to Tooru. Either is possible, honestly. 

Tooru tucks the t-shirt back into its rightful place in his nest and absently adjusts a couple pillows and one of the horrifically adorable stuffed animals that he leaves at Iwaizumi’s place specifically for this purpose. Then, he makes grabby hands at Iwaizumi himself. 

Iwaizumi sighs, and then, because again , he’s been worn down by twenty odd years of Tooru’s Tooruness, he climbs into the nest and settles into Tooru’s space. 

“You’re so fucking clingy, I swear to god,” Iwaizumi complains, but he smells warm and happy, like the gym and Tooru and something very specifically Hajime. 

“I can’t believe this is how you treat me when we barely ever see each other,” Tooru complains, shuffling closer until he can drape himself over Iwaizumi and press his face into his throat. 

Iwaizumi’s large, warm hands start a long, slow sweep up and down Tooru’s back, which is deeply unfair actually because Tooru positively melts under the touch. The drag of Iwaizumi’s hand is steady and firm, driving away the last dregs of tension from his flight– from the last game of the season coming too soon– from his knee and the way it twinges just a little more when he lands on it lately and the creeping, nagging little voice in his head that says that it might not hold out for quite as long as Tooru wants- no, needs it to. 

“I miss you,” Tooru says finally, and Iwaizumi’s chest rumbles beneath him, his throat bobbing against Tooru’s mouth when he swallows. 

“I miss you too,” Iwaizumi admits, his hand stopping its up and down motion at the top of his spine and sliding up to curl into Tooru’s hair. His wrist brushes against the nape of Tooru’s neck, the motion deliberate. At this rate he’s going to reek of Iwaizumi for weeks after he gets back to San Juan. Good.

“Whose fault is that, huh?” 

“Yours,” Iwaizumi says flatly and Tooru makes an outraged noise and attempts to kick him viciously without actually moving. 

Later, after Tooru has successfully pouted, begged, and goaded Iwaizumi into ordering him pizza– an effort that included Tooru making his biggest, poutiest eyes and saying “Aren’t alphas supposed to provide, Iwa-chan? You’re not being very provider-ly right now, Iwa-chan.” until Iwaizumi recognized a lost cause and pulled up Tooru’s favorite pizza place’s app. Later, they curl up on the couch with their pizza and watch stupid old movies that they’ve seen so many times that Tooru knows exactly when all the explosions happen and what parts are Iwaizumi’s favorite and are therefore the most optimal times to start pestering Iwaizumi. 

“Iwaizumi,” He says, nudging his best friend with his elbow. “Iwa-chan. Iwaaaaa-chaaaaan.” 

Iwaizumi tries for all of three seconds to ignore him before seeming to admit defeat. “What?” 

“I was just thinking…” 

“Oh no, don’t do that.” 

“Wondering.” 

“Please, no.” 

“I just wanted to know how the national team looks this year. It’s an idle, professional curiosity.” 

“I’m not giving you inside information on the JNT,” Iwaizumi says, crushing all of Tooru’s hopes and dreams. 

“But I want to crush them at the Nations League this year. I want to watch them cry as I stomp their dreams beneath the heel of my boot. My volleyball shoe. Whatever.” 

“Then lose,” Iwaizumi says, because he’s very cruel and unreasonably terrible and absolutely the worst. 

“You’re so mean to me,” Tooru says, flopping over to drape himself across Iwaizumi’s lap, making him jerk his plate of pizza out of the way so that Tooru doesn’t crush it. “You never support my dreams.” 

Iwaizumi moves their pizza out of the potential splash zone for any fights and then flicks Tooru’s ear in retaliation. “Oh yeah, that’s my problem. I don’t support your dreams.” It comes out very sarcastic, which Tooru supposes is fair, even if he doesn’t like it.

The perpetual state of extreme limbo that has been their Not-A-Relationship since highschool is at least, in part, because of Tooru’s dreams and Iwaizumi’s tacit, unwavering support for them, afterall. 

Sure, when Tooru’s heat-drunk and dizzy and riding out his hormones in his nest back in Argentina he can fully embrace the self-pity and insecurity enough to convince himself that Iwaizumi isn’t there because he doesn’t want to be. He can even ugly cry into one of his pillows about how Iwa-chan is definitely, absolutely, positively just waiting for the perfect omega to come into his life who is not Tooru.  

Probably some cute, docile omega who’s tiny and petite and will cook him dinner instead of demanding Iwaizumi buy him pizza. 

When he’s not hormonally addled and miserably horny in a very not fun way as well as six seconds from begging Iwaizumi to get on a plane to come help him out, preferably via liberal application of his dick, Tooru can, perhaps, recognize that none of that’s the case, however. 

Iwaizumi is so damn supportive of Tooru’s dreams that he doesn’t even give Tooru the option to turn his back on them. 

Because, for Iwaizumi, Tooru might. 

Because that's the thing. Tooru is greedy. Always has been. If he lets himself have Iwaizumi, lets himself really have him, he’ll want everything. There is nothing Tooru won’t want to grasp with his greedy little paws. He’ll want Iwaizumi’s heart, his life, and his mark on Tooru’s neck. 

And if Tooru has all of that, then he thinks a life lived across the goddamned planet from Iwaizumi, seeing him only a handful of times a year when schedules don’t conflict– Well, he thinks that might not be enough. And it has to be enough. It has to be. 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, poking at Tooru’s forehead, “You’re thinking too hard.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never had a single thought in my life.” Tooru says and captures Iwaizumi’s hand, stopping it from poking him again and ending with their fingers tangled together between them. 

Iwaizumi snorts. “Well that’s certainly the truth.” 

“Okay, but about the JNT.” Tooru says again, redirecting back to an infinitely easier (and more fun because it makes Iwaizumi’s face crinkle in dismay so nicely) subject.

“Oh my god, you’re like a dog with a bone,” Iwaizumi complains, somehow managing to sound terribly annoyed and fond at the same time.

“I thought you liked me because I’m determined,” Tooru says, batting his eyelashes up at Iwaizumi. 

“You’re a goddamn lunatic is what you are.” 

“I think that says more about you and your taste than it does about me, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, cocking his head, stretching out in a way that arches his neck just enough that Iwaizumi’s eyes can’t not look. 

“You wanna know about the JNT?” Iwaizumi asks, suddenly seeming very… loomy.  

“Yes Iwa-chan that has been the goal of this entire conversation.” 

“They’re good,” Iwaizumi says and dips his nose into the little spot right below Tooru’s ear, scenting there in a way that is deeply unfair and he knows it, “But not as good as you.” 

“Oh?” Tooru asks, a little breathless when Iwaizumi scrapes his teeth across thin skin, a hand coming up to curl his fingers into the short hairs at Iwaizumi’s neck and keep him right where he’s at. “Tell me more.” 

There are rules. They have rules. The rules are mostly unspoken and Tooru suspects that if either of them ever broke them the other wouldn’t stop them (at least Tooru is pretty sure he wouldn’t stop Iwaizumi,) but they are there and that’s what’s important. 

They can cuddle with and scent each other, and maybe nibble a little, and if there’s some grinding happening, then, well, there’s plausible deniability about whether or not anyone comes in their pants so long as clothes stay on. 

They don’t kiss, and they don’t fuck, and they don’t do any of what they do do when Tooru’s going through heat or Iwaizumi’s in rut because if there’s one way to smash through any and all of the rules that they’ve been carefully dancing around since they were teenagers then it’s that. 

There are rules. 

There are rules and they suck. 

He’s going to die, he thinks. Iwaizumi is warm and he’s in Tooru’s nest and Tooru’s nest is in Iwaizumi’s apartment– in Iwaizumi’s home, and Iwaizumi is warm and hot and he smells like all of Tooru’s favorite things (or maybe all of Tooru’s favorite things smell like Iwaizumi) and Tooru is going to die. He’s going to explode. He’s going to self immolate and take Iwaizumi with him and then Iwaizumi’s mother will cry and everything will be terrible all because of their rules and also because of Tooru himself, probably, because Tooru is the worst and so are these rules .  

Life is truly terrible and deeply unfair, Tooru, a professional athlete with a thriving career and incredible hair, thinks viciously. 

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Iwaizumi says, digging fingers into Tooru’s ribs until he squirms. 

“Impossible. I’ve never had a thought in my life,” Tooru says automatically, mostly out of some bizarre habit he probably developed in, like, middle school. Probably. The problem with having known someone as long as he’s known Iwaizumi is that they develop so many stupid little jokes and habits and routines that it becomes impossible to recall exactly when they started. 

“What are you thinking about?” Iwaizumi asks, the fingertips digging into Tooru softening, spreading and curling until they curve over his ribs. This is one of Iwaizumi’s lesser used responses to a statement like this from Tooru. Oftentimes, he agrees that Tooru has, in fact, never had a thought in his life, or claims that Tooru’s thoughts are just so incomprehensible that it might as well be the same thing. Most of the time, it’s expected that if Tooru wants to share his thoughts, he’ll be more than happy to do so without prompting. 

Sometimes, though, Iwaizumi asks– like he’s curious, like this time he can’t read whatever Tooru’s thinking about plainly on his face.

“You. How much this sucks sometimes,” Tooru says, because honesty is terrible and awful and sometimes hurtful but Iwaizumi can handle it. Iwaizumi doesn’t usually ask questions he doesn’t actually want the answer to. Iwaizumi can normally handle whatever Tooru throws at him, no matter how terrible. His level of understanding is really not good for Tooru’s heart health, if he’s honest. 

Iwaizumi blinks at that. 

“Well stop that then,” Iwaizumi says, flicking Tooru in the forehead. 

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?!” Tooru demands, rubbing the new sore spot right between his eyebrows. What an asshole. Iwaizumi might have people fooled these days about his niceness, but Tooru sees through it! Tooru has the grievous injuries to prove it! 

“You’re not thinking about it now, are you?” 

“No, because I’m thinking of throwing you into the river,” Tooru says mulishly, and Iwaizumi seems unmoved and also very much not afraid for his life despite Tooru’s threats. Being an omega sucks. No one’s ever properly scared of him. 

“See? It worked then.” 

“Iwa–chan,” Tooru decides on a different course of action. One that doesn’t involve throwing Iwaizumi into a bag and into the river. Really, he’d probably miss the guy if he went and did that. 

“No.” 

“Iwa-cha aaan.” 

“Why are you like this?” 

“You should kiss it better,” Tooru says, pouting and widening his eyes for effect. “You don’t want my pretty face to bruise, do you?” 

Iwaizumi’s response is to lean in, and for a half second, Tooru thinks he’s going to actually kiss him, and Tooru’s eyes flutter shut and his face tilts up. Then there’s the softest pressure, Iwaizumi’s soft, slightly chapped lips brush against Tooru’s cheek. It’s there and gone and Tooru misses the feeling of Iwaizumi’s lips on his skin like a desperate wanting ache. 

“It won’t suck forever, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, softly– gently– like Tooru is delicate, and wasn’t just threatening to throw Hajime into a large body of water. 

“It won’t?” And Hajime is still so close, close enough that Tooru can feel his breath on his cheek and it’s so so so tempting to turn his head just a little bit and lean in– but he doesn’t. Neither does Iwaizumi. 

It’s for the best. 

Probably.

Tooru is well aware of who he is as a person. Unwavering, dedicated, incredibly talented through untold amounts of hard work, a star setter on one of the best volleyball teams in the world, and unbelievably handsome and hilarious to boot. He is also aware that he is petty, vindictive, revenge and spite oriented, and easily prone to fits of jealousy. He sees himself. His vision is clear– perfect, even, according to his optometrist.

(The last is a lie told to anyone who hasn’t borne witness to Tooru in his glasses or desperately searching for a lost contact, and even some that have.)

It’s because of this that he is aware of exactly why he finds himself scenting Iwaizumi even more than usual before he has to go to some stupid meeting for the stupid Japanese National Team’s staff. Apparently, working for a volleyball team involves more meetings than actually playing for the team. Apparently there are preparations that have to be made for the upcoming season or something. 

Tooru wants to load the entire Japanese Volleyball Association minus Iwaizumi onto a bus and shove it off a cliff. He gets barely any time with his– with Iwaizumi in the year. How dare they take his time? 

He rubs his wrist over Iwaizumi’s throat and down over his shoulder, his arm, anywhere he can, really, and is bound and determined that not a single omega will get within twenty feet of Iwaizumi without smelling that he’s Tooru’s. Tooru does not share. 

One time, while Iwaizumi was in California, they’d tried dating other people and Tooru had spent the entire time Iwaizumi was out plotting elaborate revenge on whoever Iwaizumi was out with and bitching on the phone to a less than sympathetic Matsukawa until Iwaizumi had texted him far before Tooru thought the date would be over to tell him that his date had never seen the original Godzilla as though that’s a valid reason to determine someone’s not for you. 

Maybe it is, actually. Tooru has seen the original Godzilla. Tooru has seen so many stupid monster movies for Iwaizumi. Which is why Tooru is the only one who’s right for Iwaizumi, because Tooru suffers for Iwaizumi’s happiness. 

“I have to go, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi reminds him, though he doesn’t smell annoyed even if his voice is doing an admiral job of faking it. Tooru continues on his merry way, nuzzling his nose into Iwaizumi’s neck and the little spot where jaw meets ear. 

“They see you all the time,” Tooru whines. “It’s not fair.” 

“Yeah, well, life’s not fair,” Iwaizumi says, like Tooru isn’t well aware of that. Tooru’s life would look so much different if life was fair. He and Iwaizumi would have the white picket fence life and Tooru’s volleyball career would thrive at the same time. Tooru would have a long career ahead of him instead of the intimate knowledge that his body will only last so long and so he has to make the most of what he’s got. 

Tooru’s a vindictive little shit so he catches the thin skin of Iwaizumi’s throat laid out in front of him between his teeth and bites. 

Tooru expects bitching. He expects to be shoved off of Iwaizumi while Iwaizumi complains about Tooru being an asshole and blahblahblah. 

Instead, Iwaizumi lets out a startled little moan. 

“Oooo kay,” Tooru says, and sits up straight, removing himself from Iwaizumi’s lap. He’s not blushing. He’s totally not blushing. And even if he was, Iwaizumi is also flustered and therefore will not point out the fact that Tooru’s ears are, in fact, a rather glaring shade of red. “Go. Leave me. The faster you leave, the faster this is over with. Besides, I have plans anyway.” 

“Liar,” Iwaizumi says, doing an admirable job of pretending this is all very normal as he slips his jacket on and heads toward the door for his shoes. “Who would ever make plans with you?” 

“Plenty of people, Iwa-chan! I’m a delight.” 

“Delightfully delusional, maybe.” 

“Goodbye, Iwa-chan. I’m locking the doors behind you and you’re never invited back after this terrible treatment.” 

“Yeah, yeah. See ya later, Shittykawa.” 

Tooru rolls his eyes, but drags Iwaizumi in for one last far too tight hug and a little nuzzle to his chin before the alpha is finally allowed to leave. 

Tooru is almost satisfied with how much Iwaizumi reeks of Tooru, and how much that should dissuade anyone else from trying to snatch him up. 

Tooru ruthlessly reminds himself that if some omega tries to throw themselves at Iwa and he accepts then Tooru can’t exactly complain about it while spending most of the year on another fucking continent. He’s made his choice, Iwaizumi should be allowed to make his. 

‘You and Tobio-chan are back already right?’ He texts as soon as Iwaizumi is gone and Tooru has been through his allotted twenty-seven minutes of sulking and fussing with his nest on Iwaizumi’s couch. 

He will not spend more than thirty minutes sulking and he certainly will not spend the entire time Iwaizumi is gone doing it. He’s not some willowy, desperate omega in an old movie waiting up for their alpha, because Iwaizumi is not, no matter what Tooru’s instincts say, Tooru’s alpha, and Tooru is a strong, independent, championship winning, olympic medal having, professional athlete at the peak of his career. He’s fine. 

A few minutes pass and Tooru’s phone vibrates in his hand with a text notification in the middle of him pausing his aimless scrolling of instagram to leave a scathing comment on Miya Atsumu’s most recent thirst trap post. 

‘Tacky and pathetic,’ Tooru had typed into the comment box, ‘Stop sticking your tongue out in all your pictures, it isn't cute.’ 

When he swipes back into his messages there’s a photo, probably taken early this morning, of Tobio and Shouyou outside the airport, the sky just starting to turn as the sun rises. Shouyou is smiling into the camera, and Tobio is in the background, carrying several bags and appearing incredibly annoyed. Whether that’s because of the picture or the fact that that’s just Tobio’s face is the real mystery here. 

The texts beneath say ‘Yeah I got in this morning’ and ‘Wanna do lunch?’ and ‘Kageyama’s being a baby because he got in last night and waited around for my flight to come in even though NO ONE ASKED HIM TO DO THAT’ and ‘And he’s jetlagged apparently’ and then, finally, ‘So I’m leaving him to nap until he’s in a better mood.’

‘Lunch would be great’ Tooru sends back, and then, ‘Does Tobio-chan HAVE a better mood?’ 

‘I told him you asked that and he asked if you have a better personality so I don’t think he does tbh.’ 

‘Brb writing Tobio out of my will right now.’ 

The place he and Shouyou meet is small and relatively quiet. They tuck themselves into a corner booth and order enough food for an entire team of people and steadily demolish it. 

Shouyou watches Tooru and Tooru pretends to not notice the way Shouyou is watching him, clearly trying to figure something out. 

He’ll figure out whatever it is about Tooru that’s bugging him, or he’ll just straight up ask if he can’t. His Chibi-chan is smarter than they all ever gave him credit for back in the day. 

“How’s your knee?” Shouyou asks, finally, and Tooru can tell that that’s not what’s on Shouyou’s mind, but Shouyou cares, and he wants to know about the well being of his friend. 

The question still rankles. 

“Fine ,” Tooru says, “How’s your shoulder?” And if Shouyou’s question had been well meaning, Tooru’s is a jab. 

A jab that doesn’t seem to land, judging by the way Shouyou beams and rotates his arm and chirps “Great! They say it’s basically good as new.” 

Tooru slumps. “I’m glad, but I was trying to be mean Chibi-chan.” 

“I know,” Shouyou says, shrugging, like he doesn’t care that Tooru is a little bit of a spiteful person. He really is a good friend and it’s making Tooru surprisingly emotional. Like his throat is too tight and his skin is two sizes too small. “I wasn’t.” 

“I know. That’s what makes it worse,” Tooru grumbles, poking at his food. He clears his throat from where it’s suddenly gotten tight. “Anyway, how’s Brazil? How’s Tobio-chan? Is he signing on for another year stuck in Italy?” 

“You literally commented on the instagram post announcing that Kageyama was reupping with Ali Roma?” Shouyou says, face crinkling a little in confusion. 

“Chibi-chan,” Tooru whines, “This is called small talk. We’re supposed to make idle conversation and then get into the stuff I don’t want to talk about but actually need to!” 

“Oikawa,” Shouyou says, straightening up and looking very serious. Very adult. And isn’t that a trip? That they’ve all grown up. “I see you in person like twice a year.” 

“Okay, okay,” Tooru says, sliding backwards in his seat until his ass is nearly off the seat and he feels as though one more inch further and he’d crumple to the floor entirely. “You two are a mated pair.” 

“Yeah.” The smile that stretches across Shouyou’s face lights him up and makes him look so unbearably young that Tooru feels the urge to slide entirely under the table just to get away from that much happiness. “Last I checked at least,” He adds with a laugh, rubbing at the scar on his neck. 

“Do you ever…” Tooru trails off, looking at the ceiling. It’s so interesting, really. What with the beams, and the wood, and all. Truly a masterpiece worthy of Tooru’s attention. 

Shouyou lets the silence drag on, which is absolutely a trick he learned from Tobio, who doesn’t even do it on purpose because he’s a big old blockhead and he accidentally learned it from Iwaizumi anyway because everything always comes back to Iwaizumi fucking Hajime. 

“Do you ever think you should have waited? That it might be easier to, you know, not have Tobio until you can really have him?” 

“I do have him though,” Shouyou says simply, shrugging. 

“He’s on a different continent for half the year, Shouyou. That’s not– I don’t know that I could handle that.” 

Shouyou looks at him. Really looks. It’s an unblinking, assessing sort of stare that is eerily reminiscent of a bird and it’s kind of creepy actually. It makes Tooru’s itch. Tooru wants to know where Shouyou learned to do that. 

“It’s not easy,” Shouyou says, after a long moment of just looking. “But it’s better than not having him at all. That’d be worse. It was worse.” 

“I don’t know…” Tooru says, still skeptical. Surely, he and Iwaizumi are doing the right thing by ignoring it all, right? Right. 

“You’re kinda dumb about this kind of stuff, you know that right?” 

“Hey!” Tooru squawks, “I miss when you used to call me Great King. The admiration was so much better than the judgement.” 

“I still admire you,” Shouyou says, so easily earnest and honest and maybe a little bit too intense, “When it comes to volleyball at least. You had to work at it, and you keep pushing yourself to be better and better, even when you can already claim to be the best! How can anyone not look up to that? Your life outside of volleyball though? And, like, emotionally? Yeah, no, you kinda suck at that.” 

“I’m… I’m simultaneously flattered and insulted at the same time and I think I need a second to process that.” 

Shouyou nods solemnly and pats at Tooru’s shoulder. It’s surprisingly comforting despite the insult. Tooru decides to blame that on the fact that Shouyou’s an omega. They’re supposed to be good at that stuff. 

(Nevermind the fact that Tooru isn’t.)   

Tooru realizes he’s in preheat the very next day, on what should be a perfectly innocuous Thursday afternoon. He’s been staying with Iwaizumi for six entire days and everything has been perfectly and completely fine, and then Tooru’s biology has to go and throw a wrench in the very little time he gets to spend with his best friend. 

The whole preheat thing does, however, make basically all of yesterday make so much sense. He’s being a lunatic for a reason. 

“Dynamics are a plague,” Tooru complains, wallowing in his nest on Iwaizumi’s couch, curled up like a shrimp because he’s relatively certain his reproductive organs are about to burst through his stomach like the face huggers in Alien.  “I’m dying.”

“You are not dying,” Iwaizumi says and drops something flat and fuzzy directly on top of Tooru’s face. “You are, however, a massive fucking drama queen so I might just murder you and put you out of your misery that way.”

“Mean,” Tooru hisses, snatching the offending object off his face. It’s a heating pad. Iwaizumi brought him a heating pad.  “My hero. Don’t believe a single negative word I’ve ever said to you ever, Iwa-chan.” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t,” Iwaizumi says, settling down onto the couch and letting Tooru flop over until his head is in Iwaizumi’s lap.  

Tooru blinks up at him and jabs a finger into his chest. “Okay, maybe believe, like, a couple of them.” 

“You’re perpetually full of shit, so no,” Iwaizumi says because he’s a mean, cruel alpha who Tooru is going to kick in the shins as soon as he feels better. 

“Rude,” Tooru says. “So. Rude. As soon as I can move without my uterus trying to murder me I’ll be the one doing the murdering.”  

Iwaizumi ignores him with the practice of someone who has been ignoring Tooru’s bullshit since they were literal actual children. He does, however, settle the heating pad right where Tooru needs it and turn the tv onto some stupid reality show Tooru can make fun of while Iwaizumi pets his hair, so, like, he’s mostly forgiven. 

“I should probably go before my heat starts properly,” Tooru says, some time later, a little sleepy, lulled by Iwaizumi’s hand in his hair, the warmth of the heating pad, and the incredibly dramatic fighting of The Real Omegas Of Shibuya. Oh to be the bored and idle spouse of a wealthy alpha on a shitty reality tv show. Tooru’d probably be good at it. He knows how to bring the drama.

“Or, you could stay,” Iwaizumi says, and Tooru’s eyes snap open and focus on Iwaizumi because that’s– that’s definitely breaking the rules. “Or not. You don’t have to look at me like that, it was just– I dunno, I thought–” 

Tooru slaps a hand over Iwaizumi’s mouth to stop him from talking, because the tips of Iwaizumi’s ears have gone distinctly pink around the edges, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck and it’s unbearably cute. Tooru is going to die. 

“You can’t just rescind the offer, Iwa-chan.” 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, muffled against Tooru’s hand. 

“If you start offering things and then taking them back you’ll get a reputation, Iwa-chan. It’s impolite. You’ll be known as–” 

Iwaizumi bites Tooru’s hand to shut him up. 

Tooru squeaks and snatches his hand back, clutching it to his chest as though mortally wounded. 

“Mean. Mean, mean, Iwa-chan.” 

“I’m not rescinding the offer, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, so serious suddenly that Tooru doesn’t even open his mouth to make a smart remark. “It’s your choice.” 

“It’s not just my choice though,” Tooru argues, and he has to sit up properly for this, because he can not be having this conversation with his head still in Iwaizumi’s lap. “You’re the one who would have a heat addled omega in your home! A heat addled omega who is definitely going to ask you to do things you might not want to do!” 

“Who says I don’t want to?” Iwaizumi asks, and it’s said so reasonably that Tooru wants to scream. 

“This is not how these conversations are supposed to go!” He’s very proud that he does not scream, even though yes, he does want to. It’s not his fault if it comes out a little pitchy, however. “You’re supposed to keep pretending! You’re supposed to–” 

“Maybe I can’t – Maybe I lo–” 

“Don’t.”

“Just let me say it, Tooru." 

“I have to go,” Tooru says, standing up, leaving that perfect little nest with Hajime because he has to. He has to. “I have to– I have to go to my parents, or just– I have to ride it out somewhere else– Not here. I have to go.” 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says– pleads, really.  

“No. I have to get my stuff. I can’t be here for my heat. I have to–” 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, firmer this time, with just enough alpha infused that Tooru’s gaze snaps right onto him without his say-so. Which is so deeply unfair, actually. Biology is a plague. 

“I–” 

“Stay.” 

“We can’t. I have to go so that we don’t– So that we don’t say or do anything we regret.” 

“Jesus christ, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, sounding so exasperated that Tooru almost feels bad for him. Almost. “I’m just asking you to ride it out here where I can take care of you. I’m not saying you should stay during your heat just so I can fuck you.” 

“What? Why? You don’t want to fuck me?” Which, okay, if Iwaizumi is asking him to stay because he doesn’t want to fuck him and therefore it won’t be a struggle to have his heat addled best friend staying there then that’s kind of offensive actually. Kinda rude on Iwaizumi’s part to not reciprocate Tooru’s urges. 

“Oh my god, there’s no winning with you,” Iwaizumi says, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not saying that either. Trust me, I’m really not saying that.” Which is… reassuring, Tooru supposes. “Stay. Let me take care of you.” 

“No funny business?” Tooru clarifies. 

“Not unless you ask real nicely,” Iwaizumi jokes, and Tooru can see an attempt to lighten the mood and steer Tooru’s mood swings in a better direction when it’s right in front of him.

“Well that’s good,” Tooru says, allowing the redirection and settling back down into the couch, letting himself be folded back into the nest and Iwaizumi and whatever is suddenly going on between them. “Because if you’re to be believed then I’ve never asked nicely for anything ever in my life.” 

(When Tooru presented it was a whole thing. 

He’d been convinced he’d be an alpha, is the thing. Maybe a beta. Maybe. 

But, well, he was brash and loud and opinionated and a leader and everything that an omega was supposed to not be. 

Even physically, he was more likely to be pegged as a future alpha. 

Nothing about him screamed omega. 

At least not according to Tooru himself. 

(If you had asked Iwaizumi Hajime he might have said differently. He might have, if asked, divulged his suspicions about Oikawa’s designation based on Oikawa’s sweet scent. Or the way he comforted his friends in his own weird and often abrasive way. Or the way he’d doted on Takeru when he was born. Or his penchant for soft, warm things that he could wrap himself up in or snuggle. 

He might have, if pressed, even admitted that as a freshly presented alpha, he was relieved when Tooru didn’t present as one as well. 

No one asked, however, and certainly no one pressed him on the matter. What Iwaizumi Hajime thought of Oikawa’s designation only really mattered to Oikawa, and Oikawa was rather set on assuming he knew what Hajime thought of the matter instead of asking.) 

Tooru had cried during that first half life of a heat that signaled his presentation. He’d spent three days tossing and turning in his bed or pacing the length of his bedroom while feeling like he was going to climb the walls. He’d been sweaty and miserable and crampy, an itch building under his skin and a desperate urge for something he couldn’t quite name just yet. 

(Later, he would realize that that something was an alpha, and even later than that he would realize that that alpha was Iwaizumi.) 

He’d hated it. He’d hated it– not just the physical misery of it all, but the way he’d felt lost and alone and so very small. 

It hadn’t helped that his parents were both betas, something that meant that neither of them had much of an idea just how to handle their son when he was going through this. Soothing words through the bedroom door and meals delivered every few hours only did so much when what Tooru was craving on a base level was contact and comfort. 

He’d been a terror in the months after and he realized that now. Hell, he’d realized it when it was happening . He’d been cranky and demanding. Had bristled at any insinuation that he was softer or weaker than anyone else around him because of what he was. Had pushed and pushed and pushed himself and others on the court until he finally pushed too hard. 

Laying on the volleyball court, curled up around his knee with tears on his face, he’d eventually learned the hard way that he couldn’t ignore his body and the signs right in front of him.

It’s a lesson that never quite seems to stick, one that he’ll have to learn over and over again in his life.)

“Shit, Tooru, c’mon, just wake up,” Iwaizumi’s voice finds its way through the haze, and then something cold and jarring is pressed against Tooru’s forehead. 

“Cold,” Tooru grumbles, flinching away. 

“That’s the point, Shittykawa. You’re burning up,” Iwaizumi says and then suddenly the world is moving and Tooru is in Hajime’s arms, pressed against a broad, very nice smelling chest that Tooru would very much like to get his face alllll up in, and then suddenly it’s gone and Tooru is submerged in cold water. 

He surfaces from the bathtub sputtering and indignant and “What the fuck, Iwa-chan?” 

“There you are,” Iwaizumi says, sounding so horrifically relieved that Tooru actually wants to reach out and hug him despite the absolute betrayal that is being dumped into an ice bath. 

“Of course I’m here! You dumped me in here!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Tell you what?!” 

“Why would you make it sound like you’re just in preheat when you know you’re not? I wouldn’t have even tried to discuss shit with you last night if I’d known your heat was this fucking close. And you went out to lunch with Hinata! What if it’d started while you were out? You could have been hurt, or–” 

“What are you talking about?” Tooru is so confused and his throat feels tight and his eyes are burning like he’s about to cry because Iwaizumi is yelling at him and his skin feels like it’s three sizes too small and the bath water is freezing and his stomach hurts and he’s so itchy and– “Oh my god, Hajime, I think I’m in heat.” 

“I don’t know if I’m relieved or not that it wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell me that it was this close, but that you just didn’t know. How are you an athlete when you pay this little attention to your body? If you were on my team I’d have your ass for this shit, Tooru.” 

“I have a lot going on Iwa-chan,” Tooru complains, “Don’t judge me.” 

Less than twenty minutes later finds Tooru suitably cooled down, wrapped up in the softest pajamas Iwaizumi could find, and safely ensconced in the haphazardly thrown together but no less satisfactory because of how much it smells like Hajime nest in Iwaizumi’s room. 

“You’re still all here, right?” Iwaizumi asks, perched carefully on the edge of his own bed and looking like he’s ready to bolt at any moment. 

“Yes, Iwa-chan, I’m all here.” 

“You’re sure?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Tooru bristles.

“You’re really really sure?” Iwaizumi asks again and this time Tooru snaps. 

“If you keep asking like I’m some sort of braindead, heat dumb omega whose answers can’t be trusted I will suffocate you with your own fucking pillows, Hajime. I don’t care if murdering you will interfere with my five year plan for us.” 

“You have a five year plan for us?” Iwaizumi asks, something bright and pleased there in his eyes that Tooru’s not going to pay attention to right now. 

“Of course I have a five year plan! Do I look like an amateur?" 

“You look like someone who completely missed all signs that their regular cycle was here, so maybe.” Iwaizumi says. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Tooru says, a hint of a whine in his voice. 

“You scared me,” Iwaizumi admits, and Tooru frowns and scoots a little closer to him. 

“I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know,” Iwaizumi says, and then, “While you’re still… you–” 

“I’m always me, even when I’m like that.” 

“You know what I mean, Tooru.” 

Tooru rolls his eyes. “Okay, I guess I do. Proceed.” 

“While you’re still cognizant–” 

“Ooooh, college words Iwa-chan. Speak nerdy to me more–” 

“I need to know what you want me to do. Even if you wanted to leave, you probably should stay now that you’re in the midst of it and I just– I need to know what you want from me.” It’s very mature, trying to communicate and set boundaries like this. 

Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, Tooru is still Tooru. 

“Ignore me,” Tooru says. “Stay, and ignore me.” 

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, and “I can’t do that.” 

“Sure you can. No matter what I do, no matter how much I beg, and trust me I will definitely beg, ignore me.” 

“I can’t.” 

“What do you mean?” Tooru asks, a little snappy, “You’ve had years and years of practice!” 

“I can’t," Iwaizumi says again, and then heaves a sigh and drags a hand down his face, looking upwards. “You know you’re not the only one with instincts, right?” 

“I know,” Tooru says slowly. “You’re not in rut though. It should be easy enough to turn me down.” 

“That’s not–” Iwaizumi starts. Stops. Makes a visible effort to think about what he’s saying before he says it. Starts again. “It doesn’t matter if I’m not in rut. There will still be an omega– the omega my instincts have thought of as mine since I was a teenager, in my bed, in my nest, asking something of me, and you want me to just sit here and ignore that? To not do anything at all? It’s not that simple.” 

“Yours,” Tooru murmurs. “You never said.” 

“You didn’t want me to,” Iwaizumi reminds him. And it’s true. That unspoken agreement was there for a reason. 

“Come here,” Tooru says, instead of dwelling on that bit of it all. “Look at me.” 

And Iwaizumi does, shifting closer to Tooru, ending up in the nest right alongside him, his gaze fixed firmly on Tooru’s face. 

And Tooru considers. He considers whether he really wants Iwaizumi to ignore him or not, and just how much of what he might say or ask that he wants to be ignored. 

“Okay, don’t ignore everything,” He says finally. 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says, “What do you want me to ignore?” 

And Tooru considers. He considers what Iwaizumi had said the night before, when, looking back, Tooru had already been in the first stages of his heat, that he wasn’t asking Tooru to stay just so that he could fuck him. So, he starts with that. 

“If I ask you to fuck me, you can’t.” 

“I won’t,” Iwaizumi agrees, easily. “I didn’t really want the first time we did that for you to be barely coherent, anyway.”

Which means Iwaizumi has thought about this. Which, like, of course he has. But still. 

“What else?” Iwaizumi asks, and he looks so so serious, like he wants to get this right, and it makes Tooru’s eyes sting in a way that has him pressing his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder like he can somehow hide from that level of care. 

“And if there’s anything you want to ignore, you should obviously do that.” 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi agrees again, and his hand has found its way into Tooru’s hair, stroking through the strands softly. “Is that all?” 

“I’m serious,” Tooru insists. 

“I know,” Iwaizumi says, and then there’s a hand under Tooru’s chin, tipping it back and up until he’s blinking right at Iwaizumi. “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

“Oh,” Tooru breathes, blinking. He can feel the slow simmer of his heat just starting to burn within him again, but it’s not too bad. He’s barely even distracted by it just yet. Any loss of coherency is purely because of how close Iwaizumi and his focused gaze framed by very nice eyelashes is to him. “Why?” 

“Because I want to, and I don’t want you to have to doubt it later.” Which is… smart actually. Because Tooru probably would doubt it later if it happened in the throes of his heat. Hell, he’ll probably still doubt it at least a little, but that’s just the unfortunate fact of being Oikawa Tooru, and this will certainly mitigate the fall out a little bit. 

He can’t think about this too thoroughly, however, because Iwaizumi’s lips are suddenly on Tooru’s and Tooru is helpless to do anything but wrap his arms around Iwaizumi and kiss him right back. 

Iwaizumi’s lips are chapped but soft, and his grip on Tooru’s chin is calloused but gentle, and all Tooro can feel or smell is a litany of HajimeHajimeHajime. 

This is a turning point and he knows it. He will never be able to give this up and pretend he never had it in the first place, to go back to the status quo where he pretends and pretends and pretends. He’s going to need this forever, for always. 

The first days of his heat pass mostly in a blur with spots of vivid clarity interspersed throughout. 

Hajime kissing him slow and languid, pressing him down into the mattress and surrounding him until Tooru is dizzy with it. 

Iwaizumi making him drink a bottle of water and coaxing him through a shower because “You’ll thank me for this later, Tooru.” 

Tooru begging for something, anything, and Hajime giving it to him– with his mouth and his hands and everything but what Tooru inevitably ends up begging for every time. Giving him everything (almost) and somehow not enough. 

Iwaizumi feeding him instant ramen straight from the pot because he’d attempted to cook Tooru actual food but Tooru had gotten lonely and cranky and followed him out of the bedroom and into kitchen where he’d proceeded to cling to Iwaizumi like a limpet and whine at him until Iwaizumi had given up on things like nutritional value and balanced meals. 

“Don’t look so smug,” Iwaizumi says, because Tooru is being smug. 

Tooru opens his mouth expectantly for another bite. 

At some point, Tooru’s years of desperation win out and he begs. Asks Hajime with big sobbing breaths to “Tell me. Please. Tell me all the things you wanted to but I wouldn’t let you. Please.” 

“Later,” Hajime says, presses the word against Tooru’s cheek, “I promise. Later, when you’ll remember it all and we can talk about it properly.” 

Tooru rages at him, gets spitting mad and calls him a terrible alpha and “Why don’t you just leave me alone if you hate me?” 

“Shhhh,” Hajime soothes, pressing close and rubbing his hands up and down, up and down, over Tooru’s back and Tooru finally realizes he’s sobbing, heaving great hitching breaths and he’s so so hot and empty and Hajime is the only thing that makes sense right now and even that doesn’t make sense because Hajime doesn’t want him because if he wanted him he’d take him right now and fill up that emptiness that Tooru can’t get rid of no matter how hard he tries and Tooru’s keening and– “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Tooru. Shhhh. I’ll tell you one, okay?” 

“You will?” Tooru asks and Hajime nods and cups Tooru’s face between his hands, brushing away tears with his thumbs. 

“Yeah, you just can’t get mad at me about this later.” 

“I’d never be mad at you,” Tooru argues and Hajime snorts in disbelief. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely out of it,” He murmurs and uses his grip on Tooru’s face to tip his head so he can press his mouth to Tooru’s temple. 

“‘m not. I’m just hot,” Tooru complains and wiggles restlessly, hips seeking something, and then Hajime’s arms are wrapped back around him, pulling him in close, and it soothes the ache just a little bit wherever skin meets skin. 

“Sure,” Hajime says, all disbelief in Tooru’s claims, but he still soothes him further with kisses down the side of his face, across his jaw, and finally, on his lips. 

This turns out to be exactly distracting enough that Tooru loses track of the conversation entirely, consumed yet again by his own body and what it seems to think it needs. 

“Bite me,” He begs during the worst of it, when his heat is peaking and all he can think is Hajime and mine and pleasepleaseplease. 

“I– Tooru, I can’t,” Hajime says, strained, and Tooru wants to rail at him, to scream and yell and whine but he’s far enough gone still that when Hajime shushes him with a kiss and a wandering hand exactly where Tooru needs it, it works. Tooru melts. 

“Bite me,” He says again, minutes or hours or days later, and he’s mostly coherent (he thinks) if not completely exhausted, but there’s still that itch, that demanding impulse that thrums through him. He should be Hajime’s. Hajime should be his. It’s that simple. 

At least his heat and his inner omega and all that nonsense think it’s that simple. 

(Okay, maybe he’s not as coherent as he thinks he is if he’s thinking like that, but still, he’s coherent enough. He’s pretty sure his heat is almost over, anyway!)  

“Tooru,” Hajime says, and he doesn’t have to say the word for Tooru to feel the rejection. 

“Ah,” Tooru says, and glances away, refusing to look at Hajime, “I get it.” And god does he get it. He knows himself. He understands. “I’m not really mate material, and it probably wouldn’t work anyway. It’d just be pointless.” 

(Because the thing about mating bites is that there are rules. Requirements, that when unmet, result in the lack of the bite taking. 

First, you must be in love. 

Second, you must be soulmates. 

Sure, there’s plenty of people who go at it in life together with the first, but not the second. And there’s also plenty of scientifically supported evidence that people can have multiple soulmates in the world so it’s not like you don’t normally get at least a couple shots at it. 

Tooru, however, when he’s at his most romantic– or his most self-destructive– likes to think that he doesn’t. That Iwaizumi is the only one out there for him and if any of the other nearly 8 billion people on the planet tried to leave their mark on Tooru it wouldn’t take. 

The way he wants Iwaizumi is written in his genetic code, a yearning he’ll never be able to shake. 

The even worse parts of Tooru, the bits and pieces of himself that even he knows to keep buried deep down, out of sight, worry that it isn’t. It’s not genetic, or fate, or anything. That Iwaizumi could sink his teeth into Tooru’s neck and nothing would happen. The bond wouldn’t take. 

That part of him is loud right now.) 

“That’s not it,” Hajime says. 

“No, it’s fine. You don’t have to explain,” Tooru says, and he suddenly wants to be anywhere but in Iwaizumi’s bed. He also doesn’t want to be anywhere but Iwaizumi’s bed. His nest is here and it smells like them. It’s the worst. “Why put in the effort if it wouldn’t work anyway, right?” 

“It would work,” Iwaizumi says, firm and sure and in a way that seems to broker no arguments. 

So Tooru doesn’t argue whether it would work or not, instead, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and frowns. “Then why not do it? If the conditions for a mating bite are met then why not do it Hajime? What’s wrong with me that you won’t do it?”   

“There’s nothing wrong with you!” 

“Then why won’t you do it?!” 

“You’re in heat! You’re not all–” 

“If you say I’m not all here as a reason not to do it I’m gonna punch you in the dick so fucking hard, regardless of what that means for me if your equipment doesn’t work the next time my heat rolls around.” 

“There’ll be a next time?” Hajime asks, and Tooru realizes, for just a moment, that maybe Hajime is also just as lost in all of this as Tooru is. That realization lasts approximately half a second before he moves past it again and right back to being annoyed. 

“Yes! Obviously there’ll be a next time! So just bite my neck and get it over with! Unless you’re scared that you’re wrong and I’m right?” And okay, so challenging Hajime is maybe not the best, most ethical way to get his intended Alpha’s teeth in his neck, but also, Hajime is right about one thing. Tooru is in heat still and not fully capable of controlling himself. And also, maybe that whole stereotype about omegas being sneaky and fighting dirty is true, okay?! He can’t be held fully responsible for what he’s doing under the influence of a metric fuckton of hormones. A victorian beta would die if they were filled with the amount of sheer want that is thrumming through Tooru right now.

“You think I’m scared?” Hajime asks, voice low and suddenly looming over Tooru. It’s good. The looming. Ten out of ten. He’ll need this to happen every day for the rest of his life, please and thank you.   

“I think you’re terrified,” Tooru says, a little softer now. Honest. “Aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Hajime admits, quiet enough that Tooru barely hears him. 

“I am too,” Tooru says, and tugs at Hajime a little bit, until he’s no longer looming and instead resting on top of Tooru. Tooru’s favorite weighted blanket, made special just for him and no one else. “I think my heat’s almost over, y’know? Just one, maybe two good rounds of Psycho Omegakawa left in me, so, not too much longer to put up with me. I’ll probably ask again during that, but you’ve been pretty good at distracting me from the things I shouldn’t be asking for this whole time. I’m sure you can manage when it comes to the bite too. I don't want you too though.” 

Hajime opens his mouth to respond, but Tooru places a hand over his mouth. 

“I need to say this. I’m scared– terrified, actually, that I’ll be able to sweep this all under the rug again. That I’ll convince myself that you’re just helping a friend and maybe you are. Maybe you’re just too good of a friend and you care too much and that’s why you let me drag you into this and all of this has all been in my head this whole time and–” 

“Tooru.” 

“See? I’m doing it already! I’m too good at that, Iwa-chan. I’m scared that I’ll do that, and I won’t talk about it, and you’ll let me not talk about it because you always let me and I love you for that and then I’ll get on a plane and go back and we’ll just keep doing what we’ve always done. We’ll just keep pretending, and dancing around it, and being miserable and maybe when I retire I’ll let you finally talk about it, but maybe I won’t or maybe it’ll be too late and I’m scared.” 

“Okay,” Hajime says, the word little more than a breath.

"Okay?" 

"Okay," Hajime says again, and he tips his head to press their forehead together, voice hushed when he says “I’d be honored to have you take my mark.” 

“So formal, Iwa-chan,” Tooru teases, and then, because there is an expected formal response to these things, “I’d be honored to bear it.” 

“It might hurt,” Hajime says and brushes his lips ever so gently over the soft skin of Tooru’s throat, drags his nose until he reaches the scent gland. 

“I’ve heard it does,” Tooru agrees. “Heard it feels good too. Either way, it’s worth it.” 

And then, Hajime bites him. 

The memory, later, is all at once the clearest memory of Tooru's entire life, and a hazey blur of thoughts and images. 

He'll remember this: The feel of Hajime's teeth in his neck, excruciatingly painful and excruciatingly good all at once. The softness of Hajime's hair where Tooru laces his fingers through it to hold on. The rush of the bond snapping into place– hope and anxiety and Hajime's quiet, steady, stubborn love.  

When Tooru wakes up the next time, his fever is gone, he’s dressed in his favorite, softest pajamas, his entire body aches, Hajime is curled up beside him, and his head is completely clear for the first time in days. 

He yawns, stretches his entire body out and lays there for a solid 45 seconds, blinking up at the ceiling before he’s suddenly launching himself out of the bed and practically sprinting across the room to the mirror. 

Hajime, having been in the midst of his first uninterrupted stretch of sleep in a while, blinks his eyes open and musters up a sleepy glare. “What the hell is wrong with you? Come back to bed, Shittykawa.” 

Tooru ignores him, staring at his reflection and more specifically, at his neck. 

“I look like I’ve been mauled by a werewolf!” Tooru whirls around and jabs a finger at Hajime. 

“You asked me to bite you!” Hajime defends himself, wrestling his way out of the blankets to sit up. 

“Yes! I did! Thank you! I didn’t, however, ask you to use me as a chew toy! Look at this! They’re gonna be able to see this from space!”  

“Yep,” Hajime says, and he has the gall– the unmitigated audacity to look smug about it. “Do you want me to apologize?” 

“Yes! No! Maybe. I don’t know,” Tooru grumbles, turning this way and that to judge the size of it, and then, maybe, to admire it a little. Hajime really was thorough. There’s no mistaking exactly what’s on Tooru’s neck. 

It took. 

“C’mere,” Hajime says, but he’s already getting up and joining Tooru in front of the mirror. As he takes in the sight of Tooru’s neck his eyes soften and Tooru can see the way they turn guilty after a moment, that little bit of doubt creeping in. “Should I be? Sorry, that is. For the bite, or– or anything, really.” 

Tooru shakes his head quickly, turns and crowds into Hajime’s space, sandwiching the alpha between Hajime’s dresser and Tooru himself, and then he kisses him. 

He kisses him hard, thorough and meticulous and overwhelming like this is a match that he’s going to win, kissing him until Hajime is breathless, so that when he pulls away Hajime’s mouth is red and his ears match and Tooru wants to die at the sight of him. 

“No,” Tooru says, breathless himself, well aware that his cheeks are just as red as Hajime’s ears. “The only thing you should be sorry for is not doing this sooner.” 

They’ve wasted so much time being stupid. Dammit, he’s going to have to write an apology letter to Shouyou for doubting him. He hates to admit that someone else was right and Tooru was wrong, but unfortunately, he can already tell it is better to have Hajime than to not. The weight of the bond has settled in and around him already, warm and comforting and so very Hajime, and he suspects that he’ll still feel him there even when he’s an ocean away. 

“I should’ve,” Hajime says, and his eyes fall back to Tooru’s mark, his hand following his gaze until his fingertips are tracing lightly over the gnarled patch of skin, already scarred over just like a proper bond mark should do– a perfect imprint of Hajime’s teeth on Tooru’s neck. “I’ve wanted to do this for years. Since we were kids, really.” 

“Liar,” Tooru says, even if he can feel the truth of it through Hajime’s words. “You didn’t even know I’d be an omega when we were kids.” 

“I dunno, I guess I had a feeling.” 

“Soulmate’s intuition,” Tooru says loftily, and then, as though it’s just now dawning on him, “Oh my god, Iwa-chan, this means I’m your soulmate. This means you love me. That's so embarrassing for you." 

“You’re going to be unbearable about this, aren’t you?” Hajime asks, and he sounds so very fond, like he probably won’t mind if Tooru is, in fact, unbearable about this. Which is good. Because Toory will be. 

“Yes. Absolutely. I need you to prepare yourself for at least two middle of the night calls a week every time I remember this. And that’s on top of the multiple calls a day I will be making after all of this. And it’ll never end. It’s an unbreakable bond, Iwa. You’re stuck with me forever. Til we die. Maybe even after.” 

“Oh no,” Hajime says flatly, “How will I ever cope.” 

“It’ll be terribly hard for you, but I’m sure you’ll manage.” 

“You know what else this means?” Hajime asks, smiling at Tooru in that boyish way that makes Tooru feel about sixteen and heartsick and like it’s impossible that he’d ever have everything he wants and yet he does. 

“What else does this mean?” 

“It means you love me too,” Hajime says, pulling Tooru in for a kiss. 

The airport is busy and bustling when Hajime drops Tooru off for his flight. 

“You’ve got everything right?” Hajime asks, fiddling with Tooru’s sweater, making sure it lays right. “You’ve got your charger, and snacks, and something to do when you get bored? You know exactly where your boarding pass is, right?” 

“Yes, mom, I’ve got everything,” Tooru says, rolling his eyes and tugging Hajime closer by the front of his hoodie. “Tell the JNT that I look forward to beating their asses and making them cry like tiny little babies on the international stage, kay?” 

“Yeah, no, I’m not telling them that,” Hajime says, sliding his hands beneath Tooru’s sweater and curling them around Tooru’s waist.

“Smart, as a trainer you wouldn’t want to hurt their confidence. You have to nurture it, like a tender blossoming flower.” 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m not doing it. Their confidence, ” Hajime says, all sarcasm and rolled eyes. 

“Did you know you’re, like, really hot when you pretend like you think I’m being dumb?” 

“Who says I’m pretending?” 

Tooru gasps, clutching his chest and looking mournfully up at Hajime. “You wound me Iwa-chan. I can’t believe you’d treat your one true mate this way!” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hajime tells him, and before Tooru can argue, he kisses him. 

Tooru melts into it, arms curling around Hajime and bodies pressing close, savoring the last kiss he’ll get until he sees Hajime again. 

“I’ll see you in a few weeks, okay?” Hajime says, when it’s over and Tooru is still clinging, reluctant to let go just yet. 

“You don’t have to come out that soon,” Tooru says, even though it pains him to do so. “It’ll get exhausting, flying back and forth so often, and–” 

“It’ll get exhausting not seeing you. It was, for years. Either way, I’ll be exhausted. This way’s better, Tooru,” Hajime says. 

“I’ll see you in a few weeks then,” Tooru says, and leans up for one more kiss before he has to board his flight.