A series of drabbles counting down the six weeks from Iwaizumi’s birthday to Oikawa’s.
Tooru is talkative.
Sure, he knows how to be quiet when it counts, but his default mode is chatty.
When they’re tucked away in their shared apartment, limbs sprawled haphazardly over the other, breathing synced and the television on low, Tooru’s voice is what fills Hajime’s silences.
He knows how the silence eats away at him.
How it picks away at him, unraveling him; how hard it is.
Most people are turned off by the fact that Hajime doesn’t talk very much. They take his sharp looks and slow, contemplative silences as a signal that he doesn’t want to hear what he likes to say, that he likes the silence.
Liking the silence. It’s almost an amusing thought.
“Hajime,” Tooru says, his voice quiet and heavy with fatigue. He nudges Hajime with his nose, nuzzling against his chest. Hajime moves his hand up Tooru’s arm, thumbs brushing across his shoulder lazily. He traces patterns, soft swirls moving into circles. He hums to show he’s listening, as always, so Tooru keeps going. “You were right, too, you know? About that guy in my class? I thought he was just an idiot, but turns out he was just nervous about the presentation, too…”
Hajime closes his eyes, focusing in on the sound of Tooru’s voice, on rumble in his chest as he talks. Low, relaxed. Constant. He laughs, shifting his weight, and Hajime takes the opportunity to pull him a little closer.
“I wish you coulda seen him, Hajime. It was like watching a train wreck. I didn’t even know what to say - he just kept talking and talking and oh my god, even the prof was laughing his ass off by the end of it.” He snorts a little, trying to hide it behind his hand, embarrassed, but Hajime always sees it. He just smiles, pressing his nose into Tooru’s hair, leaving a small kiss there.
Tooru’s skin on his is warm and soft. The slide of their limbs together sends little shivers up his spine. He’s not wearing anything other than a pair of boxers, and Hajime appreciates the closeness, loves the skin-on-skin contact. Tooru keeps talking, warm and comforting and safe, each word breaking down Hajime’s walls. slowly. At just a pace Hajime is comfortable with.
He starts leaning closer the more he talks, the later it gets; he sighs into Hajime’s touches, which get a little harder, more insistent. Hajime squeezes Tooru’s shoulder blades, sliding his hands down his back, feeling the strong muscles there from much hard work. Tooru inhales when Hajime massages his fingers in, working out the tension in his back. Hajime knows that he spends way too many hours hunched over his desk, pencil in hand, agonizing over every little piece of the puzzle of his work, delicately creating works of art, sometimes getting so into it he forgets to eat.
Every day ends like this. Sometimes earlier in the evening, other times not until three in the morning when they’re smelling of cheap beer and cigarette smoke, stumbling in and laughing as they catch each other in the doorway, hurried kisses shared as they try to navigate back to the bedroom.
“How was your day?” Tooru asks, not opening his eyes. He shifts a little to give Hajime better access, stretching out his toes when Hajime hits a spot just right. “Good?”
Hajime nods slowly, now comfortable. It’s just him and Tooru, alone and safe in their bedroom; the curtains drawn tight and their phones long forgotten, tucked away into backpacks. Everything else is forgotten and finally, at last, the Hajime that only Tooru knows comes to light.
“Yeah,” he says, digging his fingers into Tooru’s lower back, smiling when he keens a little, “It was good… my train was late in the morning, though, so I was almost late to class. And my pink lighter, you know, the one with the flowers on it?”
“Your favourite one?” Tooru asks lazily, lifting his head to throw Hajime a smirk.
Tooru may be talkative, but he also really knows how to listen.
Hajime smiles. “Yeah,” he responds, leaning down to kiss the smirk right off his face. “That one. Well, I’d left it on our patio table, so I couldn’t even have a smoke while I waited for it…”
How bad is it that sometimes when I see those question ask games, I’m tempted to just reblog and answer all the questions without being asked. Cos sometimes, I just really like talking and answering questions about me?
Im have trouble understanding why some shippers care about what others think of them shipping kaisoo? People are going to look down on you for it whether you ship them casually or “to the extreme” you’re still going to always be a “dirty gross kaisoo shipper” to them no matter what so why care? 🙄 Just ship them happily and let it be.
((While I’m sure there are some other misc employees who come into work with too much effort in their wardrobes, of our main crew I’m gonna give that award to Susie. The general dress code is kinda business-casual but she overdoes it (not a bad thing) and comes into work looking her absolute best every day. Her hair and makeup are always perfect and her outfits are gorgeous, I always draw her wearing the same blue dress for convenience but she owns a lot of really nice ones. Joey would be a close second with the vest and bowtie, but then you see the color scheme and it just looks dorky xD))
K-on is honestly such a good show. I didn’t watch it for years because reviews said it was “just cute girls doing cute things” and “generic moe” but no??? its got amazing character relationships (every pair of characters has an interesting and unique dynamic), really good character design (if you made them silhouettes I would be able to tell who’s who from body type and size alone. Also the background characters have really good and varied designs and look like they could be main characters in their own story) and its just really precious and genuinely funny?? k-on hate is boring and bad