the day's hello

hogwarts au where ronan and blue are the best goddamn beaters the gryffindor quidditch team has ever seen. they terrorize the pitch. chasers owl in sick before games. team captain gansey yells at them when they get bored of everyone flying away from them and just hit the bludgers back and forth “relax grandpa it’s target practice” “practice on THE OTHER TEAM”

rain, chance of a bloom

@iwaoiweek2017​ -  (0)  1  ☆  2  ☆  3  ☆  4  ☆  5  ☆  6  ☆  hellos 

i felt like using the word ‘because’ and this happened. (it’s not as angsty as it looks.)

[ao3]


“Come here,” Hajime says, when Oikawa insists on staying outside and drenched in the rain.

He doesn’t tip his umbrella so it’d shelter the both of them. Hands keep by his side, because Hajime might just reach out to wrap one around Oikawa’s waist and draw him closer, ready with the usual scolding of you’d get water everywhere in your house and do you want to get sick, dumbass. Because they’re twenty-eight and not eighteen, back when these things were a given. When Oikawa would’ve shut all distances without prompting, like there weren’t any between them in the first place.

(But if Hajime shifts his grasp on the handle just so and the umbrella now leans toward Oikawa like a flower instinctively looking for the sun, well. The weight of this rain has been heavy, so his arm is just probably getting tired from holding up this roof.)

But he doesn’t tip his umbrella so it’d shelter them both. They’d made their own choices at twenty-five—“this isn’t going to work”—and wouldn’t it be a tragedy to ruin three years’ hard work of keeping away because of this one fleeting moment, trapped under the rain by coincidence as they wait for the same late bus?

Come here, he says, in some sort of self-preservation. Let it be Oikawa’s own choice to come closer. But as Hajime keeps his chin up, eyes on the roads and the neon lights-speckled buildings across from the bus stop, his sights drift to the peripherals to find Oikawa Tooru (as always). He’s wearing a denim jacket too thin already for early winter, pulled over his head as a makeshift cover. Unlike three years ago, he can withstand this sort of cold a little longer.

Hajime’s heart clenches, when he thinks of the other changes he’d missed.

(He’s gotten a tad taller. His fringe is longer, just by a half or one centimeter. There’s a scar above his right brow bone from when he’d crashed-landed to conquer his final set for the National team—

He still walks with a light skip to his steps. He still hums. He still holds his head high like he’s looking down at everyone else, the crappy dumbass—)

(What’d Oikawa see, when he looks at Hajime?)

They’d made their owns choices, and they would make more to come. On a particularly unspectacular day, Oikawa Tooru makes his:

At Hajime’s call, he looks to the side to find a friend (childhood friend, friend-with-benefits, best friend to lover, ex-lover to friend), past the temporary shelter he offers. Because out of the two of them, it’s Hajime who closes his ears when it rains and thunder roars; it’s Oikawa who’d taken him out to dance in the rain or the falling snow.

At the way Hajime shivers now, just a short bout he’s forgotten to hide—but still looks right on ahead, anyway—Oikawa dares to muster up a smile. He steps into the huddle under an umbrella made for one. He presses his weight into Hajime’s side.  

It does not matter if their skin isn’t making contact, when the warmth grows from somewhere deep inside his chest, like it has always belonged there and just needs a rainy season to bloom again.

Hello, it says, sounding too much like Oikawa’s smile and voice.

Hello, Hajime just meets him right back, daring a graze of pinky fingers.

(Oikawa then hooks their pinkies together, because of course he does.)

For the last time today, Hajime shivers again, because rain always finds its way to seep into the bones.

And so does a warmth shared like this.

Ok but the best part of The Freshman book 4 was definitely Becca

THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW THE TONYS ARE TOMORROW

4

100 Days of AmazingPhil → 1/100

I’M SORRY!

To put this in more perspective: love and hate sit on opposite ends of the same spectrum.
So yes, love and hate are the same thing. Passion