Hajime can hear it, even over the phone line. He knows it's not static he hears, but Tooru sucking in shaky breaths, trying to calm himself down.
If he were there, Hajime knows that he would be able to help Tooru relax. It's always been a matter of placing his hands on Tooru's sides, resting his forehead against the point just between Tooru's shoulder blades, standing there and breathing with him for a while until Tooru stops working himself up.
He's not, though. He isn't anywhere near Tooru and they're going to have to make do. He takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and in the gentle tone he saves for these times, he says, "Tooru."
"Everything feels so different," Tooru tells him in a whisper, soft and afraid. "I don't know if I recognise the person I am any more. I don't think you would know him, if we stood on the same court."
"It means you're growing," Hajime tells him. "You've done that before, Tooru."
"This is different," Tooru says, sounding unconvinced. "I feel like—I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not growing with you. It feels wrong."
"Idiot," Hajime breathes, hating the fact that Tooru has always been so good at putting his own fears into words for him to hear, whether he means to or not. "You'll be fine. I don't care how much you think you've grown. You think I can't spike one of your tosses? I'll kick your ass."
Tooru laughs, and it's a brittle sound. It sounds even thinner across the distance between their phones, and Hajime wishes that he could do more. He wishes that he could be there with Tooru, but they're walking different paths now. They're both still adjusting to that.
"I'm serious," Hajime tells him. "No matter how different you feel when you're on the court with your new team, I can promise you that I'll take one look at you on the court and recognise every single movement. I know you, Tooru. I always have. That's not going to change, no matter what. Got that?"
"Is that a promise?" Tooru asks, and he must be trying to tease, but he still sounds a little too serious to manage it.
"Absolutely," Hajime replies. "I'll promise you as many times as it takes. Just you wait. I'll come and watch your games when I can. I'll prove it."
"You better," Tooru replies, and he sounds a little calmer now. "Then I can show you how much I've improved, too."
"Yeah," Hajime smiles, and pushes away the uneasiness he feels whenever he thinks of Tooru growing without him. "I can't wait to see it."
"Thank you, Hajime," Tooru murmurs, so quietly that he nearly misses it.
"Idiot," Hajime sighs, but it comes out sounding much too fond. "You don't have to thank me for these sorts of things, you know."
FILL: Team Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, G
word count: 490
"Iwa-chan," Tooru says and his voice trembles.
Hajime can hear it, even over the phone line. He knows it's not static he hears, but Tooru sucking in shaky breaths, trying to calm himself down.
If he were there, Hajime knows that he would be able to help Tooru relax. It's always been a matter of placing his hands on Tooru's sides, resting his forehead against the point just between Tooru's shoulder blades, standing there and breathing with him for a while until Tooru stops working himself up.
He's not, though. He isn't anywhere near Tooru and they're going to have to make do. He takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and in the gentle tone he saves for these times, he says, "Tooru."
"Everything feels so different," Tooru tells him in a whisper, soft and afraid. "I don't know if I recognise the person I am any more. I don't think you would know him, if we stood on the same court."
"It means you're growing," Hajime tells him. "You've done that before, Tooru."
"This is different," Tooru says, sounding unconvinced. "I feel like—I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not growing with you. It feels wrong."
"Idiot," Hajime breathes, hating the fact that Tooru has always been so good at putting his own fears into words for him to hear, whether he means to or not. "You'll be fine. I don't care how much you think you've grown. You think I can't spike one of your tosses? I'll kick your ass."
Tooru laughs, and it's a brittle sound. It sounds even thinner across the distance between their phones, and Hajime wishes that he could do more. He wishes that he could be there with Tooru, but they're walking different paths now. They're both still adjusting to that.
"I'm serious," Hajime tells him. "No matter how different you feel when you're on the court with your new team, I can promise you that I'll take one look at you on the court and recognise every single movement. I know you, Tooru. I always have. That's not going to change, no matter what. Got that?"
"Is that a promise?" Tooru asks, and he must be trying to tease, but he still sounds a little too serious to manage it.
"Absolutely," Hajime replies. "I'll promise you as many times as it takes. Just you wait. I'll come and watch your games when I can. I'll prove it."
"You better," Tooru replies, and he sounds a little calmer now. "Then I can show you how much I've improved, too."
"Yeah," Hajime smiles, and pushes away the uneasiness he feels whenever he thinks of Tooru growing without him. "I can't wait to see it."
"Thank you, Hajime," Tooru murmurs, so quietly that he nearly misses it.
"Idiot," Hajime sighs, but it comes out sounding much too fond. "You don't have to thank me for these sorts of things, you know."