no archive warnings apply; brief swearing. broken seijou foursome; lapslock, angst. 566 words
4. it’s easier for them to pretend like there wasn’t much to lose.
tooru tucks himself into the cardigans he’s borrowed from issei over the years. he can still inhale the scent of them in the wool. takahiro leaves out dishes and cups, wonders why the apartment feels so empty.
issei packs up his stuff and finds hajime’s pajamas mixed in with his. he mails them back, the address still burned in his memory.
hajime just sleeps.
3. “hey. it’s me. pick up your phone. issei sent me your pajamas.”
(for years, it was us. it was always us. did you think it was easy for me to love you? did you think i did it because i liked you? i couldn’t live without you. you made that possibility hard to think about.)
“you don’t have to mail my stuff. just keep it. or burn it. throw it away. bye.”
(i burnt the imprint of us into my eyes so that--even asleep--i would see the picture we made. i fucking trusted you.)
“don’t call mattsun just to harass him--”
“i didn’t. i just wanted him to back off with mailing stuff.”
(i grew up so twisted around the shape of us that, now that you’re gone, i don’t know what i look like.)
2. tooru watches issei kiss takahiro with hungry eyes, can’t make up his mind who he wants to be. he’s always greedy for affection, clinging to hajime and flitting to issei when he gets socked in the gut. he resonates with it, is all the stronger for it, and when takahiro cups his chin and tilts it up, straddles his lap, tooru reaches out to lace his hands with issei and hajime. it’s familiar this way, comfortable this way, to bleed their lives together at the edges.
but it’s easier because they’re young, when they can argue over little things and ‘wanting’ is stronger than ‘needing’. takahiro never quite learned to share, and hajime never learned how to burn less brightly.
(neither do i.)
1. autumn is the season for the dying. issei books a train ticket for home for christmas and will pack light. he won’t stay for long.
(do you remember, the first day of our third year, when we were all grouped together in the gym and the principal spoke to us? he said, the cherry trees are blooming. cherish this, your last year, with your peers and your friends. make permanent memories. we never stopped preserving them, and should have stopped years ago.
at the end of it, when you reached for me, i only reached back out of habit.)
0. they used to walk home this way--from volleyball practice to someone’s house, to study and fool around and make stupid jokes; they used to walk this path so frequently that issei can probably follow it with his eyes closed.
takahiro’s hair is longer than it used to be. issei looks down at his feet, face burning.
tooru is still handsome. he smiles, wide and guileless, and hajime coughs when he sees him. “you look well.” he mumbles, and tooru’s smile falters at the edges before brightening again.
“i am,” he agrees. “mattsun. makki. doing well?” issei jerks his head up at the old nickname.
“yeah.”
“guess so,” takahiro shrugs, frown tugging at his mouth.
FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, T
566 words
4.
it’s easier for them to pretend like there wasn’t much to lose.
tooru tucks himself into the cardigans he’s borrowed from issei over the years. he can still inhale the scent of them in the wool. takahiro leaves out dishes and cups, wonders why the apartment feels so empty.
issei packs up his stuff and finds hajime’s pajamas mixed in with his. he mails them back, the address still burned in his memory.
hajime just sleeps.
3.
“hey. it’s me. pick up your phone. issei sent me your pajamas.”
(for years, it was us. it was always us. did you think it was easy for me to love you? did you think i did it because i liked you? i couldn’t live without you. you made that possibility hard to think about.)
“you don’t have to mail my stuff. just keep it. or burn it. throw it away. bye.”
(i burnt the imprint of us into my eyes so that--even asleep--i would see the picture we made. i fucking trusted you.)
“don’t call mattsun just to harass him--”
“i didn’t. i just wanted him to back off with mailing stuff.”
(i grew up so twisted around the shape of us that, now that you’re gone, i don’t know what i look like.)
2.
tooru watches issei kiss takahiro with hungry eyes, can’t make up his mind who he wants to be. he’s always greedy for affection, clinging to hajime and flitting to issei when he gets socked in the gut. he resonates with it, is all the stronger for it, and when takahiro cups his chin and tilts it up, straddles his lap, tooru reaches out to lace his hands with issei and hajime. it’s familiar this way, comfortable this way, to bleed their lives together at the edges.
but it’s easier because they’re young, when they can argue over little things and ‘wanting’ is stronger than ‘needing’. takahiro never quite learned to share, and hajime never learned how to burn less brightly.
(neither do i.)
1.
autumn is the season for the dying. issei books a train ticket for home for christmas and will pack light. he won’t stay for long.
(do you remember, the first day of our third year, when we were all grouped together in the gym and the principal spoke to us? he said, the cherry trees are blooming. cherish this, your last year, with your peers and your friends. make permanent memories. we never stopped preserving them, and should have stopped years ago.
at the end of it, when you reached for me, i only reached back out of habit.)
0.
they used to walk home this way--from volleyball practice to someone’s house, to study and fool around and make stupid jokes; they used to walk this path so frequently that issei can probably follow it with his eyes closed.
takahiro’s hair is longer than it used to be. issei looks down at his feet, face burning.
tooru is still handsome. he smiles, wide and guileless, and hajime coughs when he sees him. “you look well.” he mumbles, and tooru’s smile falters at the edges before brightening again.
“i am,” he agrees. “mattsun. makki. doing well?” issei jerks his head up at the old nickname.
“yeah.”
“guess so,” takahiro shrugs, frown tugging at his mouth.
(it’s hard to start a fire with ashes.)