Every individual person expressed emotion in different ways. For some people, the way their eyes crinkled in the corners showed the difference between a real smile and a fake one. Others, a nervous tick or the tense line of their body would betray anxiety. For some people, it was the way their lips pursed in a thin line, easily revealing discontent to any that paid close enough attention.
For Oikawa Tooru, it was none of those things.
Hajime had decided in middle school that Oikawa was a liar. It wasn't that he actively tried to hurt people, or that he made up frivolous stories. Most of the time, he wasn't even lying with his words. No, Oikawa lied with his body.
His lips were guilty of perjury. He easily flashed a bright smile to his mobs of fangirls before a game, even when Hajime knew Oikawa had stayed up until three re-watching previous matches, trying to find any minor flaw he had missed in their strategy. He easily distributed pretty words like candy, flirting with anyone who gave him attention, but Hajime knew that he had rejected every confession but one-and that relationship had ended after it barely started with excuses of 'not enough time' and 'she wanted me to put her ahead of volleyball, can you believe that?'.
Oikawa's lips were never chapped, even when he cried all night after losing the chance to go to Nationals. Hajime wondered how many tubes of chapstick Oikawa went through a year to make his lips look so soft, even in the dead of winter, when Hajime's were likely to crack and bleed at the corners if he so much as sneezed wrong.
No, Oikawa's lips couldn't be trusted.
"So, why? Come on, tell me!" Oikawa whined, lips forming a perfect pout as he tugged at Hajime's sleeve. What had started as a semi-productive night of economics homework was quickly devolving into 20 questions about the state of Hajime's love life. The light from the lamp on Hajime's bedside table cast shadows over the planes of Oikawa's face, emphasizing the sharp edge of his cheekbones even as he puffed his cheeks out in a childish show of frustration.
"I'm not telling you, Trashykawa. Why the hell would I want to talk to you about that?" Hajime growled, eyes trained on the textbook in his lap, even though he hadn't read a single sentence since this conversation started.
"Because I'm curious! You were dating for a whole semester, right?" Hajime decided to take the question as rhetorical, because Oikawa knew full well exactly how long they had been dating. "But not you won't even tell your best friend why you broke up?" Oikawa rested his head on Hajime's shoulder, his breath hitting Hajime's ear as he spoke and his voice slowly creeping higher in pitch. "Mean, Iwa-chan!"
His eyes told similar lies. Hajime had seen Oikawa at his worst one night when they were ten years old. Oikawa's cat died and Hajime spent the entire night watching Oikawa cry from his spot on the futon, paralyzed with helpless. Hajime rubbed soothing circles on his friend's back, handed him tissues to clean the snot from his face, but nothing stopped the vicious sobs that wracked Oikawa's body and ringed his puffy eyes in red. The next day, it was as if nothing had happened. By lunchtime, Oikawa was as chipper as always, talking to some girls about an anime, his eyes betraying no signs of the many tears shed the previous night.
Oikawa's eyes could be cold or tender, hard as steel or warm as a furnace. Hajime had seen those eyes brimming with fire and determination to win, or seen them overflow with grief at a devastating loss. He saw the winks Oikawa gave to any girl or camera that gave him a second glance. He had seen them wide and bloodshot after staying up all night, and seen them shielded, half-hidden behind thick frames. Still, Oikawa's eyes could lie. Hajime couldn't believe in the warmth that spread in his chest when they stared straight at him. He sometimes felt they could see right through him like cellophane, that they could see the way Hajime's heart beat faster every time they touched. But they couldn't. The way they looked at him was just a figment of Hajime's imagination. He knew better than to put his faith in such pretty fantasies.
Hajime snapped his textbook shut with more force than necessary as he turned his head to glare at his friend. Oikawa's eyes were large and round, chocolate irises bright with curiosity as he pulled away enough to exam Hajime's expression. Hajime was fairly confident he would find irritation and discomfort clearly displayed there. Unlike Oikawa, who could easily flash a hundred watt smile no matter the situation, Hajime could only hide his emotions through a thick veneer of anger and annoyance.
"I don't want to talk about it, so drop it."
"I know! You were incompatible in bed, right? It happens, Iwa-chan, it's nothing to be ashamed about." Oikawa patted his shoulder in a consoling manner. "I mean, you didn't date anyone in high school, so it figures that you wouldn't have the experience to-"
"The sex wasn't the problem. God, why do you have to stick your nose into everything?" Hajime snarled. Perhaps he was a bit harsher than usual, but Oikawa was being a nosy bastard and he knew it. "We just didn't work out, ok? We both… we liked other people." He added in a slightly softer tone, an attempt to pacify his friend.
Oikawa's hands lied the most. They never fidgeted, even when Hajime could read the anxiety radiating from Oikawa in waves. The ridiculous peace signs Oikawa threw up whenever he had a chance made him seem confident and carefree, but Hajime knew that sometimes Oikawa just wanted to be alone. Oikawa's long fingers tapered into perfectly even nails and manicured cuticles, kept short with files and nail clippers, never jagged at the edges from teeth the way Hajime's had been all through middle school. The palms of Oikawa's hands and the pads of his fingers were softer than cotton, despite the callouses Hajime knew should be there. They always smelled of lotion, something crisp and medicinal that Hajime had come to associate with home.
The worst way those hands lied were with their touches. The way they grasped Hajime's upper arm to get his attention, firm but inquisitive. The lies were in the way that those pale digits sometimes combed through Hajime's hair despite his protests, those dishonest lips making some joke about hedgehogs. Oikawa's hands deceived Hajime with the heat they left as they massaged his shoulder after he sprained it practicing jump serves. They gave Hajime false hope when they lingered too long on Hajime's own when handing him a water bottle. They manipulated him into considering ridiculous notions such as reciprocation when they wiped a drop of sweat from Hajime's lips.
Oikawa's hands were duplicitous thieves, robbing Hajime of rational thought with every touch.
Oikawa pulled his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around his legs as if to protect himself. He wasn't looking at Hajime now, instead staring at the book that Hajime had closed, his eyes wide and unblinking. He was perfectly still for several long moments, but Hajime could see the muscles in his arms taut with strain, see Oikawa's blunt nails digging harshly into the rough denim of his jeans. The silence felt tense, the humid air heavy in Hajime's lungs as he exhaled slowly.
Oikawa didn't seem to be breathing at all, and Hajime frowned, a crease forming between his dark brows as he considered whether a punch was warranted to snap Oikawa out of whatever daze he had put himself in. Hajime knew how to deal with Oikawa's lies, his deceptive smiles, his forcefully cheerful laughs, and his pretty words-but he didn't know how to deal with an Oikawa who didn't speak, whose face was perfectly blank instead of an intense facade of emotion.
Just as Hajime opened his mouth to speak, Oikawa looked up, his bright eyes meeting Hajime's steadily, a smile curving the corners of his lips upwards.
Out of everything that comprised Oikawa, there was only one thing that Hajime could trust: his voice.
When Oikawa was putting on an act for his fangirls, his voice was almost cloyingly sweet, the vowels tall and bright as they fell from his lips. When it went on for too long it would start to raise in pitch, and when it reached a tenor Hajime knew it was time to intervene. That meant Oikawa was stressed, tired of people, that he wanted to be alone. Hajime would bark something about being late for practice or any other excuse to leave and Oikawa would follow, a soft sigh of relief filling the silence as soon as they were out of earshot.
When Oikawa wanted to piss someone off (which was annoyingly often), he would extend his vowels to a ridiculous degree, crooning his words like poetry. Sometimes his voice would take on an almost metallic quality, growing sharper and colder as Oikawa's frustration rose. When Oikawa's laugh became so sharp it could cut ice and brittle as a dry leaf underfoot, Hajime stepped in with a punch to his side or a jab to his ribs. It was brutal, but it woke Oikawa up from whatever mood he had settled in, and then it was Hajime who breathed a sigh of relief when he could listen to Oikawa speak without a whine similar to nails on a chalkboard.
When Oikawa was upset, his voice shook. If he was so angry he was seeing red it would sound like a low rumble, an earthquake rising up and threatening to swallow its victim whole. Hajime had only heard this a few times, and it made his blood run cold. It was the only warning he had before Oikawa lunged at Kageyama. Hajime had intervened before any actual blood could be shed, but it was a near thing. Hajime never wanted to hear that voice again.
Sometimes, Oikawa's voice would grow nasal and tremble, like ripples in water. That meant he was on the verge of breaking down. Hajime hated that sound the most. It meant Oikawa was trying to be strong and failing. It meant that his heart was crumbling, dissolving into pieces that Oikawa would try to recover by himself, crying in his bedroom alone while insisting to Hajime over the phone that no, he didn't need to come over, Oikawa was fine. It meant he would be curled in the fetal position under his covers, gripping that stupid E.T. plushie with white knuckles, as if it were a lifeline and he were a drowning man out at sea. He would gasp like his lungs were filled with salt water and his entire body would shake with the force of his emotions. This was the voice Hajime heard when Oikawa's cat died. It was the one he trusted and loathed more than any other.
His voice was an honest herald, crafting eloquent soliloquies that telegraphed his every thought.
When Hajime heard the tell-tale tremor, the shaky way Oikawa laughed as his broad smile threatened to overtake his face, Hajime knew exactly what Oikawa was feeling. He didn't doubt this knowledge for a moment, even though he couldn't tell why the sudden shift had occurred.
"Oh. So you did sleep with her after all, huh? You're finally growing up, Iwa-chan!" Hajime had eaten blackened toast that didn't crumble the way Oikawa's voice did in that moment. A smile spread easily over his features and his eyes were bright and crinkled at the edges, but Hajime's world narrowed down to the voice that betrayed everything Oikawa was trying to hide. "Well, not in height, but still. It's a shame. She was really cute. I mean, obviously she had poor taste, if she dated you instead of me, but not everyone can be perfect, you know. Who's the other girl you like? You've been spending a lot of time with Michimiya from the girl's team, right? Is it her?"
It was the first time in a long while that Hajime had felt uncertain around Oikawa. Perhaps since that one night when they were ten. Hajime had held himself back so many times: from grabbing Oikawa's hand when they walked together, instead shoving his own deep inside his pockets to fight the urge. He had held himself back from touching Oikawa's pale, slender throat as they sat on Hajime bed watching X-Files, and from pressing a gentle kiss to Oikawa's soft brown locks as they both lay in Hajime's bed as teenagers, listening to Oikawa's quiet snores. He had kept from capturing those treacherous lips with his own as Oikawa rambled about yet another stupid alien documentary, his eyes alive with fire and hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. But never had Hajime questioned his actions. He always knew exactly what to do to hide these urges, and he had never realistically considered the idea of acting on them, of letting his feelings be known.
Apparently, Oikawa didn't need any verbal feedback, which was good since Hajime was still staring at him blankly, trying to reconcile the sudden change in emotions. "I can't really say I approve. She is from Karasuno, after all, even if we didn't play against her."
"Oikawa-"
"But, hey, at least she's shorter than you. I guess that's nice, right? It's not like there's many people you can look down on. That other girl was too tall." The waver in Oikawa's voice was more pronounced now, his tone becoming more pinched with each word. "You never liked tall girls, did you? Although you also said you liked girls with long hair, and Michi-chan's hair is definitely-"
"Shittykawa, just shut-"
"I suppose you can't have it all. There are always some tradeoffs. I'm holding out for the perfect person, of course, because I'm worth it, but I guess you'll just have to settle for-"
Their foreheads collided with enough force to send Oikawa reeling back with an undignified squeak, catching himself with his hands on the thin standard issue dorm mattress before his head could hit the wall behind him. "Iwa-chan, what the hell was that for?" Oikawa rubbed at his forehead, staring at Hajime with wide eyes.
"I was trying to get you to shut the fuck up." Hajime growled, stubbornly ignoring the dull throb of pain in his head. "What's the matter with you?"
Oikawa blinked a few times, looking at Hajime blankly before his lips quirked in a tremulous smile. "What do you mean, Iwa-chan? I'm fine."
"Don't bullshit me." Hajime warned, shifting on the bed so he was facing Oikawa, his kneecaps brushing Oikawa's socked feet as his disregarded textbook fell to the floor with a thud. Hajime didn't spare it a glance. "You're not fine. You can lie to everyone else, but you can't lie to me."
Red bloomed on Oikawa's cheeks and spread to the rest of his face, creeping down his neck as he fumbled, fingers twisting around themselves in an uncharacteristic sign of anxiety. His lips opened and closed a few times and Hajime noticed they were trembling.
"Ignore me, Iwa-chan." Oikawa said softly, almost whispering as he looked down at his feet. His hair fell in front of his eyes. "I'm just being stupid. I'll be fine."
"Now I know something's wrong. Oikawa Tooru doesn't want attention? Has that happened even once since you were born?" Hajime flicked Oikawa on the forehead, right where a small red spot was now forming. Oikawa's shoulder flinched at the sudden sting, but he kept his head down. "Though I admit you're always being stupid."
Oikawa gave a weak, watery laugh, raising one hand to rub at an eye in earnest. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
When Oikawa didn't make a move to elaborate any further, Hajime leaned forward, resting a hand gently on Oikawa's knee. It was rare that he initiate any contact that wasn't violent, and the action was enough to make Oikawa raise his head. Concerned hazel eyes met red-rimmed chocolate ones, and Hajime wondered if Oikawa had been wiping away tears.
"Hey," Hajime said, his voice a bit hoarse. He cleared his throat before continuing. "You know you're shit at handling things on your own. The last time you tried, you overworked yourself so much your knee gave out. You really think it's a good idea to keep things bottled up in that huge head of yours?"
Oikawa looked lost. He stared into Hajime's eyes as if searching for something desperately. Then, he broke down. Hajime watched as the mask slipped and fell, soundlessly shattering as his chin wobbled and tears started to fall. He surged forward, grabbing the front of Hajime's t-shirt in one hand and burying his head in Hajime's shoulder.
Hajime didn't hesitate this time. He didn't hold himself back from wrapping his arms around Oikawa's silently shaking form, hands resting on Oikawa's back as he pressed the taller man to him. He buried his nose in Oikawa's hair, inhaling the scent of his conditioner even as he felt a wet patch grow at his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Iwa-chan." Came a muffled cry. Hajime rubbed circles on Oikawa's back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "I'm just so stupid. I've worked so hard all these years and it's all going to be for nothing just because I can't control myself because of one stupid girl."
Hajime had a distinct feeling he knew what they were talking about, but he wouldn't let himself believe it. He had told himself all along that he couldn't trust longing stares, or nice words, or tender caresses. He couldn't trust any of that, because it would only hurt that much more when he discovered it was false. But now, with Oikawa trembling in his arms, Hajime allowed himself a small amount of hope, a kindling of the flames that had been threatening to erupt for years.
"You work too much." Hajime mumbled, lips brushing against Oikawa's hair as he spoke. "I told you before-you need to rely on other people. You need to rely on me. You don't need to work by yourself anymore."
Oikawa's sobs slowed to shuddering breaths, and finally he raised his head. His eyes were puffy and red, his skin blotchy and flushed. His hair stood in disarray, and a bit of snot glistened at his nose. Oikawa was vulnerable, unguarded as he looked at Hajime, eyelashes dark and wet from tears. Hajime had never seen something so beautiful.
"Hajime," He met Hajime's eyes with a bravery that he himself had never had. "I love you." He sniffled, but his gaze was steady as he waited for Hajime's response.
For several moments, Hajime said nothing. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, breathing air into his lungs in a hope to regain his composure and keep the hot, prickling tears from spilling over. He dared to let himself believe. It wasn't the words, or the depth of adoration he saw in Oikawa's eyes, or the way his swollen lips had formed around Hajime's name, or the hand that was shaking where it was still clenched in Hajime's shirt.
It was his voice. That beautiful, proud, haughty, arrogant voice, so skilled at seducing girls and annoying everyone else. It was that voice reduced to a soft murmur, trembling and hesitant as he laid himself bare before Hajime. It was the trust that Oikawa showed by allowing Hajime to see past the barrier that he had always strictly kept between himself and the rest of the world. It was that voice that made Hajime believe that everything he had hoped for was actually true. The embers grew to a raging fire in his chest.
Hajime brought one calloused hand to rest against Oikawa's cheek, pulling him down to meet Hajime's lips in a tender kiss. It was wet, and soft, and Hajime was fairly certain his lips were horribly chapped. Oikawa's lips trembled against his own, moving slowly against Hajime's with less force than Hajime was used to, and he tasted like salt. But it was perfect, because it was Oikawa, and it was what Hajime had dreamt of for longer than he could remember.
When they finally pulled away, Oikawa looked at him, eyes as large as a doe's as he searched Hajime's expression.
"Is that a yes?" He asked hesitantly.
"Yes to what? You didn't ask a question." Hajime reminded him softly. His thumb rubbed small circles at a tender spot just below Oikawa's ear.
"So literal." Oikawa huffed, puffing his cheeks out for a moment before letting the air escape all once. "You know what I mean, Iwa-chan."
Hajime smiled, resting his forehead gently against Oikawa's. He closed his eyes as he revelled in the warmth that still lingered on his lips. The warmth that he would be able to feel from now on, without doubting if it was false, because Hajime would never doubt himself again. Not if he could hold Oikawa in his arms.
"It's a yes."