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The night he turned 18, he took a bath at 9pm and stayed longer than he usually does. He stared at nothing until his wandering gaze latched onto the other corner of the bathtub. Where Hajime used to sit and play with his miniature godzilla toy at 4 years old. The memory was so clear it stilled him for 5 minutes. Maybe a little bit more than that. The moment he snapped awake, Tooru stood up as quickly as he blinks. Terrified of the feeling that stirred inside him with Hajime in his mind.
He dried his hair with a towel and rubbed a little rougher than he’s supposed to.
“My hair is precious, Iwa-chan! It needs more care than your muscles does, be patient!”
He forgot to hair-dry them that night.
Tooru lied down on his mattress and realized everything in his room carries a memory of Hajime. So he gave up trying to distract himself. He glanced at his alarm clock, 11.53 it reads.
His eyes moved to the hoodie splayed on his desk chair. It was Hajime’s favorite navy one. He’d bought it when they were 16 in Tokyo. Both their families were spending a weekend out of town, and Tooru begged their parents to let them visit Tokyo. They stayed at Hajime’s cousin’s house and accidentally got lost in Shinjuku. They made it home safe and told nobody of their little adventure gone wrong.
Hajime had worn the hoodie to school because it was still cold in February. He stole it out of spite because Hajime left early for a date with Mizuhara from class 3-1, and Tooru had to walk home alone. He cried silently into the navy piece of fabric that night.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 7, and exhale from the mouth for 8. Just like how his doctor had taught him.
The air shifted and he felt safe enough to open his eyes without wanting to bang his head against wall. He opened them and felt his eyes burn.
By the time he got himself together, the wall clock points at 11.58.
He eyed the necklace hanging on the thumbtack he carelessly stab on the pin board that hung beside his desk. It was a military dog tag he customized. The writings were covered by patterned masking tapes he got from Takeru. It was written ‘Iwaizumi Hajime’, along with his social security number, blood type, and address.
Nobody knows what was written there but Tooru. He had ordered it online, with the intention of giving it to Hajime on his birthday. But when he saw Mizuhara giving him his birthday gift in front of the class—with her soft voice, delicate hands a high school volleyball athlete like him can never have, perfect skin, knees that works perfectly—Tooru took three steps backwards and turned around the corner to discreetly let his heart break.
Tooru had worn the necklace to school the next day. Just to keep Hajime closer to his heartbeat, where he should be.
But when Hanamaki had asked what it said, he figured it would be weird to wear your best friend’s name proudly around your neck. So he took it off and let it hang in his room as a reminder that it’s not what he deserves.
Thus, what does he deserve?
A gold trophy for 18 years worth of friendship? A navy hoodie to keep him company when the night gets bad?
He forgot how horrible warm tears felt on his cold skin after experiencing countless nights of it. When the clock hits 12.01, his phone lights up with a notification.
iwa-chan ఌ
‘happy birthday, shittykawa’
It reads.
And for a minute he forgot about the drying tear tracks on his cheeks.
Even the trees in his backyard had experienced loss, he thought. So it couldn’t be that bad, right? Even as he’s losing Iwa-chan to Mizuhara from class 3-1. Even when he’s going to lose Iwa-chan to California. Even then.
And for another minute, Tooru had forgotten how to breath in the absence of Hajime. But he tried, just to prove it can still mean something.
It doesn’t.