two blocks to sunday

Hajime spends two hours a day jogging, mornings if it’s the weekend, afternoons if he’s working. It takes him about ten minutes to shower, five minutes to pull on his track pants and t-shirt, fifteen minutes to prepare breakfast and eat. He likes Saturday mornings best, when the week’s just ended and sometimes it’s overcast and he can go out into the day before the sun is properly risen. Waking feels like competing with it; they’ve submitted to each other enough times to be friendly rivals.

On a Thursday Oikawa tells him he’s going to visit on Saturday. Hajime laughs and says okay and wonders if he should cut his shower time then in half. On Friday he goes jogging with a coworker and tells him about Oikawa’s visit. Akaashi laughs and says, Finally, it’s been too long since you’ve complained about him. Hajime rolls his eyes, but something warm rises in him, as he imagines Oikawa taking up couch space and bed space again.

Friday night Oikawa texts him, You better not be missing me too much! I’ll see you soon ;* and Hajime replies with, Yeah, yeah, see you whenever you come. Oikawa asks him if he still jogs in the mornings, still brushes his teeth in the shower, still wears the grey joggers that he and Oikawa had bought matching together. Hajime glances to the side even though no one’s in the room and doesn’t text him back a straight answer.

Way to be predictable, Iwa-chan.

Saturday Hajime wakes up twenty minutes early. He still spends ten minutes showering, five minutes dressing, fifteen minutes making and eating breakfast. When he cracks open his front door, the sun shines through the clouds, dim enough for Hajime to glance up at it. He’ll come home an hour early. Maybe half.

He closes the door and goes to put on his running shoes. His mind is clearer than the sky, and this weekend’s plans run through his head – the new museum on the street corner, and maybe Oikawa’s favorite restaurant later. Hajime straightens up and goes back to open the door.

Oikawa is standing there, fist raised like he’d been ready to knock, suitcase in one hand.

“Oh,” says Hajime.

Oikawa’s face breaks into a grin and he lets go of his suitcase to throw his arms around Hajime’s neck. “Iwa-chan!” he says, as his suitcase topples down the porch steps and to the ground.

Hajime chuckles against his neck. “Your stuff fell, idiot.”

Oikawa pulls back, laughs. “Can you blame me?” he says, and Hajime can’t, really. Oikawa goes down to grab his suitcase, and Hajime steps aside to let him into the apartment.

As Oikawa sets his suitcase upright inside, Hajime says, “I’ll be out running for a bit. You can stay in if you want.”

Oikawa laughs and shakes his head. “C’mon, Iwa-chan,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re more perceptive than that.”

Hajime’s gaze drops and he realizes Oikawa’s wearing the matching joggers, as well.

“Oh,” he says, and Oikawa laughs again. But this time Hajime nudges him upside the head, and Oikawa takes the brief contact to grab Hajime by his shirtfront and steal a kiss. Unfazed, Hajime separates and says, “We’re going to look ridiculous outside like this.”

“We are,” Oikawa agrees, and starts towards his front door. “Well? Shall we get going then?”

Today Hajime spends three hours jogging, twenty minutes trying to drag Oikawa out of the neighborhood fountain, ten minutes trying to recover his already half-broken cellphone, and fifteen minutes drying himself off in the nearby public restroom and kissing Oikawa against the stall doors. He likes this morning best, when Oikawa’s laugh is the best noise he’s heard in ages, when Oikawa’s eyes light up at the mention of Hajime cooking, when the last ten minutes turns into a competition of who can get back first, and he and Oikawa race home together.