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His name was Iwaizumi Hajime.
Dark, spiky hair and tanned skin, paired with an old jean jacket and the smell of cinamon.
He wore a scowl on his face most of time, only letting his eyebrows relax when he fell asleep or when Tooru gently ran his hands over his shoulders and back.
Tooru had known him for a couple of days, but the bond between them felt like one that consisted of years worth of trust.
It was when they were laying next to each other in silence, cuddled up under a pile of blankets with Hajime whispering "Not a word, I'll hit you" that he felt at peace for the first time in months.
The big warm hands on his bare back somehow made him feel safer than any source of water in the world, and for once, he felt like maybe he was supposed to exist on dry land.
He heard his giggles become a little more genuine everytime Hajime smacked him for saying something cheesy.
He felt like he had been pulled back a little bit from his own feelings of loneliness. It wasn't much, but compared to how he felt like before, it felt as if he was floating.
There were moments where he would catch himself staring. He would stare for so long he forgot that time was a thing.
He wasn't thinking in those moments, not even consciously admiring Hajime.
It was what his body would do when he let it move on its own. It was natural, meant to be.
Tooru was able to breathe air again without resistance.
