Work Text:
Iwaizumi has seen his fair share of shit. Like. A lot of shit. Working at Reading Terminal Market, as quaint as it sounds, isn't the walk in the park that it should be. He's seen a lot, okay? Do you have any fucking idea what it's like to stand between a middle-age suburban mom and the flank state she just has to have for her very important dinner party tonight?
So when some random ass man jumps behind the counter and slides down the case wall of Iwaizumi & Sons Meats and Treats, very clearly hiding from something or someone, and on a normal Tuesday afternoon, he almost doesn't bat an eyelash. This is Philadephia after all. Weird shit like this just...happens.
It's the curse of being in a city, and the exact reason why he elected to live as far from the city center as was feasible given his schedule. Fuck, if he could justify it, he'd live in Lancaster (a short 45 min train ride away). Life is so much slower there. He'd gladly pay the overpriced train ticket into town each day, but alas, America is fucking stupid and the automobile industry launched a campaign to ruin the railroads in the early 20th century. Fucking Ford took down not only what could have been a banger of a public transit system but also all of Iwaizumi's hopes and dreams. But, hey, we're getting off track here. Fuck America and their no trains bullshit. Back to business.
"Honey," Iwaizumi says, already shaking his head. "Unless you're a raw steak, you don't belong back here."
The man, out of breath and clutching some weird cylindrical tube to his chest, slowly turns to face him.
"Sorry, I'm trying to outrun my ex-husband. He won't leave me alone."
Iwaizumi eyes the crowd. It's fucking packed in here, exactly what he'd expect on a Tuesday afternoon, but it doesn't take long for him to spot the dude in question. There's a bald guy eyeing him up in the middle of the crowd. Iwaizumi hates him already.
"Is it Baldie?" Iwaizumi says without taking his eyes off the man in question. He doesn't like the way the guy is walking, like a bloodhound on the hunt.
The stranger, still slumped against the meat case, still clutching the cylindrical tube-like it's a lifeline, nods. "Yeah," he gulps," it's baldie."
Iwaizumi grunts. He's met guys like this before. He cracks his knuckles. Not on his fucking watch.
"Can I help you with something?" he says when Baldie is within earshot.
The guy wrinkles his nose and frowns. "Me?" asks Baldie.
"Yeah, you. Can I help you with something?"
Baldie looks around, mouth twisted in disgust. "You see a guy running through here? Manic? Glasses? Carrying a long, black, cylindrical tube?"
Iwaizumi swallows and does not look down at the stranger leaning against the meat case with a frankly petrified expression on his face. "No, haven't seen anyone like that."
Baldie eyes him for a moment like he doesn't quite believe him before his lips quirk downward in a pouty frown and he bangs a fist against the meat case once.
"So," Iwaizumi says one more time. "Can I help you with something?"
"Shut up," Baldie spits before disappearing back into the crowd.
Iwaizumi breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but one thing is for sure, Baldie was bad fucking news.
"Thank you," the stranger, still huddled on the floor says. "I'm Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru." He holds out a hand. Iwaizumi takes it.
"Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Haijme."
"Thank you, Iwaizumi."
Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "It was nothing. You made the right choice--divorcing Baldie, I mean."
The stranger--Oikawa--smiles. "That's one way of putting it."
"If you don't mind me asking," Iwaizumi says after a moment, "what's in the tube?"
Oikawa smiles and it's sly and stupid and borderline evil all at the same time. "It's a long story."
Iwaizumi laughs, flips the We're Open! sign to Closed! then slides down the back of the meat case next to Oikawa. "I've got time."