Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Oikawa-sama, PLEASE marry me!”

Oikawa attempted (almost undoubtedly to no avail) to suppress his wince from both the unconventional request—although at this point, he’d started to get used to them—and sheer energy radiating from the girl behind the solicitation.

“Ah, wow,” he started, trying to subtly back away without the other noticing. “Wow, yes, that’s quite a proposal. I’m really flattered, but I must inform you I’m not quite looking for a—oooookay, and you’ve bought a ring. Wow.” Oikawa could only stare at the girl in front of him, now on one knee and extending an open box with a rather extravagant ring nestled inside.

“Please marry me, Oikawa-sama!” the girl repeated again, her flushed gaze on the sidewalk where he was standing.

This was not how Oikawa expected his Monday night to go.

After a quick survey of the options he had on how to escape the situation he had found himself in, he muttered a quick “sorry” under his breath before darting off into one of the alleys across the street. The girl’s head darted up, but not fast enough to see which direction Oikawa had fled, so she was left to dust herself off and sulk home. Oikawa almost felt bad for a second, but it really was her fault for putting him in a place like that. Honestly, what was he supposed to do?

Either way, if he stayed in the alley, he was sure to be recognized by some other fan of his—or god forbid, his manager. Oikawa didn’t think he could handle another lecture from Irihata-san about damaging his public image. Oikawa’s public image was fantastic, obviously. He had no idea what the old coot was worried about.

So, pulling his hood further down his eyes, he traveled the length of the alley to cross streets to another alley, before taking a sharp turn and traversing down yet another alley—why were there so many?—before he came face to face with a coffee shop, the dim lighting from the sign reading “Café Aoba Johsai” standing out as the only source of light on the dark streets.

Well, Oikawa thought as he pushed the door open. I wouldn’t mind a coffee or two.

He couldn’t help but release a sigh of relief as he slid into the small shop, his senses already getting warmly accosted by the distinct scent of coffee. Finally, some peace and quie—

“Can I help you?”

Oikawa blinked, then turned around to face the voice that had addressed him, coming face to face with a very unimpressed looking barista behind the counter.

Shit. Had it slipped Oikawa’s mind that there would be a person in the café, even this late at night? Maybe, but could you really hold it against him?

Here it comes. Was there really nowhere Oikawa could go without him being recognized? It was flattering, yes, but also exhausting, having everyone throwing themselves at his feet, singing his praises—for what? They didn’t even really know who he was, except for the persona he showed in the movies. Honestly. Any second now, this barista with large enough bags under his eyes to compete with suitcases would fall at his feet and grovel. What would he ask for, Oikawa wondered? Probably a signature. That was always a fan favorite.

Any second now.

…any second now.

…any second now?

Multiple seconds had passed.

The barista’s expression hadn’t changed at all, except for the slight twitch in his forehead signaling his frustration. Frustration at what? Oikawa could only think, bewildered. He should be ecstatic that the famous Tooru Oikawa is in his little café. Fine, maybe some of the praises went to his head. Could you blame him?

The barista huffed out a little sigh. “Can I help you,” he asked again, forced through gritted teeth.

Oikawa could only blink in shock. Did he… did he not know who Oikawa is?

Oikawa had no clue how he should act in a situation like this. He’d never been able to enter a public place and not be recognized.

“Well,” he started, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose—yes, it was, in fact, horribly hard to see anything with them on, but he had to maintain his disguise for the sake of… well, himself—and flashing a blinding grin at the unimpressed barista. “It’s fine if I just stay here for a bit, right?”

The barista’s gaze, if anything, only got sharper as he continued to stare at Oikawa.

“We’re two minutes to close.”

Ah. Yes. Admittedly, Oikawa should have expected that. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, he thought with an internal sigh, pulling out his wallet and the chunk of yen sitting snugly in it. He spread the bills around in one hand, using it as a fan to cover half of his face.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked coyly, although he felt anything but in his baggy hoodie and sunglasses that kept tipping down his nose.

If there was one thing Oikawa had learned in his career, it was that a little money thrown around would go a long way. This was bound to work, right?

Oikawa prided himself on being able to read expressions like a professional. Right now, the barista’s was saying, very clearly, I’m so fucking tired of this shit. Which… was not exactly the reaction he was going for.

“Yes,” the barista finally bit out, like it was taking every ounce of his willpower to stay civil. “I’m sure. Are you actually going to order something? ‘Cause if not, the door’s right there.”

To say that Oikawa was confused was an understatement. The entire exchange… it was so unlike any encounter he’d ever had. He wasn’t sure if he was liking it or not, but it certainly was a fresh change of pace. He had been getting awfully tired of the groveling.

“Fine,” Oikawa grumbled, to the barista’s visible relief. “I’ll take a…” his words trailed off as he stared at the menu above the counter, foreign words barraging his mind. What the hell was a frappuccino? As an avid coffee drinker, Oikawa had the distinct feeling he should have known the difference between the long Italian names plastered across the menu, but while on set, it was always someone else who ordered and brought him his coffee. So really, you couldn’t blame him. “A coffee,” he blurted out finally, after spending what felt like ages scrutinizing the menu. “I’ll have a coffee.”

What the fuck, the barista’s expression now says, and Oikawa couldn’t contain his wince. Right. Maybe not his smoothest move.

Somehow, Oikawa had the feeling that this barista—Iwaizumi, his name tag read—had been dealing with customers like him all day, because he didn’t even argue with Oikawa’s admittedly vague as fuck order. Instead, he sighed deeply, looking very much like a broke college student running on ten cups of pure caffeine forced to work the night shift at a café—which Oikawa was pretty sure was exactly what Iwaizumi was.

“One coffee, coming up,” he eventually said, in a voice devoid of all life. Oikawa winced again. Yeah, he didn’t think he’d be welcome in this café again any time soon.

Iwaizumi turned, starting to work on Oikawa’s order, confirming his suspicion that the spiky haired barista was the only person on shift at the moment. Oikawa frowned—maybe he could just leave without making it any more awkward than it had already gotten?

Nah, Oikawa thought as he finally allowed himself to slide into a chair next to the counter as he waited for his drink. That’s just an asshole move.

The silence was only broken by the whirring of whatever coffee machine was being used, and Oikawa took the opportunity to pull out his phone and check his socials. As soon as he hopped on Twitter, he was assaulted by retweet after retweet of the same post on his timeline—

Fucking hell. And of course, attached was the lavish ring that had been thrust at Oikawa just that night. And of course it would go viral. Just what he needed.

God, what if people got the wrong idea from this stupid post? The last thing he needed was a line of suitors waiting outside his door every day, each with a more extravagant ring than the last. Honestly, it would take more than that to win him over.

Oikawa blamed his next move on sleep deprivation. His fingers flew furiously over the screen as he typed, and it was only a few seconds after he’d pressed post that he realized the gravity of what he’d done.

Shit. He stared blankly at the comments and retweets already pouring in, and with a few more taps, silenced his notifications for the rest of the night. Well. That wouldn’t be fun to deal with in the morning.

“Your order.” Oikawa was interrupted from his impromptu self pity party by a coffee cup set in front of him, the smell already wafting into the air as the heat curled around the top of the cup and up into the air.

“Oh.” Oikawa blinked. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected a real order with the way he’d acted with the barista—Iwaizumi. But here was a whole, real, actual cup of coffee! Oikawa didn’t need to be told twice, pulling the cup closer to himself and taking a tentative sip as he furtively watched Iwaizumi rummage around in the cabinets for who knew what.

“Oh,” Oikawa repeated after a sip. “This is… really good.”  Really good. Oikawa’s vocabulary today was truly something else. Honestly, Oikawa was pretty sure words couldn’t even describe how good this coffee was. Somehow, this barista he’d just met had pinpointed the exact amount of sugar he needed (an ungodly amount, according to Hanamaki), with just the right amount of cream and milk—how did he even…?

Iwaizumi only gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Maybe he was used to the compliments? Well, there was no way Oikawa could leave without making a lasting impression on this unsuspecting barista. (He ignored the voice in his head who told him, yeah, maybe he had already made an impression. And not a very good one at that. It was never too late to change!) He had to repay Iwaizumi justly, and if there was one thing Oikawa knew how to do, it was paying people.

“How much will it be?” he asked casually as he meandered back to the counter after finishing his drink in amicable silence.

“500 yen,” the other responded, without looking up from the screen he was tapping. That little! Oikawa thought in shock. His usual crappy designer coffee usually cost ten times as much and tasted ten times worse. Pulling out his wallet, he slipped out a 10,000 yen bill and slid it across the counter.

That got Iwaizumi to look up.

“You can keep the tip,” Oikawa said with a wink, ignoring his ratcheting heartbeat as he headed for the door. Why the hell was he getting so worked up about this? It was just a tip.

“Are you sure—?” Iwaizumi asked, squinting at the bill with suspicion.

Oikawa stopped at the door. “Of course I am—” he paused, and before he could stop himself, the nickname slipped out. “—Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa ducked out of the shop before the protest forming on Iwaizumi’s lips could come out, a stupid smile on his face. Where the nickname had come from, he himself wasn’t sure, but something about it in the moment had just felt right.

Honestly, the entire thing was stupid. It wasn’t like he’d ever run into this barista again…

Right?

“And… CUT! Okay, that was the best take, we’ll go with that. Set up for the next scene, please, everyone!”

Oikawa finally let his character façade drop—not that he could for very long, considering the next scene still required it—trying not to let the exhaustion of the day show on his face. If he had known acting would be this intensive, maybe he would have stuck with something… easier. Take after take after take—even one simple misstep would require the entire scene to be shot again, and as a main character, there was rarely a scene Oikawa wasn’t in. Which meant in a full work day, his only real break was during the changing between scenes. With a sigh, he collapsed into a chair, trying to relax before he was thrown into the spotlight again. Around him, cameras and lights were quickly shifted around, people bustling in the background and set to fix everything up as quickly as they could—after all, Oikawa wasn’t the only one on the set who felt the sheer exhaustion that came with filming.

A few moments later, a coffee cup was shoved into Oikawa’s hands. Well, maybe that would combat his fatigue—even a little? He instinctively took a sip, but recoiled away when the bitter taste hit his tongue. Eugh. That had tasted like shit. But wasn’t it the same coffee he had every shoot? Why did this one taste so spectacularly awful? It was almost like he had been expecting something sweeter…

Ah.

The previous night’s interactions trickled back into his memories—that grumpy barista and the oh-so-sweet coffee he’d been given—oh, if only he could have had that instead! No wonder his usual coffee tasted so shit in comparison. But coffee was coffee, so steeling his taste buds and cringing in preparation, he downed the rest of the bitter sludge in one fell swoop. Disgusting.

He carefully put the empty cup to the side, vowing to never look at the hateful thing again, if he could. With nothing else to do while he waited for the next scene’s setting to be set up, he found his mind traveling yet again back to the fateful coffee shop encounter.

That coffee was certainly the best he’d ever had, but more interesting than that—that barista was certainly a character. Spiky hair, gruff demeanor (porcupine, Oikawa couldn’t help but think)—but all the more stranger than that, he had no clue who Oikawa was.

Admittedly, it would be a little egotistical to say everyone knew who the superstar actor Tooru was—if it wasn’t true. But time after time after time, he’d been accosted by fans in the most mundane of situations—for god’s sake, he just wanted a new pair of sunglasses, but noooo, he had to give out 53 signatures that day (he counted!) and ended up getting kicked out of the store for bringing such a commotion.

He hadn’t even been able to buy his stupid sunglasses.

So really, you couldn’t blame Oikawa for being so fascinated with the barista—seemingly the only person who didn’t recognize Oikawa instantly and actually treated him like a person, not just an idol to gawk over.

It had been… surprisingly refreshing.

“—kawa. Oikawa!”

He blinked to attention to see the director snapping his fingers in his face. Rude.

“I’ve called your name three times, Mr. Hot Shot. Wanna pay attention?”

Oikawa suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, Ennoshita, fine, sorry.”

And so he hefted himself out of the chair to continue his shooting—all in a day’s work, after all.

You can’t be serious. This was happening again?

Oikawa stared with barely masked horror at the horde of fans that had somehow tracked him down, yet again, after his shoot was over.

This time, Oikawa didn’t bother entertaining them. As they slowly started encircling them, boys and girls alike clamoring for his attention (some, he noted with horror, were holding what looked like ring boxes), he tucked his hair under his cap (much to his dismay—all that time his hair artists had spent on perfecting it!), spun on his heel, and started power-walking down the street. If there was one thing Oikawa had learned in these situations, after all this time, it was how to escape his rabid fans.

Now, if only he could figure out how to stop the situation from happening at all in the first place…

Sure enough—a few quick turns here and there, and Oikawa found himself blessedly alone. But not only that… he’d somehow found himself in front of the same café he’d found refuge in the last night.

Well. If that wasn’t a sign…

Before pushing open the door, he squinted from the side through the window, trying to discern if the spiky hair he saw at the counter was the same he’d seen last night. He couldn’t tell for sure, but what were the odds there were not one, but two spiky haired baristas at the same café? Not that high… probably. Statistics was never his forte.

His resolve set, he waltzed into the store, feeling a thrill run through when he saw the barista’s familiar face. What was his name? Iwa… Iwa something.

“Hi, Iwa-chan!” he trilled, making a show of draping himself into a seat by the counter. The barista’s brows furrowed in confusion at first, then raised slightly in recognition.

…not too much recognition, Oikawa hoped. The last thing he needed was Iwa-chan (or Iwaizumi, Oikawa remembered as his eyes glanced over his nametag) to actually recognize him and turn into yet another fangirl. Honestly, as much as he loved his adoring fans (sometimes), they were just so exhausting.

“That’s not my name,” Iwaizumi responded with a slight scowl instead, and Oikawa drooped slightly in relief. He was still safe… for now.

“Aww, but it’s so cute!” Oikawa shot back, which only deepened Iwaizumi’s scowl, but to his surprise, he didn't retort back.

Instead, he bit out: “What are you doing here?”

Oikawa blinked. Wouldn’t that be obvious? “Uhh, coffee? Why else would I be here?”

Iwaizumi squinted at him. “You do know what time it is right now?”

Oikawa glanced at his watch. 9:59 PM. Exactly one minute before closing.

…he was starting to see why Iwaizumi might be hostile towards him. Honestly, his timing could only be blamed on his fans, but he didn’t think telling that to Iwaizumi was the best idea.

“Whoops,” he said flippantly instead, sinking deeper into his seat. “Since I’m here anyways, could I just get what I got yesterday?”

The barista sighed, but turned around and got started on making the drink anyway—Oikawa couldn’t help but bite back a grin. As the machine whirred and glasses clinked, Oikawa found himself humming softly, but it only took a while before he started tapping his fingers on the table in boredom.

“Say, how long have you worked here?”

Iwaizumi startled at the break in silence, turning to glance at Oikawa before going back to focusing on the task at hand. “Two years,” was his curt answer, and Oikawa hummed thoughtfully in response.

“No wonder you’re so good at making coffee,” he said mindlessly, delighted when it caused Iwaizumi’s cheeks to redden just the slightest.

“Shut up,” the barista grit out, and Oikawa reveled in the unexpected hostility.

“Aww,” he cooed, leaning forward. “You’re so mean to your favorite customer, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi scoffed. “I literally don’t even know your name.”

Oikawa blinked. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. What if saying his name would make Iwaizumi recognize him? Iwaizumi might not have known what the famous superstar Tooru looked like, but there was no way he wouldn’t recognize the name, right? It had been so nice interacting with someone who didn’t completely idolize him, for once. But… then again. If he couldn’t recognize Oikawa by looks alone, there was no way he'd recognize his family name. “Oikawa. It’s Oikawa.”

Something akin to a smirk flitted across Iwaizumi’s face. “Nice to meet you, Shittykawa.”

It wasn’t as if Iwaizumi had been nothing but kind and courteous to him thus far, but it would still be an understatement to say Oikawa was shocked into silence. Not an offended silence, per se, but rather… bewildered.

Well, it was safe enough to say Iwaizumi definitely didn’t recognize Oikawa. Damn, this barista’s kind of harsh, he thought to himself, but he also couldn’t deny the bantering wasn’t pretty fun. After all, there were only a few people he could really talk freely to like this.

“If you’re giving me a nickname like that, you can’t complain about Iwa-chan,” Oikawa scoffed.

“Would you prefer Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi responded wryly, turning back with a glass in his hands.

Oikawa gasped in feigned offense. “Rude!”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but slid the glass over to Oikawa. “Your order.”

“Thank youuuuu,” Oikawa drawled out, and all the stress from his day seemed to melt off his shoulders with the first sip of coffee he took.

“Long day?” he was surprised to hear Iwaizumi ask, and glanced up. He didn’t think the other barista would actually be interested about well, him.

He raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, a stark contrast to his previously exuberant personality. “Yeah, you could say that.” If he divulged too much information, it wouldn’t be hard for Iwaizumi to guess who he was, and that was one thing Oikawa had to do everything in his power to stop from happening.

Iwaizumi didn’t press him any further, seeming to recognize Oikawa wouldn’t disclose any more, and he finished the rest of his drink in comfortable silence as Iwaizumi puttered around closing the rest of the store. Once he was finished, he moved back to the counter, where Oikawa waited with an empty glass and wallet in hand. Iwaizumi took the glass, but hesitated when he saw Oikawa open his wallet.

“Hey, you don’t have to pay today, actually.” Iwaizumi looked away, scratching his neck. “I don’t think you meant to pay that much last time?”

Oikawa blinked. “Sure I did.”

“Uhh—”

Oikawa dropped another 10,000 yen bill on the counter, quickly hurrying to the door.

“Wait—”

“Bye, Iwa-chan!”

And with that, he was out the door.

Of course, it wouldn’t be 100% fair to claim this new barista was the only person Oikawa could be candid with—the next morning, he woke up to a barrage of texts from one of his long known high school friends, Takahiro Hanamaki—not an actor like Oikawa, but rather a music director. They’d worked together on a few films, remaining in contact even when they weren’t working together on a film. Honestly, sometimes it felt like Makki was the only thing keeping him sane.

Of course, the flood of texts now on his phone begged to differ.

from makki 5:10 A.M.

oi shitface

from makki 5:11 A.M.

what the hell is this

https://t.co/3jkh89z

from makki 5:12 A.M.

ur joking about this right

oikawa i fucking swear to god if this is true

from makki 5:15 A.M.

wake up fuckhead im not leaving until u respond

Oikawa squinted at his screen. The one day he had off, Makki had to wake him up at five in the morning to, what, just cuss him out? For what? Ignoring the texts themselves, he started calling Makki, the familiar dial tone only ringing for a short while before it was cut off by Makki’s disgruntled voice.

“Oikawa, what the fuck.”

“Good morning to you too,” he muttered back, shifting in his bed to sit upright against the pillows. “Why the hell are you texting me at 5 A.M.?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Oikawa heard a few papers shuffling about. “Did you not see my texts?”

Oikawa barely stifled a groan. “Did I not mention it’s five in the morning. Just tell me what the problem is.”

He heard a scoff through his speaker. “Just click the link, dumbass.”

The link…? Oh, that was right, Makki had sent a link to some Twitter post or something. He hadn’t had time to check his account for the past two days, so he wasn’t sure what to expect when he clicked it—and, well, he certainly wasn’t expecting to see his own post staring back at him on the screen.

Oh.

Huh.

He’d kind of forgotten about that.

“Riiiiight,” he drawled out, once he remembered he was still on the call with Hanamaki. “About that. Hm.”

Well, what the hell was Oikawa supposed to say? He hadn’t exactly been… thinking, when he’d made that post. Admittedly, it was foolish of him to think the matter would blow over, but…

He stared at the number of notifications he had.

Well, he didn’t think it would be this bad.

“You’ve taken all of Japan by storm with this bombshell,” Makki continued as Oikawa stewed in thought. “But, like, obviously. What the hell, Oikawa?” he repeated.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Oikawa hissed through his teeth. “Can I say it’s a… typo or something?”

“I’m sure that’d work,” Makki responded, his words laced with sarcasm. “So it’s not true, then; no lovely lady swept you off your feet?”

Oikawa hummed to himself, the unbidden thought of Iwaizumi coming to his mind. “Not a lady, no…”

“...”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Oh my god, Oikawa.”

“I didn’t mean anything by that, okay?” Oikawa hissed. “There’s no one like that, I just posted that two days ago to get people off my back.”

“Sure,” Makki agreed, sounding wholly unconvinced. “What I’m saying is, you might want to find someone like that. For real.”

Oikawa frowned at his phone. “What are you talking about?”

“People have been scouring your entire history for people that could be your significant other. I think right now, they’re all fixated on a classmate they saw in a picture with you from first grade.”

Fuck. He’d really opened a can of worms with this one, huh?

“Well, what do you want me to say?” he grumped, shifting the phone to his other hand as he moved the blanket out of his way. “You want me to just make up a person?”

“Sounds to me like you already have a person,” Makki said pointedly. “I dunno, just drop some vaguely specific information to lead them on the wrong path or something.”

“Vaguely specific information,” Oikawa repeated. “Like saying they’re a barista or something?”

“...wow, you didn’t have to think very hard about that. You sure you don’t want to tell me about anyone, Oikawa?”

Oikawa scowled, feeling his cheeks heat up. Why was he getting all riled up about this? And for that matter, why was he so quick to say barista? It sounded like more trouble than it was worth to think about, so Oikawa shoved any intrusive thoughts far, far away.

“I’m hanging up now,” he declared loudly, and proceeded to do just that. Only a few seconds later, a text popped up on his screen.

from makki 5:27 A.M.

wimp

Oikawa stuck his tongue out at his phone, ready to throw it on his bed and go back to sleep, before he remembered Makki’s advice from the call. Hesitantly, he opened the now dreaded social media app and started typing—before he could second-guess himself, he pressed post.

There. That was vaguely specific enough, right?

God.

He was regretting this already.

It didn’t take long for him to realize it hadn’t been vaguely specific enough, as it turned out nearly two seconds after Oikawa tweeted, his timeline became flooded with new speculations on… every barista in town. Great. He could already imagine the berating he’d get from Makki for this—and sure enough, it didn’t take long for a text to pop on his phone.

from makki 5:29 A.M.

LMFAOOOO

u really went that way huh

real subtle real nice

to makki 5:29 A.M.

stfu

One time was chance. Twice was odd, but could be brushed away. But the fact that Oikawa had found himself in front of the same café—at the same time, nonetheless—three different times after being hunted down by fans? Well, if that wasn’t fate…

Plus, after the new Twitter fiasco he’d inadvertently caused, he could really use a pick-me-up—in the form of a familiar barista or a delectable coffee. Oikawa wasn’t picky.

Before opening the door, he squinted through the window again, straightening imperceptibly when he saw a head of spiky hair. With a new cheer in his step, he skipped through the front door, relishing in being able to take off his hat—something he wore for the sake of his clearly ineffective disguise, and it always did horrors to his fabulous hair. He couldn’t wait to throw it into the nearest incinerator.

“Hi, Iwa-chan!” he greeted cheerily, taking his usual spot at the counter. Was twice enough to call it his usual? Well, it wasn’t like there was anyone else there to take the spot…

“...hi.”

A greeting in return! Reluctant as it may have been, it was still progress.  

“Could I have my usual?”

Iwaizumi lifted a single eyebrow in response, but still turned around to start making the drink. Oikawa allowed himself a grin as he swung his legs, watching the meticulous preparation.

“So, what have you been up to, Iwa-chan?”

The other didn’t pause in his process, but did turn his head to turn a confused look at Oikawa. Sure, Oikawa could admit that maybe the question was a little bit out of the blue, but it wasn’t his fault he felt like he’d known the barista for ages! There was just something about his demeanor that just… felt familiar. In another life, maybe.

Despite his initial hesitation, it wasn’t long before Iwaizumi responded. “College.” Apparently noticing the curtness of his response, he hurried to clarify. “I’m a second-year majoring in kinesiology.”

Kin-es-i-o-lo-gy. Oikawa mouthed the word. Sure sounded fancy.

If Iwaizumi was a second year in college… well, that would make him about the same age as Oikawa then. His upper education had been… a bit fast tracked, for lack of better wording, to get him onto as many stages as he could early in his life. Sure, the acting biz was fun, but he couldn’t help but wonder what his life would have been like, sometimes, if he hadn’t chosen it as his career. Would he be at the same college as Iwaizumi? Would they have been friends?

Realizing he’d been silent for a few moments, he scrambled for a response. “Oh, yeah, cool. Me too.”

Iwaizumi gave him a look Oikawa couldn’t discern. “You’re a second-year too? What college?”

Fuuuuck. He hoped the panic he was feeling wasn’t as visible as he thought. “Uh, well, you know. Yeah. Uh.” Out of sheer desperation, he glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the sign above the both of them. “Aoba Johsai. Yeah.”

Iwaizumi squinted. “Your college is named after this café?”

Oikawa laughed brightly, even as he felt his soul wither away inside him. “Cool coincidence, right? Maybe that’s why I keep finding myself here.”

Iwaizumi squinted harder at him, but provided no argument. “Right.”

Luckily, Oikawa found he didn’t have to bluster his way through any more of the same conversation, as a steaming cup of coffee slid its way in front of him. It took all he had in him not to melt out of his seat with the first sip, and he once again found himself marveling in the sheer goodness of the coffee in front of him.

Maybe his tweet from earlier today wasn’t so false after all.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. Oikawa hadn’t done anything too atrocious to the barista (if you excluded coming right before closing all the time), and he seemed nice, and he was cute, and he made good coffee, and he treated Oikawa like, well, a human being, and so, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too far fetched to ask him out on a date—

Oikawa’s phone pinged with a tweet and screeched his thought process to a halt.

…right. Obviously, Oikawa was just thinking of a pipe dream. He wasn’t a normal person to be able to date whomever he liked, oh, no. The mere rumor had sparked such controversy and debate that… well. Oikawa didn’t think he’d want to subject Iwaizumi to a life like that.

He couldn’t help but sigh dejectedly into his cup, which didn’t go unnoticed by Iwaizumi, who had resumed wiping down the counter.

“Bad text?” he asked in reference to the ping he’d heard from Oikawa’s phone.

“Sort of,” he responded half-heartedly.

“Your girlfriend break up with you or something?”

Oikawa stared at Iwaizumi, who stared resolutely back, something challenging glinting in his eyes.

“No, I’m single,” he couldn’t help but blurt out, then snapped his mouth shut in mortification. What was he doing?

Iwaizumi kept his eyes (dark brown with a hint of green, Oikawa noticed) locked with Oikawa’s for a few moments longer, before giving a noncommittal grunt and turning back to his task at hand.

Well. That certainly was… an interaction.

“I should get going,” Oikawa muttered as he slid out of his seat, hoping and praying that his acting skills would help him hide his flustered frenzy of emotions. He headed for the door, just about to exit before he remembered—

He flipped open his wallet, pushing a 10,000 yen bill towards the cash register. Although looking rather uneasy, Iwaizumi presented no protest and simply took it with a muted “Thanks for the tip.”

Oikawa paused where he stood, halfway out the door.

“Is there… something wrong?” he asked, brows furrowed on the tension on Iwaizumi’s face.

Iwaizumi shook his head minutely, frowning at the bill. “Nothing, it’s just… why are you giving such a big tip? Can you… afford it?”

Oikawa resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. No, he definitely didn’t think a few generous tips were going to bankrupt him, but he couldn’t very well say that without raising some sort of suspicion on the source of his funds—especially as a self-proclaimed second-year college student—so he gave a half-smile instead in response.

“I get by fine enough. Plus, I like being able to tip my favorite barista,” he added with a wink, before he realized how forward he was being. He watched a flash of amusement flit across Iwaizumi’s face, and before the embarrassment could truly set in, he dashed out the door with a final “bye Iwa-chan!” and turned the corner to lean against the side wall.

He was so fucked.

At this point, it would be… foolish to pretend his fans were the only reason he found himself at Aoba Johsai Café so often. Were they still hunting Oikawa down after every shoot? Sure, but it was definitely his own two feet that dragged him to the familiar coffee shop day after day. Quite frankly, Oikawa had no idea what he was doing anymore. Blatantly flirting with the barista every chance he got—what exactly was his plan?

Still, he couldn’t be to blame fully. After all, his advances weren’t entirely rebuffed by Iwaizumi, who actually—if Oikawa was reading things right—seemed to flirt back at times. So really, what he was doing was harmless, right? Plus, he got really good coffee each time, so… definitely worth it.

It was during one of these routine visits, as Iwaizumi was making Oikawa’s usual order, that Oikawa couldn’t help but blurt out, the thought that had plagued him all this time:

“You really don’t know who I am?”

Iwaizumi sent him a quizzical stare.

“Uhh, yeah,” he started with a snort, and Oikawa felt his heart drop to his shoes. “You’re that ass that comes in two minutes to close.”

…right.

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

It was a few days later when he could return to the café he was now a frequent visitor to. He waltzed in, the trill of “Iwa-chan” ready to slip off his tongue, but he found himself screeching to a halt as he came face-to-face with a barista who was definitely not Iwa-chan.

Instead of the spiky hair he’d grown so attached to, this barista had curly black hair and impressively thick eyebrows that were currently raised up to his hairline. Matsukawa, his nametag read.

“Where’s Iwaizumi,” Oikawa blurted out, frozen at his spot next to the door.

“He’s sick. But holy shit,” the other said, sounding unfazed despite his visible surprise. “You’re Tooru Oikawa.”

Shitshitshitfuckshit. “No, I’m not,” Oikawa rushed out. Play dumb. “Who’s Oikawa?” Not that dumb!

Matsukawa ignored him in favor of continuing to stare blankly at Oikawa. “I can’t believe you’re the same guy Iwaizumi complains about all the time.”  

“H-huh?”

“I mean,” the barista continued, apparently unconcerned by the fact that Oikawa felt like he was about to drop through the floor. “The way Iwaizumi talked about you, I thought you were some asshole repeat customer he took a liking to. Kept describing you like a smug pretty bastard who came in every day right before closing.” He finally met Oikawa’s eyes. “Who knew that bastard was the one and only Tooru Oikawa.”

“You must be mistaken,” Oikawa tried desperately, shoving his hat back onto his head and pulling the hood up. “I’m not… I don’t even know who that is.”

Matsukawa scoffed with no malice. “Come on. There isn’t a single person on this side of the world that doesn’t know Tooru Oikawa.” After a brief pause, he amended: “Well, except Iwaizumi, I guess.”

Oikawa felt all the fight drain out of him. He took off the hat he’d just put on and shoved it into his jacket pocket, shoulders slouched. “Yeah, fine. You’re right. I…” He couldn’t find it in himself to finish the sentence and let his words trail off into a fragile silence. He nudged the stool by the counter with his foot, staring resolutely at the ground. “Are you going to tell him?”

There was a pause, and it was only when Oikawa looked up to meet the other’s eyes that he responded. “Do you want me to?”

“No,” Oikawa hissed out instantly. “No, of course not, he can’t know—” He clamped his mouth shut.

Matsukawa raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Iwaizumi’s a good guy, he’s not going to treat you any differently, once he knows who you actually are. You really want to keep lying to him?”

Oikawa scowled. “I know that.”

When he refused to explain further, Matsukawa prodded him a bit more. “So? What are you scared of?”

Realizing the other barista wouldn’t let it go so easily, Oikawa reluctantly continued. “Things are different when you’re… me. It’s fine now, because we’re just two… people, but once he knows I’m…” he gestured to himself vaguely, “...it’s just not the same. My world is different from his, and I don’t want to bring him into mine.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

Oikawa gawked at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not giving Iwaizumi enough credit. He’s tougher than you think; he’s not going to run away just because you’re a little more famous than he is.” A pause. “Okay, a lot more famous than he is.”

“Do you follow me on Twitter?”

The other startled slightly at the sudden change in topic. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

Oikawa waved his apology away, instead pulling up his own account and thrusting it in Matsukawa’s face. “This is what happens at the mere mention of me dating someone. Do you want me to subject Iwa-chan to this?”

Matsukawa snorted. “You know he hates that fucking nickname of yours.”

“That’s not the point!”

Matsukawa rolled his eyes, pushing Oikawa’s phone away. “Yeah, yeah, big deal. So you’ve got a couple hundred rabid fans. You were the one who posted that shit in the first place, right?”

Oikawa hesitated. He had a point, but… “I’m not bringing Iwaizumi into this. I’m not bringing anyone into this.”

After a few-second staredown, Matsukawa tore away his gaze with a half-hearted shrug as he turned to wipe down the counters. “Suit yourself. I won’t say anything and let you tell him on your own terms.” He threw a glance at Oikawa. “Assuming, of course, you will eventually tell him.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. This entire conversation had been… too revealing, too honest, too probing. “Eventually.”

There was a tense silence for a bit, as Oikawa debated just leaving the café or getting a coffee anyways and dashing afterwards—although there was no way for this barista to know Oikawa’s precise order. He slowly started shuffling his way to the door, but was interrupted by Matsukawa.

“Funny how I only mentioned Iwaizumi, yet you jumped to dating,” he mentioned off-handedly, but a teasing glint in his eye told Oikawa he knew exactly what he was saying. “You got a thing for our spiky-headed barista?”

Oikawa gave him the sweetest grin he could manage. “No idea what you’re talking about.” Having made his way to the door, he quickly hurried outside, but not before throwing out a “Tell Iwa-chan to get better soon!”

from matsukawa 10:05 P.M.

your favorite smug pretty bastard hopes you get better soon

to matsukawa 10:05 P.M.

??? what the fuck

to matsukawa 10:05 P.M.

your words not mine

to matsukawa 10:05 P.M.

do you mean oikawa

did he come at 10 pm again

from matsukawa 10:06 P.M.

you bet

interesting guy

didn’t think he was ur type

to matsukawa 10:06 P.M.

what the fuck are you implying

from matsukawa 10:06 P.M.

;)

to matsukawa 10:06 P.M.

i hope you rot in hell

from matsukawa 10:07 P.M.

love u too

To say Oikawa was careful after that encounter was an understatement. For a week, he refused to visit the café, always turning the corner to the spot he knew (or hoped) Iwaizumi was, before turning resolutely from the door to some other nook or cranny along the street to ride out the wave of fans. Once a week had passed, he allowed himself to peek inside the café, only entering when he could tell for certain the barista at the front was Iwaizumi.

“We’re closed—oh.” Iwaizumi blinked at Oikawa slipping inside donned in his usual hat and hoodie as a disguise. “You’re back. Hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“Ah, well,” Oikawa feigned nonchalance as he took his usual seat. “You know how it goes. Work and…” Right, he was supposed to be a second-year college student! “School. College… stuff.”

Iwaizumi nodded gravely. “I get it. Your usual?”

“Please.”

Iwaizumi turned to prepare his drink, but not before dropping a question that made Oikawa freeze. “You met Matsukawa the other day, right?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa responded after a brief moment of silence. “Interesting guy.”

Iwaizumi gave him a wry smile. “He said the same about you.”

Oikawa tamped down his rising panic. “Oh, yeah? He, uh, say anything else?”

“No.” Iwaizumi threw him a glance. “Should he have?”

“Of course not,” Oikawa hurried to say, barely suppressing a wince. “We just had a totally normal conversation about…” he trailed off, and once again, his eyes landed on the sign above them with the store’s name, reminding him about the last lie he’d quickly made up. “College. Just. Discussing college stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Iwaizumi sounded less than impressed, but at least he wasn’t asking anymore about it.

Good, Oikawa thought resolutely as he drew circles into the wood of the bar with his finger absentmindedly. The easier he could shove that conversation deep into the back of his mind, the better. He didn’t need to spend another second of his life agonizing over whether or not he could date Iwaizumi—not that he would even want to, really. Well. Maybe a little. (Maybe a lot.) Was he lying to himself? Oikawa frowned to himself while deep in thought. It wasn’t really a lie more as a… suppression of truth? There was a difference, right?

Probably.

God, Oikawa was overthinking everything, as usual. None of it really mattered, anyways. He could continue this… thing, whatever it was between them, for as long as he wanted. The arrangement worked out, didn’t it? If it wasn’t broken, there was no need to fix it.

As if on cue, his phone chimed with a tweet notification.

Oikawa frowned down at his phone. Hadn’t he muted Twitter already? Seeing the ridiculous theories his fans came up with were fun to scroll through at first, but very quickly became tiring (and if he was being honest, a bit worrying at times) as threads after threads of speculation popped up. How on earth did they manage to find his second year classmate that he’d known for exactly a week? And really, why would they even put her in as an option? Oikawa had standards, after all.

He flicked open the app, ready for the latest wave of nonsense from the blue bird app, but was very quickly flooded with not just hundreds, but thousands of notifications. From… what?

He tapped at the screen with more urgency, and it only took a bit of digging to find quite literally the most horrifying post he had ever seen.

Attached was the grainiest picture he’d ever seen, but it was undoubtedly Oikawa and Iwaizumi—although the latter was much harder to make out through the blur and haze of whatever god-awful camera the person was using.

But Oikawa didn’t have time to worry about that, because he was already desperately scrolling through the replies, the noise growing in his head until he couldn’t even hear the soft whirring of the coffee machine.

Oikawa slammed his phone face first into the surface.

Iwaizumi startled, turning to face Oikawa with raised eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

“No,” Oikawa bit out, his nails beginning to dig into the wood. He glared out the nearest window, where he saw a flash of auburn hair dart out of his view. He glanced down at his phone, ignoring the hairline fracture on the edge of his screen, and sure enough, a new tweet popped up.

Well. They weren’t completely wrong. Oikawa was feeling particularly murderous at the moment. Usually just something a coffee from his favorite barista could fix, but this was getting to be too much, even for Oikawa.

A worried furrow had appeared between Iwaizumi’s eyebrows as he watched Oikawa increasingly fidget in his seat, but before the other could say anything, Oikawa pushed back his chair harshly.

“Bathroom,” he announced.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow in question, but pointed to a corner of the store. Oikawa hurried off with another word, making sure to shut down his phone before slipping it in his pocket and locking himself in the cramped space.

As he crouched on the (thankfully clean) toilet seat, he couldn’t help but slump his head into his hands, mussing up his hair more than it already had been. This was, quite literally, the worst thing that could have possibly happened. He had to figure out how to do damage control, and quick, or else his entire career would go down the drain, and he’d be forced to live out on the streets, and Iwaizumi would never talk to him again, and somehow the thought of that was worse than anything else—

Okay, so maybe he was catastrophizing.

But this reaction of social media outrage (and… encouragement?) was exactly why Oikawa knew he could never pursue anything romantically with, well, anyone—even if they were a very nice (and very hot) barista. Oikawa didn’t have to be a seer to know Aoba Johsai would be getting a flood of traffic the next day, and it wouldn’t be because of the stellar coffee.

Fuck.

He had to get out of there. The front door wasn’t an option, obviously. His stupid stalker fan was probably still lurking outside, but he didn’t feel like checking Twitter to make sure. He looked around the surprisingly well-lit bathroom (maybe that’s where Oikawa’s tips were going), eyes brightening when he noticed a moderately sized window near the top of the room leading outside. Without allowing himself to think of how embarrassing he was being (and praying mentally there were no cameras), he clambered up and gave the window a shove, surprised when it actually swung open. It would be a tight squeeze, but he could probably make it. He could think about damage control… at home.

Matsukawa could not believe he was being forced into another make-up shift like this. Sure, he didn’t mind covering for Iwaizumi the one time he got sick, but again? Ridiculous. It had barely been a month. Matsukawa had half a mind to storm to the other’s apartment and see for himself, but the croaky voice on the phone had been enough to dissuade him. He couldn’t have himself getting sick either; after all, he had a date with a cute music director in a week. Didn’t want to scare him off with the same hacking and wheezing Iwaizumi was doing.

Maybe it’s just bad luck, Matsukawa thought to himself as he walked to the café, twirling the keys on his hand. Repeatedly getting sick, getting a crush on arguably the most wanted guy in the country… Although, he amended. The actor guy does seem to be pretty smitten with him too, so maybe not entirely bad luck. Real dense guy, though.

Matsukawa’s casual meander came to a slow stop as he turned the corner to the tucked away café, usually barren in the early hours before it even opened, but today…

What the fuck.

Hundreds, no, thousands, even, of people were clustered around the front door, bustling and clamoring amongst themselves. A writhing mass of people that all instantly snapped their attention to Matsukawa as soon as they heard the jingling of his keys. How lucky for him.

“Can I,” Matsukawa started, at a loss of words—a rare occurrence. His barista training had not prepared him for this. “Can I help you?”

The crowd was stock still for another beat, before all of a sudden, all of the voices began chattering eagerly, and Matsukawa could barely catch a coherent sentence.

“...think that’s him?”

“-o… the hair’s not spiky enough—”

“THAT’S THE GUY—”

“...timing of the post, and—”

“—what, you want us to camp out here all day?”

“...already inside?”

“—unlocked, dumbass. Keep your unfiltered thoughts for Twitter.”

“...the FUCK up, I’m going to beat your ass into the ground—”

Well, Matsukawa heard that one loud and clear. That would probably be a PR nightmare, so he figured it was probably time to step in. He cleared his throat, and the crowd instantly swiveled to his attention.

Huh.

Having that sort of control over a crowd was pretty fun. Eugh, no wonder power always went to the heads of celebrities.

Speaking of celebrities—Matsukawa had only met the guy once, but this entire scene reeked of something that actor guy Oikawa did. While everyone watched him expectantly, he flipped out his phone and did a quick scan of Twitter, not surprised when he saw the post that sparked it all. The crowd here was probably just itching for a chance to spot Iwaizumi, who, as luck would have it, was out sick. Some timing.

“I’m not dating Oikawa,” he announced, just to clear up confusion and avoid any further harassment directed towards him, and the crowd muttered among themselves before one piped up.

“Who’s Oikawa?”

Matsukawa resisted the urge to gape at the person who’d spoken up before realizing that most of the actor’s fans weren’t actually aware of his family name. Some fans.

“Tooru,” he clarified, already feeling exhausted. Was the whole day going to be like this? “Tooru Oikawa. I have no connection with him.”

The crowd looked unconvinced, once again murmuring to each other.

“...lying?”

“—dunno, but he looks shady.”

Shady. Really? Matsukawa took offense to that.

Finally, the crowd seemed to come to a consensus that Matsukawa was, in fact, not lying, and so another piped up. (Really, how could Oikawa tell them apart? They all seemed like one horribly interconnected supermass.)

“Do you know who Tooru’s dating?”

No one, actually, because he’s too much of a coward, Matsukawa thought wryly, but figured the crowd wouldn’t appreciate the nonanswer very much.

“I can’t exactly help you with that,” Matsukawa said with barely restrained exasperation. “But…” he gestured to the door everyone was blocking, “I can make everyone coffee?”

After a few moments of shuffling, the crowd shifted to provide a path towards the door, and Matsukawa resisted a smirk.

He was going to get such a good bonus today.

from director-san 10:10 A.M.

you’re ten minutes late to rehearsal.

from director-san 10:12 A.M.

hello??

from director-san 10:21 A.M.

oikawa I can and will fire you if I need to.

from director-san 10:47 A.M.

just checked twitter. are you doing okay? you didn’t seem like yourself.

from director-san 11:42 A.M.

managed to cover scenes without you today. call me if you need to talk.

from makki 11:45 A.M.

jesus oikawa

from makki 11:45 A.M.

you’ve been so mia ennoshita was yelling at me to text you

from makki 11:45 A.M.

if you dont text in the next ten minutes im assuming ur dead

from makki 11:46 A.M.

and i get all your stuff

from makki 11:46 A.M.

including dibs to that barista

from makki 11:47 A.M.

jk i have my own date but like seriously bro respond

from makki 11:47 A.M.

i’m calling you until you respond

“Makki, will you shut the fuck up?”

“...I haven’t even said anything.”

Oikawa pressed a hand against his forehead. “You don’t need to. Calling five times in a row is plenty.”

There was silence on his end, broken only by the soft crackle of static. “What do you think I’m going to even say?”

Oikawa groaned. “I don’t fucking know, something about how stupid I was and how all of this was a bad idea and how I’ll never be able to go in public again?”

A snicker from Hanamaki. “Yeah, but not exactly. Do you think you’re maybe, just maybe, blowing this all out of proportion?”

“You don’t get it,” Oikawa insisted, sitting up from where he’d been laying on bed for the past four hours, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Have you seen people on Twitter?”

Hanamaki exhaled. “Oikawa.”

“It’s ridiculous!” he exclaimed, balling up his cover in his fists. “So many people, they all—”

“Oikawa,” Hanamaki interrupted. “With all due respect. Why the fuck are you listening to idiots on a stupid social media app?”

Oikawa snapped his mouth closed, blinking at his phone. “What?”

Hanamaki clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You heard me.” Shuffling was heard on the other side as he moved the phone from one hand to the other. “Sure, people have opinions. Nothing and no one is going to be able to stop them from doing that, whether you’re dating a guy, a girl, or the fucking—I don’t know, the fucking Mona Lisa.”

“I don’t think you can do that,” Oikawa responded faintly.

Oikawa could almost hear Hanamaki rolling his eyes on the other end of the phone. “Sure, whatever. My point is, these people only matter if you make them matter. What the fuck do they even know about you, other than your name and movies you’ve been in?”

“They’re my fans,” Oikawa offered weakly, and Hanamaki scoffed.

“Your fans, sure. But that’s all they are. Why do you care what they think about whoever the fuck you’re dating? They can speculate and bitch about it all they want, but in the end, you’re the one that controls a relationship, not your fucking parasocial fans.”

“I don’t want—” Oikawa started, squinting at his hands before he continued. “I don’t want Iwaizumi to go through the same things I do, though.”

“Ah, so that's the mystery barista’s name,” Hanamaki said wryly at Oikawa’s slipup. “Look, maybe that sort of pressure is too much for the guy to handle. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never met the guy. But… don’t you think that’s a decision he should make for himself?”

Oikawa was starkly reminded of a strikingly similar conversation he’d had with Matsukawa, and he swallowed. He couldn’t deny their arguments had merits, but… that didn’t stop the writhing sensation of dread in his gut.

“So, Mr. Advice Columnist,” he muttered. “What do you suggest I do now?”

Hanamaki gave a barely disguised snicker. “The great Tooru-sama, asking little me for help? An unprecedented occasion.” His voice softened as he continued. “I don’t know, man, I’m not really a relationship expert myself, as much as I, ehem, sound like one. But if you’re asking me, I’d say just be… honest.”

“With my fans?” Oikawa asked skeptically.

“God no,” Hanamaki hurried to say. “WIth your loverboy, I mean. I think you’ve kept him in the dark long enough.”

Oikawa hung his head, already knowing Hanamaki was saying nothing but the truth.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered. “I will. Eventually.”

“There we go.”

“Also,” Oikawa remembered. “I’m not… he’s not my loverboy,” Oikawa felt himself blushing just saying the words, “We’re just, uh, friends.”

Hanamaki snorted.

“Oikawa, I think we’ve come way too far for you to deny those allegations now.”

Apparently (and thankfully) three weeks had been enough for his fans to stop staking out the Aoba Johsai Café. He peeked around every corner he passed, glancing around furtively every ten seconds to make sure he wasn’t being followed, and when he finally arrived at the familiar glow of the café he so often frequented, he made sure to squint inside and make sure only Iwaizumi was inside. Oikawa had planned to come earlier, really, but all his snooping around made it so that by the time he arrived, it was exactly 10:00 PM. Somehow, it seemed fitting.

“We’re closed,” Iwaizumi began to say, his back turned to Oikawa as he wiped down the counters. Oikawa stood awkwardly in front of the door until Iwaizumi turned around, and his startled viridian eyes met Oikawa’s.

“...Oikawa?”

Oikawa had never felt more awkward in his life. Where was his acting skills when he needed them?

“Hi.”

Iwaizumi blinked as he did a once-over on Oikawa. “You… haven’t been here in a while.”

What could Oikawa say to that?

“...Yeah.”

Iwaizumi tilted his head ever so slightly, and something Oikawa could recognize as hurt flashed through his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

Me neither, Oikawa wanted to say. Instead, he slid into his usual seat at the counter, his hands flat on the surface.

“Could I have my usual?”

A few moments later, the familiar scent of his coffee wafted in front of him. Oikawa inhaled, cupping it with both hands to take a careful sip. Perfect as always.

“I have something to tell you,” he finally worked up the courage to say. Across from, leaning on the counter, Iwaizumi didn’t seem surprised save for a slight raise of eyebrows.

“I figured.”

Oikawa focused on the heat from his cup to ground him, but still couldn’t make himself meet the other’s eyes. How exactly should he even go about this?

“Do you watch movies?” he finally blurted out.

Well. That was certainly one way to start.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows raised higher. “Not really?” he responded, a tinge of confusion lacing his tone. Either way, it was just confirming Oikawa’s suspicion in the first place. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh, so the thing is…” Oikawa started, the urge to flee roaring back with a vengeance. But he forced himself to stay seated, the words of both Hanamaki and Matsukawa ringing in his head. “I’m actually an actor, kind of?”

Iwaizumi blinked. “So not a college student, then.”

Oikawa blinked back, finally meeting Iwaizumi’s rather collected gaze. Was that what he was taking from it?

“Yeah,” he finally muttered. “Not a college student.”

Iwaizumi actually snickered at that. “Yeah, I got the feeling when you talked about an Aoba Johsai college.”

Oikawa tugged at his collar, hoping his face didn’t display any of the embarrassment he felt.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” Iwaizumi asked after a brief pause.

“Not… exactly.” At Iwaizumi’s expectant stare, he continued. “I’m… actually kind of famous?” Oikawa could almost hear Hanamaki’s voice in his head. The great Tooru Oikawa being humble? How much caffeine are you even on?

“That’s cool,” was Iwaizumi’s simple response, to which Oikawa couldn’t help but gawk. That was it?

“Like, really famous,” he insisted.

Iwaizumi looked amused. “Sure,” he agreed.

“I have 17 million followers on Twitter…?”

“That’s… great for you?”

Oikawa was full on gaping now. “That… you’re not bothered by it?”

Iwaizumi gave a lopsided smile, and Oikawa resolutely ignored the way his heart skipped a beat at it. “Should I be?”

“I mean,” Oikawa floundered, at a stark loss for words. Was it this easy? “I lied to you?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I assume you had your reasons. If you’re such a famous actor, I can understand why you wouldn’t want to tell me at first. I’m glad you at least felt comfortable enough to tell me now.”

Was this man real? There was no way this man was real.

Still, Oikawa wasn’t done with his confession. “There’s one more thing I need to apologize for,” he said softly as he pulled open his Twitter feed and handed his phone to Iwaizumi. “This… is the reason the café’s been so busy recently.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve been out sick for most of the last three weeks,” Iwaizumi commented, even as his eyes began searching the screen. “But Matsukawa was bragging about all the bonuses he’d get, so… thank you from him?”

“You’re… welcome?”

After a few moments of tense silence as Oikawa anxiously tapped his hands on the surface, Iwaizumi handed his phone back before leaning back on his hands.

“So, your fans think we’re dating.”

Oikawa winced. “Yeah. I… don’t really know what made them think that?”

“Maybe it was the post you made saying you’re dating a barista?”

Oikawa gaped. “What?”

Iwaizumi gave a sheepish grin. “Just because I don’t watch movies doesn’t mean I’m not on Twitter.”

What the fuck.

“What the fuck,” Oikawa said aloud. “You’ve– you’ve seen all my posts?”

“...maybe.”

“Oh god,” Oikawa groaned, shoving his head into his hands. Could things get any more embarrassing for him?

“Somehow I never actually noticed how many followers you had or that you were an actor at all,” Iwaizumi said with a frown, and Oikawa looked up at that. “I don’t really check Twitter that often, so the only things on my timeline are posts from you and coffee stuff.”

Why was the algorithm so nice to him?

“That’s so embarrassing,” Oikawa muttered aloud, smushing his cheek into his hand as he glared at the countertop. “I didn’t. I didn’t mean anything with it. It was just an impromptu thing.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi said with a quirk of his lips, turning around away from Oikawa to grab a towel hanging off the rack. “But for what it’s worth, I would. Date you, that is.”

Oikawa’s jaw went slack. “Whuh?”

Iwaizumi turned back to face Oikawa, a smirk on his face and glint in his eyes. “I’m just saying, if you’re interested, I am too.”

Oikawa’s brain short-circuited. “Yes!” he nearly shouted, before he clapped his hand over his mouth, trying to tamp down the furious blush that had most likely erupted across his face. God, why was Oikawa such a mess today? (Obviously, the answer was Iwaizumi.) Once he’d calmed himself enough to sound rational, he repeated, “Yes. Yeah. I’d… like that.”

Iwaizumi’s only response was a blinding grin.

Attached is a candid picture of Iwaizumi staring fondly at Oikawa as he gestures wildly.