Chapter Text
Oikawa Tooru was a bit of a spoiled brat, and he knew it.
It wasn't that he hadn't worked hard to get to where he was, because he had. It didn't matter what it was—volleyball, grades, or sales quotas—Oikawa would accept nothing short of perfection from himself. The heavens only knew all the hours he had spent honing his craft, long after others had given up, after any sane person had gone home for some well-deserved rest. But all that hard work would have been for nothing if it hadn't been for the opportunities life had given him.
Oikawa had been born into a family that didn't want for much. Both of his parents encouraged him and his older sister to dream big, and then taught them that it was hours of hard work and just a bit of luck that would make those dreams come true. When a young Oikawa showed an interest in and a propensity for volleyball, his mother immediately enrolled him in evening lessons at his elementary school gym. He joined the volleyball club when he started junior high school and worked harder than anyone else, earning himself the position of starting setter.
When his position was threatened in his third year by a genius he mockingly called "Tobio-chan", Oikawa honed his killer jump serve to compensate. In the end, however, it wasn't Tobio who was his biggest threat. It was himself. Injuries sustained from overwork nearly kept him from playing in the prefectural tournament, but he was young and healthy and soon made a comeback. He even earned the Best Setter award that year, though a bitter defeat in the finals kept the team from going on to nationals. Oikawa didn't quite learn his lesson, though, and sustained several more injuries during his high school years, each time following a loss or preceding an important match. Even so, he kept trying, and under his leadership, Aoba Johsai's volleyball team flourished.
During a successful stint as starting setter on his university's volleyball team, Oikawa received several offers from pro teams, both in Japan and abroad. But sport stars only burn briefly, if brilliantly. Besides, a little voice in his head whispered, do you really think you could compete professionally with the likes of Ushiwaka-chan or the freak duo? You couldn't even beat them in high school. And so, when one of his father's friends offered to hook him up with a summer internship at a marketing firm's branch office in Sendai, he took it.
Oikawa's work ethic and charming personality impressed the company enough that they gave him a job offer for after graduation, and he then spent the next two years rapidly climbing the ranks there. Being located in Sendai meant that he could even visit his family on the occasional weekend, much to his mother's delight. It was a comfortable life, especially for a young twenty-something almost straight out of university.
Yes, Oikawa certainly knew that he was spoiled. As for the other part—the "brat" part—well, it wasn't that he wanted to complain. He realized that things could always be worse and that he should be grateful for the opportunities he had. But sometimes, when things didn't quite go his way, he couldn't help but whine to whoever would listen, be it his friends, his family...
...or the poor barista trapped behind the counter he was currently resting on.
"And the campaign was my idea, so I was the obvious choice for project leader. Why would they assign me to a different project? Don't they know that they can't do it without me?"
The barista looked like he was doing his best not to listen as he hunched over the cash register, but Oikawa knew he had his full attention. It was a slow night at the cafe, and the only other customers in the cozy shop were a gaggle of college-aged girls who were occupying the couches in the corner. The scattered papers and highlighted textbooks suggested that they were there to study, but they were currently just giggling and whispering and sneaking glances in Oikawa's direction. (He was used to it, of course. When you were that attractive, you had to be.)
"I know those questions seemed rhetorical, but you're supposed to at least nod along or something!"
"Huh." The barista glanced up at him before going back to balancing the cash drawer for the third time in ten minutes.
"That's really all you have to say?" Oikawa sipped at his latte. "I miss Kimura-kun. I hope he gets better soon."
That seemed to get the other man's attention. "How did you know he was sick?"
Oikawa shrugged. "Well, he didn't mention a vacation when I was here last week and he wouldn't miss a shift for no reason. It was just a guess." He put his drink down and lay his head on his arms. "I wanted to update him on this whole work situation, but I guess I'm stuck with you tonight."
Suddenly, he looked up. "Hey, I don't even know your name. Shouldn't I know the name of the person I'm telling my life story to?" He leaned in to peer at the other man's nametag. "Ah, so you're Iwa—"
He was cut off as the barista—Iwa-something-or-other—swiftly clamped a hand over his nametag.
"Hey! What did you do that for?"
The barista frowned. "You were looking at me weird. And you don't need to know my name."
"I think I do, though," Oikawa pouted. "Besides, isn't that why they make you wear nametags in the first place?"
The other man seemed to be at a loss then. After a moment, he said, "Well, couldn't you at least have asked for my name like a normal person, instead of staring at my chest?"
"Oh, you're right!" Oikawa brightened. He propped his elbows on the table, put his chin in his hands, and wore what he thought was his most sultry face—the face that had earned him dozens of dates and even more phone numbers; the face that made his fans go wild. He leaned in slightly and purred, "You've been a simply fantastic listener this evening. May I ask your name?"
The other man just stared. "Now I'm really not telling you."
Oikawa's eyes widened. "What, that didn't do anything for you?"
"Definitely not."
"Fine." He folded his arms. "If 'Iwa' is all I have to work with, then I guess I'll just have to call you 'Iwa-chan'."
"What."
"Iwa-chan, don't scowl so much! You're going to scare away customers!"
"If I tell you my name, will you quit with the 'Iwa-chan'?"
"Maybe~"
"Ugh." The barista sighed and then dropped the hand that had been concealing his nametag. "It's Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Haj—"
"Nope, too late!" Oikawa interrupted. "You're stuck with 'Iwa-chan' now! But thanks for showing me, Hajime. I'm Oikawa Tooru, by the way." He paused briefly to grin at the barista.
"But seriously, Iwa-chan, how can they not see that this campaign needs me? Do you think they might just be stupid?"
---
Iwaizumi Hajime could not believe the kind of day he was having. After finishing a night shift at the convenience store and collapsing into bed for a measly two hours, he stumbled onto campus only to find that he'd somehow missed the memo that their eight o'clock lab session had been canceled. There wasn't enough time to go home and back again, so he ended up dozing in the library until his nine o'clock class started.
Once classes were over, Iwaizumi went back to his apartment, ate lunch, and went to bed. He woke up three hours later to his phone ringing. It was his coworker from the cafe, saying he was stuck in bed with a cold, and no one else was answering, and could Iwaizumi please cover his shift tonight? The cafe would close a couple of hours before Iwaizumi had to be at the convenience store again, so he agreed, partly because he felt bad for the guy and partly because he really did need the extra money.
And that's how a very tired Iwaizumi found himself working at the cafe that evening. It was quiet for the first hour; a few college students drifted in and out, but nothing remarkable happened. Some girls came in during the second hour and decided to take over the low couches and table in the corner with their textbooks. Iwaizumi observed their leisurely study with envy. He was half-considering running to the back and grabbing one of his textbooks to review when it happened.
An impeccably groomed man walked into the cafe with the sort of presence that made the girls in the corner look up and stare. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit, and when he noticed the girls in the corner, he smiled and gave them a friendly wave. Oh, great, Iwaizumi thought, one of those types. Iwaizumi quickly made him his latte and wished him a good evening, but the other man sat down at the counter (much to the delight of the girls in the corner) and launched into a complaint about his day at work and the many events that led up to it.
Apparently, the man's name was Oikawa. Ignoring him didn't make him go away, and he kept asking questions like he was looking for advice, so Iwaizumi finally took the bait and answered. "They're probably not stupid. Maybe they just don't think you're a good fit for the campaign."
The other man huffed. "Not a good fit? I created the campaign! No one else could possibly be a better fit than me!"
"Well, then maybe they just needed you on the other project more." Iwaizumi was starting to get annoyed. And the girls in the corner were still staring. And whispering. Didn't they know that was rude?
Oikawa contemplated that idea for a minute, one finger on his chin, before shaking his head. "The campaign is still the more important project, and it needs my leadership. Though I can see why they'd want me on the other project,” he amended. “I'm a great asset to any team."
Just how vain was this guy? "If you're so great," Iwaizumi grumbled, "then maybe you should just do both projects."
What he wasn't expecting was that Oikawa seemed to actually consider that suggestion. "Huh. You're right. I'll ask them about it tomorrow! Thanks for the advice, Iwa-chan!"
Oikawa's phone buzzed from inside his pocket, and he pulled it out to check. A look of surprise crossed his face. "Oh, is that the time? I'd better get going. I'm a very busy man, you know!"
He swung down from the stool where he had been perched and disassembled his disposable cup with a speed and grace that Iwaizumi only saw from regulars. As he reached for the door, he turned to wave. "Bye-bye, Iwa-chan! See you next time!" He grinned, blinding white, before disappearing.
For a few seconds, the only sound was the hum of machines and the soft music playing over the speakers. Then the girls in the corner erupted into giggles. Iwaizumi grabbed a rag and made himself busy scrubbing some really stubborn imaginary stain out of the counter, scowling at it in an attempt to hide the blush spreading rapidly across his face.
"He's trash," he muttered. "Complete and total trash." Iwaizumi took the still mostly-clean rag to the back sink to rinse it, just to get away from those giggly girls who were definitely still whispering and staring. "Oikawa, was it? More like Trashikawa." He snorted, imagining the overly dramatic reaction that Oikawa would give if he called him that to his face. Yeah, maybe he should do that. It seemed like good revenge for the whole 'Iwa-chan' thing.
Iwaizumi froze, water still running over the rag in his hands. Was he... smiling? He never smiled. At least not while he was stuck at the cafe, at least not more than the polite curve he made his mouth into when he was on cashier duty. It just didn't happen. So how was it that he found himself actually smiling, especially after helping the most aggravating customer he'd ever had the displeasure of dealing with?
It's just the lack of sleep, he told himself. It's messing with my brain. He shook his head before turning off the faucet. A glance at the clock showed that there were only twenty minutes left until closing time, anyway. He had closing duties to go take care of; he couldn't be wasting time thinking about that obnoxious guy.
Iwaizumi informed the girls that the cafe would be closing soon and headed to the back to finish cleaning the equipment and storing the unused products. They were gone when he came back to the front a few minutes later, so Iwaizumi slipped from behind the counter, wiped down their table, and did a quick sweep of the cafe. When the clock chimed nine, he hung up his apron, grabbed his stuff from the back, switched off the machines and the lights, and flipped the door sign from "open" to "closed".
Bye-bye, Iwa-chan! Opening the door reminded him of Oikawa's farewell, of that sickly sweet sing-song voice, and he felt a surge of annoyance. Who did that guy think he was, anyway, complaining to complete strangers and giving them nicknames? And then he had the gall to actually ask Iwaizumi for advice! Iwaizumi grumbled to himself as he locked the door from the inside and stepped through it, making sure it latched behind him. The October air was chilly, and it helped clear his head.
There was one good thing about this whole situation. Oikawa had said, "See you next time," but Iwaizumi had been working at the cafe for months and had never seen him before. He also seemed to know Iwaizumi's coworker pretty well. That meant he was the type of regular that came by on the same day, at the same time, likely on his way home from work. Iwaizumi usually worked at the cafe on the weekends, when someone like Oikawa was probably out on dates or being obnoxious with like-minded people. Tonight was just a one-time favor for his coworker, so there shouldn't be a "next time". He shouldn't see that Trashikawa ever again, let alone soon.
Consoling himself with that thought, Iwaizumi checked the door once more, tucked his chin into his scarf, and began the chilly walk to the bus stop.