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Honestly, Oikawa’s having a great night. He’s at his favorite club on a date with a hot guy and if the evening continues the way it is, he’ll definitely be getting some tonight. He’s had terrible luck with dates lately and it’s been a while since the night ended with him staying with someone. Every person had something wrong with them – most of them ended up being too creepy. There was a girl who wouldn’t stop latching onto him, a guy who insisted they met at this apartment first, and someone who wouldn’t let him talk to other people the entire night out. But Daisuke, Daisuke is different. He’s been extremely charming the whole time, mingling charismatically with the crowd but not ignoring Oikawa. He likes Daisuke a lot.
Oikawa leans into Daisuke’s shoulder, tucking a hair behind his ear with careful precision. “Dai-chan, how did you manage to get this table?” His free hand brushes against the velvet covered seats, fingers drawing patterns into the fabric.
Daisuke smiles, smooth. “A little money here and there can get you what you want.”
Call him shallow, but Oikawa can’t deny the thrill of having money spent on him. He pulls away, grinning. “I’ll be back, I just have to use the restroom.”
Daisuke waves him off as he pushes through the crowd to the restroom. It’s packed in here too, but he manages to get a spot in front of the mirror. He sets his bag on the counter and digs for his makeup, touching it up to its usual perfection – even in the sweaty atmosphere, he has to maintain his beautiful visage. He runs his fingers through his hair to ensure excellence, stepping away from the mirror to check his clothes. He looks good. He’d take himself home if he could. Grabbing his things, he smiles at the mirror winningly and leaves the restroom.
The crowd of people somehow thickened in the span of the minutes he was gone. He has to say “excuse me” more times than he can count, but when he spots one person too many at his table, he halts a little. Daisuke’s talking to a guy of equal height but vastly different build. Honestly, Oikawa can’t tell if the guy is as buff as he seems or if he just looks that way against Daisuke’s wirey frame. The closer Oikawa gets, the more he realizes that this guy is ridiculously hot. His black shirt is pulling taught against his biceps and his furrowed expression just begs to be smoothed out. Suddenly Oikawa’s under the distinct feeling that he’s going to be sleeping with the wrong guy tonight.
He’s about to continue walking but before he gets another step in, he squints at the two. Now that he thinks about it, the conversation doesn’t look too friendly. Hot Guy’s arms are crossed menacingly and Daisuke’s looking at him like he’s about to punch him, lips twisted and mouth muttering something that probably isn’t good.
Next thing he knows, Hot Guy is grabbing Daisuke’s collar and yelling in his face, but Oikawa can’t tell what he’s saying over the loud thump of the music. He jogs over, pushing past people and shouting, “Hey, what’s going on here?”
They must have not heard him, as immediately Daisuke slams a right hook into Hot Guy’s nose, causing him to release his grip. He returns another fist, this time hitting his lip. To the guy’s credit, he only stumbles backwards from the two punches, despite the force behind them. Immediately, he throws a punch into Daisuke’s stomach, making him double over before Hot Guy kicks his legs to sweep his footing out from under him. Daisuke lands on the ground, holding his stomach as Oikawa finally manages to step in between them. He holds a hand against Hot Guy’s amazing chest to keep him from attacking again, sputtering out a “What the fuck?”
“You with him?” Hot Guy asks, eyes wild.
Oikawa shrinks a little, but manages a nod.
“Yeah, this asshole tried to slip something in your drink the moment you left.”
“What?” Oikawa looks down at out his date, who suddenly looked way less attractive than he had at the beginning of the night. His full attention is on writhing on the floor, clenching his stomach, so he can’t catch the look of disgust on Oikawa’s face. He looks back up at Hot Guy, his fucking savior, who actually looks even more handsome with a bleeding nose and split lip. Oikawa lets his hand drop from Hot Guy’s chest and his eyebrows knit in concern. “Are you okay?”
Hot Guy shrugs and Oikawa has the feeling that this was definitely not his first fist fight.
“Listen, let me help you clean up, the bathroom here is super cramped but my apartment isn’t that far away.” He puts his hand onto Hot Guy’s shoulder and turns his smile up to a million watts when he squints at Oikawa.
“Uh, sure. Okay,” He responds.
Oikawa notices a couple of men in all black making their way towards them so he grabs a fistful of cocktail napkins from his table and shoves them into Hot Guy’s hand, pulling him forward and into the crowd of people, attempting to make a beeline for the exit. Oikawa makes an attempt to hide his height by slouching through the crowd, grip tight to ensure they stay together despite all the bumping past they’re doing.
When they finally burst through the doors, they both let out a sigh of relief. Oikawa releases Hot Guy’s hand and lets his head fall back. The sky is divided into orange and blue, the last light of the sun slightly illuminating the thick blanket of clouds. They look full, like a balloon that could pop at any moment. He guesses it’ll probably rain tomorrow when Hot Guy gives a short cough, gaining his attention.
“Oh! I just realized I don’t have any first aid supplies at home.” Oikawa says, smacking his own head lightly.
Hot Guy just stares at him, ‘are you stupid’ written all over his face. He sighs, then shrugs. “It’s fine. I’ll just go back into the club, they should have a kit.”
“NO – I mean – I would like to repay you for saving me.” Oikawa laughs, a high trill betraying his attempt to look good. “There’s a 24 hour konbini not too far away. Plus do you think you’ll be able to go back in? I mean they probably have your picture from a security camera tacked onto a bulletin board already.”
Chuckling, Hot Guy’s cheeks redden ever so slightly, and Oikawa swears he’s in heaven. “I’m Oikawa Tooru, by the way.” He figures he should probably stop calling him Hot Guy in his head.
“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he says curtly, giving him a short nod in greeting.
Even the way he says his name is cute, Oikawa swoons, thanking his lucky stars for delivering this beautiful man to him.
They head to the konbini in relative silence, walking in rhythm. It really isn’t that far – he could see it from the entrance to the club – but the awkwardness of meeting a new person is weighing unexpectedly heavy on him, making the walk feel way too long. He’s saved the pressure of finding out something cool to talk about when the sky tears open with a rip of thunder and it begins to pour heavily. They both start running towards the entrance with a squawk and take shelter in the building.
The konbini is surprisingly empty, save for a bored looking clerk. He has his nose buried in a 3DS, not bothering to greet them.
“Go wait in the bathroom, I’ll buy the first aid kit,” Oikawa tells Iwaizumi, waving him off when he opens his mouth to say something. As Iwaizumi dutifully walks off, Oikawa locates and brings the first aid kit up to the counter, clearing his throat when the clerk doesn’t look up.
“Wait a second,” the guy mumbles, fingers flying on the buttons. Without looking away from the screen, he pulls one hand away to scan the kit and then sets it down, his attention fully back on his game.
Rolling his eyes, Oikawa tosses the money onto the counter and takes the kit, heading to the bathroom. “Sorry, the clerk was slow,” Oikawa sighs by way of explanation.
Iwaizumi is leaning against the sink, arms crossed and brows furrowed but mouth relaxed. Oikawa realizes that must be his resting face. Cute. “It’s okay.”
Before opening the kit, Oikawa sets it aside and wets a couple of paper towels to wipe off the excess blood that was drying on Iwaizumi’s face. They hold eye contact several times, eyes meeting and then quickly bouncing off, only to meet again. Oikawa is sure he’ll die an early death because Iwaizumi is just too good looking.
He throws the paper towels away and picks up the kit, clearing his throat and smiling. “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a personal trainer,” Iwaizumi says, eyes now permanently averted.
“Makes sense,” Oikawa nods, applying some ointment onto a cotton swab. “This might hurt a little,” he mumbles, placing one hand on Iwaizumi’s left shoulder and using the other to delicately dab at Iwaizumi’s bleeding lip.
Wincing, his face scrunches up and it really deals a blow to Oikawa’s heart. He has to look away, throwing out the cotton swab and swallowing nervously. Iwaizumi is a dangerous man.
“What about you?”
“I’m a psychologist.”
Eyebrows shooting up, Iwaizumi blinks in surprise. “I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t that.”
Oikawa chuckles, poking lightly at the tender bruising starting up on Iwaizumi’s nose. He hisses sympathetically and gets out the proper bandage. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Iwaizumi watches him for a while, teeth worrying his bottom lip. “Ah, I don’t know you enough to make true assumptions. We’ve only known each other for what, 20 minutes? Sorry about that.”
“Ah, no, I’m not offended. It just makes it all the more exciting when I surprise someone with how cool I am.”
Snorting, Iwaizumi pulls away from the sink as Oikawa packs up the kit. They walk back into the convenience store, eyes drawn to the maelstrom outside. “Looks we’re not getting out of here any time soon.”
“We could wait it out and eat something here? I don’t know about you but I’m starving.” Oikawa rubs his stomach for emphasis. Iwaizumi agrees and they dig around the store for various foods, like kids in a candy store. The way Oikawa sees it, they probably will be stuck here for a while anyway.
They end up dumping their armfuls of food – onigiri and yakisoba bread but mostly obscene amounts of jagariko and dorayaki – onto the counter, Oikawa also ordering fried chicken and Iwaizumi dropping a pack of beer to finish off their feast. The clerk actually sets down his game for this, making Oikawa cheer silently.
“Let’s split the bill – you already paid for the first aid kit,” Iwaizumi insists, effectively ending Oikawa’s hopes to ever like anyone else besides him. “Even though you’re a psychologist and obviously have more money,” He says, grinning.
This is how I die, Oikawa thinks, just nodding dumbly and forking over his portion of the bill.
They take their full bags to the other side of the store, sitting at the small bar facing the window. They quickly dig into their food, mouths full and stomachs settling. After swallowing the first few bites, turning to Iwaizumi – who, similarly to Oikawa, is eating like a wild animal. “So,” Oikawa begins, “You said before that we’ve only known each other 20 minutes, right? Well, in celebration of our 30th minute, I say we play a question game.”
“Question game?” Iwaizumi asks, voice muffled with bread.
“Yeah! You ask me a question but you have to answer it too, we take turns.”
He chews thoughtfully before shrugging. “Ok.”
Oikawa smiles, “You start.”
“This is your game,” he starts exasperatedly, before giving up and saying a mumbled, “Favorite color?”
“I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“What?” Iwaizumi says, defensive.
Oikawa shakes his head and grins. “Such a cliché thing to ask. It’s purple, though. You?”
“Green.”
“What shade of green?”
“Does that count as your question?”
“No!”
Iwaizumi finishes his bread and crosses his arms. “What’s the point of playing a game if there’s no reason to follow the rules?”
Groaning, Oikawa pops open a beer. “Fine, fine! It’s my question.”
“Forest green.”
“Amethyst. Your turn.”
They continue the game in a similar fashion, Oikawa soaking in all of the information greedily. He learned that they were both from Miyagi, and went to high schools that were surprisingly close. Iwaizumi has 3 younger sisters and his family is very tight knit. He wanted to be a firefighter as a kid and his favorite movie has always been Godzilla. He didn’t have a lot of friends in his childhood but he was close with the ones he did have, and they called him “Iwa-chan.” He played volleyball with his friends – another thing they had in common – but he slowly stopped playing once he got to college. He liked to garden, though Oikawa accused him of just enjoying playing in the dirt. Iwaizumi conceded that yes that was partly true.
“My turn, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa exclaims, body warm from the beer and good company.
“I really regret telling you about that.” Iwaizumi is groaning, but Oikawa sees the microscopic tilt of the corner of his mouth.
“What’s your love life like? Active? An all-time low?”
Iwaizumi flushes instantly, mouth twisting. “I was wondering when you would ask a question like that.” Oikawa grins mischievously in response. “Fine, whatever. I had a long term relationship during college, but we both agreed it wasn’t going anywhere. I’ve had a few dates since then, but nothing big.” His gaze drops down, then back up at Oikawa, looking up through his eyelashes. “You?”
“Mm, I’ve dated lots of people in my life, but no long term relationships. They all usually peter out by the 1 month mark. And well, you saw what my night was going to end up like before you showed up.” Oikawa pauses, attempting to find the right words to say. “Really, I don’t know how to thank you. I’m genuinely grateful.” He chuckles humorlessly, “You know, I really liked that guy. He didn’t have to drug me to get me to go with him.”
Eyes serious, Iwaizumi places a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder, the wide warmth of it soothing frayed nerves. “I was gonna tell you that you should never leave your drink behind with a stranger, but it sounds like this asshole really got the jump on you.”
“Ah,” Oikawa says in surprise, a sweet happiness spreading through his body. “Well,” he regains his composure, smiling in a way he knows is flirtatious as hell, hoping to catch Iwaizumi’s attention. “It looks like I should take Iwa-chan out with me more often.”
Iwaizumi chokes on his beer, face red in a way that Oikawa hopes isn’t just from lack of oxygen. He smacks Iwaizumi’s back lightly and apologizes. Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I’m okay.”
Oikawa keeps his hand on Iwaizumi’s back anyway, relishing the warmth he exudes. “How did you notice that he was going to slip something into my drink, anyway? The club was pretty packed.”
Blushing in a way that Oikawa is sure is from embarrassment, Iwaizumi averts his eyes, pretending to be interested in the bottle cap he’s been working in his hands. “You caught my eye. I wanted to talk to you but you were already with someone.”
Now Oikawa is blushing too, his whole face radiating heat. His heart skips a beat, pumping into overdrive as he tries to fight the smile off his face. “Oh,” he says, happiness emanating off of him in waves. “That’s.” Why can’t he talk? There’s just something about pure, mutual affection that really throws a wrench in his normally functional body.
When he finally recovers, he pulls out his phone, encouraged. “Let’s exchange info?”
Iwaizumi nods, face still red. They exchange via infrared and Oikawa stares down at his brand new Iwa-chan contact, feeling like a new man.
“Stop looking so happy,” Iwa-chan groans, covering his face.
Oikawa looks up to tease him, but belatedly realizes that the rain had slowed down to a drizzle. He points, a little disappointed that their night would be over.
“Guess we should go now, then?” They both look over at the store clerk, who definitely was asleep, hunched over in his chair. They agree to clean up after themselves as thoroughly as possible, leaving the store as quiet as they could manage, though the bell does ring when the door closes behind them.
The two stand outside the door, still under the awning of the entrance to protect themselves from the light drizzle. Iwaizumi lets the raindrops tap against his palm, gaze carefully trained away from Oikawa.
Not having any of it, Oikawa reaches forward, grabbing his wet hand and pressing his lips against it. “I’ll text you, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi, frozen in place, nods robotically. Oikawa smiles his sweetest smile at him, eyes squinting. Iwaizumi smiles back, his furrowed brows easing somewhat as Oikawa drops his hand, turning to walk into the drizzling rain.
They text far into the night, continuing their questions with the sunrise as their curtain call.