Chapter Text
Maybe this would be the day…
Matsukawa sighed as he settled into his favourite lounge chair in the sitting room of his apartment, laptop in one hand and mug of tea in the other. He had written his last midterm that morning, and after that volleyball practice, followed by a long shift with plenty of customers...Maybe this will be the day I can finally have a moment to relax, Matsukawa thought contentedly, raising the mug to his lips and inhaling deeply. Maybe-
“Yahoo, Mattsun!”
Matsukawa jumped, nearly spilling hot tea all over himself. You should have known, part of his brain told him in an annoyingly passive-aggressive voice. He turned around only to be met with the sight of none other than his roommate, Oikawa Tooru, standing in the doorway in all his pastel glory. Oikawa looked like he had just run three miles at a full sprint (Matsukawa could attest that this had happened before), and the door looked dangerously close to falling off its hinges (and so had this).
Matsukawa rolled his eyes. “Good evening to you, too. Care to enlighten me on the meaning of the word ‘knock’? And while you’re at it, how ‘knocking’ could potentially be applied in a real-life situation?” he drawled.
Oikawa stamped his foot impatiently, trying to outdo Matsukawa in the dramatism of his eyeroll. (He in fact could not out-eyeroll Matsukawa. No one could. Matsukawa Issei was, without question, the interplanetary eye rolling champion.) “How about ‘the completely unnecessary slight bruising of Oikawa’s poor young knuckles--died too young--when said great senpai,’” Oikawa paused to clear his throat theatrically, “‘has wonderful news for young Mattsun!’”
Matsukawa’s usual slightly amused indifference at his roommate’s antics shifted to slight (well slightly more than “slight”) terror at the word “news”. Oikawa Tooru’s “news” usually involved supposed “alien sightings”, which usually ended up being large beetles, cute guys (“His hotness was out of this world, Mattsun!”), natural disasters, or a combination of the three (Matsukawa had tried desperately, to absolutely no avail, to forget the Great UFO Incident). “And what would this “news” entail?” he inquired, trying not to let the dread creep into his voice.
Oikawa cleared his throat again. “You can thank me later, because the great Oikawa-senpai has scored you a date!”
Matsukawa groaned, burying his face in a nearby pillow, in a half-hearted attempt at self-induced suffocation. Oikawa’s previous schemes to get Matsukawa a boyfriend had definitely fallen under the category of natural disaster. And senpai?
“Save the moaning for at least the third date, Mattsun! You haven’t even met him yet. And not in my apartment either…”
“You sure are one to talk—“
“And the gracious, generous Oikawa-senpai would be delighted to accompany young Mattsun as his official wingman.”
Could this day possibly get any worse?
Iwaizumi was just such a good friend.
So, when Hanamaki came up to him, practically begging his roommate to accompany him on his date with a really cute guy in his Lit class, Iwaizumi, like the true saint he was, accepted his role as wingman with only few wise words of complaint and sarcasm.
Iwaizumi had been surprised, upon arriving at his apartment after his Biology midterm, to be met with the sight of his roommate pacing around their dorm, wringing his hands nervously and muttering something unintelligible. What was he doing?
“Hanamaki, if you’re planning on gaining any mileage, I suggest you take your power walk out of the sitting room.”
The poor boy had jumped nearly a foot at the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice. In spite of his earlier comment, Iwaizumi had actually been quite concerned for his friend. Hanamaki’s level of chill seemed to permanently rest between refrigerator and polar jet stream. In fact, Iwaizumi was not sure he’d ever seen his facial expression stray this far from Disinterested Sloth.
“What happened?” Iwaizumi remembered asking, mainly to prevent him from continuing his living room circuits.
“Sobasicallythefirstyearfromthreedoorsdownidon’tknowifyouknowhimOikawasomethingTooruthatswhathisnamewas—“
“Slow down, Hanamaki. I’m getting asthma just watching you.”
Hanamaki had (finally) exhaled slowly, seeming to calm down. “So basically, that first year from three doors down—his name’s Oikawa, I think—came by and—“
“Wow, Makki, you got someone besides the angry vice principal to come over voluntarily? I’m impressed,” Iwaizumi had teased, more to lighten things up and calm the guy down than anything. And it seemed to work.
Hanamaki rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you have any more of a social life, Iwaizumi—you’ve gone to bed before ten every Friday night for as long as I’ve been around. So anyway, Oikawa made this dramatic speech about how he was the greatest matchmaker in all of recorded history. I obviously didn’t believe a word he said until, well, he declared that I should date his roommate.”
“And said roommate is…”
“Matsukawa Issei! He’s this really cute guy from my Lit class, and I think he’s even on the volleyball team…”
“I’m not seeing the problem. Cute volleyball-playing guy from Lit class does not explain your pacing like a disgruntled wildebeest.”
“I have a date with him tomorrow morning, Iwaizumi!” Hanamaki had seemed even more flustered than before, as if this had only dawned on him as a reality right then.
Oh. The idiot was worried about his date.
“Can you please come with me? For, you know, moral support and stuff. I still can’t believe I have a date with—“
Iwaizumi really wasn’t sure why he had cut Hanamaki off with an agreement to act as wingman for that date. Maybe it was to stop the guy from taking up that godforsaken pacing. Or maybe it was because he had a midterm the next evening and was so sick of studying.
Whatever it was, Iwaizumi was just such a good friend.
Iwaizumi knew this would be a mistake.
It wasn’t Hanamaki that was the problem—the boy found his date right away and was immediately absorbed in a conversation about something that sounded like “meem” (Iwaizumi chose not to question). The Problem was sitting across the café, nursing a cup of coffee, while subtly sneaking glances at the pair of newlydates, much like Iwaizumi himself.
But the problem with The Problem that made The Problem a problem was that The Problem was insanely attractive.
(And the other problem which increased the problematic quotient of The Problem was that the café was deserted except for Hanamaki and his date. Who were very clearly not experiencing any problems, whatsoever.)
Iwaizumi was finding it very difficult to look busy, as in the process of trying to keep Hanamaki calm (he was honestly such a good friend), he forgot his phone, wallet and Calculus textbook. There was only a certain number of times you could look over a coffee shop’s menu display before it looked like you were majoring in espresso names. Iwaizumi silently groaned. He didn’t even want to think about what the attractive guy, who was now making a beeline for Iwaizumi, was probably thinking…
Wait, what?
In all his self-pity, Iwaizumi had not even noticed that the boy had gone up to the counter, bought another coffee, and was currently walking straight toward Iwaizumi.
Shit.
The boy stopped at his table. If Iwaizumi thought he was attractive from across the café, up close, this guy was nothing short of beautiful. (He was nothing short of anything really. On top of everything, he just had to be tall, too.) He was wearing a large teal sweater over white jeans that were, in Iwaizumi’s opinion, much too tight. A light gray beanie only partially brought order to a mess of soft brown hair. Iwaizumi’s eyes could not help but be drawn to his large chocolate ones, which lit up his pretty face as he broke into a grin.
The boy pushed a coffee toward Iwaizumi, sliding into the booth across from him. Fighting a blush from rising up his neck, and partially because probably wouldn’t be able to talk if he tried, Iwaizumi opted for the Nonchalant Eyebrow Quirk.
“Oikawa Tooru,” the boy introduced himself.
“Iwaizumi Hajime.”
Oikawa’s face split into a mischievous smirk. “Well, Iwa-chan, welcome to the Alliance of Pretty Wingmen!”