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Iwaizumi knows he hasn’t slept enough and is still half-asleep, but he can still tell the name written on his coffee cup isn’t his. Actually, the first thing he notices when he walks into the coffee shop is the guy behind the counter staring at him.
Not casually, either.
Like he noticed Iwaizumi the second he stepped through the door. He’s new — definitely new. Pale skin, soft brown hair, and a smile a little too bright for seven in the morning. The guy only looks away when Matsukawa says something beside him at the register.
Iwaizumi barely thinks about it again until his drink is handed over.
“Hey,” he says, trying to give it back. “I think this belongs to someone else. I’m not Oikawa.”
“I know,” the guy replies easily, still smiling. “You’re Iwaizumi. I heard you tell Mattsun when you ordered.” He taps his chest dramatically. “I’m Oikawa.”
Iwaizumi looks from Oikawa to Matsukawa and back again.
It’s way too early for this.
“So…” He lifts the cup slightly. “This is yours?”
“Nope. Yours.”
“Then why does it say Oikawa?”
Oikawa grins. “I wanted to introduce myself.”
Matsukawa watches the entire interaction over the register with the exhausted expression of someone witnessing a disaster unfold in real time.
Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. Any idiot with functioning eyes could tell Oikawa is attractive. Unfortunately, he also seems aware of it.
“You could’ve just said hello.”
“And where’s the fun in that?” Oikawa asks while finishing another order. “Besides, you looked like you were seconds away from collapsing”
“I’m fine.”
“You walked in here looking like a Victorian orphan.”
Against his will, Iwaizumi laughs.
Oikawa looks absurdly pleased with himself for causing it.
“Rude,” Iwaizumi mutters.
“But accurate,” Oikawa counters immediately. His eyes flick toward Iwaizumi’s overstuffed backpack. “Late-night studying?”
“Yeah. End of semester”
“Student of…?”
“Physical Therapy”
“Hm,” Oikawa hums thoughtfully, like he’s storing the information away somewhere important.
Iwaizumi expects more questions, but instead Oikawa turns around and opens the pastry case.
“Here,” he says, wrapping up a slice of lemon cake and placing it in front of him. Their fingers brush briefly when Iwaizumi takes it, and the touch lingers longer than it should. “Judging by your coffee order, you don’t seem like a sweets person, so you’ll probably like this.”
“I can’t take this”
“You can”
“No, seriously—”
“I made it”
Iwaizumi blinks. “You made it?”
Oikawa looks offended immediately. “Why does everyone sound surprised by that?”
“Because you don’t look like someone who bakes.”
“How tragic for you. I’m excellent in the kitchen”
There’s laughter hidden underneath the dramatic sigh, and Iwaizumi finds himself smiling again before he can stop it. The coffee shop starts filling up quickly around them, customers crowding near the counter waiting for their drinks. Iwaizumi should leave before he misses his bus.
Instead, he lingers.
Just for another second.
Oikawa notices.
Of course he notices.
“See you around, Iwa-chan”
The nickname is childish. Ridiculous, honestly.
Iwaizumi definitely doesn’t find it weirdly endearing.
“Thanks, Oikawa,” he replies, lifting the cake slightly before finally heading toward the door.
Oikawa smiles at everyone.
That much is obvious within seconds of standing in this place.
But the smile he gives Iwaizumi feels softer than the others. Less practiced.
Something annoying flutters low in his chest.
Outside, cold winter air hits his face immediately, but the feeling follows him all the way to campus.
—
He doesn’t plan on going back the next morning.
The line is always too long, and eventually he’s going to end up late for class. Besides, he already has a coffee maker at home — an old machine that used to belong to his mother but still makes decent coffee.
He absolutely does not need to waste money at an overpriced coffee shop every day.
And yet.
The next morning, Iwaizumi walks back into the coffee shop.
Oikawa spots him immediately through the crowd and gives him an outrageously flirtatious wink.
Iwaizumi feels heat rise to his face and briefly considers murder.
Unfortunately, he smiles back.
By the time he reaches the counter, his drink is already waiting for him.
There’s a phone number scribbled across the side of the cup.
Something awkward twists in his chest.
“Does this usually work for you?” he asks, tracing his thumb over the numbers longer than necessary.
“You’ll have to tell me,” Oikawa replies smoothly.
Iwaizumi looks up and realizes Oikawa is leaning across the counter now, closer than before.
Too close.
Oikawa grabs a walnut cupcake and places it into his hand, fingers lingering briefly around his wrist.
“Never tried it with anyone else”
The noise of the coffee shop fades strangely around him.
All Iwaizumi can focus on is the cool touch of Oikawa’s fingers against his skin.
He tells himself the sudden jolt in his chest is probably just from the temperature difference.
Before he can think of a response, they both glance up to find Matsukawa standing nearby with a deeply unimpressed expression.
Iwaizumi immediately pulls his hand back.
The normal sounds of the coffee shop rush back all at once — quiet conversations, the hiss of steaming milk, soft pop music drifting through the speakers.
Despite the increasingly long line, Oikawa doesn’t seem remotely concerned.
“See you around, Iwa-chan,” he says over his shoulder while moving toward the espresso machine.
Iwaizumi mutters something that vaguely resembles goodbye before leaving with burning ears.
He can practically feel Matsukawa’s knowing stare following him out the door.
And honestly?
Iwaizumi already knows he’s going to text him before he even leaves the block.
Later that afternoon, after finishing his coffee, he finally saves Oikawa’s number into his phone with a reluctant smile.
Shittykawa 💩
—
The next time Oikawa hands him his coffee, there’s another message scribbled across the cup.
I’m off at 5:30 PM (＾▽＾)
Oikawa raises his eyebrows expectantly.
Iwaizumi snorts.
“See you around, Shittykawa.”
Then he leaves before Oikawa can complain about the nickname.
At exactly 5:30 PM, Iwaizumi finds himself standing outside the coffee shop waiting.
The second Oikawa spots him through the window, his entire face lights up in a way that feels strangely dangerous. A few minutes later, he pushes through the coffee shop doors with a dramatic sigh, scarf hanging loosely around his neck and hair slightly messy from rushing to close.
“You came back,” he says, sounding far too pleased about it.
“You wrote on the cup”
“And you listened.” Oikawa presses a hand against his chest dramatically. “This is huge for us”
“There is no ‘us’”
“Painful thing to say to someone who baked for you”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but Oikawa falls into step beside him easily anyway.
Snow has already started falling lightly around them, soft flakes catching in Oikawa’s hair beneath the glow of the streetlights. They walk without much direction at first, talking about stupid things that gradually become entertaining simply because it’s him. Oikawa complains passionately about customers who order complicated drinks two minutes before closing, while Iwaizumi tells him horror stories about group projects and impossible professors.
At some point, Oikawa drags him into a small ramen shop near the station because, according to him, “you look nutritionally neglected.”
“I’m not neglected.”
“You ordered plain toast yesterday morning.”
“I was late.”
“You looked one inconvenience away from collapsing onto the sidewalk.”
“Why are you so dramatic?”
“Why are you surviving entirely on caffeine and academic validation?”
Iwaizumi snorts into his drink before he can stop himself, and across the table Oikawa looks absurdly pleased with himself for causing it.
That’s probably the dangerous part. Talking to Oikawa feels easy in a way Iwaizumi isn’t used to. Conversation flows effortlessly between them, jumping from dumb jokes to more personal things without ever feeling awkward. Hours pass without him noticing, which honestly should concern him more than it does.
Eventually, they end up at Oikawa’s apartment because the snow starts falling harder and Oikawa declares he’s “too young and beautiful to die of hypothermia.”
The apartment is smaller than Iwaizumi expected, but comfortable in a way that immediately feels lived in. There are blankets thrown across the couch, books stacked unevenly beside the television, plants sitting near the windows despite the winter outside. The kitchen smells faintly like coffee and vanilla. The apartment feels like Oikawa — warm, messy, comfortable.
“Ooh, wait,” Oikawa says suddenly as Iwaizumi steps further inside. “Shoes off. I actually clean this place”
“You say that like I live in filth”
“You look like someone who forgets laundry in the washing machine for three days”
Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “That was weirdly specific”
“So I was right”
“Go to hell”
Oikawa grins triumphantly while Iwaizumi kicks off his shoes anyway.
What’s supposed to be a short stop turns into hours. Iwaizumi studies at the kitchen table while Oikawa sits across from him pretending to read before getting distracted every five minutes. He keeps making comments just to annoy him, leaning over his shoulder to look at his notes or dramatically gasping every time Iwaizumi sighs too heavily.
“You frown at your notes like they personally betrayed you,” Oikawa comments eventually.
“They did”
“You’re kind of scary”
“You literally approached me first”
“Because I enjoy danger”
Idiot.
At some point Oikawa makes coffee. Then food. Then more coffee. The apartment grows quieter as the night stretches on, soft music playing low from someone’s phone speaker while snow falls steadily outside the windows. It feels strangely easy being here. Too easy.
By the time Iwaizumi checks his phone again, his stomach drops slightly.
“…Shit.”
Oikawa looks up from where he’s sprawled across the couch. “What?”
“I missed the last bus”
Outside, the snow is falling much harder now, wind rattling softly against the windows.
Oikawa blinks once before saying casually, “You can sleep here”
Iwaizumi narrows his eyes immediately. “Are you trying to kidnap me?”
“Yes,” Oikawa answers without hesitation. “But romantically”
“I’m serious”
“So am I”
“That’s concerning”
Oikawa laughs softly and stands from the couch. “Relax, Iwa-chan. You can take the bed”
“And you?”
“I’ll survive the couch. Be brave for me”
Iwaizumi stares at him for a second before grimacing slightly. “I’m not taking your bed while you sleep on the couch”
“It’s fine”
“No, it’s weird”
“We’re literally adults”
“That somehow makes it weirder”
Oikawa snorts. “Iwa-chan, we can share a bed without anything happening. I promise I’ll behave myself”
“That’s exactly what someone untrustworthy would say”
“You wound me”
“You’ll survive”
Oikawa laughs again, softer this time, and something warm twists unexpectedly in Iwaizumi’s chest at the sound.
In the end, they share the bed.
And maybe it should feel more awkward than it does.
Instead, it just feels warm.
The apartment is quiet except for the wind outside and the occasional sound of Oikawa shifting beside him. They stay on opposite sides of the mattress at first, both staring at the ceiling in the dark.
Then, after several minutes:
“You awake?” Oikawa asks quietly.
“Yes.”
The silence settles over them again soon after. Outside, the wind taps softly against the windows while snow continues falling endlessly beyond the glass. Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa beside him — warm, too close — and hates how aware it makes him of every tiny movement.
“Goodnight, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs sleepily after a while.
Iwaizumi takes a second before answering.
“…Goodnight”
Eventually, exhaustion pulls him under.
The next morning, Iwaizumi wakes slowly to the smell of coffee. For one disorienting second, he forgets where he is. Then he notices the unfamiliar ceiling, the soft music drifting from the kitchen, and the warmth pressed lightly against his side.
Oh.
At some point during the night, Oikawa had shifted closer in his sleep. Not enough to fully hold onto him, but enough for their shoulders to brush beneath the blankets. The realization makes his heartbeat stutter.
Before he can overthink it too much, Oikawa stirs beside him with a quiet groan.
“You snore,” he mumbles sleepily.
“I literally heard you snoring first”
“Liar”
Iwaizumi snorts softly as Oikawa disappears into the kitchen a few minutes later, returning with coffee in a mug covered in tiny aliens and spaceships.
There’s something strangely domestic about this.
Dangerously domestic.
Iwaizumi realizes, with sudden uncomfortable awareness, that this is the first time he’s woken up in someone else’s apartment and wanted to stay longer. The thought settles heavily in his chest.
After a moment, Oikawa walks closer and absentmindedly reaches out to fix the piece of hair sticking awkwardly up from sleep. The touch is brief. Careful. But it still makes Iwaizumi’s heartbeat stutter unexpectedly.
For a second, neither of them moves.
Then Oikawa smiles slightly and steps back again.
“Drink your coffee before it gets cold, Iwa-chan”
Iwaizumi probably should go home.
Instead, he takes another sip of coffee and stays exactly where he is while snow continues falling softly outside the apartment windows.
The first thing Iwaizumi notices is that Oikawa has started remembering things about him.
Not important things, probably. Not things most people would bother remembering. Just stupid little details, like how Iwaizumi prefers darker roast coffee after practical exams because sweet drinks make him feel more tired somehow, or how he always picks apart blueberry muffins before eating them. Oikawa notices the way he cracks his knuckles when he’s stressed and the fact that he unconsciously rubs at the back of his neck when he hasn’t slept enough.
It’s irritating, mostly because Iwaizumi doesn’t remember telling him any of it.
“You look dead,” Oikawa says one morning as soon as Iwaizumi walks into the coffee shop.
“morning to you too”
“You have that look again”
“What look?”
“The one where your soul has already left your body.” Oikawa slides a cup across the counter before Iwaizumi can even order. “Triple shot today.”
Iwaizumi stares at him suspiciously. “I didn’t ask for this”
“You were going to.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You walked in here looking like a Victorian orphan.”
Matsukawa snorts loudly from the espresso machine. “He really did”
“Whose side are you on?” Iwaizumi mutters.
“Mine,” Matsukawa replies immediately.
Oikawa beams proudly like he’s accomplished something impressive.
It’s stupid. Everything about this is stupid. The coffee is exactly how Iwaizumi likes it.
He tells himself he only keeps coming because the shop is on the way to campus. That excuse works for maybe four days before even he stops believing it. Because now he’s showing up when he doesn’t have class. Now he’s lingering after finishing his drink, pretending to study while secretly watching Oikawa work behind the counter.
And unfortunately, Oikawa is unfairly good at his job.
He moves through the crowded coffee shop effortlessly, smiling at customers like they’re old friends, balancing too many drinks at once, remembering regulars’ orders without writing them down. Everyone seems drawn to him. The entire place seems to shift around his energy.
Especially women, apparently.
One afternoon, a pretty university student leans over the counter while Oikawa prepares her latte. She has curled hair, glossy lips, and the kind of confidence that makes Iwaizumi dislike her on instinct.
“You always make mine prettier than everyone else’s,” she says.
Oikawa places a hand dramatically over his chest. “You wound me. Every latte I make is crafted with love.”
“Is that your secret?”
“No,” Oikawa says easily, “my secret is being devastatingly handsome.”
The girl laughs loudly, and Iwaizumi looks down at his textbook with unnecessary force.
“You okay there, Iwa-chan?”
His head snaps up immediately. Oikawa is already looking at him, eyes bright with amusement.
The girl follows his gaze. “Oh,” she says slowly, “I didn’t realize you were busy”
“We’re not—” Iwaizumi starts, but Oikawa interrupts him smoothly.
“He gets jealous easily”
“I do not”
“You do,” Oikawa says with a grin.
The girl laughs again before finally taking her drink and leaving. Iwaizumi waits until the door closes behind her before glaring across the counter.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you keep coming back.”
Unfortunately, Oikawa has a point.
The worst part is that Oikawa’s apartment already feels familiar.
Iwaizumi had woken up tangled in his blankets three times this week already, usually because he’d fallen asleep halfway through studying and Oikawa had simply pulled him into bed without making a big deal out of it. Neither of them talked about it afterward. Somehow, that almost made it worse.
The problem is that Oikawa changes after closing time.
Iwaizumi notices it gradually over the next couple weeks. Around the end of Oikawa’s shift, part of that exaggerated brightness fades. Not completely—Oikawa is still expressive, still dramatic, still annoyingly pretty—but quieter somehow. Softer around the edges. Realer.
One night, Iwaizumi stays while Matsukawa counts the register in the back office. Oikawa wipes down tables with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair falling messily into his eyes.
“You can go home, you know,” he says eventually.
“You sound disappointed”
“I am disappointed. I was hoping you’d help me mop”
“Absolutely not”
“That's rude boyfriend behavior”
“We’re not boyfriends”
Oikawa hums. “Right”
Before Iwaizumi can respond, the front door opens, letting in a gust of cold winter air.
The man who walks in is tall and lean, dark hair messy from the wind despite looking otherwise put together. There’s something sharp about him, confident in that effortless way attractive people tend to be.
He spots Oikawa immediately and smiles.
“There you are,” he says.
And something changes.
It’s subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t notice, but Iwaizumi does. Oikawa straightens slightly, expression softening in a way Iwaizumi hasn’t seen before.
“Hey,” Oikawa says quietly.
Not the bright customer service voice. Not the teasing voice he always uses with Iwaizumi.
Something gentler.
The man steps closer to the counter. “You ignored my texts”
“I was working”
“You’re always working”
“Some of us contribute to society”
The man laughs easily, like this conversation is familiar. Like Oikawa is familiar.
And for some reason, that realization settles heavily in Iwaizumi’s chest.
Oikawa glances toward him. “This is Iwaizumi,” he says casually. “He basically lives here now”
“I do not,” Iwaizumi mutters automatically.
The man smiles slightly. “Kuroo.”
Iwaizumi nods once in acknowledgment before looking away.
Then Kuroo turns back toward Oikawa. “You still coming tonight?”
There’s a pause.
A small one. Barely noticeable.
But Iwaizumi suddenly hates it.
Oikawa rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know yet”
“You promised”
“I said maybe”
“You always say maybe”
The familiarity in Kuroo’s tone twists something uncomfortable in Iwaizumi’s stomach. He suddenly becomes hyperaware of how little he actually knows about Oikawa. Who he spends time with. Who he texts late at night. Whether this kind of flirting, this kind of softness, is something Oikawa gives everyone.
Kuroo notices him watching.
His eyes flick between them once, sharp and observant, before the corner of his mouth curls upward knowingly.
Iwaizumi decides immediately that he doesn’t like him.
“Well,” Kuroo says finally, buttoning his coat again, “text me when you decide.”
Before leaving, he reaches out and briefly hooks two fingers under Oikawa’s chin in an easy, practiced gesture.
“See you, Tooru.”
The door closes behind him, and silence settles over the shop.
Somewhere in the back, Matsukawa quietly says, “Oh no.”
“I should go,” Iwaizumi says abruptly, standing so quickly his chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
“Hajime—”
“I have class tomorrow.”
“It’s Friday night.”
“I know how calendars work”
Oikawa blinks at him once before soft laughter slips out. “You’re jealous”
“I’m leaving.”
“You are jealous”
“I’m literally just going home.”
“You hate him already.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“You definitely hate him.”
Iwaizumi grabs his bag aggressively. “Goodnight, Oikawa.”
The smile on Oikawa’s face turns unbearably pleased. “Goodnight, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi makes it all the way outside before realizing his heart is beating way too fast.
Snow falls softly around him as he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks toward the bus stop, trying very hard not to think about how naturally Kuroo called Oikawa by his first name.
His phone buzzes less than a minute later.
Shittykawa 💩:
You forgot your scarf.
A second message appears almost immediately.
Also, you’re cute when you’re jealous :)
Iwaizumi stops walking and stares down at the screen with narrowed eyes.
Then, despite himself, he smiles.
By the third week, Oikawa has somehow become a problem. Not a serious problem, probably,, nothing life-ruining. Just the kind that slips quietly into someone’s routine until suddenly they’re everywhere.
In Iwaizumi’s defense, none of it is technically his fault.
Oikawa is the one who starts showing up on campus.
The first time it happens, Iwaizumi is sitting outside the physical therapy building with two classmates, half-listening to a discussion about an upcoming anatomy exam while trying not to fall asleep into his notes.
Then a paper cup appears directly in front of his face.
“Triple shot,” Oikawa announces proudly. “Since you looked spiritually deceased this morning.”
Iwaizumi nearly drops his pen.
“What are you doing here?”
“Wow,” Oikawa says, sounding deeply offended. “No ‘thank you, Oikawa, savior of my academic career’? No tears of gratitude?”
“You work”
“I’m on break”
“You came all the way here on your break?”
Oikawa shrugs like it’s obvious. “You forgot your scarf”
Iwaizumi looks down.
Sure enough, his scarf is looped around Oikawa’s neck instead.
His classmates stare openly now.
One of them—a girl named Emi—blinks between them before asking carefully, “Is this your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Iwaizumi says immediately.
At the exact same time, Oikawa says:
“Not officially”
Iwaizumi chokes on his coffee.
Emi looks delighted.
Oikawa grins like the worst person alive.
“You’re insufferable,” Iwaizumi mutters.
“And yet,” Oikawa says, leaning casually against the table, “you continue to allow me into your life”
“That’s a strong way to describe you harassing me daily”
“You love my harassment”
“I tolerate your harassment”
“Mm,, sure”
He says it so knowingly that heat creeps up Iwaizumi’s neck.
The worst part is that Oikawa fits into his life disturbingly well.
Over the next couple weeks, it keeps happening.
Sometimes Oikawa appears outside his lectures with coffee balanced in both hands. Sometimes he steals fries directly off Iwaizumi’s tray during lunch despite insisting he “wasn’t hungry.” Once, he falls asleep beside Iwaizumi in the library while pretending to help him study, his head resting heavily against Iwa’s shoulder while several students openly stare.
Nobody seems immune to Oikawa.
Not professors. Not classmates. Not random strangers.
Especially not Iwaizumi’s friends.
“You know,” Hanamaki says one afternoon while watching Oikawa animatedly explain something to a group of first-year students, “I thought you were exaggerating.”
“I wasn’t exaggerating.”
“He’s actually insane.”
“Thank you.”
“And kind of ridiculously pretty”
Iwaizumi narrows his eyes immediately. “Watch yourself”
Hanamaki goes silent for exactly one second before bursting into laughter.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “You’re down horrendous”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“You got possessive so fast!”
Before Iwaizumi can physically attack him, Oikawa suddenly appears behind the bench.
“What are we talking about?”
“Nothing,” Iwaizumi says immediately.
“Ooh,” Oikawa says. “Was Hajime talking about me?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Hanamaki answers at the same time.
Traitor.
Oikawa beams.
Then, like he belongs there, he drops down beside Iwaizumi and steals half his sandwich without asking.
“Hey!”
“You weren’t eating it.”
“I was literally about to.”
“You hesitated. That’s legally my food now.”
Hanamaki watches the interaction with poorly concealed amusement before shaking his head.
“You two are disgusting couple”
“We’re not even dating,” Iwaizumi complains.
Oikawa hums thoughtfully beside him. “That sounds like denial.”
“It’s literally factual.”
“Mm.”
Somehow, that’s worse.
The problem with Oikawa is that he settles into spaces like he was always meant to be there,, by the end of the month, people on campus know him by name despite him not even attending the university.
Someone from the library waves at him one afternoon. A receptionist from the science building calls out, “No coffee delivery today?” when he walks by empty-handed.
One of Iwaizumi’s professors outright asks if Oikawa is his boyfriend. Oikawa answers, “Working on it,” before Iwaizumi can stop him.
Iwaizumi considers homicide briefly.
The truly horrifying part is that he doesn’t actually mind any of it.
Not really.
There’s something dangerously easy about Oikawa’s presence now. Iwaizumi has started expecting him around. Looking for him automatically in crowded places. Saving seats for him unconsciously.
The realization should probably alarm him more than it does.
Instead, it mostly just makes his chest feel strangely warm.
Which is objectively worse.
—
One Friday evening, Iwaizumi walks into the coffee shop to find Kuroo already there.
Unfortunately.
He’s leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place, one elbow resting beside the register while Oikawa makes drinks. The two of them are laughing about something quietly, familiar in a way that immediately irritates Iwaizumi for reasons he refuses to examine too closely.
Kuroo notices him first. And smiles.
Not a polite smile, either.
A dangerous one.
“Well,” he says casually, “if it isn’t the boyfriend”
“I’m not his boyfriend,” Iwaizumi replies instantly.
“Mm.” Kuroo takes a sip from Oikawa’s drink without asking. “Better for me?”
Iwaizumi’s eye twitches.
Oikawa, meanwhile, looks delighted.
“Kuroo-san,” he says brightly, “don’t bully him too much. He’s sensitive.”
“I am not sensitive.”
“You looked like you wanted to kill me the last time I touched Tooru.”
“I did not.”
Kuroo raises an eyebrow slowly.
Then, like he’s doing it on purpose now, he reaches over and fixes Oikawa’s apron strap where it’s twisted awkwardly near his shoulder.
It’s such an easy gesture. Casual. Familiar.
Iwaizumi hates it immediately.
Oikawa notices.
Of course he notices.
The bastard actually bites back a smile.
“Kuroo,” Oikawa says lightly, “you’re being mean”
“You’re the one who told me he gets jealous”
“I don’t get jealous,” Iwaizumi snaps.
Kuroo hums thoughtfully, completely unconvinced. “Really? Because your face says otherwise.”
“My face says you’re annoying”
“That too”
Oikawa is visibly trying not to laugh now, shoulders shaking slightly while he works the espresso machine.
Traitor.
Kuroo glances between them once before something sharp and amused settles into his expression.
Oh, he’s doing this on purpose.
“I forgot to answer your message, by the way,” Kuroo says casually, leaning against the counter again. “You still staying over tonight?”
Silence.
Iwaizumi’s stomach twists unpleasantly.
Oikawa, somehow, looks entirely too calm about this conversation.
“Maybe,” he says.
“You said maybe last time too”
“I like keeping you emotionally unstable”
“You already do that naturally”
Kuroo says it so easily, so fondly, that irritation crawls hotter beneath Iwaizumi’s skin.
And apparently Kuroo notices that too.
“You know,” Kuroo says conversationally while accepting the drink Oikawa hands him, “Tooru gets really annoying when he likes someone.”
Oikawa freezes instantly.
“Kuroo.”
“He talks about them constantly.”
“Kuroo.”
“He starts smiling at his phone like an idiot—”
“Kuroo.”
“And he gets possessive in a very pathetic way.”
“I’m banning you from this establishment.”
Kuroo grins, completely unbothered.
Then he looks directly at Iwaizumi.
“But honestly? I think this is the first time I’ve seen someone return the energy.”
Heat rushes straight up Iwaizumi’s neck.
“I’m leaving,” he announces immediately.
“No, stay,” Oikawa says too fast.
The words slip out before he can stop them. All three of them go quiet for a second.
Oikawa looks startled by his own reaction.
Kuroo looks deeply entertained.
And Iwaizumi suddenly becomes very aware of his own heartbeat.
Kuroo breaks the silence first with a slow, knowing smile.
“Wow,” he says softly. “You two are bad at this”
“Get out,” Oikawa says flatly.
Kuroo laughs loudly as he grabs his coat. Before leaving, he reaches out and flicks Oikawa lightly in the forehead.
“Text me later, princess.”
“Die.”
“Love you too.”
Then Kuroo turns toward Iwaizumi one last time.
“Oh, and Iwaizumi?”
“What.”
Kuroo smirks.
“You’re definitely his type.”
And then he leaves.
The door swings shut behind him, and silence settles over the shop.
Oikawa slowly covers his face with both hands.
“I need him dead,” he mutters into his palms.
Iwaizumi watches him for a long moment before speaking carefully.
“So,” he says slowly, “you talk about me a lot?”
Oikawa makes a sound of genuine suffering.
Somewhere in the back, Matsukawa starts laughing so hard he nearly drops something.
The problem is that Oikawa has started leaving things behind.
At first, it’s accidental.
A phone charger forgotten beside Iwaizumi’s bed. A hoodie abandoned over the back of the couch. Expensive coffee beans sitting in the kitchen cabinet because apparently Iwaizumi’s coffee maker is “committing crimes against humanity.”
Then it stops feeling accidental.
There’s a toothbrush next to Iwaizumi’s sink now. A mug with stupid little aliens on it drying beside the dish rack. A blanket Oikawa insists is “their couch blanket,” despite Iwaizumi repeatedly telling him that’s not a thing.
It should probably bother him more than it does.
Instead, Iwaizumi finds himself shifting aside automatically to make room whenever Oikawa walks into his apartment. He starts buying groceries with Oikawa in mind. Starts expecting the sound of his keys jingling near the front door.
It’s bad.
Objectively bad.
Especially because neither of them has actually acknowledged whatever this is becoming.
Which is probably why Iwaizumi finds himself standing outside the coffee shop in the freezing cold on a Friday night, waiting for Oikawa to finish his shift.
Snow falls softly onto the sidewalk, melting against the sleeves of his coat. Through the window, he can see Oikawa behind the counter, laughing politely at something a customer is saying.
The customer is pretty.
Annoyingly pretty.
Long dark coat, sharp eyeliner, confident posture.
Iwaizumi dislikes them instantly.
“You always smile like that at customers?” the person asks, leaning against the counter.
Oikawa laughs lightly. “It’s part of the job.”
“Seems unfair.”
“How tragic.”
“You flirting with me right now?”
“I'm just being gentle”
The customer grins. “Then maybe I should ask for your number.”
Oikawa opens his mouth, probably to give some smooth response, but then the customer notices Iwaizumi standing near the door.
Their expression shifts immediately.
“Oh,” they say. “Sorry. Is your boyfriend waiting for you?”
And before Oikawa can answer—
“Yeah.”
The word leaves Iwaizumi’s mouth automatically.
Certain.
Possessive.
Like breathing.
Silence falls over the shop.
Matsukawa nearly drops an entire stack of cups.
Oikawa freezes behind the register.
The customer looks between them once before smiling awkwardly. “Right. Sorry.”
Then they grab their drink and leave.
The bell above the door jingles softly behind them.
And suddenly the coffee shop feels way too quiet.
Oikawa stares at Iwaizumi.
“…Boyfriend?”
Iwaizumi immediately feels heat crawl up his neck.
“Don’t start.”
The corner of Oikawa’s mouth twitches upward slowly.
“Oh, I’m absolutely starting.”
“I said it so they’d leave you alone.”
“Mmhm.”
“You were clearly uncomfortable.”
“Hajime.”
“What.”
Oikawa looks devastatingly pleased.
“You called me your boyfriend.”
Matsukawa makes a strangled noise somewhere behind the espresso machine.
“I’m going home,” he announces immediately, ripping off his apron. “I refuse to witness whatever this is.”
“Coward,” Oikawa calls after him.
Matsukawa points at them accusingly while walking toward the back room. “You two are emotionally exhausting.”
The door slams behind him.
Silence settles again.
Oikawa keeps staring.
And annoyingly, now that the initial panic is fading, Iwaizumi realizes something far worse.
He meant it.
Not as an excuse.
Not to get rid of the customer.
He meant it.
That realization follows him the entire walk home.
Snow continues falling steadily around them while Oikawa walks close enough for their shoulders to bump together every few steps. They share one umbrella badly because Oikawa keeps tilting it toward Iwaizumi instead of himself.
“You’re getting snow in your hair,” Iwaizumi mutters eventually.
“So protective.”
“Shut up.”
Oikawa laughs quietly.
Then goes silent again.
Too silent.
Iwaizumi glances sideways at him. Oikawa’s cheeks are pink from the cold, hair slightly damp from snowflakes melting against the dark curls near his forehead.
He looks—
Unfairly pretty.
“You’re staring,” Oikawa says softly.
“You talk too much.”
“And you called me your boyfriend.”
Iwaizumi groans loudly.
Oikawa beams.
By the time they reach the apartment, Iwaizumi’s fingers are freezing despite his gloves. Oikawa immediately steals his hands the second they step inside, rubbing warmth back into them while kicking the door shut behind them.
“You’re terrible at surviving winter,” he says.
“You literally tilted the umbrella toward me the entire walk.”
“Well obviously. You’re dramatic when you get sick.”
“I am not dramatic.”
“You once had a cold and texted me ‘tell my family I loved them.’”
“I had a fever.”
“You had the sniffles.”
Iwaizumi tries to glare at him properly, but Oikawa is still holding his hands.
And suddenly the apartment feels too small.
Too full of something neither of them has addressed yet.
Oikawa seems to feel it too because his smile slowly fades into something quieter.
“Hajime,” he says softly.
Iwaizumi’s chest tightens immediately.
“What?”
Oikawa hesitates.
Which almost never happens.
Then finally:
“Did you mean it?”
Iwaizumi pretends not to understand immediately. “Mean what.”
“The boyfriend thing.”
Oh.
The room suddenly feels painfully silent.
Oikawa lets go of his hands slowly.
“You don’t have to say it again,” he says quickly, quieter now. “I know you only said it because that customer was annoying.”
But that’s the problem.
Because he didn’t.
Iwaizumi watches Oikawa turn away slightly, running a towel through his damp hair like he’s trying to act normal about this conversation.
And something uncomfortable twists hard in his chest.
Because somehow, impossibly, Oikawa sounds unsure.
“You really thought I didn’t mean it?”
Oikawa laughs once.
Not brightly.
Just awkwardly.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Sometimes I can’t tell what this is for you.”
Iwaizumi goes completely still.
Oikawa keeps talking before he can respond.
“You call me when you can’t sleep. I practically live here now. You look for me after class like it’s automatic.” His mouth twists slightly. “But every time someone asks if we’re together, you act like the idea terrifies you.”
“That’s not—”
“So I figured maybe you just…” Oikawa exhales quietly. “Didn’t want it to be serious.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Because from Iwaizumi’s perspective, this has felt serious for a long time now.
He just—
Never said it out loud.
Oikawa laughs softly again, still not looking at him properly. “Wow. Saying that out loud sounds pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic.”
“Feels pathetic.”
“You idiot,” Iwaizumi mutters.
Oikawa finally looks up then.
And suddenly Iwaizumi can’t stop talking.
“You’re everywhere in my life now.”
Oikawa blinks.
“My friends expect you around. There’s literally a toothbrush next to my sink.” Iwaizumi gestures vaguely toward the kitchen. “Half my apartment smells like your stupid coffee shop.”
Very slowly, something in Oikawa’s expression softens immediately.
“I look for you automatically now,” Iwaizumi admits quietly. “Everywhere.”
Oikawa stares at him.
And Iwaizumi realizes there’s no recovering from this conversation anymore.
Good.
“I don’t know when it happened,” he says honestly. “But somewhere along the way, you just…”
Became important.
The words stay stuck somewhere in his throat.
But Oikawa seems to hear them anyway.
His eyes soften immediately.
“So yeah,” Iwaizumi says finally, heat crawling back up his neck. “I meant it.”
For a second, neither of them moves.
Then Oikawa steps closer carefully.
Like he’s afraid this might disappear if he moves too fast.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly.
And that—
That nearly destroys Iwaizumi on the spot.
Because after all the flirting and teasing and touching, Oikawa is still asking.
Like this matters.
Like Iwaizumi matters.
So instead of answering, Iwaizumi grabs the front of his hoodie and pulls him forward.
The kiss is warm immediately.
Not dramatic.
Not frantic.
Oikawa makes a soft surprised sound against his mouth before kissing him back properly, hands sliding instinctively to Iwaizumi’s waist like they belong there.
And maybe they do.
Iwaizumi feels Oikawa smiling halfway through the kiss.
“Don’t laugh,” he mutters against his mouth.
“I’m happy,” Oikawa whispers back.
The honesty in his voice makes something ache painfully in Iwaizumi’s chest.
So he kisses him again.
Slower this time. More careful.
Oikawa’s fingers slide into his hair gently while snow continues tapping softly against the apartment windows outside.
When they finally pull apart, they stay close enough that their foreheads rest together naturally.
Oikawa looks unfairly soft like this.
His lips pink.
Eyes warm.
Hair messy from melted snow and Iwaizumi’s hands.
Then quietly:
“Hi.”
Iwaizumi stares at him.
“…What.”
Oikawa smiles a little. “I don’t know. Feels like I should say something.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah,” Oikawa says softly. “But I’m your idiot now.”
Iwaizumi groans immediately while Oikawa laughs against his shoulder, pulling him closer anyway.