Chapter Text
He misses her.
It isn’t the kind of longing that makes him not want to leave his bed because god forbid he is a busy man, with so many things to do, projects to finish, exams to ace and homework to fulfill… so many things in his mind, but he does miss her.
It isn’t like he is lonely. He has friends who shamelessly pester him whenever they can, dropping by unannounced and unwelcome in his apartment bringing food and beer, to appease him. The conversations and laughters are there to distract him. And yes, he appreciates the company, but he still misses her.
It isn’t even on the moments he was supposed to. Like going home to an empty apartment, with the lights and the heater turned off, pronouncing the cold even more because apart from the actual winter cold, there is a certain person whose warmth is missing. That one, he can prepare for—he goes home later than usual, when he’s too tired to think and feel and even wonder what’s amiss, no—
Instead, it’s on those small annoying moments that the absence is greatly felt. The steaming coffee waiting for him in the morning, that is always, always too sweet for his taste, but he still drinks it anyway. The smell of vanilla in her shampoo. The way laughs and her eyes light up whenever she watches the reruns of a bad sitcom that she still watches. That and all the other sounds she makes, the way her body moves, the way her toes curl… the way her lips taste. He misses her so bad.
He’ll blame the feelings from familiarity—when’s the last time he had someone to care for, save for himself? Granted, they were not in a relationship, but they didn’t need that. Both of them decided back then that putting labels on what they have will just make things complicatedThat is fine because Iwaizumi Hajime doesn’t do romance.
That is probably one of the stupidest decisions he ever made as a young adult. Labels are made for a reason—it means that the other person can’t just run off with someone else because what you had has become an inconvenience. It means, he has the right to feel jealous when she came home one night to tell him she fell in love with someone and wishes to move out. Iwaizumi could have cursed her, he could have gotten mad—but he knew he couldn’t. It’s not her fault that she found something she couldn’t find in him. In truth, maybe it’s also his fault. Relationships are messy and he’s not sure if he could handle one, back then.
But he is stubborn as hell and Iwaizumi will be damned if he even allowed himself to admit it. He thinks bitterly about the last time they talked and feels instantly pathetic because he understands how different their relationship had become. They used to be made up of hushed voices, stolen kisses—now, they’re just an impatient phone call.
The conversation they had then is brief—she basically asked him if she left some of her books in his apartment. She didn’t, he had told her—and that’s it. Ever since the two of them broke up, if he can even call it that, he focused his attention in other things, he’s a medicine student and is in line for a residency in a year or two. He’s busy and he doesn’t have time for any relationship.
Yet, he finds himself sitting in his study, staring at his reflection on his phone, white noise ringing in his ear, wishing he could hear her voice. Which is impossible, he knows. Just when that thought crossed his mind, his phone comes alive with a call. He answers it in panic, hearth in his throat, mind full of thoughts of a certain brunette.
“Yo, Iwa.”
Of course, it’s not her. He sighs heavily, “What do you want, Issei?”
“Ouch. You can at least try to pretend you don’t hate me.”
He’s right. It’s not Matsukawa’s fault that he’s broken hearted and he also knows that he’s being a little bit of an ass. His friend doesn’t wait for an actual apology, “Hanamaki and I are going out for drinks.”
“Hmn…”
“That is supposedly an invitation, asshole.” Matsukawa says impatiently.
“Well, I don’t want to.”
“We’re picking you up in ten minutes.”
He frowns. Matsukawa and Issei’s dormitories are on the other side of town. “Oi, what do you mean?”
Matsukawa huffs like he is being an idiot—on hindsight, maybe he was—“It means we’re on our way to rescue you from your misery, you pathetic human.”
He hears a snicker in the background, probably Hanamaki. “I don’t want to.” He still says.
“Well either we drag you out your unshowered ass in your awful shirt and sweats or you get a move on and prepare to get hammered.” This time, it’s Hanamaki’s voice he hears, probably grabbed the phone from Matsukawa seeing as he is not going anywhere near in convincing Iwaizumi.
Hanamaki, he knows, has always been the most persistent. But he doesn’t want to go out. He doesn’t want to because he has some papers to still write and he doesn’t want to spend another night being the third wheel in a date. He doesn’t want to be dragged into another god forsaken place with Hanamaki and Matsukawa telling him he needs to cut loose. He doesn’t want it—
So he doesn’t understand why he had dragged himself to the shower, pulled on some decent clothes (by decent, it means a dark shirt under his favorite denim hoody and the black pants Hanamaki always complimented him in) and is now sitting in front of his two friends, watching them unabashedly make out.
The bar they had dragged him into is one of the more exclusive ones in their town, the one with two levels and an actual DJ playing a track. Hanamaki got them a good seat on the second floor, winking that it’s from a client who owns the place. Iwaizumi has half a mind to ask what the guy really does for a living but whenever he does, the guy just gives him a knowing smile and moves on as if he didn’t ask the question. Iwaizumi thinks he is either selling drugs or his body and knowing Hanamaki, he won’t be surprised if he does both.
The second floor is for people who likes to chill and relax while watching the chaos of the first floor dancefloor where all the young people are mashing themselves together in a poor attempt to dance. Still, there is a hint of the pounding music spilling on their floor but not loud enough to not hear the scandalous sounds coming from his two friends. Iwaizumi sighs, thanking God that people around them are either used to seeing that or are not really interested about two grown men making out because nobody seems to be paying them attention.
He grunts in annoyance when he noticed Hanamaki begin to straddle Matsukawa’s waist as they continue to lock lips. He picks up his glass and throws back the remaining bourbon down his throat. It stings but pays it no mind, focusing instead on the bodies swaying down at the dancefloor noticing his vision is a bit fuzzy already.
It’s just my third glass. He isn’t a heavy drinker per se, but if he will stay in the presence of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, he knows he needs a little bit more alcohol. He excuses himself from their table, Matsukawa gesturing him to go with his hand even when Hanamaki is busy mouthing on his neck. Gross.
He moves towards the bar, sits down on an empty stool and gestures at the bespectacled and blonde bartender with a snooty face. The guy blinks at him disapprovingly and says something about holding back but Iwaizumi grunts in response. The guy doesn’t say anything more, he just sighs and moves to prepare his drink.
He is about to give the bartender some cash when another hand appears beside him holding out a card, “Put it on my tab,Tsukki.” Tsukki sighs and nods, taking the card from the hand. He looks over to the extended hand and its master. It’s a tall guy with a stupidly megawatt friendly smile, brown sparkling eyes and fluffy brown hair, bouncing with his every move.
Iwaizumi is sure he has seen that face somewhere.
“Oikawa Tooru.” The man says picking up Iwaizumi’s drink and handing it to him, “Here.” Iwaizumi frowns because he has definitely heard that name before but couldn’t remember where. Instead, he mutters, “Why?” Oikawa just shrugs and sits on the stool beside him, “You just look like you need it.”
Iwaizumi finally looks at him, noticing how annoyingly flashy his clothes are—a pristine white coat decorated with mint and silver trimmings over a black tight-fitting low-cut shirt that exposes the milky white skin of his chest; black leather pants showing the curve of his ass—too tight, that wearing them should be illegal and those flashy buckled boots that add a couple bit more inches to his height, as if he needed more. Iwaizumi’s first thoughts will have to be is this guy for real? He figures that if someone else is wearing those clothes, it would have looked like the monstrosity that it is—but somehow, Oikawa looks gorgeous. He is too beautiful to be a guy, really.
Oikawa seems to appreciate Iwaizumi’s eyes drinking him in, but says nothing of it. Maybe he is drunk, because he usually doesn’t just accept free drinks from a stranger, let alone, someone as obnoxiously as the guy, but he takes the drink anyway and grumbles a soft thanks.
A minute of silence passes before Oikawa speaks again, “So, you have a name?” Iwaizumi just wants to get away from the bar and simply not talk, but he figures he could tell the man his name… he did buy me a drink. “Iwaizumi Hajime.” He says. Oikawa hums in response, “That’s a mouthful. I think I’ll just call you Iwa-chan.”
He sputters on his drink and glares at Oikawa who seems pretty pleased with himself, “Oi, don’t go giving strangers nicknames that easily.” Oikawa grins at him, “But you’re not a stranger anymore, you just told me your name and I already bought you a drink. So officially, this could be our first date, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi gives the man a blank stare. What? Oikawa is still smiling at him—and it’s both beautiful and annoying at the same time. Oikawa, noticing the lack of response, frowns, “What’s wrong, Iwa-chan? I know I’m pretty, but you don’t look half as bad yourself.” Iwaizumi will not acknowledge the heat rising up to his face with that compliment especially when Oikawa adds, “I mean, you could use some nicer clothes but…”
Coming from a guy who dresses like a wannabe popstar.
“Has anybody told you, you have a shitty personality?” Iwaizumi snaps. Oikawa pauses, then he chuckles at Iwaizumi, “That’s the most reaction I’ve seen you do tonight, Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi is just stunned at how selfishly confident this person is—like he’s only hearing things he wants to hear.
Iwaizumi turns away and looks back at the bar, drinking half of his glass in one go. His head begins throbbing and he catches the eyes of the bartender who apparently has been eavesdropping at their conversation. The look the blonde gives him is pure pity. Fucking hell. He can feel the assault of an oncoming headache already—and he’s not even sure if it’s from consuming too much alcohol or something…someone else.
“You want to dance?” Oikawa’s voice singsongs the question and Iwaizumi wants to growl at him to just let him be. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” he finally asks.
Oikawa hums as if in contemplation, but instead of an answer, he smiles once again and says, “Don’t you want to dance with me?”
Iwaizumi looks at the man right in front of him—he is indeed gorgeous, but pompous as hell. He opens his mouth to tell him, no but Oikawa doesn’t even wait for his response, suddenly, a hand yanks his wrist and before he can react, he is being pulled out of the stool and across the floor towards the stairs.
Iwaizumi stares at the man’s ass, thinking, why the hell does he have to look this gorgeous. Or maybe he’s drunk. Yeah, he definitely is drunk.
“I have company.” He says softly and Oikawa stops, regards him for a while with a worried look. Somehow, Iwaizumi decides, that look doesn’t suit well on Oikawa’s pretty face. He mentally curses himself for being too generous with flowery words for Oikawa, gorgeous, beautiful, pretty—he needs to learn to control himself goddamit. “You mean another date?” Oikawa’s voice is a bit unsure and the hand holding Iwaizumi’s wrist twitches. Iwaizumi doesn’t like the sound of it.
“My friends.” He fills in immediately, somehow, afraid that Oikawa will break away, why? He doesn’t know. His eyes move towards the table he vacated minutes ago where Matsukawa and Hanamaki who has thankfully stopped kissing each other, are now engaged in feeding each other with some nachos. Great friends, he mutters inwardly.
Oikawa’s eyes follow his line of sight and hums, “They look busy.”
Of course they are, Iwaizumi hates them so much. He doubts they even bothered looking for him. When those two are together, they get consumed with each other almost entirely which is why he hates going out with them.
Oikawa is dragging him again towards the dance floor and he has no choice but to follow. Unlike on the second floor, the first floor is ultimate chaos—the noise, the heat. There are bodies everywhere and if he is a wee bit claustrophobic, he might have had a damn panic attack.
He is being pulled and pushed everywhere and on the third time Oikawa lost his grip on him and found him again, Iwaizumi makes the choice to hold his hand and interlace their fingers together. It’s not supposed to mean anything—it’s just more convenient that way. But when Oikawa looks back at him with a surprised expression, followed by a satisfied smile, a certain kind of warmth fills him.
Oikawa pulls him into the middle of the dancefloor as a new wave of song begins. The guy places his hands on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, chuckling as if Iwaizumi needs more obvious proof that he is smaller than the guy. It doesn’t matter now, because Oikawa moves his hands to guide Iwaizumi’s hands to his hips before moving back up again.
The bass is thrumming in Iwaizumi’s ear the heat surrounding him is inescapable. That doesn’t compare however, to the burning fire inside him which is definitely not because of the way Oikawa is grinding against him, mouth against his ear, warm breath making him shudder. Oikawa is livid, his laughter rises above the noise of everything and despite the low light, Iwaizumi can see the way his eyes sparkle with mirth.
“You’re cute, Iwa-chan.” He doesn’t register Oikawa’s voice at first, not when the said guy places his leg between Iwaizumi’s thighs and rubs his groin against it. Iwaizumi almost groans but he bites his lips and grits his teeth, digging his fingers on Oikawa’s hips. He is not dancing, at all, but Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind—content of grinding against a human pole.
Oikawa raises his hand to touch his cheek and Iwaizumi’s drunk self almost leans into the touch. Almost. Oikawa chuckles, “It’s cute how you try to resist me.” The moment he says that, Oikawa turns from his hold and grinds his ass against Iwaizumi’s hardening length—which when did it happen? Iwaizumi bites down a gasp, finds Oikawa’s hips again and pulls on him tighter. Oikawa looks back at him with a smile, “You do find me irresistible, don’t you, Iwa-chan?”
Iwaizumi is not thinking anymore, when Oikawa turns around and reaches for him, opening his mouth to say something again, Iwaizumi jumps right in, covering that stupid mouth with his own. He swallows the gasp that escapes from Oikawa before he feels the soft lips moving against his. A probing tongue enters his mouth and he match it with his own, coiling and tasting each other. Lime, cherry and vodka. That awful concoction must have been what Oikawa’s drinking tonight and he can taste it clearly in their tongues.
Their bodies rubbing against each other in a heated dance and he feels their erections through their pants. Oikawa’s hands are on his hair, tugging and pulling as he groans into submission. Iwaizumi loves it—the way the man’s body is reacting, the way he sounds. It’s been so long since he’s been intimate with someone, let alone a guy. God, he is making out with a guy. When they pull away from each other, Oikawa’s eyes are glassy but for the first time in the night, he’s speechless.
Not for long, he grins—his swollen, wet lips glistening against the light, “You sure as hell could kiss.”
Fuck him and his stupid mouth. Iwaizumi wants to spat out but he’s way too drunk and too horny to really say anything. “Let’s go.” Oikawa says again, tugging him away from the crowd and out of the bar.
“Where are we going?” He manages to ask against the pounding music.
Oikawa smiles and stops in his steps. He moves closer to Iwaizumi, whispering in his ear, “My apartment is just a few blocks away from here.” He grins, “I just want you to fuck me senseless.” He flicks his tongue against Iwaizumi’s earlobe and the latter shudders in response.
Iwaizumi looks at the way their hands are interlaced together. Maybe this is what he needs. A good fuck and he’ll be back to normal.
...to be continued...