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✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Hajime, overly keen and too restless to do anything else while he’s waiting, decides he’ll arrive early to his date—only to see Oikawa already sitting at one of the rear tables inside the cafe. He checks his watch, blinking hard to confirm that he’s reading the digital screen correctly.
10:30am. Exactly thirty minutes earlier than the agreed upon time, which Hajime definitely got right because he put it in his phone calendar and wrote it down on his desk calendar.
(After he’d punched the air out of excitement when the call ended, but still.)
Hajime’s a student athlete with a full schedule; he’s got his work-outs, practice, games and classes mapped out by the hour. There’s at least five active alarms in his phone at all times—he doesn’t have the luxury of playing anything by ear. So, he’s absolutely certain they agreed to meet at eleven and even more certain that he’s already way too early himself. And yet—
The bell over the door jingles as he pulls it open. Oikawa’s head jerks up with a speed that looks painful on his neck and his eyes are blown wide, like a petrified baby deer about to get hit by a car.
Hajime’s heart skips in his chest. Cute.
“Please don’t tell me I got the time wrong,” he opts to open with, pulling out the seat across the table and sitting down.
“No! No, of course not,” Oikawa squeaks, a deep red flush appearing high on his cheekbones. Hajime tracks the way it spreads to his ears and thinks again, so cute. “Definitely 11:00am.”
“So what time did you get here, then?”
Oikawa looks like he’s mulling what should be a simple answer over in his head. “I, um, don’t remember. But I promise it wasn’t long before you, Iwaizumi-san.”
Hajime catches the eye of the barista operating the machine just behind Oikawa’s head, who shakes her head solemnly as if to say he’s lying. He’s been here for an hour, which Hajime can’t confirm but it seems obvious by the way her eyes keep flitting towards the Opening Hours sign on the door.
He elects not to needle Oikawa further than necessary since he looks seconds from falling onto the floor again, which he’s sure they’d both like to avoid. Oikawa’s dressed in a crisp looking button-up, layered with a sweater and a rich, blue peacoat over it and his long legs are clad in dark brown pants. Even his shoes look like he’s about to walk into an interview, and Hajime wonders if maybe he’s underdressed or if Oikawa just always cleans up this well for dates.
Hajime himself is dressed in his nicest jeans with a blouson style jacket over his hoodie, which he felt was appropriate for the winter chill and didn’t look too much like he was pacing back and forth the entire night before.
(Matsukawa talked him out of wearing a button-up while they were on the phone last night, teasing that he’d look like a salaryman on his way to work. You’re the star athlete of the college, Iwaizumi. You need to look cool, he’d said in his typical, unbothered drawl. Not like a fifty year old office worker. Buttoned shirts are lame.
Saboteur.)
He forcibly drags his eyes away from the flushed, long expanse of Oikawa’s neck and responds, “If you say so. You don’t have to call me Iwaizumi-san, by the way. Just Iwaizumi’s okay, or even Iwa if that’s too long.”
“Iwa…” says Oikawa, like he’s being held at gunpoint, “—cha—I mean, Iwa-san! Oh god, sorry.” He lets out a pained noise. “I’m so sorry. I meant to say Iwa-san.”
Hajime can’t contain the bark of laughter that comes out of his mouth. “No, no. Let’s go with Iwa-chan. I like it.” He gives Oikawa’s foot a light kick under the table, trying to shake the mortified look from his face. “I insist.”
Oikawa ducks his head low and says back, “Okay then, I-Iwa-chan.” His voice is extremely muffled from behind his hand but it hits Hajime’s ears like a shot ringing through the night and he has to fight for his life to not spontaneously combust into flames on the spot.
A little over eight months ago, Hajime attended his first class for the semester—one of the rare few that required his in-person attendance. At the end of that class, he returned a dropped notebook to another student and promptly fell head over heels.
Hajime considered himself taller than average height and he’d always dated slightly shorter, but this was the first time he realised he didn’t actually mind looking up at someone. There was something electrifying in the way those warm brown eyes looked down that slightly upturned nose, as Hajime stood straight and still wasn’t matched in height. And Oikawa not saying anything only emboldened Hajime to reach out and touch him—wrapped those delicate long fingers around the returned notebook in a way he hoped came across as charming and not unpleasantly forward.
He couldn’t shake the memory of Oikawa’s high cheekbones, dusted in that lovely, deep red hue from his mind. He’d never been so taken by someone before, especially one that only gazed deeply into his eyes without a single word in response. Hajime liked to think he was an open book with no secrets to hide, but the intensity of Oikawa’s stare made him feel exposed, stripped bare, seen.
It was a feeling Hajime found he wanted to become familiar with—as often as possible.
The attraction had been immediate but indescribable, even as Matsukawa prodded and poked him for answers when he’d been zoning out during practice afterwards. He copped two spikes to the face and moved a little too slow to receive some serves that afternoon—all because his brain had been flooded with recollections of an encounter that lasted only two minutes.
When he tried to articulate his features to Matsukawa—at first only using the words handsome, so handsome, really pretty, doe-eyed and setter’s hands but I have no idea if he actually plays before providing details that were actually helpful, his vice captain readily supplied the information he was looking for.
“His name is Oikawa. Think he’s doing a double degree,” Matsukawa told him, mouth full of half-chewed pork buns; the generous price Hajime paid for his knowledge. “He’s pretty much always at the library with law and business textbooks.”
(How his vice captain seems to know everybody and their business is still beyond Hajime. Frankly, at this point in their friendship he’s not sure he wants to know—especially if it involves some sort of shady side hustle that could get them expelled. However, Hajime’s not about looking a gift horse in the mouth; he’d never been more grateful for Matsukawa’s infinite connections.)
So consequently, Hajime frequented his regular hangout spots a little less over the next few weeks in favour of loitering around the library, hoping to catch Oikawa there but to no avail. He didn’t think Matsukawa had necessarily been wrong about Oikawa spending time in the library but it seemed that since they’d met each other, Oikawa just stopped being in that one place for whatever reason—making it harder for Hajime to see him again. And when months went by, he didn’t even have a spare moment to think about what he wanted to say to Oikawa because his schedule had become so ridiculously complicated as he prepared for matches and exams at the same time.
Then one day, without fanfare, the stars aligned to let the opportunity fall into his lap.
All it took was the coincidence of Hajime catching an earlier train than usual and turning to his left to exit at his stop, even though the doors on the other side were much closer.
If he caught his normal train that day—if he’d turned right, he would’ve gone home without seeing Oikawa right then and there. Maybe Oikawa would’ve still fainted, but Hajime wouldn’t have been there to leave his jacket, quickly scrawl his number onto an old flyer in his bag and tuck it into the pocket, ready to be found.
And a number of things could’ve gone wrong from there, including but not limited to Oikawa dismissing the note altogether, or Oikawa returning his jacket to a teammate instead of directly to him, or Oikawa showing up at his game with a girlfriend or with his eight-foot-tall hunk of a boyfriend just to publicly turn Hajime down—but they didn’t. It all worked out by some grace, and now Hajime gets to sit across from a boy he’s been trying to ask out for the better half of a year.
His hands twitch, the urge to punch the air out of excitement as strong as ever but he maintains his composure. He’s cool. He can continue to be cool.
A waitress approaches their table with a notepad and pen in her hands. “May I take your order?”
“Black coffee for me, please,” Hajime says. “Do you want yours with milk, Oikawa? Or do you want tea? It’s on me, so order whatever you like.”
“Oh—I, uh… I actually don’t drink coffee. So, maybe just a glass of water. If that’s okay.”
Hajime blanches. “What do you mean you don’t drink coffee?”
Oikawa fiddles with the sleeve of his coat. “I don’t—I’ve never really been into coffee. But it’s fine, really! You can still have your—”
“Sorry,” Hajime interrupts, turning back to the waitress. “Can I get that black coffee to go instead? We’ll be leaving soon.” Looks back at Oikawa and asks, “Do you want anything to go?”
The waitress takes her leave when Oikawa declines. “We don’t have to leave, Iwaiz—Iwa-chan,” he stresses, sincerely apologetic even though Hajime was the one who fucked this up.
He shakes his head. “It’s my bad. I should’ve asked if there was somewhere else you preferred to go instead. I’m really messing up this whole first date thing, huh?”
Oikawa’s cheeks bloom like roses again. Hajime resists the itch to do something stupid like lean over and plant a kiss on them, instead standing up to pay at the counter and collect the steaming paper cup. He waits for Oikawa to get up from his seat before walking ahead to the door, then holds it open for the other man to step through.
“I feel terrible for making you wait at a cafe when you hate coffee,” Hajime says as he lets the door fall shut. He takes a sip of his drink, the warmth and the richness of the coffee settling on his tastebuds.
“I didn’t say I hated coffee!” Oikawa blurts, his hand flying up to his mouth when he realises his volume. “Sorry—I just haven’t had it in a while. I promise I would’ve still enjoyed the cafe. I’m not that particular.”
Hajime leads them out of the entryway with a chuckle, masking his surprise at the burst of energy. “It’d be okay if you were. Should we do something else instead? Where do you normally like to go for dates?”
“I actually…” Oikawa’s voice is small as he picks at his jacket again and quietly admits, “I actually haven’t been on a date before.”
For the second time in ten minutes, Hajime’s head whips around to face Oikawa in shock. “This is your first date? Ever?”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “I’m not popular like you, you know,” he huffs. “Not everyone can be good-looking and asked out on a weekly basis like Iwa-chan.”
Hajime weighs up how badly he’d be fumbling his chances if he just started sprinting down the street and shouting at the top of his lungs to burn off the sudden rush of exhilaration he feels at hearing Oikawa call him good-looking. He ultimately chooses to curb the impulse because he does want another date and it won’t happen if Oikawa thinks he can’t be normal about taking a compliment.
(He can’t. He’s so not normal about this.)
“No, no, it just means I have to up my game. It’s a big milestone. Gotta make it memorable,” he replies at last, biting the inside of his cheek. If he has anything to do with it, Hajime will make their next and any subsequent dates memorable too. And if he’s being extremely optimistic, Oikawa won’t need to compare anyone else to him. “Let’s do something fun.”
He takes a moment to think about what’s nearby, then turns back to Oikawa with a smile.
“Do you like arcades?”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
If keeping his cool improved his chances, then getting his ass handed to him by the person he’s trying to impress shot them dead in the water again.
Hajime’s great at video games. He’s been playing them since he got a Nintendo 64 console when he was a kid and even kicks everyone’s ass in Super Smash Bros. when the club plays together. It’s not like he intended to give Oikawa a full thrashing on a first date—that definitely wouldn’t earn him a second one, but he did think he’d be able to show off at least a little.
Oikawa, as it turns out, is on a whole other level.
Granted, Hajime does manage to salvage his tattered reputation on the basketball and skee-ball machines, but Oikawa doesn’t even have the tact to look remorseful when he roundhouses Hajime’s character into oblivion in Street Fighter II. Or when his score displays on the Space Invaders screen, a whopping thousand points ahead. Or when the Game Over graphic appears on his side while Oikawa’s still mowing down zombies in The House of the Dead.
It’s unreal. It’s a little humiliating and a lot humbling. Hajime’s never been bested like this before, not even when he’s facing off against his chronically online libero, but the triumphant smirk on Oikawa’s face soothes the sting of his losses.
“Another round?” Oikawa crows, wielding the plastic gun with a mirthful glint in his eye.
He’s so damn cute.
Hajime throws his hands up and concedes defeat. “If we go again, I won’t have any ego left for you to crush.”
“Only you and I know about your losing streak, since these electronic ones don’t give tickets.” Oikawa says, placing the attachment back in the machine’s holster. “I have nothing but my bragging rights, Iwa-chan!”
“And those are worthless in this economy,” Hajime counters, laughing when Oikawa shoots him an indignant look. He gestures towards the service counter on the other side of the arcade and waves around his winnings. “Come on, let’s go see what we can get for these.”
Oikawa falls into step with him, his long legs allowing him to cover more ground with each stride. He’s almost making an active effort not to speed ahead, which Hajime finds insanely sweet—much like everything else Oikawa does.
“So, is this really your first date?” Hajime asks, then realises what a stupid question that must sound like. “Ah, I don’t mean that to be insensitive. I’m just surprised.”
Oikawa looks down at his shoes. “What’s surprising? I spend all my time studying for my courses. I don’t really… socialise like that.”
“That makes sense. Being at college is pretty demanding,” Hajime agrees. Something still doesn’t add up. “But you never went out with anyone in high-school? Are you the type to normally turn down confessions?”
“Yes, because there’s obviously a line of people I’m beating away with a stick. Who can resist a pretty boy like me?” Oikawa scoffs, voice high and light like he really means it. The sarcasm is layered so naturally that Hajime wouldn’t be surprised if he did mean it, if it hadn’t been accompanied by the heaviest eye-roll in existence.
Hajime had already been incredibly fond of Oikawa from that first meeting alone. He’d been so shy, and he’d passed out twice in their subsequent conversations—which Hajime is yet to discover if it's due to low blood sugar, poor iron levels or just Oikawa being easily overwhelmed. The deeper facets of Oikawa’s self beneath the withdrawn and timid exterior have been showing themselves more and more as their first date goes on.
He’s kind of… immature. And unexpectedly, really funny. And terribly, terribly endearing.
But it’s really still just the surface that they’ve scratched. Hajime wants to know more about this obviously witty, smart, and passionate personality that’s hidden behind these walls. He wants Oikawa to trust him with it—he wants to uncover all of it.
Oikawa’s face reddens when Hajime doesn’t instantly respond, but it’s because he has to turn his whole body away. He covers his face with both hands, feeling his lips stretch and stretch into what feels like a mile-wide grin because god, he’s into Oikawa. He is so horrendously down bad that he feels like a live swarm of bees just walking beside him.
Turning back, he peers down at Oikawa’s hand swaying by his side, so close and too far at the same time, and wonders if he’ll get to kiss Oikawa at the end of the date.
“Sorry,” Oikawa mumbles bashfully. “That was bad.”
Hajime drags his palm across the lower half of his face and grabs himself by the bolt of his jaw, fingers trying but failing to suppress his delight. “Not at all. I didn’t hear a no though, so I’m gonna assume you are leaving a trail of broken hearts somewhere.”
Oikawa frantically shakes his head. “No way. Iwa-chan’s the one who’s always turning down confessions,” he says, then lets out a squeak. “N-not that I’m following you around or anything! I just always hear… everyone’s always talking about you.”
“Well, yeah. That’s because I’ve been into this law student for a while,” he teases as they come to a stop in front of the counter. “Tall, nice hair. Looks cute in glasses. Prone to fainting. Ring any bells?”
Before Oikawa can respond (and before Hajime can overthink his incredibly brazen shot), the attendant behind on the other side of the display offers him an out by immediately making her way over and greeting them warmly.
Hajime takes his time to browse as he wills his heart to calm down. There’s a lot to choose from, but his eyes end up repeatedly wandering back to the Godzilla can badge sitting in the top left corner. He decides to glance over at Oikawa, who has faint traces of pink over his bridge and his own gaze fixated on something in the display. Hajime follows his line of sight to—
A glow-in-the-dark spaceship keychain. Huh.
Without hesitation, Hajime points to it in the window and asks the worker, “Can I get this one right here, please?”
Oikawa’s head whips up as he exchanges the tickets over the counter. “Iwa-chan, you like spaceships too?!”
In his mind, Hajime crashes down onto his knees and dies a swift death from the fatal impact of Oikawa’s utterly adorable outburst. In reality, he holds the keychain over Oikawa’s hands until he gets the hint to open his palms, and Hajime drops the gift in.
“Nope. But I thought you might like it.”
“For me?!” Oikawa splutters, holding the little charm in his hands like a baby animal. “Are you sure?!”
Hajime nods. “Consider it a bribe to keep it a secret that you kicked my ass so bad today. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Oikawa’s sparkling eyes meet his, bright and ecstatic over this small acrylic trinket like it's a treasure to be revered. “Thank you,” he beams. Instead of putting it in his pocket like Hajime thought he would, Oikawa securely fastens the chain to his first belt loop on the right, grinning widely when the spaceship swishes with movement. “I love it. A very fair price to pay for my silence.”
Hajime feels his heart threatening to push through his ribcage with how intensely it's beating. He’s so thankful that he’s an ear and neck blusher because otherwise he’d have taken a page out of Oikawa’s playbook and been completely red in the face by now.
But he wants to see that expression again. And he wants to be the reason for it—for as long as possible.
As Hajime does a mental speed-run through ways of making that happen, he suddenly remembers the claw-machine they passed at the entrance of the arcade. He looks back over his shoulder now, confirming that the giant plush of a fluorescent green alien head is still sitting unclaimed in the middle of the prize pit. Those games are rigged to be borderline impossible, but not for Hajime. It lays itself out like an opportunity.
A chance for redemption.
A chance to make Oikawa look at him like that again.
“Hey,” he says, pointing towards the entry. “If I can win the prize from that machine, how about we rematch for those bragging rights?”
There’s a mix of apprehension and intrigue in Oikawa’s features. “And if you lose?”
Hajime grins. “I won’t.”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
A lengthy and hilarious discussion about extra terrestrial life forms, an intermission for lunch and another few hours of losing horribly in the electronic games section later, Hajime walks Oikawa to the train station with the evening sun setting behind them. The streets are coloured red, orange and pink, and the backdrop makes Oikawa look like something out of a dream.
Hajime really did have a nice time today. He learned so many things about Oikawa, like how he has an infinite amount of interests, one sister and a constant craving for milk bread. He heard about how Oikawa wanted to be an astronaut when he was younger, but gave up on the dream when he found out that his vision couldn’t be corrected enough to make the cut. He listened as Oikawa told him how he still loves all things space and aliens, even if he is studying to become a lawyer now.
So many things, and Hajime still wants to hear more—greedy for everything Oikawa wants to share with him.
He doesn’t want the day to end even if they’ve already spent half of it together, but Oikawa mentioned his upcoming assessments in passing and Hajime tried to suppress his reluctance at wrapping it up so that Oikawa could have adequate time to study.
“I had a lot of fun today,” Hajime says as they stand side by side on the platform.
—with you. I’ve never had this much fun on a date before.
I’ve never liked someone this much, this quickly.
Oikawa smiles in response, cheeks still tinged with the colour of peonies but less shaky, more comfortable than he was back in the cafe. The claw game prize is tucked securely under his arm, keychain dangling from his belt loop. “Me too. Thank you for taking me on this date, Iwa-chan.” The nickname comes smoother now, like he’s been saying it since childhood. Hajime feels relief settle over him like a warm blanket.
There’s two minutes before the train’s due to arrive. The platform is starting to get a little busy, with more people coming to stand behind the gates and surrounding them. Someone’s backpack brushes Oikawa, who apologises and is jostled a step closer into Hajime’s space. There’s a mother crouched to his left, fixing the strap of her daughter’s shoe. He might knock her if he steps back.
“I wouldn’t mind if we… if we could do this. Again,” says Oikawa.
We will, Hajime promises in his head. As many times as you want.
One minute. The platform’s almost full.
But in this pocket, it’s just Hajime and his thunderously loud heart standing less than an arm’s length away from someone he’s had a crush on for almost a year now.
His blood thrums with anticipation. There’s been other times, other moments just like this that haven’t mattered to him half as much as this one. All the cells in his body are saying now, now, now.
There are chimes ringing all around as his hand moves towards Oikawa’s, who turns to look at him with those wide, beautiful eyes—the ones that make Hajime want to give him everything he could ever want.
They’re so close. The small breaths from Oikawa’s mouth carry the scent of the cotton candy they picked up at the arcade from earlier. His fingers fit perfectly into the spaces between Oikawa’s. They need to be closer.
Hajime looks down at the arch of his cupid’s bow before flicking his gaze back up, Oikawa’s eyes mirroring the action. He hopes this is okay. He wants desperately for it to be okay, for Oikawa to want it just as badly. Hajime holds back, a meaningless but excruciating inch away, just in case it’s not okay.
He thinks, I’ll catch you if you do, but please don’t faint—
Then he tilts his chin up to close the distance and finally does what he’s been dying to do for hours now, and since that first day in April; he kisses Oikawa.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
(Oikawa doesn’t faint. He doesn’t pull away.
He presses closer, lips tentative and soft and sugary-sweet against Hajime’s, and Hajime melts to mush inside.
The train leaves without them. It’s okay. It’s better than okay.
It’s perfect.)
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧