“Blooming in my heart,
This rose…
Is tearing me apart!
This rose…
Look up at the stars
And I know…
That no matter where I go,
This rose will always grow…”
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
“That’s a wrap!”
The studio director signalled for the crew to start shutting everything down. Outside of the live room, they set about packing away equipment, locking it all up securely as the door unlocked. Oikawa Tooru stepped out, lips pursed into a thin line to match the withering look in his eyes.
“Why wrap up so early? I thought you wanted to get through more of the album today…” he questioned, a hand resting on his hip.
“Yeah, babe, here’s the thing,” the director, Musashi, began, voice clipped as he paused to light and puff at a cigarette before using it to gesture as he spoke. “I’d really, really love to finish more songs, but your head’s just not in the game today. In fact, your head’s been off ricochetin’ through the cosmos all week. This is the first successful recordin’ we been able to finish in days. You let me know when you’re ready to take on the rest o’ this album an’ I’ll be more than happy to throw ya a bone, but ‘til then, I ain’t got the time to waste.”
Oikawa wrinkled his nose as the smoke wafted toward him with every wave of the man’s hand, having to turn his head away more than once and hold his breath to keep the odor from permeating his sensitive nose and lungs. Still, when Musashi began to walk away, Oikawa nearly tripped over himself to follow, practically chasing the director out of the recording studio and into the hallway.
“But—but what do you mean? I’ve been putting my all into these songs. Besides, I have a deadline,” he reminded the director. “If I don’t put out this album by the end of the year then—”
“Then we’re gonna have to cut ya loose,” Musashi finished, flashing Oikawa a look over his shoulder as he continued to walk briskly toward the lobby. “That’s exactly why I suggest ya get over whatever kinda funk’s got your head all up in the clouds if you wanna keep this record deal. I ain’t puttin’ out a mediocre, half-assed album just so you can stay relevant, kid. If ya ask me, it might be time for a change in career.”
Oikawa’s steps slowed until he came to a stop while Musashi carried on with his daily business, leaving the former idol standing there in the middle of the lobby with his jaw hanging open. A change in career? That was never going to happen. Oikawa loved singing. It was what he’d been doing for as long as he could remember. He had started this career as a teenager in high school—Young Upstart Oikawa Tooru Blows Away Sendai Sun Plaza During Breathtaking Debut; he still remembered the headlines—but even before that, when it was all just school plays and music recitals, he had been devoted. Not only singing, but dancing as well. He was an idol, not just a musician.
Then again, he hadn’t had a live gig in quite some time. When was the last time he’d danced on stage? The last time he made an actual music video? Was this just the beginning of a slippery slope that would soon lead to his entire music career flushing down the gutter like any number of former, washed out tryhards who’d tasted their fifteen seconds of fame before it was all stripped from them until they were only remembered by obscure cliques of fans who stalked their social media profiles and sent them creepy fan letters confessing their undying love and then ended up on the front pages of scandalous news articles for grooming those same underage fans or stumbling into a crippling drug addiction to cope with the tragic reality of their lives?
Oikawa felt lightheaded just thinking about all of that. He numbly walked over to the office water cooler and took several gulps from a cone-shaped cardboard cup until the icy burn in his throat shook him out of his thoughts. Geez, maybe Musashi had a point. Oikawa had been doing that a lot lately, he realized. Getting lost in his own head. While he was singing, he distantly felt good about how it sounded, but thinking back on it, he hadn’t been focused on the lyrics, or his tone, or the emotion behind the musical accompaniment. He’d only been thinking about one thing.
His best friend of many years, Matsukawa Issei, had asked to court him last weekend. Oikawa had done the only thing he could think of in that moment: he ran. Yes, he literally turned around and ran in the opposite direction. It was the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done and that was saying quite a bit, considering he did a lot of stupid, embarrassing things back in high school. Especially when his career as an idol first took off.
But what was he supposed to do in a situation like that? It wasn’t that he disliked Matsukawa—quite the opposite, actually—and it wasn’t as if he were unattractive. Matsukawa was an alpha through and through: strong, intelligent, kind, passionate about the things he loved. Any omega would have been lucky to have him as a mate.
But therein lay the problem. Oikawa was not an omega. He was an alpha. He still couldn’t recall the moment without balking at the ridiculousness of it all, the absolute absurdity of an alpha trying to court another alpha. It wasn’t unheard of, per se, but it was still so rare and appalling in the eyes of society that anyone would have to be mad to pursue such a thing. Oikawa had yet to wrap his head around how, let alone why, Matsukawa had taken such a risk by proposing the idea in the first place.
Oikawa didn’t think any less of him for it, of course. He had always tried to keep an open mind to the idea of non-traditional relationships. After all, he had seen omegas take to other omegas, or stand up against their parents’ wishes and mate with betas rather than alphas. He was no vocal activist or anything of the like (it would only hurt his career to use his platform as a celebrity to voice political opinions), but he had always silently supported those who fought to break free from social norms and challenge the very laws of society. So why, then, should this be any different?
The simple answer was that it wasn’t different, but for the heightened stigma surrounding alpha and alpha relationships. “Disgraceful”, “abominable”, “unspeakable”—these were all words that had been used several times and with great liberty to describe those kinds of dynamics. It wasn’t the same for omegas because they were an oppressed class. When omegas took a stand for themselves, it was considered noble and admirable, which was true. The idea of alphas trying to follow suit and challenge traditional conventions in their own way was not only viewed as patronizing to the omegan cause, but also a direct violation of an alpha’s nature. It was all very hypocritical and brimming with double standards, but that was society for you.
After all, what could an alpha gain from mating with another alpha? Unlike omegas or betas, whose instincts (or lack thereof) allowed them to take solace from any rank including each other as well as summon all the primal strength necessary to protect one another, alphas were naturally competitive, territorial, and could rarely tolerate being in one another’s presence without trying to force them into submission by way of asserting themselves as pack leaders. There were also many who were of the opinion that an alpha was never truly “tamed” until they were bonded to an omega, presuming that bonds could “domesticate” their inner beasts and forge them into rational, normal members of society.
Oikawa was starting to get a headache thinking about all of this. He had left the studio some time ago, preferring to walk home rather than hail a cab. This was why he hadn’t been able to think clearly all week. Matsukawa’s proposition had left his mind a mess of itself, silently arguing the ins and outs of pack culture to himself. Maybe it was his subconsciousness’s way of trying to rationalize it all away until his heart stopped fluttering abnormally every time he thought of Matsukawa and that night.
Gods, and what a night it was. It had been just the two of them, having spent the day together to do some much needed catching up due to their busy schedules keeping them preoccupied. Oikawa had been hoping to see Hanamaki, too, but Matsukawa had mentioned something about his court date coming up and that was all that needed to be said on the matter. So they had the day to themselves and spent it first at the sushi joint they’d been going to since high school; then at the arcade Oikawa hadn’t been to since he was a child where he won himself enough tickets on some space shooter game to earn a stuffed alien toy with much too big a head; and then they went to a public garden as it was nearing sunset to admire the sakura trees, whose petals fluttered endlessly in the breeze.
It was around that time that Oikawa had begun to think about how it had all been eerily similar to a date. Then, on a little bridge crossing a peaceful stream somewhere deep in the garden where no one else was around at that time of day, Matsukawa had taken both of his hands and bared himself to Oikawa. He’d kept his eyes lowered, as if he knew even then just how insane it was to confess to another alpha like that.
And Oikawa had just left. Like a coward he ran, unwilling to face that kind of vulnerability and too blinded by his own fear and insecurities to even think about trying to comfort Matsukawa. What he must have thought, watching his best friend turn tail and flee after sharing such a raw, intimate secret with him. Not only that, but what of his health? What if he—
Some best friend I am, Oikawa thought bitterly as he kicked a stray can that hadn’t quite made it into the trash can on the curb, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. A sharp breeze made him shiver, chill bumps crawling down his arms and his cheeks stinging. It was cold today for autumn and it would only get colder as the weeks progressed. He would have to start dressing warmer if he didn’t want to catch a cold. He was reminded of how Matsukawa had let him borrow his jacket that day, since it had been cold then, too. The jacket he still had folded over the arm of his couch back at his loft apartment. The same jacket that he looked at with guilt every time he came home, then “accidentally” used as a pillow for more than one couch nap throughout the week.
The shitty part was that he didn’t even seek the other alpha’s scent romantically. Having been close friends for so long, Matsukawa’s scent didn’t trigger any aggressive or territorial responses from him, and instead served as a steady anchor in times of distress. In a way, it was as if they were already in a pack, along with Hanamaki, and Kyotani and Yahaba and the rest of their former volleyball team.
Thinking about them brought a smile to Oikawa’s face as he walked. Playing volleyball with all of them had made for some of the best experiences of his life, celebrity fame aside. Their loss at the Spring High Tournament was admittedly soul-crushing enough to pulverize his passion for the game, but he wouldn’t trade the time spent with his team for the world. It worked out in the end, anyway, given how his career as an idol filled the void left behind. Until recently, that is.
Oikawa’s thoughts were running away with him again and so he wasn’t paying a lick of attention to where he was going. Something bumped into his shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble. Before he could stagger into the wall of the building next to him, though, a hand caught his arm and steadied him.
“Shit—sorry about that. You okay?”
He blinked a couple of times, still reeling from being jarred from his thoughts so abruptly, then finally took in the sight of the man who ran into him (he would have thought it to be a wall if the man hadn’t spoken, what with how solid the impact had been). The first thing he noticed was the pair of stormy grey eyes, startling in their intensity despite the concerned, yet vaguely agitated look they carried. Understandable, Oikawa thought, seeing as he had just blindly walked right into him, though he was a little ticked himself that the guy couldn’t have just moved out of his path. He carefully extracted his arm from the other’s hold, dusting himself off.
“I’m fine,” he said, straightening his jacket. “You should watch where you’re going.”
The second thing he noticed was the other’s scent—a powerful, domineering note of woodsmoke mixed with what Oikawa could only describe as wet grass after a heavy storm. An alpha, he noted. He was thus prepared for the sharp click of a tongue that met his callous remark.
“Maybe you should take your own advice. You looked like you were about to tumble out onto the street,” the man said, lifting his chin. Instead of being the better man and shrugging off the obvious bait for an impromptu pissing contest of alpha bravado in the middle of the sidewalk, Oikawa did the opposite of that and straightened his back with a sneer that held a hint of smugness when he noticed he was taller than the other alpha.
“Maybe you should mind your own business. Save the fake chivalry for an omega and shove that apology up your ass,” he snapped back with an all too unnecessary amount of venom. Sue him for being a little on edge after recent events. He didn’t have time for this. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually have places to be.”
He moved to walk past the other then, intent on carrying on his journey back home. He half-regretted not taking a cab now, but he’d been convinced that a nice, long walk in the crisp autumn air would help clear his head better than sulking in the backseat of a smelly cab with an over-social driver who would undoubtedly try to butter him up or something once they recognized him. Now that he thought about it, he was a little miffed that this alpha didn’t seem to know who he was, but he couldn’t expect everyone to be a fan of his genre of music. Or him in general.
“Hey.”
The hand was back on his arm, fingers gripping at him with more purpose this time around. Oikawa’s instincts flared, a growl rumbling low in his throat as the hairs on his arms stood on edge. As if their initial encounter hadn’t soured his mood enough, this guy wanted to start a fight now, too? He spun around with teeth bared and eyes narrowed, expecting to meet a similar expression on the alpha’s face and prepare for a fist to be swung at him. He stopped short, however, when he met those sterling eyes again, which still glinted with annoyance, but reflected an all too serious concern. It was shocking enough to mute the growl in Oikawa’s throat instantly, instead standing there dumbly while the alpha still had a hand on his arm.
“...Wherever you’re going, you should get there quick,” the man said, finally releasing him again and putting a respectable distance between them. “It’s gonna rain soon.”
Brow furrowing, Oikawa hesitantly glanced up, taking note of the dark clouds overhead for the first time. As if on cue, a distant rumble sounded. Seemed like it was going to be a thunderstorm, as well. Oikawa continued to stare up as his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“I didn’t bring an umbrella,” he said, mostly to himself. He thought it wouldn’t rain today. In fact, he was relatively certain the skies had been fairly clear when he left the studio. Surely he wouldn’t have missed a storm rolling in that quickly, would he? He would normally be able to smell it at least an hour before the clouds started to amass. Was he really so lost in thought that he’d been this numb to his surroundings?
“Seriously?” the other alpha remarked in disbelief. “They’ve been calling for this storm all week. It’s blowing in from that hurricane off the coast. You really didn’t bring an umbrella with you?” Oikawa’s attention returned to the alpha, pursing his lips.
“So what if I didn’t? Maybe I like getting caught in the rain.” He did, actually. Usually he planned for it, though, which was counterintuitive to the idea of “getting caught” in anything, but that was besides the point. The alpha raised his eyebrows at him, clearly not convinced. Oikawa huffed and rolled his eyes. “What’s it matter to you, anyway? Get lost already.”
He turned around once more, this time determined to get away, but that was when he felt the first raindrop hit him square on the nose. It startled him enough to halt his steps with a stutter, blinking owlishly up at the sky again. A few more raindrops fell, the only other warning being the ominous drum of rain pouring over the tops of the buildings down the street before it reached them. He heard a muttered curse from behind, followed by the muted flap of something opening, and just as the torrent came crashing down from above, there was an umbrella being held over his head. Along with it came the grating presence of the other alpha standing very close to him all of a sudden. It made Oikawa’s skin crawl.
He glanced at the umbrella, for a moment admiring the white, semi-transparent material decorated with a stark red flower pattern sprawling out from the center. Of course, the finer details were hard to make out against the clouds that had become significantly darker in the span of a few minutes and the constant downpour of rain from above. He turned his head to look at the other alpha with a steely glare that was met head-on with a defiant scowl to match.
“You’re welcome,” the man sneered, having to raise his voice to be heard over the rain. Oikawa rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.
“What are we supposed to do now? Just stand around until the storm passes?” he all but yelled. The alpha gave an exaggerated eye-roll of his own as if to mock Oikawa’s gesture.
“Where do you live?”
“My apartment’s still a few blocks away. And weren’t you going the other direction anyway?” He wasn’t about to let another alpha walk him home as it were, much less if it took the other out of his way.
“Whatever! Look, that cafe’s open. Let’s just wait it out in there.”
Oikawa might have made a snide remark about how he never agreed to wait anywhere together, but he didn’t have time to voice it before the alpha was already moving to try to cross the street to the cafe he had pointed out. As soon as he felt the rain soaking through the sleeve of his jacket, Oikawa rushed to keep up with him, their shoes splashing through the water that was already beginning to flood the street. As much as his inner child enjoyed the thought of embracing the downpour like some sort of wild child, even he had to admit that this storm was turning out to be a pretty bad one.
They made it to the cafe with only one slip-up from Oikawa, who would never admit to having to be held up by another alpha twice now, and they both squeezed inside, the man (who was still a complete stranger, Oikawa might add) shaking off the excess water from his umbrella before closing the door.
The cafe was empty except for a couple omega baristas who greeted them warmly and asked if they made it through the storm alright. The other alpha answered for the both of them, which only served to piss off Oikawa that much more. He gave a sharp sigh and strode off to sit at the first available booth. It was a window seat at the front, giving him a clear view of how the rain filled the streets outside, the gutters barely able to keep up with the influx of water. Across from him, he noticed the man slide into the seat on the other side of the table. Oikawa spared him the briefest glance filled with as much vitriol as he could muster before he turned away again, resting his chin in his hand.
“Iwaizumi,” the other said suddenly. Oikawa took a slow, deep breath through his nose, closed his eyes, and let it all out through his mouth. Only then did he lift his head to look at the man again.
“What?” he asked, impatient.
“Iwaizumi Hajime,” the man finished, extending a hand across the table. Oikawa looked at it for all of three seconds before pointedly ignoring it.
“I don’t remember asking,” he said, sitting back in his seat. He took some minuscule amount of pride in the way the other man’s—Iwaizumi’s—brow twitched as he withdrew his hand. Still, somehow, he managed to maintain that calm, collected expression he wore. It was irritating.
“What’s got you in such a piss poor mood, anyway?” Iwaizumi asked, as if he sincerely wanted to know. Oikawa sincerely didn’t care to entertain him.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest again. “Quit trying to make small talk. I’m only waiting here until the storm passes, and then I’m leaving.”
Iwaizumi opened his mouth to respond then, undoubtedly with some smart-ass comment to get even further under Oikawa’s skin, but one of the baristas approached their table then to ask if either of them would like anything to tide them over while they waited. Oikawa was quick to order something (a coffee amazake, to be precise). A warm, sweet drink would be a nice treat after today’s events. After this entire week’s events, really. Iwaizumi, after reluctant deliberation, ordered a black coffee. Oikawa scrunched up his whole face at that.
“What?” Iwaizumi asked, clearly defensive. Oikawa scoffed.
“What? What, is that you drink black coffee. What are you, ninety?”
“I don’t like anything that’s too sweet.”
“Okay, fine, but you don’t put anything in your coffee? Milk? Sugar?”
“No.”
“Okay, so if you’re not ninety with a ridiculously effective skincare routine, then you’re secretly a psychopath.”
“I’m not a psychopath. There’s nothing wrong with black coffee.”
They continued on like this, bickering back and forth, until the barista returned with their drinks. Oikawa was glad for the distraction, already seconds away from wanting to rip out his hair from how stubborn and downright wrong this “Iwaizumi Hajime” was about coffee. He sucked down a generous sip of his amazake, feeling himself relax as the warm liquid settled in his belly.
“That has alcohol in it, doesn’t it?” Iwaizumi asked, blowing gently on his own bland, bitter, disgusting cup of coffee before taking a small sip from it without so much as wrinkling his nose. Definitely a psychopath, Oikawa concluded to himself.
“What’s your point?” he shot back, raising a brow over the rim of his cup as he took another drink of his own. Iwaizumi shrugged, averting his gaze to stare out the window.
“Dunno. You just strike me as a lightweight.”
Oikawa stared, mouth agape and eyes narrowed at the audacious alpha across the table.
“You are awfully quick to judge, aren’t you?” he accused. Iwaizumi shot him an incredulous look out of the corner of his eye.
“Says the guy who called me a psychopath ‘cause of the kinda coffee I drink,” he retorted. Well, he kind of had Oikawa there, he had to admit. “Speaking of which, seems unfair that you know my name but I don’t get to know yours.”
“Not my fault you were so quick to hand it out,” Oikawa said. “Come on. You really don’t know who I am?” Iwaizumi’s attention was back on him now, brow raised.
“Should I?”
“Don’t you listen to music?” No, Oikawa was not on the verge of pouting. No, he didn’t have a celebrity complex. “Or am I just supposed to assume that you’re actually a centuries-old vampyre who’s so out of touch with the modern world that you won’t drink anything but black coffee to try to fit in with humans and all you listen to is classical, creepy, pipe organ music?”
Iwaizumi stared at him for a long time. Oikawa stared right back, unfazed.
“...You are really weird. You know that?” He didn’t wait for Oikawa to defend himself, talking over the indignant squawk that tried to escape him with a chuckle. “Yeah, I listen to music. Mainly rock. Why? You actually some kinda famous artist? Should I be begging for an autograph right now?”
“Maybe you should,” Oikawa said. Now he was pouting, but only because Iwaizumi called him weird. Seriously, how rude. “It’s not every day some rando on the street gets to say they had coffee with Oikawa Tooru.” He closed his eyes as he continued to nurse his drink, shamelessly leveraging his fame to justify his haughty attitude.
“Oikawa, huh?” Iwaizumi repeated, as if testing the sound of his name. Oikawa opened his eyes again. “Well, Oikawa-san, I guess I should say it’s an honour to meet you.”
“It is,” Oikawa agreed. “An honour to meet me, that is.” He threw a smirk at the other, snickering as he watched the immediate regret in Iwaizumi’s eye-roll. “And what do you do, Iwaizumi-san? I know I’ve never heard your name before.”
“I’m a masseur,” he answered casually. Oikawa nearly choked on his amazake. Iwaizumi watched him with apparent amusement as he recovered, wiping at his mouth with a napkin from the dispenser on the table.
“They’re letting alphas be masseurs these days, huh?” he asked then, his interest piqued. “Risky business, isn’t it?”
He was, of course, referring to the fact that massages, professional or not, tended to be rather intimate. An alpha nearing rut or an omega on the cusp of heat could find themselves in a very precarious position during an arrangement like that.
“It has its...complications,” Iwaizumi conceded. “Mainly at the fault of the customers themselves. It’s not easy having omegas throw themselves at you just so you’ll put your hands on them.” He paused to lift his coffee for a sip, then glanced back up at Oikawa. “But I guess you would know all about that, too, wouldn’t you?”
Oikawa wouldn’t admit or so much as acknowledge the brief heat in his cheeks at the imagery Iwaizumi described. It was arrogant, yes, but the man had every right to be. He was sculpted—Oikawa could tell that much even in spite of the layers of clothing Iwaizumi wore; it was all in the jawline, his wide hands, the way his shirt and jacket were tailored to fit around his chest—and his features were...pleasant, he would admit. Sharp eyes, a strong brow, healthy black hair, nice lips. He would make for a decent model, Oikawa thought. Omegas and betas alike would eat that shit like up like candy if they were given half the chance.
“Yeah, I would,” he answered, playing it off like he hadn’t just analyzed all the attractive parts of Iwaizumi’s appearance. “Surprised you haven’t had any slip-ups, though. Use your PTO for your ruts, do you?”
“I’m on suppressants, actually,” Iwaizumi corrected. Oikawa’s eyebrows shot up.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard of rut suppressants for alphas before, but meeting someone who actually used them (and admitted to using them, no less) wasn’t extremely ordinary. Most alphas felt it was restrictive of their natures, a slight against their very biology. Most of those alphas also felt the same about heat suppressants for omegas, though, despite all the benefits they held. Oikawa had to hand it to Iwaizumi; he was pretty bold even for an alpha.
“How very noble.”
“Not really,” Iwaizumi replied easily, as if he had had this conversation a million times. He probably had, if he were this open about it. “Kinda necessary in my line of work, if you ask me.”
“Point taken.” It occurred to Oikawa, however briefly, that despite his griping about small talk earlier, it was surprisingly easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with this guy. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. “But now I’m curious. And don’t take this the wrong way, but—”
“Don’t I get a lot of shit for it?” Iwaizumi asked for him with a smirk. “Yeah, all the time. Has it made me reconsider taking suppressants? Mm, no, not really. I couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks about me, especially not a bunch of bigoted alphas with their noses so far up their own asses they’re constantly sniffing their own pseudo-macho bullshit. I have more important things to lose sleep over.”
He lifted his coffee back to his lips. Oikawa was helpless but to stare at him for a moment, for once stunned into silence. He was mildly impressed, in spite of himself. Very few alphas were willing to speak so openly and strongly against the toxic culture that sought to perpetuate their own positions of authority in society. Honestly, the only other person he knew like that was—
Well, anyway.
“Like what?”
“Sorry?” Iwaizumi asked, looking up at him again.
“What do you lose sleep over?” Oikawa clarified, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. Iwaizumi gave him a contemplative look.
“...Different things,” he said, guarded. “World hunger, homeless people, whatever the hell’s going on in America—to name a few.”
“Oh, come on. I know there’s more to you than that,” Oikawa teased.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Call it instinct.”
Iwaizumi was silent for a moment after that. He seemed to be observing Oikawa, like he was looking for something. Whatever he found must have deterred him as he averted his gaze to the window again. Oikawa felt equal parts smug and disappointed, assuming he had somehow managed to intimidate the other alpha into silence with his mere presence alone. Still, he was surprised to find himself eager to continue their conversation.
The cards didn’t seem to be in his favour, though, just as they hadn’t been for some time now.
“Looks like the rain’s letting up,” Iwaizumi noted, still looking out the window. Oikawa followed his gaze, finding that he was right. The sky wasn’t quite so dark and the rain was less ferocious than it had been when they came here. His amazake was almost gone, too, as was Iwaizumi’s coffee.
“Finally,” he blurted, lips moving of their own accord as he quickly moved to slide out of the booth seat. “I was hoping to get home sometime today.”
“It’s not as bad as before, but it’s still raining. You’ll get sick if you walk all the way home without an umbrella. Let me walk you,” Iwaizumi said, moving to stand as well.
“Not a chance, psychopath.” Oikawa swiftly shut him down, placing a hand on his hip. “Look, I appreciate your help, but I don’t have all day to lounge around a cafe with someone I bumped into on the street and I’m not about to let some rando find out where I live. You could be a stalker or something with really great acting skills.”
Surprisingly enough, Iwaizumi actually laughed at that, though it was more of a breathy puff of air.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Here. At least take this, then.” He picked up his umbrella where he’d propped it up against the seat and held it out to Oikawa. The idol hesitated, looking between Iwaizumi and the umbrella.
“And just what do you plan to use to get through this weather?” he questioned.
“I’ll probably hang around a while longer, see if it stops raining soon,” Iwaizumi said, shrugging. “If not, I can grab a cab.”
It was then that Oikawa realized he, too, could have just called a cab to get him home through this storm instead of waiting out in a cafe with this other alpha who’d grated on his nerves so much until they actually started talking. He could also just call one now, wait a bit longer, and wait for the cabby to arrive instead of taking Iwaizumi’s umbrella. He almost expected the other to present that option himself, but since he didn’t, Oikawa kept quiet, too. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was just his curiosity continuing to eat at him. He tentatively took the umbrella, propping it over his shoulder.
“Fine. But I’ll have to get this back to you somehow,” he pointed out. He watched the amused smile tug at Iwaizumi’s lips as he pulled out his phone and Oikawa did the same. They exchanged numbers, Oikawa insisting on snapping contact photos then and there so that he could, in his own words, “recognize the random street guy who forced me to have coffee with him”. Iwaizumi took the jest in stride, making no effort to hide the way he saved Oikawa’s contact as “Weird Ass God Complex”.
Oikawa took offense to that, naturally, so he saved Iwaizumi’s contact as “Iwa-chan”.
“‘Iwa-chan’?” Iwaizumi questioned, making a face. Oikawa smirked and waved his phone as if to taunt him before pocketing it.
“Cute, right?” It was obvious the nickname was supposed to be belittling. Iwa-chan gave him a deadpan stare. Oikawa laughed. “Well, anyway, I should get going. We’ll set up a time and place for me to return your umbrella later, Iwa-chan ~ I’ll text you.”
“Yeah, sure. Just don’t blow up my phone,” Iwaizumi warned, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was already preemptively exhausted from Oikawa having his number. “I have roommates and I don’t need them interrogating me about why I have a pop-star’s number or some shit.”
“I am so not a ‘pop-star’. I may be an idol, but my genre’s totally different.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Talk to you soon.”
And with that, Oikawa left the cafe, opening the umbrella once outside to shield himself from the rain. He wouldn’t put any thought to the slight skip in his step or the way a smile lingered on his face. All things considered, this hadn’t been a horrible way to end his day. It was all a little exciting, in a way. He got to meet someone new who wasn’t completely obsessed with him, and who didn’t immediately start trying to butter him up after finding out he was mildly famous. It was a nice change of pace, to say the least.
When he made it home, Oikawa shook off the umbrella before stepping into the building and taking the elevator up to his apartment. It was no penthouse, but loft apartments had their own charm. He quite liked the space it offered and the windows that peered out over the city and gave him a clear view of the sky. Of course, it was still clouded over, but on clear nights, he could normally make out at least some stars. Definitely not as many as he would have liked, but he planned to change that at some point. He was currently saving up to move somewhere nice, where there weren’t as many lights and he could see the night sky better. As long as he had that, he could make a home pretty much anywhere.
He hung the umbrella on the coat rack by his door, toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket to hang there as well. On his way to the kitchen, his stomach eager for supper after waiting so long, his eyes caught the article of clothing still draped over the arm of his couch. Pausing in his steps, Oikawa lightly brushed his hand over Matsukawa’s jacket. He really needed to talk to his friend about what had happened. It was concerning that Matsukawa hadn’t tried to reach out to him yet; he was normally always the first to put forth an apology for anything he did that happened to upset someone. Then again, this was hardly something he should have had to apologize for, and Oikawa wasn’t...upset, per se. Confused and terrified out of his mind, but not upset. He could never blame someone for the way they felt. Especially not if…
His hands clutched at the jacket, holding it close to his chest. He really, really needed to talk to Matsukawa.