Work Text:
“Gross,” Tooru groans, watching Hanamaki and Matsukawa cuddle on his couch - his couch, in his apartment (well, okay, he shares it with Hanamaki, but they’re always in Matsukawa and Sawamura's flat, so it’s as good as his own), watching but not really watching his favorite movie. Hanamaki flips him off without turning around. “You guys just remind me of how lonely I am; I should invite Kuroo over instead,” he complains.
“Kenma,” Matsukawa says, finally paying attention to him. Tooru hisses through his teeth.
“Gross,” he repeats, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa exchange exasperated glances before separating.
“How long has it been,” Hanamaki asks, “since you went on a date?”
“Wh – none of your damn business is how long,” Tooru snaps. “Besides, I don't just - want a date." Matsukawa looks skeptical. “I’m serious! I just – I want,” he throws his hands in their direction, “something like you guys have. Like, a real relationship with someone.”
“There are a ton of guys that would kill to go out with you,” Matsukawa says, rolling his eyes.
“But all of them are either assholes or,” he gestures to no one in particular, “lacking in the general attractiveness department. Or both.”
“Lower your standards a little,” Hanamaki says with a sharp-toothed smile. “You’ll get a boyfriend then.” Tooru glares.
“Let’s get pizza,” Matsukawa says abruptly. He and Hanamaki exchange glances again, but this time there’s a different emotion in it. “What kind do you want?”
“Mushroom and olives,” Tooru replies. “I haven’t changed my order since we were fifteen.” Matsukawa gives him a look.
“I know,” he says, and he enters the order. Hanamaki takes the phone and types something in - that’s weird, Tooru thinks. I don’t think you have to type anything to choose your toppings. The next time he clicks, Matsukawa giggles, and that’s when Tooru knows something terribly wrong has just happened.
“Makki,” Tooru says, very quietly, “what the hell did you just do?”
“You know that special request section on the order form?” Hanamaki asks, and Tooru nods. He shows his phone to Tooru.
send your cutest delivery boy ☆｡ﾟ +.( 人 -ω ◕ ฺ ) ﾟ +. ﾟ
“Oh my god,” Tooru moans into his palms, “they’re gonna think I’m a gross old man or something.” Matsukawa stares at him for a long moment, blinking slowly.
“It’s Hiro’s credit card, so they’ll think he’s a gross old man,” he corrects.
“It’s my apartment,” Tooru replies. “I can’t ever order pizza from there again.” He turns his glare to Hanamaki, who’s scrolling through Instagram as if nothing’s happening. “This is all your fault.”
Hanamaki shrugs with an innocent smile. “Really, it was Issei,” he replies, and Matsukawa nods with no semblance of guilt on his features. “And relax. Now you can’t complain about never meeting any cute boys, right?”
“Oh my god,” Tooru repeats, and Matsukawa laughs again.
The next fifteen minutes are spent yelling at both of them while they snicker and exchange glances like they always do, and by the time the doorbell rings Tooru is so embarrassed that he might just melt into the floor and die. “Go get him,” Matsukawa calls after him. Tooru’s tempted to throw his cushion at him.
He opens the door, practicing a quick apology in his head and picking out the sheepish smile he’ll use when he sees the delivery boy and oh, no; he is cute.
“Uh,” Delivery Boy coughs, “they voted, and it came between me and Sugawara, but they thought he’d be too flirtatious and that would scare you, so.” He offers a crooked, charming, lost-boy grin. “Here I am; sorry if you’re disappointed.”
Tooru just stares, resisting the urge to smooth down his hair, which no doubt looks disgusting and oily right now, goddamnit Mattsun.
“Sorry,” he says after a long moment. “My friends are idiots.”
“Don’t worry,” Delivery Boy - his name tag says Iwaizumi! in pretty, slanted handwriting - replies. “It made work more fun today, anyway; I was getting kind of tired of delivering to hungover frat boys. Could I ask why your friends put in the request?”
“Um,” Tooru says.
“He’s lonely as fuck!” Hanamaki calls from the other room. “And we wanted to help him find a man!”
“Shut up, Makki!” Tooru roars back before turning around and smiling. Iwaizumi’s laughing now, but he’s trying to hide it behind his hand. When he notices Tooru raising an eyebrow at him, he coughs again.
“It’s hard to imagine that you can’t get a man on your own,” he says, shifting the pizza box from one arm to the other.
“Oh,” Tooru replies after a long moment of admiring Iwaizumi’s biceps, and maybe this is why he can’t get a man on his own. “Well. I’m a little high-maintenance; I’ve been told.” When he smiles he makes sure it’s the one that causes people’s throats to run dry for a moment. Judging from Iwaizumi’s expression, it’s working.
“Do I keep up with your standards?” he asks, unconsciously cocking his hip to the side in order to balance the pizza better, and now Tooru’s throat is running dry.
“You’re almost there,” he says, haughtily, and when Iwaizumi grins his cheeks dimple.
“Thanks,” he replies almost-warily, and then, “I think.”
“It’s a compliment,” Matsukawa yells.
“Yeah,” Hanamaki agrees. “He finds like one guy a year suitably attractive, but don’t be a dick or he’ll drop you.”
“Your friends seem nice,” Iwaizumi says awkwardly.
“I’m going to murder them,” Tooru replies. He grins. “Sorry, I’ve probably kept you waiting out here long enough. Um, thank you for the pizza.” He sighs, finally giving in to the urge to run a hand through his hair. “Which you were paid to deliver.” Iwaizumi snorts.
Tooru offers a generous tip, debating on whether to scrawl down his number before deciding that might be too forward. “I’ll see you around, Iwaizumi-san.” He clicks his tongue. “Iwaizumi’s too clunky; we’re gonna have to fix that.”
“You’re gonna have to fix my name?” Iwaizumi asks, incredulously, and Tooru nods. He raises an eyebrow. “Make up any embarrassing nicknames,” he warns, “and you die.”
“Violent,” Tooru hums. “Less cute.”
Iwaizumi smiles again before turning around to walk away. He’s halfway down the hall before he turns back. “I never got your name,” he says.
“Next time, then,” Tooru calls, unsure why he’s doing this. “Bye, Iwaizumi-san.”
“Bye,” Iwaizumi calls back. Tooru shuts the door and walks back to the couch, where Matsukawa and Hanamaki are both snickering.
“Shut up,” he says.
“We never said anything,” Matsukawa says, raising his stupid caterpillar eyebrows and wiggling them. They both look obscenely proud of themselves. “Did you get his number?”
“No.”
“Did he get your number?” Hanamaki asks.
“No,” Tooru bites out. He flops onto the couch and stretches his legs over Matsukawa’s in one smooth motion.
“Wow,” Matsukawa sighs. “You literally have a cute guy delivered to your doorstep – ”
“I wouldn’t use that wording – ”
“And you still managed to fuck it up,” Hanamaki finishes. Tooru absentmindedly wonders if they actually do share a brain, like they’ve tried to claim so many times before. “Now you might never see him again, and we have to deal with you being stupid for an entire year or something.”
“I’ll see him again,” Tooru says, confidently. Matsukawa and Hanamaki both give him a look. “Now watch the movie or get out of my apartment.”
+
Tooru’s fingers hover over his keyboard. Ordering pizza twice in two weeks definitely isn’t the healthiest choice he’s ever made, but he’s willing to sacrifice a little of his nutritional safety to see Iwaizumi again. (Ah, young love, a voice that sounds oddly like Hanamaki’s sings in his head. Tooru shoves the thought to the back of his mind.)
send ur cutest delivery boy!! u know who he is, he finally types, resisting the urge to add an emoji or seven. Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings.
“You eat a lot of pizza,” Iwaizumi says when Tooru opens the door.
“This is the second time I’ve ordered it in six months,” he says defensively. “I decided on a nickname, by the way.” He pauses for dramatic effect, grinning when Iwaizumi looks unimpressed. “From now on, I christen you Iwa-chan.”
“That’s disgusting,” Iwaizumi says instantly.
“Rude,” Tooru replies, frowning. “I spent hours figuring that out.”
“There’s no way.”
“Two minutes,” Tooru admits airily. “Same thing.”
“That’s such a childish nickname,” Iwaizumi complains.
“You were so much nicer when you were awkward,” Tooru sighs, almost wistfully. “Now you’re going to complain about the nickname I created specifically for you? A sign of my fondness?” He’s not sure why he’s trying so hard to bother him (all right – yes, he does; Iwaizumi’s face scrunches up when he gets annoyed, and it’s incredibly cute), but now that he’s started, he can’t stop.
“I’m going to start sending Bokuto in,” Iwaizumi warns.
“Do you think I’m gonna start ordering pizza once a week?” Tooru asks, shocked. “I have a reputation to maintain; I can’t eat that much without slowing myself down.”
Iwaizumi blinks. “Why would you worry about slowing down?”
“Volleyball,” Tooru says. “Obviously.” Wait, he realizes. Of course Iwaizumi doesn’t know I play volleyball. When he makes eye contact, Iwaizumi’s expression is significantly brighter than before.
“You play?” he asks. “What position?”
“Setter,” Tooru replies with a shrug, and then, unable to hold back, “also, captain of my team. Why, do you?” Iwaizumi grins.
“I used to,” he says. “In high school. And then I got too busy.”
“What position?” Tooru asks. He’s probably a spiker, he thinks, once again staring at Iwaizumi’s arms (they’re good fucking arms, okay?).
“Wing spiker,” Iwaizumi confirms. “My team wasn’t any good, but it was fun. I liked playing.”
“My team was great,” Tooru replies with a proud beam. He tilts his head. “We should play together sometime.”
“You’d probably be too good for me,” Iwaizumi replies, looking at the pizza box. “If you’re captain of your team and all.” Tooru raises an eyebrow.
“Lack of confidence isn’t hot, Iwa-chan,” he says. Iwaizumi lets out a startled laugh – it’s loud and cute and Tooru’s already so gone.
“I mean,” he says, shifting his weight onto his right leg, “I am the cutest delivery boy in my store, so I don’t know that I need your approval.” Tooru bites back a smile.
“Well,” he says, “if I had your number you could win over my approval anyway.”
“Not as smooth as I would’ve expected,” Iwaizumi critiques. “That was a little clunky.”
“I’m less smooth when faced with hot guys holding pizza,” Tooru replies with the most charming grin he can manage. “Was that better?” Iwaizumi pauses, putting a finger to his (really, really nice) lips.
“I give it an eight out of ten,” he concedes. “But I only give my number out to tens.”
“I am a ten; excuse you,” Tooru snaps. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, handing him the box.
“Convince me, then,” he says, quirking his lip as Tooru hands him his change. “See you next time.”
“Are you just flirting with me to get more tips?” Tooru calls after him. Iwaizumi shrugs without looking back.
He’s significantly more annoying than last time, Tooru thinks as he flops down on his couch, texting Kuroo and asking if he wants to split a pizza. Excellent.
+
The next time Tooru orders pizza is only two weeks later, but in his defense, it’s - not exactly a party, but a gathering - and people (Hanamaki and Kuroo) are complaining about the lack of junk food. He’s a little tipsy, so he almost forgets to add send ur cutest delivery boy to the special requests section. Luckily - probably, anyway - Matsukawa reminds him at the last moment.
By the time Iwaizumi shows up, Tooru is far more than a little tipsy. “Iwa-chan,” he warbles as he reaches the door.
“You’re drunk,” Iwaizumi says.
“Cute delivery boy!” Sawamura calls, straining to view him before Kuroo tugs him back. “We welcome you to our humble abode!”
“Why would you let Oikawa hit on you? He’s a nerd,” Kuroo adds. “Dude still wears alien pajamas.”
“It’s a party,” Tooru says with a forced smile, ruminating on ways to kill all of his friends (especially Sawamura, who's horrible when he's drunk) without getting caught. “I mean, not really; it’s more of a cram session gone wrong.”
“Your name’s Oikawa,” Iwaizumi replies, raising an eyebrow, and it might be Tooru’s inebriated mind, but he looks even better in the dim light of the complex at night. “And you wear alien pajamas.”
“Either that or nothing at all,” Tooru replies in a desperate attempt to salvage himself. Iwaizumi’s cheeks turn a deep crimson. “You blush really easily.”
“You’re bright red, so I don’t know if you can talk,” he shoots back. Tooru grins.
“It’s because of the vodka,” he says proudly. “You should ditch your shift and join us; it’s,” he hiccups, checking his phone, “eleven o’clock. Who works that late?” He ignores Yaku’s gleeful yell of other losers; maybe you’ve found your match.
“Broke college students,” Iwaizumi says. “And you don’t even have my number, so I think it’s a little early to invite me to your place.”
“Whose fault is it that I don’t have your number?” Tooru asks, and although it comes out accusatory, he genuinely can’t remember. “Also, you’ve been here at least three times already.” He pauses - nods. “Yeah. Three times.”
“You’re way more drunk than you seemed at first,” Iwaizumi replies, tilting his head. “Are you a lightweight or an alcoholic?”
“I’m not a lightweight,” Tooru lies.
“Your face goes pale when you lie,” Iwaizumi says coolly. “Which is a terrible tell if you’re a blushing drunk.”
“Wow, Iwa-chan,” Tooru sighs, fluttering his lashes and leaning on the door frame in a way that reminds him of a cliche high school bad boy, “no one can read me like you and we’ve only met three times. Imagine what would happen if I could text you.”
“How are you better at this now than when you’re sober?” Iwaizumi asks, bemused. He grins - his dimples send Tooru’s poor, alcohol-infused, gay heart into palpitations. “Still a no, though.” Tooru pouts.
“What did I do wrong this time?”
“Wear alien pajamas,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug. “You have to be twice as good to make up for that.”
“Maybe I don’t want your number,” Tooru decides, feeling warm all over when Iwaizumi laughs. He takes the pizza and hands Iwaizumi the cash. “See you next time, Iwa-chan.”
“See you next time, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, waving adorably as he walks away. “When you get the crushing hangover, eat lots of eggs.” Tooru wrinkles his nose as he turns back around and closes the door. When he sees everyone staring at him, he sighs.
“He has good arms,” Sawamura says approvingly, leaning on Yaku for support.
“He seemed cool,” Kuroo adds, suspicious. “Definitely not brain-dead like I’d assumed.”
“Okay, rude; I’m a catch - ”
“He’s still not giving you his number, though,” Yaku says. “So this could just be a big scam for more tips.” Sawamura and Kuroo both nod.
Before Tooru can protest (though really, all he can come up with is an enraged squawk), Matsukawa says, “Nobody could put up with Oikawa’s bullshit flirting unless they liked him, even if they were getting paid.”
“Yeah,” Hanamaki agrees. “That’s why he couldn’t keep a girlfriend in high school.”
“That was because I’m gay,” Tooru corrects.
“But also because they couldn’t put up with your bullshit,” Matsukawa says. Tooru makes the mistake of looking to Hanamaki for defense.
“He’s not wrong,” Hanamaki says with a lazy smile. He falls back onto the couch, and Tooru remembers just how small his apartment is, suddenly feeling cramped. He lies down on the floor, ignoring Sawamura's judgmental stare. “Seriously, though, is this like - a genuine thing, or are you just passing time when you need to order pizza?”
“I didn’t know today was the day you all decided to get involved in my romantic life,” Tooru snaps.
“You’re always talking about him, and it’s the first time you’ve had anything of substance happening,” Kuroo replies. He eyes Tooru shrewdly. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“It’s none of your business,” Tooru says primly. Yaku clicks his tongue against his teeth.
“So high school,” he sighs.
“You sound like Hinata did when he was sixteen,” Sawamura agrees, and Tooru pretends his blood isn’t boiling at the comparison because he knows exactly how stupid Hinata was at sixteen. Instead, he smiles.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I just want his number.”
“How simple,” Matsukawa coos.
“Very cute,” Hanamaki agrees, pinching Tooru’s cheeks. Tooru makes a face.
“I hope it works out, then,” Kuroo says with a tiny laugh. “We can double date.”
“Oh my god,” Tooru says, horrified. “Never mind. I’m not gonna order pizza ever again.”
+
The sixth time Tooru orders pizza, someone who definitely isn’t Iwaizumi shows up at the door. “Hi,” he says with a small wave. “I’m Sugawara. Iwaizumi’s sick, and I’m the next best they had.”
“Oh,” Tooru says.
“You don’t sound happy,” Sugawara says. He’s attractive, with big brown eyes and a bright grin and very pretty hair, but he’s not Iwaizumi and for some reason, that’s messing with Tooru’s mind a lot more than it should be.
“Well,” Tooru replies, offering a blinding, fake smile, “I’m caught off guard.”
“He was right,” Sugawara says wearily. “You are cute.” Tooru raises his eyebrows.
“He called me cute?” When Sugawara grins again, it’s impish.
“Yeah,” he says. “He talks about you all the time, actually; it’s always oh, Oikawa’s so cute and Oikawa said I had nice arms and did you know Oikawa wears alien pajamas?”
“He told everyone that,” Tooru says.
“He told everyone that,” Sugawara confirms. “We all thought you were some nerd with a, uh,” he squints, “very good personality.”
“I do have a very good personality,” Tooru says with a grin, and Sugawara laughs. “Um, did he tell you guys why he isn’t giving me his number?” Desperate, he thinks, but he decides that maybe he’s okay with being desperate.
“He did not,” Sugawara says apologetically. He pauses, putting a hand on his hips. “Though I’m pretty sure if I gave you his number he wouldn’t mind. He’s in need of a cheer-up text, anyway; I think his fever is at a 39.5 or something.”
“Well,” Tooru says, “lucky for him, I’m excellent at cheering people up.” He hands Sugawara a piece of paper after giving him the fee for the pizza (with a 200% tip, because this man seems like an angel, honestly). Sugawara scrawls down a number on it and gives it to him.
“It was nice meeting you, Oikawa,” he says as he leaves. “Make sure you embarrass Iwaizumi a lot; it’ll do him good.”
“Will do,” Tooru calls after him.
hii iwachannn (*^-°)v, he texts. this is oikawa!!! i heard u were sick :(((((( i hope u feel better soon~~~~. After a moment of deliberation, he adds, also i heard u talk about me all the time!! sugawara-san rly is a big angel!!!
After what seems like years later, Tooru’s phone buzzes. He unlocks it.
Oh my god, the text reads. Suga is the worst person I’ve ever met. I’m blocking you after I kill him.
:’((((( i thought u said i was cute, Tooru replies before setting the phone down, laughing.
+
“Don’t say anything,” Iwaizumi warns.
“I heard you’re smitten with me,” Tooru says smugly.
“I know,” Iwaizumi says, exasperated. “You texted me, like, a million times about it.”
“It’s different now, though, because I can see you blush,” Tooru replies. Iwaizumi turns red. “Yeah, like that.”
“Annoying,” Iwaizumi mutters, but he’s smiling. “And I know you talk about me to your friends; I heard them that time you were drunk.” He tilts his head. “You already have my number; I thought that was the end goal here. There’s no need to gorge yourself on pizza anymore.”
“The end goal was getting you to go on a date with me,” Tooru says with a wink. “And that’s a six step plan. Step one – get your number. Step two – text you cute things until you fall in love with me – ”
“Cute things like Iwa-chan, you text like a sea sponge; why are you so boring?” Iwaizumi asks humorlessly, raising an eyebrow. Tooru grins.
“Yeah,” he says. “Exactly. I’m honest, and honesty is attractive. Step three – get to know your friends, like Refreshing-kun.”
“Who the fuck – ”
“Sugawara,” Tooru explains. “Step four – ”
“I’ll go on a date with you if you stop talking about your plan,” Iwaizumi interrupts. Tooru pauses.
“Wait, what?” he asks.
Iwaizumi shrugs. “I’ll go on a date with you,” he repeats, slowly, “if you stop talking about your plan.” He smiles. “I get off my shift at 5:00 on Friday. Would you want to go to a movie or something? I heard the new horror one with the ghost who’s secretly also an alien is pretty bad, but it’s good to make fun of.”
“Wait, what?” Tooru repeats.
“You’re not very smooth when things actually work out,” Iwaizumi says.
“I just – ” Tooru closes his eyes – recollects himself – beams. “I was prepared for a six-step plan, and you just ruined it, Iwa-chan. Give me a moment to adjust.” Iwaizumi actually does wait a moment before speaking again.
“So is that a yes or no to the date?”
“I was gonna ask you out,” Tooru whines. “And it was gonna be cute and romantic and you weren’t gonna be able to make fun of me ever again–”
“You still haven’t said if it’s a yes or a no–”
“Yes, obviously,” Tooru huffs, “but let me finish. I had a whole plan and I was going to kiss you at the end and make a pizza pun and it was adorable–”
“What if,” Iwaizumi says, stepping forward and setting down the pizza on Tooru’s doorstep, “I kissed you right now, and you can make the pizza pun after?”
“I mean,” Tooru scrabbles for the right words, “that would be cool, I guess, but my pizza pun was really sort of embarrassing so maybe we shouldn’t do that at all–” Iwaizumi hooks his hand into Tooru’s shirt – pulls him forward – kisses him softly. It’s nothing heated or rough, but it’s sweet and passionate and quiet, somehow.
“Um.” Iwaizumi steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets and offering the crooked lost-boy grin he’d offered when they first met. “I guess I ruined your plan, huh?”
“To be honest, I’m kind of glad you did,” Tooru says, grinning. “This was going to last another three months.”
“Jesus Christ,” Iwaizumi mutters, though he’s bright red. He looks at Tooru with something in his eyes Tooru can’t quite recognize yet, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “You never told me your pun,” he says.
“Ah,” Tooru says, in a tone which would be bashful if he had any pride left, “you have a pizza my heart.”
“I’m canceling the date,” Iwaizumi says. His smile betrays him. “Bye.”
“Iwa-chan,” Tooru complains, “you ruined my six-step plan; you have to go out with me now.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.
“Fine,” he says. “Whatever.”
“See you Friday,” Tooru calls after him. “I never have to order pizza again.” Iwaizumi turns back, eyes twinkling.
“You have to support your date,” he says in return. “Besides, I have eight new customers because of your friends. They’ve started tweeting about me, which is kind of networking, so the store’s getting a lot more traffic.”
“Makki,” Tooru sighs, “is a menace.”
“Hanamaki’s the reason this happened,” Iwaizumi replies. Tooru scowls, though it’s hard when Iwaizumi’s still blushing a little bit and smiling a lot.
“That doesn’t mean he’s not a menace,” he says, and Iwaizumi kisses him again. “What was that for?” he asks. Iwaizumi shrugs.
“You’re cute,” he says, “like Suga told you.” He grins. “See you Friday, Oikawa.”
“Yeah,” Tooru breathes. “See you Friday.”