Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader
Warnings: Minors I also write NSFW content; do not follow me! Fluff, humour, slight angst, oblivious Iwa, Oikawa is a good friend, timeskip spoilers, slight canon divergence (Oikawa and Iwaizumi stay in Japan), slight college/university AU
A/N: Written for the HQHQ SFW collab with the prompt, “When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?” ft. Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s shadow. Thank you @oneblonded @vanille–kiss @kurinoot @karasunomygod @fuckinuchihas for betaing!!
It’s a comedy of errors, but Iwaizumi’s the only one not laughing.
You can find the masterlist with the rest of the works here!
Hajime is having a very bad, no good, absolutely awful day.
It started with sleeping through his alarm, had a sprinkle of pinching his finger in a door, tripping over his own shoelaces, dropping his coffee, and getting an ice cream cone (not his own) smushed into his shirt, and it culminated at this point, right now, sitting in the third floor of the library and wishing everybody would shut up.
His ears still burn when he thinks about the absolute fool he’d made of himself on the quiet floor: shirt stained, shoes covered in coffee, bag split open (because of course it did), his phone—he swore he’d put it on silent—blasting that obnoxious pop song Tooru set as his personal ringtone; it’d sliced through the air as a ripple of cutting glares followed in its wake. After the whispered and bumbled apology, he’d wandered the entire floor just to discover there weren’t any free seats, and slunk out the door like a dog with its tail between his legs.
He digs his fingers into his temples, trying to keep his headache at bay. Even the music he’s short of blasting through his headphones can’t cover the obnoxious laughter carrying from the corner, and his dark glares do little to stop it. The chair across from him moves, legs dragging along the carpet with a sound that normally doesn’t bother him, but right now hits like nails on a chalkboard.
The interloper sits, folds their hands, and twiddles their thumbs.
Hajime tries to force the words on the page to stop swimming.
A voice, clear and sweet, floats over to him, and he heaves a heavy sigh, massages his temples a little harder.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but—"
“Oikawa isn’t here,” he says flatly, propping his chin in his hand. It’s the fifth time he’s been asked this today and his patience is wearing thin, particularly when he’s struggling through reading about musculoskeletal and integumentary systems.
“Who says I’m here for Oikawa?”
Hajime snorts and threads a hand through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp. “Everyone’s always here for Oikawa.”
“What if I’m here for you?”
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