and this time, he’s so fucking late.

late enough that a brisk speed walk won’t do. no, he’s jogging through the parking lot and into the restaurant, face a little flushed and breaths a little heavy as the hostess leads him to the table.

he can feel the stares of disbelief from his friends burning holes into his face as he mumbles an apology. once he’s slid his jacket off and is seated, he cuts them all a look that dares to ask.

it’s atsumu, of course, who dares. “who knew you were such a slut, omi-omi?”

hinata looked as if he was going to faint.

bokuto turned away, about to pop a lung with how hard he was trying to hold back his laughter.

sakusa’s gaze narrows dangerously. “excuse me?”

the setter simply shrugs, pointing at his chest. “you button that up in the dark or something?”

he quickly glances down at his chest, mortified to see that in his rush to get dressed, he’d skipped a few eyelits on his shirts. it’s hem was untucked too, only accentuating his unfortunate state of disarray.

well, what was he supposed to say to them? that you’d dragged him upstairs for a quickie when he was halfway out the door?

“you have been late a lot lately,” bokuto points out, as if that’s supposed to be helpful. “you were late to conditioning yesterday morning.”

sakusa opens his mouth to form an explanation, but it dies on the tip of his tongue when he realizes that he can’t share that you’d told him lifting you up and pressing into the shower wall had counted as strength and stamina training.

his teammates start listing off all the instances that he’d been tardy, and it’s with growing realization that sakusa realizes there’s only one common deniminator here.

it was none of their business. he was getting laid, like they’d been telling him he should be since he’d joined the team.

but the fact that people were starting to notice his increasing tardiness combined with the fact that miya atsumu was calling him a slut?

-

“done,” you hum, completing the knot of his tie as sakusa tries so hard to ignore the way you smooth your hands over his chest. “you look great.”

“thank you,” he murmurs, staring at the ceiling as you get up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw.

then one to his neck.

then you nudge the collar of his shirt aside and place one on his collarbone.

this is always how it starts.

and you’re entirely too enticing, your sweet-smelling perfume flooding his senses as you press your lips to his skin and bite—

in a panic, he grasps your arms and pulls you away, ignoring the offended look on your face. “we can have fun after the awards ceremony. we can even leave early.”

“but omi, i want you now,” you pout. “i can be quick!”

“take care of yourself then. we can’t be late.”

you whine a little, tugging on his sleeve. “but i want you to do it.”

“no. i’ve been spoiling you too much.”

a gasp. you pinch his arm, huffing, “‘m not spoiled.”

“you are,” he laughs, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “and i love spoiling you, but if we’re late, that means i’ll be proving miya right.”

“about what?”

Sakusa nods his head to the side, leading Atsumu a little away from where the group is doing their cool down stretches. He’s about to open his mouth when someone approaches in his peripheral.

“Are you guys okay?”

Of course it’s you.

“Yeah,” Atsumu answers before he can be told to shut up. “Omi-omi was about to ask—”

He jabs his elbow into the setter’s gut before he can finish his sentence. “We’re fine. Just chatting.”

You look a little confused, but nod anyway. “Okay. Sakusa, how is your wrist doing?”

“It’s good,” he tells you, truthfully. “It’s less sore after practices thanks to the extra stretches you recommended.”

You hum, scribbling something onto your clipboard before tucking it under your arm, pulling a fresh pair of gloves from your pocket and slipping them on before holding your hands out to him. “May I?”

He rests his hand in yours without hesitation, pointedly ignoring Atsumu, whose bewildered gaze bounces between the two of you.

(Sakusa knows that he’s going to say something stupid.)

He watches intently as you slowly rotate and flex his wrist, smiling a little when he catches the cute way your eyebrows furrow when you concentrate. “No discomfort or strain?”

“No.”

“Not even in your shorts?” Atsumu cuts in, not even trying to stifle his snicker.

(There it is.)

The stupid just can’t help but come out, and now Sakusa wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole almost as much as he wants to punch Atsumu in the face.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” you say with an awkward chuckle, releasing his hand to take a few more notes. (Sakusa thinks one of your best qualities is your ability to ignore Atsumu’s antics, which is a blessing given the current situation.) “Everything seems good, so I’m going to go check on Bokuto. Apparently his back has been a little tight.”

Atsumu nudges him as you walk away, making a noise that Sakusa thinks is a squeal. “That’s what you want my advice for, huh? You have a crush on—”

“Atsumu,” he mutters. “You’re too loud.”

He doesn’t lower his voice. Does he not realize that they’re in a gymnasium that echoes? “But you have a crush on—”

“Shut. Up.”

“A crush on—”

“Stop it.”

His teammate huffs pitifully, crossing his arms over his chest in a terribly childlike manner, then leans in to whisper shout in a single breath,

“You have a crush on our physiotherapist!” He looks like a six year old that’s been told Santa’s left presents under the tree. “Woo! Bokkun owes me and Hinata meat buns!”

Sakusa runs a hand down his face, groaning. Of course the idiots knew. “Yes, okay? I like her in a way that I initially assumed was platonic, but recently learned…was not.”

He’d never really known why Wednesday practices were his favourite. But now he knows it’s because you’re here, checking in and following up on he and his teams wellbeing. With your sweet smile and gentle touch.

His wrist had stopped hurting two weeks ago, but he’d been telling you otherwise in the hopes that he might one day have the courage to ask you out.

Which is where Miya Atsumu comes in.

He regrets this so much. He would have preferred to confide with Meian, maybe Inunaki, but it was no secret that Atsumu had the most success with women.

With a personality like his, he surely had to have an impeccable courting process.

Atsumu claps a hand on his shoulder. “And you came to me for sex advice, right? Smart choice! It’s okay if ya can’t always get it up right away, Omi. Sometimes ya just need to dive into the spank bank for a sec—”

“W— what?” He sputters, face suddenly hot. “No! I don’t have…performance issues.” (That he knows of.) “I just— I need to know how— I want —”

“Want what? Help askin’ her out?”

“Yes,” he breathes, relieved that he doesn’t actually have to ask.

“That’s it? Man, I thought it’d be more exciting than that.” Atsumu scratches his head, shrugging. “I dunno, maybe just…ask?”

“Yes," he sighs impatiently. "But how?”

“Just ask! Have ya never asked someone out?”

Sakusa doesn’t answer. Google might have been more help.

Atsumu shakes his head a few times, muttering something incoherent that he’s sure is an insult. “Alright. Just go up to her, flex your muscles a bit, and give her your best line. Something like, ‘Can I take your temperature? ‘Cause you look hot today.’ And flash her a million yen smile.”

Sakusa pauses, considering this. “Is your courting ritual straight out of a shoujo manga?”

_____

You’re in the process of packing away athletic tape and foam rollers, chatting amicably with Hinata when he suddenly greets someone behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Sakusa, who is shuffling over to you with all the awkwardness of a shy teen.

You quickly stuff the last of the equipment into your bag, swiping your hands across your track pants before hauling yourself to your feet. “Hey, is everything okay?”

Sakusa hesitates, briefly glancing at Hinata. The single look is probably the most taciturn way you’d ever seen someone been told to ‘go away.’

Hinata gets the hint, scurrying off and for some reason shooting you a thumbs up behind his teammate’s back.

Sakusa briefly glances at your face. Then he stares at your shoes, the ceiling, the wall. He looks...stiff. Almost like he’s--

“Are you flexing?”

“No.”

You give an experimental poke to his bicep, which is, yup, rigid. “I studied visual anatomy and physiology, I think I know when a person’s flexing. What’s going on? Why are you flexing?”

A few feet away, you think you see Atsumu smack his forehead.

Sakusa’s body relaxes, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to ask you…” he opens and closes his mouth a few times, heaving a sigh before looking at you expectantly. “That’s all.”

Your brows furrow. “You didn’t finish your sentence, nothing came out of your mouth.”

He looks extremely pained for some reason. “Can I take your temp--”

Atsumu is suddenly at your guys’ side, grinning. “Omi-omi has a huge, giant crush on you. Will you please go out with him so he can stop faking wrist pain to talk to ya?” He smacks Sakusa on the side of the head when he tries to argue (a move you think he’s going to regret). “Shut it, scrub, we’ve been on the receiving end those nasty spikes the past few practices. Your wrist is fine.”

You turn to Sakusa, cheeks aflame and heart stuttering in your chest. “Is that...is that true?”

“I like you,” he says bluntly, but his tone is soft with a shyness that’s unfamiliar to him. His tall form is hunched, nervous as he awaits your response.

You draw back to stare up at him. “During the Yasohachi mission? The one where Ijichi specifically told them to retreat?” You’re gone for a week and your students are going rogue (according to Nitta and Ijichi’s panicked explanations). Gojo’s eyes widen when you hesitate, but your pride in your students quickly overshadows any worry, and you can’t help but smile. “That’s amazing!”

“Get this,” Gojo adds, practically bouncing with excitement as he yanks the passenger door open for you. “Megumi even exorcised a special grade finger-bearing curse all by himself, and he did it by getting a domain expansion up. I mean, it was incomplete and Itadori and Kugisaki found him passed out under the bridge right after, but he’s alive!”

“He’s been working really hard on that, I’m impressed. Is he okay though?”

“He’s fine, just has a minor concussion.” Gojo assures you, taking your bag and gently nudging your into the car. “I talked to Shoko, and she said he’s been recovering in his room for the past week.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Well, before we break into Nanami’s apartment, can we stop by the school and check in with the students?”

“Absolutely,” he agrees, tossing your bag into the back (he’s definitely paying for the expensive crunch that you guess is your iPad) and sliding into the driver’s seat. “We’ve got to give them these!”

He reaches across your lap to open the glovebox, revealing three plaques that read ‘Best student ever!’

_____

“Fushiguro Megumiiiiiii!” Gojo calls, as you approach the boy’s dorm room.

“Keep your voice down,” you hiss, grabbing his wrist before he can bang on the door. “He has a concussion, baby.”

“It’s minor, and it’s been a week. The kid’s got a thick skull, he’s basically fine,” he scoffs, wrenching the door open before you can stop him.

Megumi is sitting up against his headboard, a bored look on his face as Kugisaki and Itadori stand on either side of his bed. Only Megumi acknowledges you both with a nod.

Itadori cowers as if he wasn’t the vessel of the King of Curses. “Kugisaki, for the last time, I didn’t know it was your leftover yakitori!”

Kugisaki looks like she’s seconds away from putting a nail through his forehead. “The box had my name on it, idiot, how could you not have known?”

“I was just so hungry I didn’t look!”

“Okay!” Gojo claps, tugging a shrieking Itadori out of the way when Kugisaki lunges at him. “Kugisaki, at least wait until after he’s consumed all of the fingers to kill him. You’ll have plenty more reasons to fuel your rage by then.”

“Don’t worry, Gojo will buy you more yakitori,” you say, patting the girl’s tense shoulders as your fiancé makes a confused noise.

“I will?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “After he and I make a...delivery, he’s going to buy us all dinner to celebrate an amazing milestone! We’re so proud of you guys.”

“I mean, you all almost died but you didn’t, and I like to think that it’s all due to our amazing training! So here!” Gojo announces, handing out the engraved plaques, humming ‘pomp and circumstance.’ “From two out of the three best teachers ever!”

“Thank you!” Itadori and Kugisaki grin, hugging their plaques close to their chests.

Even Megumi smiles a little, quietly running a finger over the lacquered edge of the plaque.

You take a seat at Megumi’s side, wrapping an arm around him. “How’s your head?”

“Good,” he tells you. “Just waiting for Shoko to clear me for training again.”

“I heard you got a domain expansion up,” Gojo says, sitting on his other side and ruffling his hair. “I’m seriously so proud of you.”

“Thanks, dad.”

Megumi’s cheeks immediately turn pink when he realizes what he’s said.

Gojo’s hand freezes in Megumi’s hair, and your mouth falls open a little. Kugisaki looks like she’s seconds away form busting out laughing.

“Did you just call Gojo-sensei...dad?” Itadori gasps loudly.

“No...”

“You did,” Kugisaki argues, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You said, ‘thanks, dad.’”

“No, I didn’t,” Megumi insists, but his face is getting redder by the second. “Shut up!”

“Awe, ‘gumi!” Gojo wails, snapping out of his state of shock to wrap the boy in a hug. “You’re the best kid ever!”

Megumi squirms like a cat trying to escape its overaffectionate owner. “Get off me! I don’t like you!”

Gojo just holds him tighter. “Because you love me?”

“No!” He shoots you a pleading look, one you haven’t been able to resist since he was six. “Sensei, make him stop.”

“Don’t you mean...mom?” Itadori teases, Kugisaki snickering behind him.

That seems to be the last straw, because Megumi tears himself out of his guardian’s grasp, lunging at his classmate. The sound of hands slapping skin echo through the room as they tumble to the ground, shirt collars gripped, concussions forgotten. Megumi’s growling, Itadori’s laughing, and Kugisaki cheering.

“We did a good job,” Gojo murmurs fondly, shuffling over to wrap an arm around your waist and place a lingering kiss to the top of your head. You lean into him, sighing as you watch your students beat each other up.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “We really did.”

You feel him shift against you, and you tilt your head up to see mesmerizing blue eyes admiring you behind tinted shades. He gently grasps your chin, kissing you slow and sweet.

“Ew, Fushiguro! Tell your parents to cool it with the PDA!”

“Shut up, Kugisaki!”

BONUS

“Why are we outside of Nanami’s apartment?” Itadori questions, trying to ignore the rumbling in his stomach.

“Some idiots are looking to get their shit rocked,” Megumi answers with a sigh.

“Well, I hope Nanami-san does it fast,” Kugisaki whines. “I’m starving.”

Meanwhile, Gojo betrays your one rule of ‘don’t touch anything, Satoru,’ in favour of switching around a few books and taping a printed selfie onto the fridge.

“We’ll be long gone by the time he gets here,” Gojo reasons, taking a huge bite out of what looks like a fresh loaf of bread, and swapping the contents of the canisters labelled ‘salt’ and ‘sugar.’ “Not like he’s going to pop out of no where all like ‘Gojo, what are you doing?’”

Your fiancé, the strongest sorcerer alive, doubles over and laughs at his own terrible Nanami impression, and you question all your life choices.

“Let’s just put the trophy in his room and get out of here. The kids are hungry,” you mutter with a roll of your eyes.

You manage to place the trophy, but you don't get to leave before Gojo drags you into the home office to write ‘Satoru wuz here’ on the pad of sticky notes, and adjusts the lumbar support on the desk chair.

“Hey, hey, let’s fuck on his desk or something!”

“Oh my god, no,” you hiss, trying to stop him from sweeping everything of the executive looking desk. “We have to go before he gets home from work—”

The lights flick on, and it’s with mild horror that you see Nanami Kento looming in the doorway, the vein in his forehead visible and throbbing.

“Okay, I see now which one of us Megumi gets his hostility from,” Gojo huffs petulantly. “We’re definitely coming back to this later, but right now I’m really hoping that you read that article on child rearing that I sent you twenty minutes ago.”

You’d seen the text linking the article, yes, then ignored it in favour of doing your actual work. “Why?”

Gojo hauls himself off of your couch, stretching and letting his joints pop before heading to your door. “Because we’re going to lecture him. Did the article say if time-outs still work on ten year olds?”

He disappears into the hall before you can answer, and not thirty seconds later, he reappears dragging a scowling Megumi in by the collar of his shirt and herds the boy into a chair in front of your desk.

You soften a bit, the way you always do when you’re around the ten year old. “You were sent home from school?”

Megumi gives a little nod, his cheeks turning pink as turns his head to face the wall as he mutters an embarrassed, “’m sorry sensei…”

Okay, it seemed you were thrust into a parenting role whether you were ready or not (so much for contraception).

“I’m assuming when he picked you up, Gojo-sensei talked to you about trying to use your words first or getting a teacher—”

Gojo answers with a firm, “of course i did.”

“The only thing you asked was if I put cursed energy into the punch,” Megumi bites, and you avert your gaze to your boyfriend, who looks shocked at the betrayal. “And then you congratulated me when I said I did.”

“Are you trying to get us both in trouble?”

“I punched a bully. You lied.”

“Oh, you wanna talk to me about lying? How did the toilet like my brownies, Megumi?”

“Settle down,” you sigh, wondering if this constant, low level of stress is what Yaga-sensei felt when you and Gojo bickered in his office. “Megumi, you said you punched a bully? So it wasn’t just a fight?”

“Yes, sensei,” he mumbles, kicking at Gojo’s shin. “He was trying to take a student’s lunch money.”

There’s your Megumi. Protector of those in need. A literal angel with a killer right hook.

“Okay,” you start, smiling a little. “I’m not going to get mad at you because schools are often flooded with negative emotions and are at high risk for curses. A lot of those emotions come from bullies, so if you beat them up, problem solved, right?” Gojo opens his mouth, but your index finger in the air shuts him up. “But you can’t go around punching people with cursed energy. You’re lucky the kid was bigger than you, or you could have really hurt him. So just— no cursed energy, alright? Just your fists.”

Megumi blinks a few times, asking, “‘m not in trouble?”

At the same time, Gojo sputters, “So no time out?”

“Nope,” you decide. “But Gojo’s going to make you a cake.”

BONUS

Later that night, Gojo proudly sets a lopsided cake with patchy blue frosting in front of a wary looking Megumi. The lit candle is slowly succumbing to gravity, and how the entire thing is still upright is a mystery to everyone present.

Nanami leans over to read from the messy piping work on the lumpy surface. “‘Congrats on winning your first fight?’ I thought it was his birthday. I even bought a gift.”

Shoko returns from her raid on your liquor cabinet, sighing as the two of them watch you and Gojo cheer, proudly ruffling the boy’s hair. “It’s better if you don’t question it.”

“Thank you for your help today,” Gojo murmurs into your ear after Megumi’s blown out his candle, and everyone hesitantly pokes at their wonky pieces of cake. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

You’d been messing with Gojo up until now, but this makes you pause. It was always a possibility for the kid to inherit the same technique as you, and now that it was reality, you were…excited. Excited to teach a young sorcerer in the way you had wished you’d been taught.

“Okay,” you agree, and Gojo looks momentarily surprised by your easy compliance. “But we’re gonna need some fly heads.”

—

“Why can’t Gojo-sensei teach me how to use my technique?”

Something clenches in Satoru’s chest as he watches you kneel in front of the small boy, smiling sweetly.

“Because that goofy beanstalk’s inherited technique isn’t nearly as cool as ours, so he doesn’t fully understand how it works yet.”

Ah, always so sweet until you open that pretty mouth of yours.

You’re merely gesturing around the room, but Megumi’s already showing more interest than he does during a full conversation with Satoru himself (the strongest sorcerer in the world, not that his kid was concerned).

“You may notice that the shadows around you…respond whenever you’re feeling things like anger or anxiety— Did Gojo-sensei teach you how to control your flow of cursed energy?”

From his spot against the wall, Satoru draws a deeper than normal breath. He likes the way Gojo-sensei sounds coming from your lips.

“Yeah,” Megumi replies, pointing to the bandage on his pudgy little cheek. “With the stuffed bear that punches.”

“It’s an unorthodox method,” you grimace, cutting a glare in Satoru’s direction. “But that makes this lesson easier.”

You hold your hands out in front of you, and Gojo watches as your cursed energy pulses around you, your shadows swirling in response to your jujutsu.

The Ten Shadows technique has always intrigued him. He’s seen - through you - how its versatility and power could easily outclass the strongest sorcerers and special grade curses.

Satoru knows he’s the strongest, but you? You’re a close second.

“We can hide a lot of things in our shadows. Like weapons,” you reach into one at your side, pulling a jet-black sword. “Or…wallets.”

Satoru can hear the smile in your voice when you hand Megumi a familiar black bi-fold, patting his pockets and groaning when he realizes they’re empty.

He should have known you didn’t put your hand on his thigh for no reason while he was driving.

Megumi giggles as you set the wallet in his palm, and his mouth falls open, because the kid’s never done more than scowl around him. Were you already his favourite?

You continue your lesson, clasping your hands together to summon one of your dogs. “But the best part is our shikigami.” Megumi’s eyes widen in awe as the dog dutifully flanks your side. “Basic shikigami users usually use a talisman as an intermediary, but we use our shadows. Do you know how to make shadow puppets?”

You smile when the boy nods, helping him position his little hands to form a dog. “Good. Now focus your cursed energy into it.”

It’s adorable, the way Megumi squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates so hard. What’s even more adorable is the way your eyes light up and you cheer when two little puppies appear at Megumi’s feet, tails wagging eagerly as they look up at their summoner.

“Satoru,” you call over your shoulder (and his heart absolutely does not begin to beat a little faster hearing you say his first name). “The fly head?”

“Oh, right,” he chuckles, recalling his role as assistant in this lesson, reaching into the box and pulling the low-level curse out by its neck, holding it out as far from his body as he can.

Eyes still on Megumi, you let out a quick, sharp whistle, and your white dog snarls, lunging forward and tearing the curse from Satoru’s hand. It’s teeth rip into the thing, powerful jaw crushing and tearing until the curse is nothing but pulp. (He’s seen that dog take on curses five times its size and win, this was but the tip of the iceberg when showcasing Ten Shadows.)

“They eat the curses?” Megumi asks, sounding more surprised than scared, like any normal seven-year old would be.

(Then again, he’s Toji’s kid.)

“The dogs do, yes,” you explain, rubbing your dog behind its ears before releasing it. “But like your other shikigami, they can also be trained for offense or support.”

“Can you teach me how to train them?” Megumi asks, glancing up at you hopefully, his puppies piled into his lap.

You’d have to be absolutely heartless to say no to him.

Satoru smiles a little when your expression softens. “Of course I will,” you tell him, then nod your head back towards him. “Don’t forget about your Gojo-sensei, though. He’s quite good at hand-to-hand combat, and the only thing more valuable than a sorcerer with Ten Shadows, is one who can also throw a punch. You want to fight alongside your shikigami.”

Megumi nods enthusiastically, and it’s perhaps the most excited he’s seen the kid react to the idea of spending more time with him.

—

“You ever think about it?” He asks as he walks you back to your dorm later that night. The last tendrils of sun stream through the windows, bathing the hall in warm streaks of sunset.

“Think about what?” You hum in reply, swinging the bag of kikufuku between you two.

“Teaching.”

You snort lightly at that. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Satoru laughs, nudging you slightly. “You were really good with the kid.”

“We have the same technique,” you shrug. “And he’s one kid, not a classroom of them.”

“We could do it together,” he suggests lightly. “You, me, Shoko, Utahime, even Nanami. We’re always here between missions anyway.”

You pause in the middle of the hall, turning to stare at him, your eyes searching his. “You…really do want to teach.”

“I do,” he nods. “The world is changing, and jujutsu needs to do the same. It needs people like you and me to lead that change, and it starts with us teaching kids like Megumi.”

Your gaze seems to soften, switching your shopping bag to your other hand and interlocking your fingers with his.

“Okay, let’s do it. Together.”

Satoru can’t help but smile, using your hand to pull you closer, leaning down and peppering your face in kisses until you squeal, begging him to stop between giggles.

“By the way, can you start calling me Gojo-sensei in bed?”

your relationship with iwaizumi was a little complicated. complicated as in you weren’t even sure if the two of you were friends.

your old roommate had moved out unexpectedly, rent was too high to handle alone, and he was a friend of a friend that needed a place to stay. your mutual friend had nothing but nice things to say about him, so the first time you’d met him was when he was moving in.

other than the living room stretching, he was a decent roommate. he spent most of his at the gym or on campus, and when he was home, he was quiet and clean. he always took out the trash when it was full, didn’t play music too loud, did his dishes when he was done in the kitchen, and did his fair share of sweeping and cleaning the bathroom.

but that moment in the living room might have been one of the longest period of time you’ve spent together in the two months you’d lived under the same roof.

and you’d eyed him like a vulture eyed a carcass.

since then, you’d made it a rule that you didn’t leave your room until you’d heard the front door open and close. stomach rumbling for breakfast? guess you were starving. needed to use the bathroom? too bad, you were going to hold it.

you should have known this was going to be an issue when he’d taken a shower that first night, stepping out of your shared bathroom in nothing but a towel slung low across his hips.

iwaizumi is hot, and every time you see his body wash in the shower (that you share) or you hear him groan quietly while he stretches (shirtless) you’re reminded of the fact.

it also doesn’t help that he’s so nice. he always makes enough dinner for the both of you whenever he cooks, leaving a note with your name atop neatly stored away leftovers. he leaves extra coffee in the pot for you in the mornings. he lays a blanket over you when you fall asleep studying at the dinner table.

every nerve in you screams that he’s boyfriend material, but he’d rarely shown an interest in you other than cohabitational friendship.

-

everything goes to hell when his best friend comes to visit.

iwaizumi gave you a heads up beforehand, of course. not that you’d have an issue with it, he rarely even invites people over to study. but the second oikawa tooru step through the door, you wonder how the hell this person was friends with ‘iwa-chan.’

because while oikawa talked and talked to fill space, iwaizumi only added the occasional huff or puff, maybe a snark comment here and there, but otherwise didn’t really engage. they were like day and night, these two childhood best friends.

in fact, iwaizumi didn’t really seem to care for what oikawa said until he’d turned to you and said, “so you’re the roommate that iwa-chan thinks--”

your roommate’s hand had slapped the back of his head before he could finish, fist balling into his shirt collar to tug him into his room.

you can’t help but wonder what he would have said, if iwaizumi hadn’t stopped him.

-

on friday night, oikawa finally convinces his iwa-chan to take him clubbing. he asks you if you want to come, of course, but you’ve just finished a particularly draining exam, and were planning on an eventful night consisting of a long soak in the tub, followed by ice cream and netflix as a reward.

you end up heading to bed a little earlier than expected, but not before flicking on the stove light for iwaizumi and oikawa, who will undoubtedly stumble in drunk, if the snaps the latter had sent you were any indicator.

so you curl up in bed, shutting your eyes and trying not to think about how good your roommate looked in that black button up and dark jeans.

-

when you slowly blink awake the next morning, the first thing you realize is that you’re uncomfortably warm. too warm, considering you always turned on the ac before bed.

the next thing you realize is that there’s something heavy draped across your waist, and you almost scream when you realize that it’s someone’s arm. a brief glance to your side confirms that it’s—

—it’s iwaizumi. he’s shirtless beside you, snoring quietly and smelling faintly of booze.

you breath a long breath through your nose, trying to will your erratic heartbeat to calm as you planned your escape. you were trapped with your roommate on one side, and the wall on the other. this would not be easy.

okay, first things first, you need to get his arm off.

carefully, you slide a hand under his forearm. his skin is warm and smooth, perfectly tanned from running in the california sun, and the corded muscles underneath feel like defined bedrock.

as soon as you begin to lift in the slightest, he reacts by tightening his arm around your waist, nudging his face into the junction of your shoulder and neck. you hold your breath when he gazes up at you with heavy lids, humming lazily before murmuring your name.

“don’t leave bed yet,” he mumbles almost incoherently, breath hot against your skin, sending tingles up your spine and making you gasp lightly.

you feel him stiffen against you, eyes blinking awake a little wider this time when he whispers, “am i awake right now?”

did he think he was dreaming? of you?

you can’t find it in you to give him a verbal answer, so you just swallow thickly and nod before he peeled himself away from you, muttering a quiet, fuck, under his breath as he rolls out of bed.

“i’m sorry,” he says, not looking you in the eye, the tips of his ears turning a questionable shade of crimson. “i clearly wasn’t thinking straight last night, i thought this was my room and that i was just drea—” he cuts himself off, the red crawling down his neck. “i know i probably made you uncomfortable.”

“it’s fine,” you assure him quickly, feeling heat rise to your own face as you tried to avoid glancing over the defined crevices of his chest and abs. “it was an accident, right?”

“right,” he nods.

neither of you say anything for a very long time.

“you should get some sleep,” you tell him. “you look like hell.”

he glances at the door, scratching the back of his neck. “you know, i think— i think shittykawa is in my bed. that might’ve been why i…”

you raise a brow. “shittykawa?”

“oikawa,” he explains quickly. “do you want to just make breakfast instead?”

breakfast doesn’t seem like a horrible idea, and it’s unlikely either of you are going to be able to sleep after this, so…

your stomach grumbles in response, the corner of iwaizumi’s mouth quirking up a little.