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talking nonsense | h.iwaizumi

You and Iwaizumi discuss his most recent piercing. And he's a little bit in love with you.

cw: 18+, gn!reader, suggestive, pining

— ✦

You keep your hands pressed firmly against the paper, coated in some kind of unknown substance Iwaizumi is not artsy enough to identify. It covers your hands and the shade of pink you've decided to paint your nails for the week, appearing in splotches up your wrist and ending midway on your forearms. Somehow, none of it gets on the sweater you're wearing. 

His sweater — the one he purposefully left behind for you, not that you know. In your eyes, Iwaizumi is just a bit forgetful and if his clothes are in your home then it's fair game to be worn by you. Finders, borrowers; he wouldn't mind if you chose to keep it, though. His clothes always look better on you than they do on him. 

You bounce a bit, putting extra pressure onto the paper beneath your palms. Your shorts ride up the expanse of your thigh, creasing and bunching by your hip, and the heat that licks up Iwaizumi's spine has him just barely biting back a curse. He's not just here to admire — though he finds himself doing so regardless when it comes to you — he's here for an opinion. 

"You don't think it's too much?" he asks, tilting his head to the side so you can see clearer. The simple silver hoop hanging from his ear. You groan and he clicks his tongue.

He watches you lean back, letting go of your paper mâché creation to lean against the foot of your emerald green couch (bought at a yard sale by you; picked up and moved in by Iwaizumi). "For the last time Haji, if I really thought it was too much I would have told you already." Your lips quirk to the side as you huff out a laugh, "Plus, it's one earring — hardly anything to scoff at."

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes, "What? You want me to get all tatted up? Piercings everywhere?" He says it sarcastically; you pick up on it but you're tilting your head to the side as though you're seriously considering it. Your gaze warms his cheeks and leaves his mouth feeling dry.

"I think you'd suit a tattoo or two," you hum, turning back to your project. You bring your hand up and make a half-hearted attempt at scratching your cheek, smearing some of the paste against your skin. "Another earring — a helix this time." You bend forward, getting closer to your creation with scrutiny in your eyes. Iwaizumi tries not to let his gaze linger, all but whipping his head to the side to stop himself from tracing the dip of your spine under your (his) sweater. 

He fails, unable to turn away completely. Some rational part of him reminds him that you're his best friend — one of the few people he's managed to get really close to in this new environment and new university — but he eyes you through his peripheral anyway. Your shorts ride up further. Iwaizumi digs his nails into his palms and shifts around in his seat. 

And then, you're looking up suddenly, meeting his stare with an intensity that leaves him feeling glued to the chair he's sitting on. He laughs, wedges some humour into his words, "Think we should slow down." You're smiling, plump lips — soft lips, he's sure of it — parting to just a sliver of your teeth. 

"Just think about it," you say, pausing your poking and prodding at your project. "I can think of some other piercings you could rock." It's a quick mumble, followed by the split-second drop of your eyes past the tense line of his jaw, past his shoulders, past his hips. What you're insinuating is not lost on him, but it does take him by surprise.

Iwaizumi draws in a sharp breath. You refocus your attention on your project. 

"In case you ever wanted any recommendations," you tack on, words just a touch above a whisper.

He can't figure you out. Or perhaps, he has and the realisation hasn't quite dawned on him yet. It will — when he's gone back to his own apartment and he's sitting on his own couch, he'll finally put two and two together. Iwaizumi hopes that by then, he'll have worked up the courage to do something about it.

In all honesty, it's taking every bit of restraint left in him to keep himself planted on this chair, far from you and those damn shorts and his damn sweater. He wants to tell you he loves you, and then maybe fuck you right into that emerald green couch he helped you haul into your apartment a few months ago. Instead, he says, "You seem like you've given this a lot of thought."

"Obviously," you answer without a shred of hesitation. "I'm always thinking about you, Hajime."

There is one thing Iwaizumi Hajime can be certain of and it's that you will absolutely be the death of him.