He wonders if he's imagining it, or maybe it's just wishful thinking, but he thinks Hanamaki's visits start to get more frequent after that.
Oikawa too for that matter, once he comes in one afternoon and Iwaizumi is working the till (' Iwa-chan —' 'Iwa-chan?!' '—You make the best milk bread, Iwa-chan, has anyone ever told you that? ' ‘ Iwa-chan?! ’), but Matsukawa doesn't have time to dwell on whatever the hell is happening there , not when Hanamaki is steadily becoming a daily fixture in his life.
He starts staying longer too. Matsukawa can't count the number of times he's glanced over his shoulder to find Hanamaki squashed up in one of their ratty old armchairs flipping lazily through a book or listening to music as he watches the hustle and bustle of the store. Sometimes they catch each others eye and - again , Matsukawa wonders if he's imagining it - Hanamaki smiles . But it's not his usual smile, the one Matsukawa's learnt to recognise like it were his very own. It's a smaller smile, slight and subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone who isn't looking for it.
It feels like a secret smile, one reserved for him and him alone, and Matsukawa loves it.
He’s not worried per se, it’s just—
“It’s been a week ,” Matsukawa groans, startling a customer as he hurries past the counter clutching a loaf of bread tightly against her chest. “A whole week . That’s seven days. 168 hours. Ten thousand minutes. Six hundred and—”
“I get it” Iwaizumi says loudly, cutting across Matsukawa with a glare. “You’re worried .”
“I’m not worried. I’m—” He pauses, brows furrowing just a little as he reflects on his actions over the last few hours. “Alright. Maybe I’m a little worried.”
“You’re squeezing that éclair so hard, it exploded about four minutes ago and you didn’t even notice.”
Matsukawa glances down at his sticky hand and the destroyed pastry in it. “You may have a point.”
Iwaizumi snorts and chucks him a couple napkins. “This wouldn’t be happening if you just did what I said and asked for his number. You know, like a normal person.”
“Yes, yes,” Matsukawa sighs. “You’re always right and I’m always wrong, I know . I bow down to the ultimate wisdom of Iwaizumi Hajime. It’s just—”
“You’re worried.”
Matsukawa nods. “I’m worried.”
In the many months he’s known Hanamaki, he’s never known him not to visit the store at least twice in one week. So the fact that he hasn’t seen him in seven days (and counting) is more than a little alarming.
“What if he’s dead ?” Matsukawa asks, ignoring the way Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and mumbles something about him being ‘way too dramatic ’. “What if something happened to him? What if he moved ?” Matsukawa pauses. “Oh shit. Iwaizumi? What if he moved ?”
Iwaizumi runs a tired hand down his face. "I really dou—"
"Then back to the first point, what if he's dead . What if I never see him again?"
"Have you always been this melodramatic?" Iwaizumi asks. "Or is it just something you reserve for when we're alone together, presumably to help further your never-ending quest of driving me insane?"
"Iwaiz—" Matsukawa freezes, eyes wide as spots a familiar head of light brown hair hurrying past the store through the window. "Oikawa." He ignores the way Iwaizumi's head snaps up at the mention of Oikawa's name (and files it away for later teasing material), and ducks out from behind the counter, barely caring that he's still wearing his flour stained apron as he sprints out of the store to catch Oikawa hurrying down the road.
He catches Oikawa before he turns a corner, yanking him backwards by the tail end of his coat to make him stop.
"Mattsun?" Oikawa asks, frowning a little as he waits for Matsukawa to catch his breath. "Are you— Is everything alright?"
Matsukawa nods, trying to act like this isn't the weirdest thing he's done in a while. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine ," he says casually, hoping he sounds as nonchalant as he thinks he does. "Just saw you walking past the shop and thought I'd come and say hi and see how things are."
Oikawa hums, clever eyes flashing with something Matsukawa can't quite pinpoint as he peers down at him. "Is that so?"
"Yep ," Matsukawa lies cheerfully. "So. How are... things ."
Oikawa's lip twitches a little. "Things are fine, thank you. How are things with you."
"Peachy. Just peachy ."
"Well," Oikawa tips his head, lips still twitching upwards into a sly little smile as he moves to turn away. "I've really got to be going, so—" He blinks pointedly at Matsukawa.
"Don't make me say it."
"Don't make you say what, Mattsun?" Oikawa asks, voice dripping with faux innocence. Matsukawa briefly considers shoving him into the road.
"You know what. Just— Just tell me where he is."
"Where who is?"
"Has anyone ever told you, you're insufferable?"
"Insufferably handsome , yes," Oikawa grins, inching a little closer to Matsukawa. "Now Mattsun, if you have something you want to say, you should just spit it out."
"Where's Hanamaki?" Matsukawa mumbles, pretending like he can't feel the way he cheeks have begun to heat up. "I haven't seen him in a while, so I was— I was just wondering if maybe—"
"You were worried ," Oikawa says brightly, either completely oblivious to the pink hue on Matsukawa's cheek, or just thoroughly enjoying seeing it (Matsukawa thinks it's more likely to be the latter). "Right?"
Matsukawa scowls at him. "Are you enjoying this?"
"Immensely," Oikawa laughs, draping a friendly arm over Matsukawa's shoulder. "Now, and you didn't hear this from me, alright?" He brings his head closer to Matsukawa's to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. "Makki is sick . Like, can barely crawl out of bed without puking all over the place kind of sick. I don't think he's left his bed for about three days."
Matsukawa winces, feeling a surge of sympathy for his favourite customer. Though he can't help but feel a tiny bit pleased the actual reason for Hanamaki's absence isn't something more serious.
(Like death or, even worse, what if he moved ?)
"Yeah," Oikawa continues. "I think he's over the worst of it now but, do you know what would really help him recover?"
His voice turns sly and Matsukawa can sense he's about to fall into a trap. "What?"
Oikawa's grin widens. "Some of his favourite desserts from his favourite baker. Now," he taps at his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder who that could be?”
And that is how Matsukawa finds himself standing outside Hanamaki's door - address courtesy of a meddling Oikawa - three hours later, clutching a box of freshly made cream puffs in one hand, while the other hovers frozen and poised to knock mid-air.
So yeah, he's really not the smartest of most level-headed guy in the world because this is, unequivocally, the dumbest thing he's ever done before, because:
a) It's just creepy , right? Turning up at your favourite customer slash crush's door unannounced? (Even if his best friend did give you his address and practically shove you in the right direction).
and
b) Cream puffs aren't even a good get well food! In fact, Matsukawa thinks they might serve the exact opposite purpose of making someone feel better.
He blames Oikawa wholeheartedly and, when this is all over, he vows to make him pay. But right now he as bigger problems. Namely, the stupid situation he's gotten himself into (which, he reminds himself for the nth time, is entirely Oikawa's fault).
He could just turn back right now and pretend like this never happened. He should do just that. In fact, he is going to do just that. Matsukawa nods to himself and takes a step backwards. He'll never have to know. Nobody will have to know. Except Oikawa, but Matsukawa thinks he could buy his silence with Iwaizumi's milk bread, so that's not really a problem. He takes another step backwards, about to whirl around and quickly run down the corridor when the door opens.
Of course it does.
Of-fucking- course it does.
Hanamaki looks awful . His skin is pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and his voice ? "Matsukawa?" It's all hoarse and croaky and Matsukawa wants nothing more than to shoo him back to his bedroom and tuck him into bed and order him not to leave until he's feeling better.
Sadly, his body doesn't agree with him.
Instead of saying anything to this effect, he just stares . He doesn't even say 'hi', he just stares .
Hanamaki coughs. "My neighbour...she messaged me to tell me some weirdo was standing outside my door."
Matsukawa silently curses the neighbour.
"Is—" Another cough. "Is everything alright?"
See, now would be a good time to come clean and tell him that he was worried that he hadn't seen him in a few days and Oikawa had been gracious enough to let him know his address, so he thought he'd pop over and check how he was doing and make sure he was safe and not burning up, because he's a good friend, a thoughtful friend, and—
"For you," Matsukawa blurts instead, shoving the box of cream puffs into Hanamaki's chest. "They're for you."
And then - and this is where it really gets bad, as if it wasn’t bad enough already - he turns on his heel and runs .
And he doesn't stop running until he's home.
“I didn’t say anything ,” Matsukawa groans, dropping his head onto the counter with a loud thud . He ignores the dull throbbing sensation he can feel building up around his temples and groans again. “I just blinked at him, stuffed the box in his hands and ran .”
Iwaizumi winces.
“ Yeah . Didn’t even look back to see how he reacted. Ugh ,” he groans again. “Just bury me now, get it over and done with—” He hears the chime of the bell above the door, signalling a new customer entering the store, but he ignores it. “My life is over. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve embarrassed myself too much.”
“Well, yeah ,” Iwaizumi says, and Matsukawa thinks he can hear a faint note of amusement in his tone. “You’ve definitely embarrassed yourself—”
“Have I ever told you what a great friend you are?”
“—But,” Iwaizumi continues, poking Matsukawa sharply in the side. “I’m willing to bet you haven’t ruined everything.”
Realisation dawns over Matsukawa. “ No .”
“Yes,” Iwaizumi says firmly, poking him a little harder this time. “Get up .”
His stomach drops as he stands upright and catches sight of Hanamaki shooting him a halfhearted wave. “ No .” He moves to whirl around, possibly to run into the backroom to hide, possibly to run home and hide, but Iwaizumi gives him a subtle, yet firm, shove towards the door.
“ Traitor ,” Matsukawa hisses, glaring at Iwaizumi before he reluctantly shuffles towards Hanamaki, already anticipating the worst.
“Hey,” Hanamaki says as Matsukawa approaches. Though, thanks to his cold, it ends up sounding a lot more like ‘ Bey ’.
“Should you be out of your house?” Matsukawa asks, momentarily forgetting his distress in favour of peering over Hanamaki in concern. He looks better than he had the previous day, but he still looks ill and like he hasn’t had a real night’s sleep in a while. “You look—”
“I look like shit,” Hanamaki laughs, voice still hoarser than Matsukawa is used to hearing. “I know. I just— I wanted to give you something.” He bites his bottom lip, looking like he’s steeling himself for something, before he takes a step forwards and shoves a piece of paper into Matsukawa’s hands.
“Wha—”
“I talk to you later,” Hanamaki says quickly, cheeks pinker than Matsukawa has ever seen before (though if that’s due to his illness or something else , Matsukawa isn’t sure) as he turns on his heel and dashes out of the store, without glancing back.
“What the hell? You’re both idiots,” Iwaizumi snorts, shaking his head in dismay as he watches Matsukawa slink back behind the counter, gaze fixated on the small slip of paper in his hands. “What’d he give you.”
“Nothing,” Matsukawa mumbles, lips twitching upwards into a smile as he unravels the paper and allows his gaze to roam over the message printed over it in a neat scrawl. “Nothing, nothing.” Still grinning, he stuffs the piece of paper into his apron pocket and turns to face Iwaizumi. “Now, let’s talk about you and Oikawa .”
As soon as he drops into his bed when he gets home later that evening, Matsukawa whips out the piece of paper and his phone, squinting between the two as he types out a quick message.
hey, it’s matsukawa.
how’re you feeling?
The reply comes almost instantaneously.
hey, much better now :)
even better if you come round again with some more of those cream puffs from the other day ;)
Matsukawa laughs, sinking further into his bed as his phone vibrates and lights up again and again and again—
Re: FILL: Team Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, G
He wonders if he's imagining it, or maybe it's just wishful thinking, but he thinks Hanamaki's visits start to get more frequent after that.
Oikawa too for that matter, once he comes in one afternoon and Iwaizumi is working the till (' Iwa-chan —' 'Iwa-chan?!' '—You make the best milk bread, Iwa-chan, has anyone ever told you that? ' ‘ Iwa-chan?! ’), but Matsukawa doesn't have time to dwell on whatever the hell is happening there , not when Hanamaki is steadily becoming a daily fixture in his life.
He starts staying longer too. Matsukawa can't count the number of times he's glanced over his shoulder to find Hanamaki squashed up in one of their ratty old armchairs flipping lazily through a book or listening to music as he watches the hustle and bustle of the store. Sometimes they catch each others eye and - again , Matsukawa wonders if he's imagining it - Hanamaki smiles . But it's not his usual smile, the one Matsukawa's learnt to recognise like it were his very own. It's a smaller smile, slight and subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone who isn't looking for it.
It feels like a secret smile, one reserved for him and him alone, and Matsukawa loves it.
He’s not worried per se, it’s just—
“It’s been a week ,” Matsukawa groans, startling a customer as he hurries past the counter clutching a loaf of bread tightly against her chest. “A whole week . That’s seven days. 168 hours. Ten thousand minutes. Six hundred and—”
“I get it” Iwaizumi says loudly, cutting across Matsukawa with a glare. “You’re worried .”
“I’m not worried. I’m—” He pauses, brows furrowing just a little as he reflects on his actions over the last few hours. “Alright. Maybe I’m a little worried.”
“You’re squeezing that éclair so hard, it exploded about four minutes ago and you didn’t even notice.”
Matsukawa glances down at his sticky hand and the destroyed pastry in it. “You may have a point.”
Iwaizumi snorts and chucks him a couple napkins. “This wouldn’t be happening if you just did what I said and asked for his number. You know, like a normal person.”
“Yes, yes,” Matsukawa sighs. “You’re always right and I’m always wrong, I know . I bow down to the ultimate wisdom of Iwaizumi Hajime. It’s just—”
“You’re worried.”
Matsukawa nods. “I’m worried.”
In the many months he’s known Hanamaki, he’s never known him not to visit the store at least twice in one week. So the fact that he hasn’t seen him in seven days (and counting) is more than a little alarming.
“What if he’s dead ?” Matsukawa asks, ignoring the way Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and mumbles something about him being ‘way too dramatic ’. “What if something happened to him? What if he moved ?” Matsukawa pauses. “Oh shit. Iwaizumi? What if he moved ?”
Iwaizumi runs a tired hand down his face. "I really dou—"
"Then back to the first point, what if he's dead . What if I never see him again?"
"Have you always been this melodramatic?" Iwaizumi asks. "Or is it just something you reserve for when we're alone together, presumably to help further your never-ending quest of driving me insane?"
"Iwaiz—" Matsukawa freezes, eyes wide as spots a familiar head of light brown hair hurrying past the store through the window. "Oikawa." He ignores the way Iwaizumi's head snaps up at the mention of Oikawa's name (and files it away for later teasing material), and ducks out from behind the counter, barely caring that he's still wearing his flour stained apron as he sprints out of the store to catch Oikawa hurrying down the road.
He catches Oikawa before he turns a corner, yanking him backwards by the tail end of his coat to make him stop.
"Mattsun?" Oikawa asks, frowning a little as he waits for Matsukawa to catch his breath. "Are you— Is everything alright?"
Matsukawa nods, trying to act like this isn't the weirdest thing he's done in a while. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine ," he says casually, hoping he sounds as nonchalant as he thinks he does. "Just saw you walking past the shop and thought I'd come and say hi and see how things are."
Oikawa hums, clever eyes flashing with something Matsukawa can't quite pinpoint as he peers down at him. "Is that so?"
"Yep ," Matsukawa lies cheerfully. "So. How are... things ."
Oikawa's lip twitches a little. "Things are fine, thank you. How are things with you."
"Peachy. Just peachy ."
"Well," Oikawa tips his head, lips still twitching upwards into a sly little smile as he moves to turn away. "I've really got to be going, so—" He blinks pointedly at Matsukawa.
"Don't make me say it."
"Don't make you say what, Mattsun?" Oikawa asks, voice dripping with faux innocence. Matsukawa briefly considers shoving him into the road.
"You know what. Just— Just tell me where he is."
"Where who is?"
"Has anyone ever told you, you're insufferable?"
"Insufferably handsome , yes," Oikawa grins, inching a little closer to Matsukawa. "Now Mattsun, if you have something you want to say, you should just spit it out."
"Where's Hanamaki?" Matsukawa mumbles, pretending like he can't feel the way he cheeks have begun to heat up. "I haven't seen him in a while, so I was— I was just wondering if maybe—"
"You were worried ," Oikawa says brightly, either completely oblivious to the pink hue on Matsukawa's cheek, or just thoroughly enjoying seeing it (Matsukawa thinks it's more likely to be the latter). "Right?"
Matsukawa scowls at him. "Are you enjoying this?"
"Immensely," Oikawa laughs, draping a friendly arm over Matsukawa's shoulder. "Now, and you didn't hear this from me, alright?" He brings his head closer to Matsukawa's to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. "Makki is sick . Like, can barely crawl out of bed without puking all over the place kind of sick. I don't think he's left his bed for about three days."
Matsukawa winces, feeling a surge of sympathy for his favourite customer. Though he can't help but feel a tiny bit pleased the actual reason for Hanamaki's absence isn't something more serious.
(Like death or, even worse, what if he moved ?)
"Yeah," Oikawa continues. "I think he's over the worst of it now but, do you know what would really help him recover?"
His voice turns sly and Matsukawa can sense he's about to fall into a trap. "What?"
Oikawa's grin widens. "Some of his favourite desserts from his favourite baker. Now," he taps at his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder who that could be?”
“Insufferable,” Matsukawa repeats. “Absolutely insufferable.”
And that is how Matsukawa finds himself standing outside Hanamaki's door - address courtesy of a meddling Oikawa - three hours later, clutching a box of freshly made cream puffs in one hand, while the other hovers frozen and poised to knock mid-air.
So yeah, he's really not the smartest of most level-headed guy in the world because this is, unequivocally, the dumbest thing he's ever done before, because:
a) It's just creepy , right? Turning up at your favourite customer slash crush's door unannounced? (Even if his best friend did give you his address and practically shove you in the right direction).
and
b) Cream puffs aren't even a good get well food! In fact, Matsukawa thinks they might serve the exact opposite purpose of making someone feel better.
He blames Oikawa wholeheartedly and, when this is all over, he vows to make him pay. But right now he as bigger problems. Namely, the stupid situation he's gotten himself into (which, he reminds himself for the nth time, is entirely Oikawa's fault).
He could just turn back right now and pretend like this never happened. He should do just that. In fact, he is going to do just that. Matsukawa nods to himself and takes a step backwards. He'll never have to know. Nobody will have to know. Except Oikawa, but Matsukawa thinks he could buy his silence with Iwaizumi's milk bread, so that's not really a problem. He takes another step backwards, about to whirl around and quickly run down the corridor when the door opens.
Of course it does.
Of-fucking- course it does.
Hanamaki looks awful . His skin is pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and his voice ? "Matsukawa?" It's all hoarse and croaky and Matsukawa wants nothing more than to shoo him back to his bedroom and tuck him into bed and order him not to leave until he's feeling better.
Sadly, his body doesn't agree with him.
Instead of saying anything to this effect, he just stares . He doesn't even say 'hi', he just stares .
Hanamaki coughs. "My neighbour...she messaged me to tell me some weirdo was standing outside my door."
Matsukawa silently curses the neighbour.
"Is—" Another cough. "Is everything alright?"
See, now would be a good time to come clean and tell him that he was worried that he hadn't seen him in a few days and Oikawa had been gracious enough to let him know his address, so he thought he'd pop over and check how he was doing and make sure he was safe and not burning up, because he's a good friend, a thoughtful friend, and—
"For you," Matsukawa blurts instead, shoving the box of cream puffs into Hanamaki's chest. "They're for you."
And then - and this is where it really gets bad, as if it wasn’t bad enough already - he turns on his heel and runs .
And he doesn't stop running until he's home.
“I didn’t say anything ,” Matsukawa groans, dropping his head onto the counter with a loud thud . He ignores the dull throbbing sensation he can feel building up around his temples and groans again. “I just blinked at him, stuffed the box in his hands and ran .”
Iwaizumi winces.
“ Yeah . Didn’t even look back to see how he reacted. Ugh ,” he groans again. “Just bury me now, get it over and done with—” He hears the chime of the bell above the door, signalling a new customer entering the store, but he ignores it. “My life is over. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve embarrassed myself too much.”
“Well, yeah ,” Iwaizumi says, and Matsukawa thinks he can hear a faint note of amusement in his tone. “You’ve definitely embarrassed yourself—”
“Have I ever told you what a great friend you are?”
“—But,” Iwaizumi continues, poking Matsukawa sharply in the side. “I’m willing to bet you haven’t ruined everything.”
Realisation dawns over Matsukawa. “ No .”
“Yes,” Iwaizumi says firmly, poking him a little harder this time. “Get up .”
His stomach drops as he stands upright and catches sight of Hanamaki shooting him a halfhearted wave. “ No .” He moves to whirl around, possibly to run into the backroom to hide, possibly to run home and hide, but Iwaizumi gives him a subtle, yet firm, shove towards the door.
“ Traitor ,” Matsukawa hisses, glaring at Iwaizumi before he reluctantly shuffles towards Hanamaki, already anticipating the worst.
“Hey,” Hanamaki says as Matsukawa approaches. Though, thanks to his cold, it ends up sounding a lot more like ‘ Bey ’.
“Should you be out of your house?” Matsukawa asks, momentarily forgetting his distress in favour of peering over Hanamaki in concern. He looks better than he had the previous day, but he still looks ill and like he hasn’t had a real night’s sleep in a while. “You look—”
“I look like shit,” Hanamaki laughs, voice still hoarser than Matsukawa is used to hearing. “I know. I just— I wanted to give you something.” He bites his bottom lip, looking like he’s steeling himself for something, before he takes a step forwards and shoves a piece of paper into Matsukawa’s hands.
“Wha—”
“I talk to you later,” Hanamaki says quickly, cheeks pinker than Matsukawa has ever seen before (though if that’s due to his illness or something else , Matsukawa isn’t sure) as he turns on his heel and dashes out of the store, without glancing back.
“What the hell? You’re both idiots,” Iwaizumi snorts, shaking his head in dismay as he watches Matsukawa slink back behind the counter, gaze fixated on the small slip of paper in his hands. “What’d he give you.”
“Nothing,” Matsukawa mumbles, lips twitching upwards into a smile as he unravels the paper and allows his gaze to roam over the message printed over it in a neat scrawl. “Nothing, nothing.” Still grinning, he stuffs the piece of paper into his apron pocket and turns to face Iwaizumi. “Now, let’s talk about you and Oikawa .”
As soon as he drops into his bed when he gets home later that evening, Matsukawa whips out the piece of paper and his phone, squinting between the two as he types out a quick message.
hey, it’s matsukawa.
how’re you feeling?
The reply comes almost instantaneously.
hey, much better now :)
even better if you come round again with some more of those cream puffs from the other day ;)
Matsukawa laughs, sinking further into his bed as his phone vibrates and lights up again and again and again—