Chapter Text
It all begins with a class that Iwaizumi never ever, ever, ever would’ve taken if he didn’t have to.
The class is CHEM 325, because of course it is. Iwaizumi has never been an enemy of the sciences, but he’s heard horror stories about this class for years.
According to one rumor, one student slept so little while studying that he fell asleep in a park and woke up covered in bird shit. Another student failed so terribly that they dropped out of the major entirely. Another student got so nervous about taking the final that he threw up on his exam. Others who managed to survive the class warned prospective students on forums, academic advisory boards, college chats, and anywhere else they could find: do not take that class unless you absolutely have to.
But Iwaizumi needed an advanced chemistry class to graduate as a sports science major, and one unlucky lottery system later saw him begrudgingly signing up for it in a study hall while cursing under his breath. So yeah, he has to, but he’s sure as hell not going to follow suit. If Iwaizumi needs to take this class, he’ll do what it takes to do well. He’s not the type to take a challenge lying down.
Unfortunately, because Iwaizumi is the most unlucky guy in the whole wide world, it’s not enough that he has to take CHEM 325. Of course it isn’t. Iwaizumi has lived a life of relative peace up until now, but he’s never known to cherish it.
He just didn’t think CHEM 325 would come for his ass within the first ten minutes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
On the first day of class, Iwaizumi decides he’ll get there especially early. He shovels down his breakfast in the dining hall a good thirty minutes beforehand and then hurries over— only to find the room nice and empty, with early morning light streaming through the windows.
After surveying the room for a moment, he picks the two-seater in the second row. He settles in, taking out his new spiral notebook and a pen borrowed from his roommate Daichi. He doesn’t typically stress about class like this and shows up on time like any other responsible student. This time around, he figures it’d help him start the year on the right foot.
A few minutes later, another guy walks in wearing a light blue shirt and tailored slacks. A couple of girls follow him from behind, murmuring quietly to one another-- but when the guy suddenly stops right in the doorway, they collide right into him, startling him into making an undignified squawk.
“After you,” he recovers quickly and gestures forward with a practiced charm. They smile tentatively at him and nod at Iwaizumi as they walk toward seats in the back of the room.
Still in the doorway, the guy places his hands on his hips and scans the room carefully, clearly deciding where to sit. Iwaizumi watches him from the corner of his eye.
This guy better not sit next to me, he thinks to himself. Maybe it’s the way this guy is already tapping his foot so loudly he can hear it from across the room, or the way his flippy boy-band hairstyle doesn’t have a strand out of place. Call it intuition, call it a sixth sense— whatever it is, something about this guy just screams irritating.
Iwaizumi hasn’t been wrong yet.
As if reading his mind, the guy’s eyes suddenly snap dead onto his. Iwaizumi quickly looks away, glancing at the clock to try to escape his notice as he feels his ears burn. Don’t you dare, he threatens him internally. There are literally a million other seats you could choose.
He steals another glance back to the door, only to see that sure enough, the guy is making a beeline straight for him. No, no, no, no—
“Yahoo~,” the guy greets, giving him a little wave as he approaches his desk. He’s tall, easily taller than me, Iwaizumi notes begrudgingly, and lean, with sharp brown eyes behind the kind of fashionable thick frames Iwaizumi has only ever seen in magazines.
Iwaizumi grunts at him, nodding his head in acknowledgment. He doesn’t really do small talk, let alone yahoos. He would’ve thought that was obvious given the general impression he tends to make on strangers, but this guy seems oblivious to any sense that he doesn’t exactly want a desk partner.
“Is that your idea of a hello…” The guy leans forward and squints at the makeshift name tent Iwaizumi has folded in front of him, trying to make out the smudged kanji. “Iwa-izumi Haji-me. Hmm… no, that won’t do,” he says aloud, tapping his chin. “Too long.”
Iwaizumi turns to look at him directly, his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”
“Iwa-chan,” the guy decides. “Iwa-chan, is that your idea of a polite greeting? Who raised you?”
“What the hell did you just call me?”
“Iwa-chan,” he repeats, and he heads to the other chair and sits down, as if this conversation is going well. “That got your attention, didn’t it? You had every intention of ignoring me–– on our first day of lecture, no less!” He frowns. “I don’t appreciate being dismissed, so now you have a nickname. So there.”
“Is this how you always approach strangers?” Iwaizumi asks, his shirt starting to feel a little tight around the collar. “You just decide to give them childish, overfamiliar nicknames because you want attention?”
“It’s how I speak to difficult people who don’t know how to make polite conversation,” the guy responds a little haughtily, pinching his lips together as he pulls his notebook out from his bag and sets it on the desk. “How about: Hello! Nice to meet you! You know, small talk!”
Iwaizumi pinches the skin between his eyebrows, already feeling a headache coming on. “Look,” he begins, trying to sound calm. The expression the guy gives him in return tells him he’s not doing so well on that front, but Iwaizumi’s always had an honest face. “Clearly we’re not off to a great start. Why are you sitting here when you could literally be sitting–-” he gestures across the room, “Anywhere else?”
The guy crosses his arms across his chest, looking down at him past his nose. “I want to be close to the board. Is that a crime?”
“Yes,” Iwaizumi says, “because it’s been less than a minute and we’re already arguing.”
“Well, you can move then,” the guy replies, mimicking his gesturing. “No one’s stopping you.”
“What the hell, I got here first,” Iwaizumi retorts, and now he’s the one to cross his arms stubbornly. “You should be the one who moves.”
“Well, that’s no excuse,” the guy shoots back over his shoulder, sticking his tongue out at him like a damn child. “You’re the one who has a problem sitting here. I’m perfectly content.”
Iwaizumi can literally feel his blood pressure rising with every second he has to spend speaking to this guy. “It’s not an excuse, asshole! I got here first!”
“I’ll have you know–-” the guy begins hotly, but Irihata-sensei chooses then to step calmly into the classroom, and he promptly cuts himself off and smiles brightly at their professor.
What a fake jerk, Iwaizumi thinks.
He looks around the room and realizes that many more students have settled in since he began this argument with-– whoever this guy is, and the class is buzzing with small talk as people prepare for class to begin. He rubs a hand over his neck in agitation before opening his notebook in case he needs it. Irihata-sensei ambles over to the front and claps his hands together, and the room quickly quiets down.
“Welcome, welcome,” he says cheerfully. “I’m so happy to see all of you here. I am Irihata-san, and I am a chemistry professor here as well as the head of the department. Congratulations for making it in this course, because it’s not so easy to get into,” he wags a finger at them, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “And as I’m sure you’ve heard, it can be even harder to get out!”
Some students laugh nervously, but Iwaizumi just feels his jaw clench a little tighter.
“You may have heard that this is a challenging course, yes,” he continues, “and you would be correct to believe this is true. However, I believe in all my students, and I encourage you to find a good, strict balance between your studies and your other commitments this semester.”
Iwaizumi thinks about his burgeoning courseload and part-time job at the recreational center and swallows hard. He sneaks a peek over at the asshole next to him, who is writing neatly in his notebook with a fancy-looking gel pen. Is he just writing down everything he’s saying? he thinks. Shit, should I be doing that?
Irihata-sensei’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “As for the topics we’ll be covering together, we’re going to review some general chemistry, before getting to alkanes and alkenes, alcohols and phenols, carbohydrates, lipids, amines and amides…” Iwaizumi writes down as much as he can remember, already trying to keep up.
He sees a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye and looks over to see that the guy next to him, still perfectly composed, now has his hand raised. “Yes?” Irihata-sensei asks.
“Will we be reviewing any biochemistry in this course, Irihata-sensei?”
He nods happily. “Why yes, you beat me to it. We managed to sneak it into the syllabus this semester.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” the guy replies, genuinely looking excited. “I heard this class only went over the basics originally, so I’m glad you included it this time around.”
He added more shit to the course? Iwaizumi thinks, scrubbing at his hair. And he’s happy about that?
Irihata-sensei prattles on about exam dates and their lab schedule until the end of the lecture, when he makes his final, damning announcement before they break for lunch.
“To make things simpler to keep track of, your lab partner for the semester will be the person sitting next to you. Please introduce yourselves if you have not already done so.”
Iwaizumi slowly turns in horror toward the smirking asshole next to him.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Iwa-chan!” he taunts, snickering as Iwaizumi groans and puts his head in his hands.
“What even is your name?” he says, his voice muffled through his palms. “And who sent you from hell?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re lucky I’m here,” the guy scoffs, turning away to rummage through his bag. “I’m Oikawa Tooru, and mark my words-– you’re going to be glad I sat next to you before the semester’s over.”
“You self-important jacka-– dammit,” Iwaizumi cuts himself off as Irihata-sensei steps closer to them, smiling politely as he passes them the printed version of their syllabus. He sits up a little straighter and nods politely in thanks to their professor.
After he walks over to the next pair, he scans this Oikawa guy next to him, head to toe, and sighs. It’s just one class, after all. He can change his seat when this is over, and find another person to sit with for their lab. He doubts Irihata-san would remember his face after a single lecture.
But then he thinks, fuck this, I chose this seat on purpose. It’s the perfect distance from the board, and I can see Irihata-sensei clearly. There has to be another way.
Iwaizumi takes another deep breath, and goes with his gut.
“Alright,” he says, making sure Oikawa’s eyes are on him before he smiles widely with all of his teeth. Oikawa looks a little alarmed, and Iwaizumi thinks that’s a win if I’ve ever seen one. “Fine, Shittykawa. But I can’t say the same for you.”