Chapter Text
It starts with that stupid call...
Actually, it starts with Kei exiting museum doors in a fury. The sunny day outside never had a chance.
He stomps over to the bus stop, hands in his pockets. His jaw hurts—at this pace, he might chip a molar, and wouldn’t that be the cherry on top of a very, very shitty cake? He lets the bus that would take him back to his apartment pass. He takes the next one.
The fact that he only remembers to pull up his headset once he’s sat in the very last row of seats of the bus that will take him to Yamaguchi’s house is a testament to how annoyed he is at—
Of course it’s all nice and warm outside. Every time Kei makes a life-altering decision, it just has to be cheery and bright outside. It’s like the world is telling him he can have an easy life—aside from his Raynaud’s acting up—or he can be absolutely conflicted and annoyed at the universe while everyone’s out there eating popsicles and wearing shorts.
Not that everything is bad, he pauses to think carefully. No, no, what was that thing his mom used to say? Something about shooing away the good things with his sour moods? Anyway, it was in that phase she had where she believed the universe would just randomly provide whatever one wanted with only positive thinking and a great amount of self-delusion in return.
Gods, his head is starting to pound.
And he hasn’t even done the most stressful thing in his schedule yet.
Fuck high school reunions.
.
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Hinata is back; he’s tan, he’s marginally taller, he can drink his weight in alcohol and it’s mildly scary.
At least Miya is keeping him somewhat contained.
Tobio watches, with wide eyes as the older setter accepts an overflowing cup of sake from the devil-ginger in his lap. Yeah, that isn’t going to last long.
At least he’s not his drunk to care about, and even if Hinata gets sloshed, he has the luck of the main character in one of those dramas Miwa watches. They’ll be fine.
He looks down at his sneakers. They’re new, black and blue and very comfortable—and he’s not going to acknowledge Tsukishima. That’s not his drunk to care about, he is not.
It’s kinda hard, though, because a) the blond is on the other end of the same sofa that Tobio’s currently occupying, and b) he’s radiating animosity and Tobio picks up on it instinctively. You date someone in highschool for only four months and—
“Give me that.” A long arm comes into the field of vision, it snatches the sake bottle from Noya’s grasp—and it’s Noya, so he’s grinning like a maniac the entire time. Tobio hasn’t been paying attention to the conversation this whole time, but knowing the ex-libero, he dared-slash-goaded Tsukishima into it.
Although with the way that the blond has been drinking—
“Something to say, king?” Tsukishima sneers.
Tobio turns to the side, glares at him and resists the urge to stick his tongue out like a preschooler. “Drink yourself to sleep already. We don’t need to see the stick up your ass finally come out of your mouth.”
In his pocket, his phone vibrates, but he’s too busy glaring at Tsukishima. It’s probably just Hoshiumi sending memes, or Ushijima with one of his—usually quite good—athletic product recommendations.
Golden eyes hold Tobio’s stare, even as Tsukishima takes a gulp of his sake.
“Yeah, because I’m the one that falls asleep while drinking,” he drawls, going to put the bottle back down, but Tobio beats him to it, snatching it out of the other’s hand. The second their skin brushes, Tsukishima recoils like he’s getting acid poured over his hand.
Not that it matters. Tobio stopped feeling hurt about that a long time ago.
The sake burns in its way down. This whole thing has been going for around two hours, but Tsukishima was here before. Not that it’s hard to tell—he’s only upright because of the back of the couch. And he’s actually acknowledging the fact that he knew Tobio before today, which is not how these things—or any meeting between them—usually go. “I can’t take you seriously when you’re going cross eyed like that,” he mumbles and looks away. Maybe he should try to make small talk with some—
Yamaguchi is passed out on the couch. Hinata and Miya are sucking each other’s faces off, Noya is yelling—good yelling, it seems?—in the kitchen, probably terrorizing Yachi and Asahi.
Suga and Daichi are nowhere to be found and Tobio quickly reminds himself not to peek into any of the bathrooms. Those two have no shame.
So that’s Tobio and his ex, sitting on a couch.
.
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“ Psst ,” Yamaguchi has good taste in color schemes. Kei tilts his head to the side. He was supposed to do something important today but—
” Psst— ”
He whips his head to the side. “What?”
“Your glasses are on the floor,” Kageyama hisses.
Oh, that’s why everything's so blurry. Kei leans forward, stretches his hand out to where he can see a black smudge on the tiled floor. “I knew that,” he hisses back.
And he finds cold porcelain.
“Fuck—” There’s warmth at his side; Kageyama’s moved closer. He sees a hand reach for the black smudge he just missed and then a second later, the world is marginally less blurry. “You should go home, maybe.”
And who does he think he is? Really, Kei still has his thing to do—that he currently doesn’t remember what it was is of no consequence. “You’re not the boss of me, king.” He straightens up and looks around, spotting a sake bottle beside the setter’s foot. He leans in for it.
Hands wrap around his shoulders. “Come on, I’m taking—”
“Like I’m letting you take me home.”
“Why are you so stubborn? I’ll call—”
“I’m fine.”
“You almost just broke your stupid nose.” Kageyama pushes him back into the soft leather. “Let’s—”
Someone’s laughing, somewhere to the left, Kei’s head whips in the general direction of the sound and the world tilts. Alright, maybe he’s a little drunk. There’s an orange blur heading for him at a speed that should not be physically possible and—
“You had it well fucking hidden!” Hinata is perched right in front of him, so close that Kei can make him out clearly.
“Uh—”
“You’re joining Kageyama’s team!” Hinata yells and it pierces Kei’s right eardrum, surely, it does.
But yeah, he remembers now, that was what he was going to announce.
“What?” Kageyama’s voice is rough, almost angry in a way that reminds Kei of their first year. “You’re—”
“Surprise, your Majesty.” Kei smirks at him, he’s glad he has his glasses now because Kageyama is now staring slack jawed. “That’s a nice look on you.”
“OH MY GOD!” Yeah, there goes Kei’s other eardrum. He doesn’t even bother to look back at Hinata, just lifts a hand with the purpose of plucking Kageyama’s from his shoulders. “You two are back together!”
And if that’s not nonsense. Kei whips around again, his stomach does not like it. “What the fuck? No?”
“Oh Saltyshima, haven’t we gone through this before?” Hinata tuts him. “Look how you’re grabbing each other, and you’re joining his team—”
“Hinata—” Kageyama says, voice grave, it’s almost a warning.
Maybe, in some way, he senses that Kei is having a very bad day. It’s not enough to hold anyone else back, though. Hinata just laughs. “Oh come on, it’s been years! One would think you’d have the emotional maturity now—”
“Who are you to be talking about maturity, you overgrown fifth grader?” Kei’s teeth hurt. “I would never—”
“You don’t have the best track record when it comes to telling the truth about relationships, that’s for sure,“ Hinata interrupts, incensed. He’s leaning forward on his perch, his nose is almost brushing Kei’s. “Just admit that—”
Kei is tired, and annoyed, and very much done with this. Hinata should just stop talking and get out of his way, but the idiot is relentless, he needs to be shocked into giving Kei an out.
Somewhere, in a faraway corner of his mind, he knows he’s going to regret this.
Kageyama’s shirt is thin, quality Lycra between his fingers, it feels nice, but Kei isn’t thinking about that when he turns around, drags the setter forward and crashes their lips together for a hot second. He then turns to a wide-eyed Hinata. “There, had your show, happy?”
He stands up and heads for the door.
.
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SPOTTED- Kageyama Tobio-senshu (of Olympic fame) and Tsukishima Kei-senshu sharing an intimate moment in a crowded street. Talk about coming out of the closet.
SCANDAL- Less than an hour in his new team and already causing controversy, Tsukishima Kei and why you need to know everything about him.
“In love and volleyball.” The story behind the video that broke the Internet last night.
YES, FROM THAT COLOGNE AD! Tsukishima Kei snatches Olympic silver.
.
.
There’s a pigeon in Kei’s window when he wakes up.
It stares at him, he glares back.
It’s sunny outside—of course it’s fucking sunny outside. How the hell did he get home?
First things first, he finds an ibuprofen and a large glass of water. At least, so far, his stomach is behaving itself.
He finds his phone by the foot of the bed. It doesn’t turn on which isn’t a surprise, so he plugs it in and heads to the small kitchen of his studio for another glass of water. He’s about halfway down that one when someone starts pounding on the door.
Kei jumps, some water spills down the side of his chin, most of it tries to get into his lungs.
By the time he makes it to the door—the pounding hasn’t stopped—he’s still coughing. He manages a few swearwords at whoever is bothering him while he’s nursing the mother of all hangovers, before he shoves open the door, another already on his tongue.
Only Kageyama doesn’t bother to let him speak, he shoulders past Kei with a pinched expression that has Kei wondering if he didn’t commit some crime last night. He turns around after closing the door to look at the positively fuming man in the middle of his living room.
And that’s when the memory hits him. Fuck. Fuck.
Stupid Hinata.
Well, at least Kageyama being here makes sense now, Kei isn’t a shitty enough person to not know that he was way out of line. “Look I’m—”
“How are we going to fix this?” Kageyama seethes. He almost looks funny, in his jogging pants and tank top in the middle of Kei’s living room while he’s wearing an old t-shirt and boxers. “Tell me!”
“I can’t undo—” Kei shakes his head. “I’m sorry, okay?” He doesn’t offer an excuse because it’s not something he can excuse. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Kageyama just stares for a second. “I don’t know?” He lifts a hand to rake through inky dark hair. “Handle the PR team? I’m no good with that stuff, I—” He looks down, bottom lip pulled between his teeth.
Kei has to take a second to let that sink in. “What do you mean PR team, did Hinata say something?” He remembers the ginger being annoyingly insistent last night, but he isn’t the kind to go around telling out of context rumors to other people.
“What would he have to say? That stupid video is everywhere.” Kageyama looks exasperated, eyes wild. Now that Kei has overcome his initial shock a little more, he can see how sweaty the other is—did he run here?
Suddenly, his headache is ten times as awful. “Stupid what ?”
.
.
Seeing as Tobio was the one that deposited Tsukishima on the doorstep of this very apartment last night, he shouldn’t be surprised at how haggard the blond looks.
He sort of is anyway, although he figures at least half of how pale the other man currently is can be explained by what he’s watching. “When the hell did this happen?” Tsukishima finally says, putting the phone down on the counter. They’re standing in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee maker to beep.
He didn’t lock the screen and Tobio’s phone is still showing the damn video on loop. Whoever it was captured the both of them from just far enough that you can’t make out the disdain in Tsukishima’s face or the scowl on Tobio’s, but they’re definitely recognizable. It’s almost a cute scene—in the neon light of a large street sign, Tobio catches up to the blond, grabs Tsukishima by the wrist, and Tsukishima turns around, puts his hand on Tobio’s shoulder—more like grabs with his stupidly strong hands, Tobio has a bruise—and Tobio grabs the blond by his.
And you really can't tell who leans in first.
But that’s definitely a kiss that the camera captures.
“When did this even happen?” Tsukishima sighs, eyes on the ceiling, hands gripping the counter so hard his knuckles go white.
“When—” Tobio hesitates, tears his eyes away. “I’m not so sure either. I was just trying to make sure you didn’t get run over by a car, but I don’t remember so well—”
“That’s helpful,” Tsukishima scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh, so you have any idea what—”
“Of course I don’t, I don’t even remember this!” The blond sighs, Tobio suddenly has the instinct to grab for a trash can. Tsukishima’s skin is clammy and his eyes are doing that squinty thing they do when he’s trying to ignore a headache. “That’s like three blocks away from Yamaguchi’s, close to the bars. Fuck.”
Tobio echoes the sentiment, hands in his pockets. It’s really just a question of just exactly how fucked they are now. The team doesn’t have any sort of dating ban, but it’s obvious they’re not supposed to date each other. The coffee maker beeps and Tsukishima flinches before rushing over to it. It’s strange to be around him, alone, after all these years, Tobio realizes.
But that’s just him being weird, like last night.
He tries to focus on the apartment around him. Ushijima says it helps with awkwardness, and if there’s a time for Tobio to take a tip about social situations, it’s now. Tsukishima lives in a small studio—the kitchen/washing area is modern, but simple, clearly accommodating for the limited space and making up for it with white marble like accents and sleek silver handles. It’s not like Tsukishima ever cooks, so the absolute absence of visible ladles and pots and the like isn’t surprising.
The kitchen opens into a relatively large living room/bedroom, and as neat as the kitchen is, the contrast is stark. There’s more green in the living space, more green and beige and soft things that Tsukishima will probably say his family forced on him, even though Tobio has seen him cradle a pair of new gloves like they’re—
“Oi.”
He grabs the mug on instinct. It’s too warm out, really, for steaming hot coffee. “So what do we do?”
“Why do you even think I’d know?” Tsukishima throws his head back and bangs it into one of the cabinets. The sound doesn’t echo, but it might as well. “Fu— ow . You’re the famous one.”
Tobio sees the other’s hand twitch, like he’s holding back from rubbing the sore spot. Typical Tsukishima, like anyone would even care. “I’m not famous,” Tobio mumbles, hand tightening around the ear of his mug. “If anything, you’re the one doing advertising and stuff—”
“Shut up. Your face is on milk boxes like you’re a lost toddler” Tsukishima argues, shoulders slumping forward.
There’s no contesting that. Tobio sips at his coffee, grimaces, then helps himself to milk from the fridge. There’s a ringing from the counter, and he turns around to find Tsukishima curiously sliding a finger over the screen of his phone. “Tsukishima-san?!”
“Fu—” Tobio stops himself just shy of swearing. “Sakamoto-san!” he calls, snatching the phone from Tsukishima’s hand. What brought that idiot to answer Tobio’s phone? He glares at the screen, then realizes. “Why are you calling me from a private number?”
The Adler’s PR rep hesitates, her curly dark hair is wild around her face and her cheeks are flushed a light pink. “Uh, I’m actually here with the team owner.” She turns the phone edgewise so that Tobio can see the balding man in golfing shorts and a polo staring at him severely from a high backed chair. His stomach drops. He’s about to get fired, isn’t he? “We were going to call Tsukishima-san after we talked to you, but I guess since you two are— erm— together right now, I guess it’s more straightforward that way.”
“It— I—” Tobio takes a deep breath, he’s ready to just blurt out what really happened, maybe grovel a little, and that’s when Tsukishima hip-checks him and slides into the frame.
“Sakamoto-san, Ito-san, I’m terribly sorry—”
“Mind your manners, young man,” the team owner reprehends, clearly annoyed at having to miss whatever golf game he was supposed to attend today. “And listen to Yumi-chan before you say anything.”
If Tsukishima was pale before, now he could camouflage with the wall. His mouth clamps shut and Tobio can see him clenching his fists out of the scope of the camera. The blond nods stiffly. “Of course.”
Sakamoto Yumi—who Tobio has always liked, as she’s a short, plump woman that reminds him a little of Hinata in her way of talking—steels herself. “Alright, so I’m sure you two think you’re in trouble!” She says, smile widening. “And, well, you kind of are! But it’s the good kind!” She bounces over to a small accessory desk, where a laptop has been laid out. Tsukishima shudders at the movement, and even Tobio can’t help but feel a little nauseous. “So, I’ll mail you the data if you want,” she says, turning the phone towards the blurry computer screen. “But you two blew up since last night! Since you’re fairly notorious, even a couple international media outlets picked up on your relationship and its—” her face comes back into the screen, she’s grinning again. “Well, it’s huge. Luckily the team doesn’t have a no intra-team dating clause—”
“We were not supposed to need one,” Ito’s muffled voice floats over. “It seems like common sense.”
“Well, yeah,” Sakamoto tilts her head to the side. “But the thing is— the thing is—” she trails off. “That your relationship is actually becoming great publicity, you’re trending everywhere and the team is being praised for being inclusive, which has brought a host of new opportunities, hasn’t it?”
“We have lost a couple sponsors,” Ito’s grumpy voice creeps in again. “But it is true we have gotten a few desirable offers in the past few hours.”
“Yeah, so, my phone is blowing up with interview requests, and we haven’t even put out a statement yet, but I’ve persuaded Ito-san here that going with the flow is the best policy when it comes to this. Although it is regrettable that Tsukishima-san did not inform us that the two of you are together in his interview for the team on Monday—”
What’s surprising is that Tsukishima lasts this long. “I didn’t inform you of it because we’re not,” he says. Tobio can hear his teeth grinding. “This is just a big misunderstanding.”
Sakamoto’s face falls. She exchanges a concerned look with Ito outside of the screen. “Would you like to explain how—”
Tobio doesn’t exactly have a history of thinking things through, and he can’t say that he thinks this particular one through. He just has an inkling of what might happen if Tsukishima goes and opens his big mouth and decides to bite the bullet even though he’s pretty sure teeth aren’t exactly a match for it. “Actually,” he quickly pinches Tsukishima in the thigh. “He— uh— he means we weren't together then. This is— um… new.”
He jumps out of the way just in time for no one to see Tsukishima’s enraged expression, and to avoid the blond’s hand reaching for his phone. “Kageyama!”
“It’s pretty clear in the video,” Tobio hisses at him, then fumbles with the phone to mute his mic. “What are you gonna say, you were drunk ?” He whisper-shouts. Even though he doesn’t really need to. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
“How is what you’re doing smart?” Tsukishima crowds in on him but Tobio slips away. “Do you want to pretend that we— that we— No one’s going to believe that, King! Give me the phone, I’ll just apologize!”
“We have one of those—” Tobio struggles to remember the name of it. “In the contract.”
Tsukishima gasps. “The public intoxication clause.”
“That.”
“Shit.”
“I think you muted your mic, Kageyama-kun,” Sakamoto’s worried voice drifts up from the phone. “I can’t hear you.”
“No one’s going to believe it,” Tsukishima argues, but he’s losing heat, fast. Even then, he tries to snatch the phone from Tobio’s grasp again.“And I don’t want to fake date you, I can’t stand—”
Tobio walks backwards, into the living room, pretending he’s trying to unmute the mic. “You think you’re someone anyone enjoys spending time with?” He asks and Tsukishima grimaces. There’s not time to feel bad about it right now though. “Fuck, Tsukishima listen to me for on—” He takes another step back, swiftly avoiding the blond, only this time his heel catches on something thick, and next thing he knows he’s falling to the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes or a drunk Asahi.
He glares at the fluffy white rug. Seriously?
Tsukishima takes the opening, snatches the phone out of his hand and brings it up to his face deftly unmuting the thing. There he is, the idiot—he’s going to get himself and maybe Tobio fired just because he can’t take the blow to his stupid ego and because he still can’t forgive Tobio for breaking up with him. “Sorry, Sakamoto-san, Ito-san, Ka— Tobio is very bad with technology.” Who gave him the right to be this smooth of a liar? Tobio glares at the wry, almost guilty smile that spreads over the blond’s face. “It’s like he said, this is very new and we were only just figuring things out when the call came through.”
“Oh,” Sakamoto laughs nervously. “Are you alright? You look pale.”
“You could say things are going a bit fast this morning for what I expected.” He clears his throat, meets Tobio’s eyes. “What were you saying?”
“Right!” She hesitates for a second. “I mean if this is so new— Look, there’s a very important morning talk show that really wants to have you two visit for an interview on Tuesday. I understand this whole… relationship might be new. But would you consider doing it? We’ll get the questions in advance so the two of you can plan out answers you’re comfortable with.” Then she starts whispering, and even Tsukishima who is holding the phone has to put it close to his ear. Tobio rises to his feet, rubbing the sore spot in his lower back, but by the time he gets close enough, Tsukishima is already pulling the phone away and forcing a smile for the camera.
“That would be agreeable. Could we discuss any more details in person, tomorrow?”
“Of course! Thank you so much! I’ll mail you the data. Bye!”
“We didn’t—” Tobio is beginning to say, but she cuts off the call and leaves him staring into Tsukishima’s wide eyed face. “Why did you agree to that?” Tobio asks, taking a step closer, straightening up so he’s looking Tsukishima as straight in the eye as he can.
“Because she said if we didn’t play nice Ito might just fire us anyway,” Tsukishima hisses from between gritted teeth. “This is your fault in the first place.”
“How is it my fault? You’re the one that decided to go on a stupid teenage girl bender last night. You suck at handling your stupid feelings, but that doesn’t mean they’re my problem.”
“Then why did you fucking follow me?!” Tsukishima snarls.
“You were walking into traffic in that stupid video!” Tobio knows they’re pretty much chest to chest by now, he knows Tsukishima smells like spilled booze and sleep, he knows how pale Tsukishima’s eyelashes and eyebrows are, but he’s too mad to care. “You’re not your own little fucking cosmos, get that through your stupid head!”
He wonders if Tsukishima’s neighbors are going to complain about the screaming match, but that’s before a strong hand grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt and proceeds to shove him towards the door. “Get out of my house.”
“You don’t get to—”
“Just get out!” Tsukishima’s breathing hard, his eyes are glassy and his cheeks are red. He looks like he’s going to puke. “I’ll play along with your stupid thing for a month, no more, and I don’t care if I get fired after. So please King, get out of my house or I will hurl on your shoes.”
Tobio grimaces. “Make sure to eat something after,” he mumbles as he heads for the door. Tsukishima’s feet barely make a noise as he races for the bathroom.
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Kei wears his church shirt.
Not that it’s seen more than one use, mind you—the wedding of the daughter of one of his mother’s friends—but it is his church shirt for a reason.
Kei did go and do something quite horrible, believer or not. The starched neck ought to be penance enough.
So he walks through the many halls of the building where he and Kageyama are supposed to meet the Adler’s owner and Sakamoto so that they can instruct them on—on how to act like a picture perfect couple in the news tomorrow. Gods, when did his life end up this way?
At least it’s fresh in here, even chilly. The shirt is—obviously—long sleeved and lilac shows stains easily. Not to speak of the fact that he’s wearing slacks. Kei hates slacks with a passion, but, much like with the shirt, it only felt appropriate. The linoleum floors are a checkerboard of white and black, the stucco accents of the walls are dated. Kei wants to scream.
He aches to scream, really, when he reaches Ito’s office and finds Kageyama slumped in one of the chairs outside, wearing a pair of khakis and a blue polo.
The setter is clearly making an effort. Kei feels like he’s accidentally stepped foot in a parallel reality or some sort of mind bending gap in his. Kind of like that Murakami book Akaashi lent him last summer. “You look like you’re going golfing,” he hums as he sits down at the row of chairs on the other side of the hallway. It leaves a good two meters between the two of them.
“Ushijima said I should dress up.” Kageyama blinks at him. “Is this what he meant? I thought it was too hot for the suit.”
Kei can’t suppress a chuckle—of course, same old Kageyama. “Of course you would.” Usually, he manages to keep a simmering annoyance at the other’s existence, but today he’s not too sure he isn’t still a little hungover or if it’s just leftover dehydration. To put it bluntly, he doesn’t have the energy to spare in hating his ex. “How long do you think he’s going to make us wait?”
From Sakamoto’s whispered words yesterday— ‘please say yes, he’s looking for any excuse, you know how old men like that are and honestly I’m having too much fun with you two taking over social media’— it’s more than clear to him that Ito isn’t happy with them, and the old man doesn’t seem like the kind to spare them a hard time. “I’ve been here for five minutes,” Kageyama says, chewing on his lower lip. “He could still fire us.”
“Could,” Kei concedes, leaning forward to brace himself on his knees. “But after the statement he put out yesterday, he’d look like a liar and a homophobe. Not good for business.”
Kageyama just hums, his broad shoulders a little slumped.
Kei takes a deep breath, drowns the guilt in it.
And luckily, that’s when the office door opens and they’re ushered in by a pretty secretary. Kei’s first thought is that Ito’s office isn’t as grand as he imagined—just a little larger than standard size, ceiling no higher than in any of the other’s he passed on his way here. The grey carpet is plush, feels expensive, but not in an ostentatious way, and the heavy wooden desk has the feeling of something older, but well cared for.
Ito is sitting behind it, in the same high backed chair, this time in a suit. His balding head remains hunched over the document he’s reading for a few minutes after he and Kageyama enter, another show of force. “You two were on time, that’s good,” he says, then looks up, grey eyes hard behind square rimmed glasses. “I am not happy with this. You two do know that, right? Scandal is a double edged sword. If you’re not on your best behavior—”
“Sorry!” Sakamoto bursts in through the door, tablet tucked under one arm, a Styrofoam cup in the other. “You wouldn’t believe how many people want a piece of the two of you,” she says, directed at Kageyama and Kei. “I’ve already said we wouldn’t do so many interviews, but now they’re offering photo shoots too and—” she looks between them and the man at the desk. “Oops, sorry, anyway. I just e-mailed you the questions. Keep it PG and please don’t talk about politics.”
“This is all about politics,” Kei mumbles under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
Kei looks away. “How many of these do we have to do?”
“As many as it takes.”
“We’re planning on around five?” Sakamoto chirps in. ”Also, your introductory photo shoot is now about the two of you.”
If Kei keeps trying not to roll his eyes at this stupid situation, he might die. At least Kageyama groans for him, and that slides past everyone. He’s always been the golden child, after all. Kei is pretty sure at this point, if the other person in that video wasn’t Kageyama, his contract would have been canceled before he even woke up with a hangover.
Hell, it pains him to admit, but if Kageyama hadn’t stopped him from telling the truth yesterday—
“You’re going to be looking sharper, though Kageyama-san.” Sakamoto remarks.
“Yes.” Ito agrees. “We expect you to look the part if you’re going to represent the team on national television. This isn’t a normal interview. I expect you will try to be charismatic at least. Maybe try to emulate your…”
“Partner?” Sakamoto suggests.
People don’t usually catch on to it, but between Kei and Kageyama, Kei has the shortest fuse. He’s also very much the one who was—in one instance, in high school—quite ready to throw hands with some shit heads that kept annoying everyone in the volleyball club. Usually his words do the trick, maybe that’s why it isn’t so easy to tell, but he can’t use them right now. He curls his hands into fists behind his back, teeth grinding together painfully.
What gives?
The comment bothers Kageyama too, but he simply stares out of the window behind Ito’s head. “Sure.”
The older man clears his throat. “Please go with Yumi-chan, she’ll fill you in on everything else.”
A second later, Sakamoto is leading them both out, over to an office just a few doors down. Kei has to stop himself from patting Kageyama’s back more than once in the short walk over there.
.
.
Of all things, Tobio doesn’t expect to be dragged to a ramen stall after practice.
So far, Tsukishima has been playing the stoic, which isn’t doing anything good for their cover—at least the team agreed quickly enough to just ignore the whole relationship thing while at matches and practice— but tomorrow’s going to be a very different day. “Did you tell anyone?” Tobio asks, because he’s had his phone on silent since yesterday and Miwa—bless her soul, she’s in Tokyo—might just show up to kick Tobio’s butt soon if he doesn’t decide whether to tell her or not.
Tsukishima shoots him an incredulous look through narrowed eyes. “That I’m in possibly the most ridiculous situation ever? With you?” He sighs, glares at the non-alcoholic drink in his hand like he really wishes it was sake. “Don’t be daft. Akiteru and Yamaguchi probably think I got body snatched by now, but like hell I’m admitting this to them.”
“That’s cowardly,” Tobio hums against the lip of his own juice. Like he isn’t the biggest coward of the two of them. “So we’re lying to them too?”
Tsukishima’s shoulders droop, and that stupid elegant shirt strains against the non-stretchy fabric—the color looks good on him, though. “I guess,” the blond concedes. The ramen stall is dimly lit by a string of light bulbs hung along the ceiling; the shadows of Tsukishima’s cheekbones, of his lashes lengthen as he looks down. “It’s just for a month, maybe less if the—” he makes air quotes around his ears. “’Socials’ get tired of us sooner rather than later.”
“Do you really think that’s true?” Tobio prods, because he hasn’t had the presence of mind to check beyond that stupid video and the headlines Hinata texted him yesterday.
Tsukishima’s face sours even more. “Oh, it’s worse than true. We have fan clubs.”
“Like the—”
“Indeed, we’ve lived long enough to become Oikawa.”
This is, it’s ridiculous. Tobio chuckles, trying to hide it behind the glass but it’s audible, and Tsukishima shoots him an annoyed look before he too is snorting. “That was an awful joke,” he says, still smiling slightly.
“You’re around Ushijima too much,” Tsukishima says. “And you’re the sap who confessed, so—”
“Yeah, and you got so overwhelmed.” Tobio pretends to swoon—the fake history they had to make up on the fly for Sakamoto is on the wrong side of cheesy and cliche, but it was on short notice and it can’t really be disproved. He actually expects Tsukishima to laugh again, but his face is stony this time. He takes in a deep breath, lashes falling over milky skin. A second later, he drags his stool as far from Tobio’s as he can and he doesn’t say another word for the rest of the dinner.
When the check comes, Tobio goes to slide his wallet out, but he finds Tsukishima already has their exact total. The blond slides it over the polished wood of the table without a word and gets up as if in a hurry. Tobio rushes to follow, because it’s muscle memory, because it’s what his muscles ache to do, but then his phone rings and he immediately regrets having turned the sound back on.
CLOWN-FACE
Time to face the music, he figures. He brings the phone up to his ear and sighs. “Sis—”
“YOU LITTLE BRAT! MOM IS LIVID AT YOU—”
It goes on for a while, he just walks awkwardly through the curtain hanging behind the stools of the stall, not expecting Tsukishima to be there at all. Miwa’s lecturing is distracting enough that he doesn’t even look around until he collides with a solid form that turns out to be the blond himself. “Alright,” Tobio says. “Yes, alright. I’m heading home now. I’m not— I’m heading home. Bye.”
Tsukishima’s face is pinched when he looks at Tobio. It’s nothing surprising, all things considered, but it’s a wonder he stayed. “Miwa-n— She’s mad at you, isn’t she?”
“No more than Akiteru-san is going to be mad at you,” Tobio says, eyes going to the loosened button at Tsukishima’s neck. “It’ll be fine.”
“Akiteru is physically unable to be mad at me.” Tsukishima shrugs, then he pauses for a second looking straight ahead. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, and it sounds like the rumbling of a gong in Tobio’s ears. His eyes snap up, incredulous, and they meet Tsukishima’s faraway golden ones.
“What?”
“I’m not—” Tsukishima shakes his head, his hands are clasped by his front, fingers interlaced, knuckles white. “Just take the apology King. You deserve it for once.”
Oh, if Tsukishima only knew.
But Tobio can’t tell him, won’t tell him. The blond begins to walk away, slouching slightly as he tries to pull up his headset over his ears. “We should take a picture,” Tobio blurts out, in a… it’s not a moment of desperation, not really. It’s muscle memory— though, also not really, because they never took any photos in those four fateful months that they spent dating in the sweltering heat of the Sendai suburbs—or an inborn instinct to reach out. “You can post it wherever. We’re supposed to be—”
A blond eyebrow is lifted at him. “I get the use of it,” he says, stepping over to Tobio. There’s enough light where they are that it’s only a question of squeezing close together and Tsukishima using one of his unfairly long arms to snap a quick selfie. He sends it to Tobio immediately, but he doesn’t bother to check. “Wear that purple blazer Suga-san gave you,” are his parting words.
“Is the time tomorrow going to be ok for your other job?”
“Yes, your Majesty, don’t worry about me!” Tsukishima calls, not turning around
And he leaves Tobio standing there, a little slack jawed, the words ‘I’m sorry too’ hanging from his lips like a non-believer’s prayer.
.
.
The bastard listens to him.
To be fair, Kei knows little about Kageyama’s closet other than the fact that he seems to own an unlimited supply of black Adidas sweatpants that cling to his calves. He saw Suga and Daichi gift this particular, stupid sweater to him last Christmas and it was the only talk-show-decent thing that he actually remembers the setter owning, so he suggested it last night.
Only Kageyama somehow decided—on his own? Kei isn’t too sure about that—to pair it with a tight white shirt and dark blue jeans. And it’s a little unfair, at least until Kei sees how stiffly he moves in the outfit. “You walk any more stiffly and your joints are going to start to creak,” he observes.
“This was your stupid idea.” Kageyama picks at the buttons at his cuffs. “What? You wanted to match?”
Kei looks down at his own light wash jeans, at the light, indescribable shade of purple-blue of his shirt and the hydrangea pattern in the lower left corner of it, where it tucks into the pants. He didn’t actually mean to—this is just a color that Asahi insists on giving him clothes in. Still, the visual effect is pleasing. “Like I’m going to put any extra effort into this. At least you didn’t show up in sweatpants.”
Kageyama hums, and then they’re being ushered into the set.
At least the makeup artists separate them, and they don’t make small talk themselves, so Kei can have a few minutes of blessed quiet before he’s being fed to the lions whole.
That is kind of an exaggeration. The host is just fine, her voice is high enough to shatter glass, but she’s respectful enough, makes no crude jokes, and generally sticks to the script.
The script, which they execute perfectly. A little too perfectly.
“My, but you two seem to be pretty attuned to each other, even this early on in your relationship.” She grins, and Kei knows nice time is over. “It’s like you knew all the answers before stepping a foot in here. Isn’t that sweet? I guess it comes from knowing each other for so long.”
Kei exchanges a quick look with Kageyama. She was supposed to know they had a script, wasn’t she? It’s not like Kei watches many talk shows, but people don’t usually ambush others, do they? “We’ve known each other for almost a decade, yes.” He shifts in the deceptively uncomfortable seat. Even the plush velvet of the upholstery does nothing to make it a bearable piece of furniture to sit on for very long.
“Oh, I agree. It’s like a drama,” she says, pushing blonde hair off her shoulder. Then she turns to Kageyama, who looks so stiff it’s like he’s been dead for days, and winks at him. “Kageyama-senshu, what do you think Tsukishima-senshu is just craving right now?”
It’s bizarre, and the inflection of her voice is almost suggestive. Kei can only pray Kageyama doesn’t say something stupid, he should know— “That strawberry cake he’s always eating,” the setter says, and Kei almost sighs out loud. “Or a milkshake.”
“Aww,” she croons. “Isn’t that sweet?” Oh that’s the worst part, this thing is filmed with a live audience. Kei knows he visibly recoils at the ‘aww’ from the audience. “That’s why we got our guests some sweetness too, from one of our top bakeries! Bring it in!” A cart is brought in, plates unveiled in front of him and Kageyama. It’s quality strawberry shortcake—you can tell by the look of it. “Of course, you should feed each other the first bite,” she laughs.
Yeah, this is it, Kei’s life is a joke.
.
.
Tsukishima is a stress eater.
It doesn’t take a genius to know.
(He’s a very, very occasional stress-smoker too, but he likes to pretend that no one knows.)
Tobio knows nothing about desserts. He has no sweet tooth to speak of and he’s always tried to eat relatively healthy. Savory is more his flavor, though, and if he’s going to fill himself up on something, it at least better have some protein. So where Tsukishima’s eyes visibly light up when the cake is brought out, Tobio just sighs.
At least until the host makes this ridiculous request that—
Tsukishima’s eyes dim again.
And Tobio—alright, Tobio is doing a bunch of biting bullets lately, but it’s just because it’s more convenient, and because he had a big breakfast and he can’t possibly eat that much sugar without it making it thirsty for the rest of the day. “Just get it over with,” he mumbles at Tsukishima who looks three seconds from a meltdown. “You can have the rest of my slice.”
The blond’s golden eyes snap up to his. “You don’t like sweets.”
Tobio shrugs. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows Tsukishima gets the meaning, Tobio has eaten worse stuff.
Also, everyone acts like idiots in these shows. It wouldn’t sell the act if the two of them just—Tsukishima reaches for the plate. Tobio’s throat dries a little; for all that none of this is genuine, the blond puts on a very convincing act. He looks up at Tobio with a small smile and their chairs are already pressed close together, so it takes no time for a forkful of whipped cream to be offered up.
Tobio’s eyes meet steady golden ones,
It really is too sweet.
The cake.
When it’s Tsukishima’s turn, he keeps his eyes on the cake.
.
.
Whatever deity it is that watches over Kei is mad.
It’s furious.
Of course they have practice after that embarrassing disaster in the morning, and of course a reporter chases them and they end up in a crowded bus. Of course, it’s just when he’s feeling back in his groove after blocking two of Ushijima’s spikes in a row when he spots a familiar blond head hovering by the stands.
Yeah, he’s going to have to burn incense, or pay tithe, or something .
“Hey, what are you doing here! This is a private practice.” Now, Kei would never say it out loud, but at this moment he loves Hoshiumi Kourai. “Are you a reporter, huh? Or some spy from another team?” The man walks over to the lurker with all of the swiftness of a stampede. The man decides to run off at the last second but he underestimates Hoshiumi, who has him in a judo hold in less than ten seconds—which considering that he’s like half a foot taller than Hoshiumi, is a little humiliating.
“I’m just here to see a friend, ow— ”
“Hah, you are? Who invited this extra?” he shouts back. Kei does not answer, because he may know said extra but he definitely didn’t invite the man here.”No one to speak for you, huh? Spit it out, who are you spying for?”
“I’m here to see that lying bastard Tsukishima,” Sato whines in the choke hold. “I want an explanation.”
And just like that, everyone’s staring at Kei. Yesterday, on his first day of practice, he and Kageyama made a little, curt announcement that yes, they were dating, but to please not mention it in practice so as not to perturb the team’s dynamic. So far, everyone was reasonable. Even Hoshiumi just made a couple passing comments in the locker room. But now everyone’s looking at Kei like he’s some TV protagonist about to uncover an affair and maybe a secret love-child.
No, his life isn’t that crazy.
“I distinctly remember saying that the next time you approached me I’d get a restraining order,” he hisses in the man’s general direction.
“Aw, baby, I know you just said that so we wouldn’t get in trouble at the museum,” Sato insists.
“I quit the museum,” Kei answers curtly, “and I really will—”
“He told you to leave,” Kageyama is glowering from the other side of the court, a volleyball in his hand. Kei wonders if he could throw it hard enough to break Sato’s nose. That would be satisfying. “So leave.”
Still, Kei isn’t some damsel in a fairy tale—and while he’s happy someone has his back, even if it’s only because they’re pretending to be together for the stupidest reason in the universe—he can take care of himself, so he steps forward, walks over to the still-restrained Sato and pins him with a look. “I know your skull is thick. But I have made it clear the worst error in judgment of my life was agreeing to go out with you that one time, right behind not filing for that restraining order months ago. I am not interested in your pathetic ass that can’t tell I’d never be interested in such a sub par specimen even if I wasn’t taken. Here, you don’t have your little pals to protect you, and you know you’re no one to be demanding anything from me.”
Gods, that feels good to say.
Yeah, here, Sato is just a worm—not a worm that’s the son of the museum’s director, just a dirty, lowly, stupid worm.
“Fucking slut.”
There’s the low whistling of a hand cutting through air and then a slapping sound.
And then a volleyball slams into the floor a foot away from Sato.
Kei knows that sound, the interval between the hand hitting the ball and its impact on the floor—it’s Oikawa’s devil serve. And there’s only one other person that can perform it so. He turns to look at Kageyama, slowly because he feels like grinning a little too much. Kageyama isn’t looking at him, though, he’s staring straight at Sato. “I missed on purpose,” he says.
And then there’s no more Sato in the gym.
At least no one asks. They just go back to finishing their practice quietly, and even Kageyama keeps his distance. Kei knows he’s going to ask at some point, but he at least gets to have a lukewarm shower in peace, and no one bothers him until he’s getting dressed.
“Was that an ex-lover of yours?” Only one person would ask like that.
Kei closes his locker door to find himself face to face with Ushijima Wakatoshi, in a towel and a few droplets of water. “Barely,” he answers, stunned—the reason he answers is actually that he’s stunned; anyone else, he’d have told to go to hell. “I made the mistake of going out for drinks with him once.”
Ushijima hums. “I like your candor. He seems persistent.”
“An asshole is what he is,” Kei mumbles, and then he looks at Ushijima. The man's face is impassive, and Kei isn’t sure if he wants an apology or is just being nice. “I’m sorry a personal relation of mine disturbed practice like that. Please don't hold it against me.”
Ushijima laughs, loud and booming. “I would not. In fact I would like to take this chance to say that I hope you do not feel awkward about the casual relationship I had with Kageyama. It was never more than that as he must’ve told you.”
No, scratch his previous thoughts—the deities watching over Kei, whoever they are, they’re laughing their asses off. Kei looks away from the still gloriously half-naked Ushijima and concentrates on sliding on his socks. He isn’t sure if he should be put off or just— he shouldn’t care, right? Right? “He did,” Kei clears his throat. Kageyama had his back earlier so- “Um— no hard feelings.”
“I am glad.”
“I—”
“Oi. Lets go.” And there’s the man in question, in his track pants and a henley. Kei has no idea if he wants to punch him or thank him right now.
Also, there’s a flush high on Kageyama’s cheeks. Kei is sure the bastard overheard.
He stands up, says a quiet goodbye to Ushijima and goes to grill his so-called-boyfriend.
.
.
“I don’t owe you any explanations,” Tobio is quick to say as soon as they exit the gym. He can feel the taunts coming, and honestly, he isn’t in the mood for that.
Tsukishima has that half-smile on his face, the one where a sliver of teeth peels out of the left corner of his mouth and he looks like he’s trying very, very hard to look nonchalant. “Who was asking you for any King? The crickets?”
Tobio shoots him a deadpan look. “We’re in the middle of Sendai, there aren’t any crickets.”
“Well, the pigeons then.” The blond shrugs, and only smirks wider—the little bastard is enjoying this.
The worst is that Tobio can’t help the embarrassment that creeps up his neck, heat pooling on his cheeks and ears. He’d hoped Ushijima wouldn’t mention it, seeing as this whole thing is stupid play-pretend. Tsukishima never really had to know. He might have informed Ushijima that they were not-erm—hooking up for the foreseeable future a little late, but it’s not like he could do much else seeing how this whole thing came about. “Those are asleep!” He crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at the floor.
“Don’t pout, you look like a toddler,” Tsukishima chides. “I don’t care, whatever. I just can’t picture how that came about.” He takes a left and a bus stop comes into view.
“You haven’t gotten over that time you drove into a ditch?” Tobio snickers. At least this he can always tease Tsukishima about—taking Akiteru’s car and going off to some secluded hill in late spring had seemed like a good idea, until Tsukishima drove them into a muddy ditch and the aforementioned car owner had to rescue two filthy, sweaty and annoyed teenagers… mand he brought Saeko, who brought Tanaka, who brought Noya, who brought Asahi, who brought Suga, who brought Daichi, who gave them an earful, all at nearly midnight. “Also, how do you think that kind of thing goes about? We hooked up once then kept hooking up. It’s not rocket science.”
“We live in a city with very good public transport.” Tsukishima sniffs, even as his cheeks go slightly pink. “I’m doing my part for the environment.” He looks away. “And Ushijima seems very serious, how did you two even— I don’t want to know, do I?”
Tobio snorts. Yeah, right, environment. “Says the one that takes thirty-minute showers. I’ll drive you if you want.” The white neons of the bus stop flicker to life—later than they should, as it’s almost fully dark outside by now, even for summer—washing the both of them out. This time, Tsukishima opted to bring a third change of clothes—which is lucky, because the shirt he wore in the morning has a cake stain— so he’s in shorts and a thin, green, long sleeved t-shirt, and he almost looks the way he did back then. “Also, he’s very direct.”
A bus stops in front of them, Tsukishima starts for it, a goodbye forming on plump lips before he sees that it’s crowded enough that he’s going to be pressed up smelling people’s sweat. He’s already done it once today, Tobio knows that’s his limit. “You’re a horrible fake-boyfriend,” he says, when Tobio smirks at him.
“So you’re getting on?” Tobio asks, doing his best Suga impression. It’s probably not very good, but Tsukishima groans and steps back from the bus stop.
He manages a haughty “ tell me it’s not a long walk, my calves hurt ” before they fall into step, headed for the public parking lot where Tobio usually leaves his car.
“If people only knew how much of a spoiled princess you are,” he mumbles, more to himself than to Tsukishima.
“Shut up.” Tobio considers miming zipping his mouth shut, but he ultimately decides against it. The walk really isn’t that long, just a couple of blocks that they rush through in silence. This part of the city isn’t very full at night, but to them it’s of no consequence. After the last few days, it’s even slightly reassuring. Tobio’s car is a gray sedan, all sleek lines and space. He hesitates for a second before unlocking it—it’s not like he was planning to have Tsukishima here. “This is a mess,” the blond gripes, eying the buildup of gym equipment in the backseat.
“You’re welcome to take the bus,” Tobio says, dropping himself unceremoniously in the driver's seat.
This time, it’s Tsukishima that keeps the peace. He silently straps himself into the seat and drops his bag between his feet. He looks tired, the city lights outlining the bags under his eyes, visible now that the makeup the people form the TV show applied on the both of them in the morning has been washed away. His hair is sticking out, unruly curls and points that have barely air dried in the humid Sendai summer.
Tobio forces his eyes on the road and starts up the car.
It’s not far to Tsukishima’s place, but rush hour traffic has them moving at a snail’s pace, a myriad of little city sounds blend into a familiar buzz around them, so it’s not silence Tsukishima breaks when he speaks again. “So Ushijima just came up to you and—” He cuts himself off, maybe because this is Tobio he’s talking to, or maybe it’s weird since they were most of each other’s firsts.
Which is a little sad, now that he thinks about it. Tobio wouldn’t know if it’s normal or not, when it comes to actual relationships—for him it’s only been Tsukishima. “Something like that,” he answers, clearing his throat. “We were sharing a room in an away game— he asked if I was interested in, uh—”
“And how did that come about?” Tsukishima asks, voice genuinely curious now. “Because he doesn’t strike me as the kind to just proposition anyone.”
Tobio chokes on his own spit, because Ushijima most definitely isn’t. He’s actually even a little shy—the thing is, he doesn’t see the point in hesitating to ask questions. If the man gets rejected, he gets rejected, and he’s fine with that. It probably makes for a very drama-free life, of course; if you’re keen on bulldozing through obstacles like that it better be. “I may have been looking—” Tobio explains and Tsukishima shoots him a smug look out of the corner of his eye. “You have no right to judge me, you jerk, you were staring today too.”
Now it’s Tsukishima’s turn to choke. “He came up to talk to me in a towel,” he answers grumpily. “Like that’s normal—”
“It is to him,” Tobio interjects. “Actually, to most volleyball players. You’ve always been a prude, though.”
“I have a basic sense of decency,” Tsukishima counters.
“Yeah, that’s exactly why we’re here,” Tobio bites back and the blond’s mouth clamps shut. “For what it’s worth, he’s leaving for Switzerland and it was never serious.”
“I’d be seriously concerned if it was,” Tsukishima mutters, he’s leaning on his elbow, staring out at the traffic jam through the window. “And you’ll be free to hook up with him before he leaves—” he pauses for a second. “I think,” he snorts. “I hope.”
And somehow, he looks sadder, then, than a couple of seconds before. Tobio turns away, fixes his eyes on the plate of the car in front of them. It’s warm in the car but he can’t help imagining a chilly breeze sweeping over them, carrying in a smell of salt, and rust, and spring water in an end-of-summer day.
It’s only going to be for a while, though. Tsukishima can handle it. Tobio bites down on his own lip. This will be over by that date, in roughly two months. It will end naturally, fade away and then maybe they’ll have to do an interview or two, but it will be fine. And if it doesn’t end like that, then there’ll be a way—even now, there are several. Maybe it will come down to some sacrifice, maybe someone’s pride, maybe a few scathing articles and posts in social media.
It will be bearable. Even the sharpest of pains, self-inflicted, can be bearable. That he knows well.
The traffic jam advances slowly, slowly, and the air is warm diesel and honey. Nothing like back home, nothing like that night.
“Can I put on some music?” Tsukishima asks, poking a slender finger into Tobio’s shoulder. They’re about halfway there already, but Tobio just looks at the way a curl of blond hair falls between Tsukishima’s eyes and he nods.
He’s never much cared for music. Whatever Tsukishima decides to put on passes by him leaving not a lasting impression. By the time he pulls over in front of Tsukishima’s building, he’s sleepy and the sky, in its usual purple-orange light pollution way, is as dark as it’s going to get. “Hinata called while you were zoned out,” Tsukishima says quietly, carefully, like he’s approaching a spooked, feral cat. “We’re expected at Daichi-san’s on Thursday. Sugawara is making hotpot.”
“Do we have any stupid interviews on Thursday?” Tobio asks, turning to look at Tsukishima, feeling like he’s breaking the surface of deep waters.
“No.” Tsukishima’s mouth curls down a little at the corners. “And it’s not optional either.”
“Didn’t expect it to be,” Tobio looks down at the stick shift.
There isn’t anything else to say, Tsukishima nods in assent and steps out of the car into the warm night.
Tobio watches him go, watches him get inside. Tells himself it’s for safety. That their lives may have changed a lot, even in the past couple of days, but he’s still allowed that little bit of worry. Then he starts up the car and is on his way again. His apartment isn’t that far, thankfully, and now, a little later, the streets are less hard to navigate. All of it is a blessing, of course, because he’s too deep in his own thoughts to properly pay attention to the road. The whirlwind pace of the last three days is running ahead of him and Tobio needs to catch up if he wants to have any hope at surviving this.
Initially, offering the blond a ride was meant to provide an opportunity to ask about that asshole at practice. Tobio is no stranger to persistent suitors, but that one seemed like something else. And the amount of venom in Tsukishima’s voice when he told the man off—surely there’s something else going on.
But who’s Tobio to ask? He doesn’t have the right.